At a very early period my father exhibited a decided natural taste for
art.  He used his pencil freely in sketching from nature; and in course
of time he showed equal skill in the use of oil colour.  At his own
earnest request he was bound apprentice to Mr. Crighton, then the
chief coachbuilder in Edinburgh.  He was employed in that special
department where artistic taste was necessary--that is, in decorating
the panels of the highest class of carriages, and painting upon them
coats of arms, with their crests and supporters.  He took great
pleasure in this kind of work.  It introduced him to the practical
details of heraldry, and gave him command over his materials.

Still further to improve himself in the art of drawing, my father
devoted his evenings to attending the Edinburgh Drawing Academy.
This institution, termed "The Trustees' Academy of Fine Art," had been
formed and supported by the funds arising from the estates confiscated
after the rebellions of 1715 and 1745.  Part of these funds was set
apart by Government for the encouragement of drawing, and also for the
establishment of the arts of linen weaving, carpet manufacture,
and other industrial occupations.

These arts were introduced into Scotland by the French Protestants,
who had been persecuted for conscience' sake out of their own country,
and settled in England, Ireland, and Scotland, where they prosecuted
their industrial callings.  The Corporation was anxious to afford an
asylum for these skilled and able workmen.  The emigrants settled down
with their families, and pursued their occupations of damask, linen,
and carpet weaving.  They were also required to take Scotch apprentices,
and teach them the various branches of their trade.  The Magistrates
caused cottages and workshops to be erected on a piece of unoccupied
land near Edinburgh, where the street appropriately called Picardy
Place now stands,--the greater number of the weavers having come from
Picardy in France.

In connection with the establishment of these industrial artisans,
it was necessary to teach the young Scotch apprentices drawing, for the
purpose of designing new patterns suitable for the market.  Hence the
establishment by the Trustees of the Forfeited Estate Funds of
"The Academy of Fine Art."  From the designing of patterns, the
institution advanced to the improvement of the fine arts generally.
Young men who had given proofs of their natural taste for drawing were
invited to enter the school and participate in its benefits.

At the time that my father was apprenticed to the coach painter,
the Trustees' Academy was managed by Alexander Runciman.  He had
originally been a house painter, from which business he proceeded to
landscape painting.  "Other artists," said one who knew him, "talked
meat and drink; but Runciman talked landscape."  He went to Rome and
studied art there.  He returned to Edinburgh, and devoted himself to
historical painting.  He was also promoted to the office of master of
the Trustees' Academy.  When my father called upon him with his
drawings from nature, Runciman found them so satisfactory that he was
at once admitted as a student.  After his admission he began to study
with intense eagerness.  The young men who had been occupied at their
business during the day could only attend in the evening.  And thus the
evenings were fixed for studying drawing and design.  The Trustees'
Academy made its mark upon the art of Scotland: it turned out many
artists of great note -- such as Raeburn, Wilkie, my father, and many
more.

At the time when my father entered as a student, the stock of casts
from the antique, and the number of drawings from the old masters,
were very small; so much so, indeed, that Runciman was under the
necessity of setting the students to copy them again and again.
This became rather irksome to the more ardent pupils.  My father had
completed his sixth copy of a fine chalk drawing of "The Laocoon."
It was then set for him to copy again.  He begged Mr. Runciman for
another subject.  The quick-tempered man at once said,"l'll give you
another subject."  And turning the group of the Laocoon upside down, he
added, "Now, then, copy that!"  The patient youth set to work, and in a
few evenings completed a perfect copy.  It was a most severe test; but
Runciman was so proud of the skill of his pupil that he had the drawing
mounted and framed, with a note of the circumstances under which it had
been produced.  It continued to hang there for many years, and the
story of its achievement became traditional in the school.

During all this time my father remained in the employment of Crighton
the carriage builder.  He improved in his painting day by day.  But at
length an important change took place in his career.  Allan Ramsay,
son of the author of The Gentle Shepherd, and then court painter to
George III., called upon his old friend Crighton one day, to look over
his works.  There he found young Nasmyth painting a coat of arms on the
panel of a carriage.  He was so much surprised with the lad's artistic
workmanship--for he was then only sixteen--that he formed a strong
desire to take him into his service.  After much persuasion, backed by
the offer of a considerable sum of money, the coachbuilder was at
length induced to transfer my father's indentures to Allan Ramsay.

It was, of course, a great delight to my father to be removed to London
under such favourable auspices.  Ramsay had a large connection as a
portrait painter.  His object in employing my father was that he should
assist him in the execution of the subordinate parts, or dress
portions, of portraits of courtiers, or of diplomatic personages.
No more favourable opportunity for advancement could have presented
itself.  But all this was entirely due to my father's perseverance and
advancing skill as an artist--the results of his steady application
and labour.

Ramsay possessed a very fine collection of drawings by the old masters,
all of which were free for my father to study.  Ramsay was exceedingly
kind to his young pupil.  He was present at all the discussions in the
studio, even when the sitters were present. Fellow-artists visited
Ramsay from time to time.  Among them was his intimate friend Philip
Reinagle--an agreeable companion, and an excellent artist.  Reinagle
was one day so much struck with my father's earnestness in filling up
some work, that he then and there got up a canvas and made a capital
sketch-portrait of him in oil.  It only came into my father's
possession some years after Ramsay's death, and is now in my possession.

[Image]  Alexander Nasmyth.  After Reinagle's Portrait

Among the many amusing recollections of my father's life in London,
there is one that I cannot resist narrating, because it shows his
faculty of resourcefulness--a faculty which served him very usefully
during his course through life.  He had made an engagement with a
sweetheart to take her to Ranelagh, one of the most fashionable places
of public amusement in London.  Everybody went in full dress, and the
bucks and swells wore long striped silk stockings.  My father, on
searching, found that he had only one pair of silk stockings left.
He washed them himself in his lodging-room, and hung them up before the
fire to dry.  When he went to look at them, they were so singed and
burnt that he could not put them on. They were totally useless.
In this sad dilemma his resourcefulness came to his aid.  The happy
idea occurred to him of painting his legs so as to resemble stockings.
He went to his water-colour box, and dexterously painted them with
black and white stripes.  When the paint dried, which it soon did,
he completed his toilet, met his sweetheart and went to Ranelagh.
No one observed the difference, except, indeed, that he was
complimented on the perfection of the fit, and was asked "where he
bought his stockings?"  Of course he evaded the question, and left the
gardens without any one discovering his artistic trick.

My father remained in Allan Ramsay's service until the end of 1778,
when he returned to Edinburgh to practise on his own behalf the
profession of portrait painter.  He took with him the kindest
good-wishes of his master, whose friendship he retained to the end of
Ramsay's life.  The artistic style of my father's portraits, and the
excellent likenesses of his sitters, soon obtained for him ample
employment.  His portraits were for the most part full-lengths, but of
a small or cabinet size.  They generally consisted of family groups,
with the figures about twelve to fourteen inches high.  The groups were
generally treated and arranged as if the personages were engaged in
conversation with their children; and sometimes a favourite servant was
introduced, so as to remove any formal aspect in the composition of the
picture.  In order to enliven the background, some favourite view from
the garden or grounds, or a landscape, was given; which was painted
with as much care as if it was the main feature of the picture.
Many of these paintings are still to be found in the houses of the
gentry in Scotland.  Good examples of his art are to be seen at Minto
House, the seat of the Earl of Minto, and at Dalmeny Park, the seat of
the Earl of Rosebery.

Among my father's early employers was Patrick Miller, Esq., of
Dalswinton, in Dumfriesshire.  He painted Mr. Miller's portrait as
well as those of several members of his family.  This intercourse
eventually led to the establishment of a very warm personal friendship
between them.  Miller had made a large fortune in Edinburgh as a
banker; and after he had partially retired from business, he devoted
much of his spare time to useful purposes.  He was a man of great
energy of character, and was never idle.  At first he applied himself
to the improvement of agriculture, which he did with great success on
his estate of Dalswinton.  Being one of the largest shareholders in the
Carron Ironworks near Stirling, he also devoted much of his time to the
improvement of guns for the Royal Navy.  He was the inventor of that
famous gun the Carronade.  The handiness of these short and effective
guns, which were capable of being loaded and fired nearly twice as
quickly as the long small-bore guns, gave England the victory in many a
naval battle, where the firing was close and quick, yardarm to yardarm.

But Mr. Miller's greatest claim to fame arises from his endeavours to
introduce steam-power as an agent in the propulsion of ships at sea.
Mr. Clerk of Eldin had already invented the system of "breaking the
line" in naval engagements--a system that was first practised with
complete success by Lord Rodney in his engagement off Martinico in
1780.  The subject interested Mr. Miller so much that he set himself
to work to contrive some mechanical method by means of which ships of
war might be set in motion, independently of wind, tide, or calms, so
that Clerk's system of breaking the line might be carried into effect
under all circumstances.

It was about this time that my father was often with Miller; and the
mechanical devices by means of which the method of breaking the line
could be best accomplished was the subject of many of their
conversations.  Miller found that my father's taste for mechanical
contrivances, and his ready skill as a draughtsman, were likely to be
of much use to him, and he constantly visited the studio.  My father
reduced Miller's ideas to a definite form, and prepared a series of
drawings, which were afterwards engraved and published.  Miller's
favourite design was, to divide the vessel into twin or triple hulls,
with paddles between them, to be worked by the crew.  The principal
experiment was made in the Firth of Forth on the 2d of June 1787.
The vessel was double-hulled, and was worked by a capstan of five bars.
The experiment was on the whole successful.  But the chief difficulty
was in the propulsive power.  After a spurt of an hour or so, the men
became tired with their laborious work.  Mr. Taylor, student of
divinity, and tutor of Mr. Miller's sons, was on board, and seeing the
exhausted state of the men at the capstan, suggested the employment of
steam-power.  Mr. Miller was pleased with the idea, and resolved to
make inquiry upon the subject.

At that time William Symington, a young engineer from Wanlockhead,
was exhibiting a road locomotive in Edinburgh.  He was a friend of
Taylor's, and Mr. Miller went to see the Symington model.  In the
course of his conversation with the inventor, he informed the latter of
his own project, and described the difficulty he had experienced in
getting his paddle-wheels turned round.  On which Symington immediately
asked, "Why don't you use the steam-engine?" The model which Symington
exhibited, produced rotary motion by the employment of ratchet-wheels.
The rectilinear motion of the piston-rod was thus converted into rotary
motion.  Mr. Miller was pleased with the action of the ratchet-wheel
contrivance, and gave Symington an order to make a pair of engines of
that construction.  They were to be used on a small pleasure-boat on
Dalswinton Lake.

The boat was constructed on the double-hull or twin plan, so that the
paddle should be used in the space between the hulls.*
 [footnote...
 This steam twin boat was in fact the progenitor of the Castalia,
constructed about a hundred years later for the conveyance of
passengers between Calais and Dover.
 ...]

After much vexatious delay, arising from the entire novelty of the
experiment, the boat and engines were at length completed, and removed
to Dalswinton Lake.  This, the first steamer that ever "trod the waters
like a thing of life," the herald of a new and mighty power, was tried
on the 14th of October 1788.  The vessel steamed delightfully, at the
rate of from four to five miles an hour, though this was not her
extreme rate of speed.  I give, on the next page, a copy of a sketch
made by my father of this the first actual steamboat, with her
remarkable crew.

[Image]  The first steamboat.  By Alexander Nasmyth*
 [footnote...
The original drawing of the steamer was done by my father, and lent by
me to Mr. Woodcroft, Who inserted it in his Origin and Progress of
Steam Navigation.  He omitted my father's name, and inserted only that
of the lithographer, although it is a document of almost national
importance in the history of Steam Navigation.

P.S.-- since the above paragraph was written for the first edition,
I have been enabled to find the drawing, with another remarkable pencil
sketch of my father's, in the Gallery of the Museum of Naval
Architecture at South Kensington.  It will henceforward belong to that
interesting collection.

The remarkable pencil sketch to which I have referred, is that of a
screw propeller, drawn by my father, dated 1819.  It was the result of
many discussions as to the proper mode of propelling a vessel.  First,
he had drawn Watt's idea of a "spiral oar"; then, underneath, he has
drawn his own idea, of a disk of six.  blades, like a screw-jack,
immediately behind the rudder.  There is a crank shown on the screw
shaft, by which the propeller was driven direct, showing that he was
the first to indicate that method of propulsion of steamboats.
 ...]

The persons on board consisted of Patrick Miller, William Symington,
Sir William Monteith, Robert Burns (the poet, then a tenant of
Mr. Miller's), William Taylor, and Alexander Nasmyth.  There were also
three of Mr. Miller's servants, who acted as assistants.  On the edge
of the lake was a young gentleman, then on a visit to Dalswinton.
He was no less a person than Henry Brougham, afterwards Lord Chancellor
of England.  The assemblage of so many remarkable men was well worthy
of the occasion.

Taking into account the extraordinary results which have issued from
this first trial of an actual steamboat, it may well be considered that
this was one of the most important circumstances which ever occurred in
the history of navigation.  It ought, at the same time, to be
remembered that all that was afterwards done by Symington, Fulton, and
Bell, followed long after the performance of this ever-memorable
achievement.

I may also mention, as worthy of special record, that the hull of this
first steamboat was of iron.  It was constructed of tinned iron plate.
It was therefore the first iron steamboat, if not the first iron ship,
that had ever been made.  I may also add that the engines, constructed
by Symington, which propelled this first iron steamboat are now
carefully preserved at the Patent Museum at South Kensington, where
they may be seen by everybody.*
 [footnote...
 The original engines of the boat, with the ratchet-wheel contrivance
of Symington, are there: the very engine that propelled the first
steamer on Dalswinton Lake. It may be added that Mr. Miller expended
about #30,000 on naval improvements, and, as is often the case, he was
wholly neglected by the Government.
 ...]

To return to my father's profession as a portrait painter.  He had
given so much assistance to Mr. Miller, while acting as his chief
draughtsman in connection with the triple and twin ships, and also
while attending him at Leith and elsewhere, that it had considerably
interfered with his practice; though everything was done by him con
amore, in the best sense of the term.  In return for this, however,
Mr. Miller made my father the generous offer of a loan to enable him to
visit Italy, and pursue his studies there.  It was the most graceful
mode in which Mr. Miller could express his obligations.  It was an
offer pure and simple, without security, and as such was thankfully
accepted by my father.

In those days an artist was scarcely considered to have completed his
education until he had studied the works of the great masters at
Florence and Rome.  My father left England for Italy on the 30th of
December 1782.  He reached Rome in safety, and earnestly devoted
himself to the study of art.  He remained in Italy for the greater part
of two years.  He visited Florence, Bologna, Padua, and other cities
where the finest artistic works were to be found.  He made studies and
drawings of the best of them, besides making sketches from nature of
the most remarkable places he had visited.  He returned to Edinburgh at
the end of 1784, and immediately resumed his profession of a portrait
painter.  He was so successful that in a short time he was enabled to
repay his excellent friend Miller the #500 which he had so generously
lent him a few years before.

The satisfactory results of his zealous practice, and of his skill and
industry in his profession, together with the prospect of increasing
artistic work, enabled him to bring to a happy conclusion an engagement
he had entered into before leaving Edinburgh for Italy. I mean his
marriage to my mother--one of the greatest events of his life which
took place on the 3rd of January 1786.  Barbara Foulis was a distant
relation of his own.  She was the daughter of William Foulis, Esq., of
Woodhall and Colinton, near Edinburgh.  Her brother, the late Sir James
Foulis, my uncle, succeeded to the ancient baronetcy of the family.
See Burkes's Peerage and Baronetage*
 [footnote...
In Burke's Peerage and Baronetage an account is given of the Foulis
family.  They are of Norman origin.  A branch settled in Scotland in
the reign of Malcolm Canmore.  By various intermarriages, the Foulises
are connected with the Hopetoun, Bute, and Rosebery families.
The present holder of the title represents the houses of Colinton,
Woodhall, and Ravelstone.
 ...]

My mother did not bring with her any fortune, so to speak, in the way
of gold or acres; but she brought something far better into my father's
home,--a sweetness of disposition, and a large measure of common
sense, which made her, in all respects, the devoted helpmate of her
husband.  Her happy cheerful temperament, and her constant industry and
attention, shed an influence upon all around her.  By her example she
inbred in her children the love of truth, excellence, and goodness.
That was indeed the best fortune she could bring into a good man's
home.

During the first year of my father's married life, when he lived in
St. James's Square, he painted the well-known portrait of Robert Burns
the poet.  Burns had been introduced to him by Mr. Miller at
Dalswinton.  An intimate friendship sprang up between the artist and
the poet.  The love of nature and of natural objects was common to
both.  They also warmly sympathised in their political views.
When Burns visited Edinburgh my father often met him.  Burns had a
strange aversion to sit for his portrait, though often urgently
requested to do so.  But when at my father's studio, Burns at last
consented, and his portrait was rapidly painted.  It was done in the
course of a few hours, and my father made a present of it to
Mrs. Burns.

A mezzotint engraving of it was afterwards published by William Walker,
son-in-law of the famous Samuel Reynolds.  When the first proof
impression was submitted to my father, he said to Mr. Walker:
"I cannot better express to you my opinion of your admirable engraving,
than by telling you that it conveys to me a more true and lively
remembrance of Burns than my own picture of him does; it so perfectly
renders the spirit of his expression, as well as the details of his
every feature."

While Burns was in Edinburgh, my father had many interesting walks with
him in the neighbourhood of the city.  The Calton Hill, Arthur's Seat,
Salisbury Crags.  Habbie's How, and the nooks in the Pentlands, were
always full of interest; and Burns, with his brilliant and humorous
conversation, made the miles very short as they strode along.  Lockhart
says, in his Life of Burns, that "the magnificent scenery of the
Scottish capital filled the poet with extraordinary delight.  In the
spring mornings he walked very often to the top of Arthur's Seat, and,
lying prostrate on the turf, surveyed the rising of the sun out of the
sea in silent admiration; his chosen companion on such occasions being
that learned artist and ardent lover of nature, Alexander Nasmyth."

A visit which the two paid to Roslin Castle is worthy of commemoration.
On one occasion my father and a few choice spirits had been spending a
"nicht wi' Burns."  The place of resort was a tavern in the High Street,
Edinburgh.  As Burns was a brilliant talker, full of spirit and humour,
time fled until the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal'" arrived.
The party broke up about three o'clock.  At that time of the year
(the 13th of June) the night is very short, and morning comes early.
Burns, on reaching the street, looked up to the sky.  It was perfectly
clear, and the rising sun was beginning to brighten the mural crown of
St. Giles's Cathedral.

Burns was so much struck with the beauty of the morning that he put his
hand on my father's arm and said, "It'll never do to go to bed in such
a lovely morning as this!  Let's awa' to Roslin Castle."  No sooner said
than done.  The poet and the painter set out.  Nature lay bright and
lovely before them in that delicious summer morning.  After an
eight-miles walk they reached the castle at Roslin.  Burns went down
under the great Norman arch, where he stood rapt in speechless
admiration of the scene.  The thought of the eternal renewal of youth
and freshness of nature, contrasted with the crumbling decay of man's
efforts to perpetuate his work, even when founded upon a rock, as
Roslin Castle is, seemed greatly to affect him.

My father was so much impressed with the scene that, while Burns was
standing under the arch, he took out his pencil and a scrap of paper
and made a hasty sketch of the subject.  This sketch was highly
treasured by my father, in remembrance of what must have been one of
the most memorable days of his life.

Talking of clubs reminds me that there was a good deal of club life in
Edinburgh in those days.  The most notable were those in which the
members were drawn together by occupations, habits, or tastes.  They
met in the evenings, and conversed upon congenial subjects.  The clubs
were generally held in one or other of the taverns situated in or near
the High Street.  Every one will remember the Lawyers' Club, held in an
Edinburgh close, presided over by Pleydell, so well described by Scott
in Guy Mannering.

In my father's early days he was a member of a very jovial club, called
the Poker Club.  It was so-called because the first chairman,
immediately on his election, in a spirit of drollery, laid hold of the
poker at the fireplace, and adopted it as his insignia of office. He
made a humorous address from the chair, or "the throne," as he called
it, with sceptre or poker in hand; and the club was thereupon styled by
acclamation "The Poker Club."  I have seen my father's diploma of
membership; it was tastefully drawn on parchment, with the poker duly
emblazoned on it as the regalia of the club.

In my own time, the club that he was most connected with was the
Dilettanti Club.  Its meetings were held every fortnight, on Thursday
evenings, in a commodious tavern in the High Street.  The members were
chiefly artists, or men known for their love of art.  Among then were
Henry Raeburn, Hugh Williams (the Grecian), Andrew Geddes,
William Thomson, John Shetkay, William Nicholson, William Allan,
Alexander Nasmyth, the Rev. John Thomson of Duddingston,
George Thomson, Sir Walter Scott, John Lockhart, Dr. Brewster,
David Wilkie, Henry Cockburn, Francis Jeffrey, John A. Murray,
Professor Wilson, John Ballantyne, James Ballantyne, James Hogg (the
Ettrick Shepherd), and David Bridges, the secretary.*
 [footnote...
Davie Bridges was a character.  In my early days he was a cloth
merchant in the High Street.  His shop was very near that gigantic
lounge, the old Parliament House, and was often resorted to by
non-business visitors.  Bridges had a good taste for pictures.  He had
a small but choice collection by the Old Masters, which he kept
arranged in the warehouse under his shop.  He took great pride in
exhibiting them to his visitors, and expatiating upon their excellence.
I remember being present in his warehouse with my father when a very
beautiful small picture by Richard Wilson was under review.  Davie
burst out emphatically with, "Eh, man, did ye ever see such glorious
buttery touches as on these clouds!"  His joking friends clubbed him
"Director-General of the Fine Arts for Scotland," a title which he
complacently accepted.  Besides showing off his pictures, Davie was an
art critic, and wrote articles for the newspapers and magazines.
Unfortunately, however, his attention to pictures prevented him from
attending to his shop, and his customers (who were not artists) forsook
him, and bought their clothes elsewhere.  He accordingly shut up his
shop, and devoted himself to art criticism, in which, for a time, he
possessed a monopoly.
 ...]

The drinks were restricted to Edinburgh ale and whisky toddy.

An admirable picture of the club in full meeting was painted by William
Allan, in which characteristic portraits of all the leading members
were introduced in full social converse.  Among the more prominent
portraits is one of my father, who is represented as illustrating some
subject he is describing, by drawing it on the part of the table before
him, with his finger dipped in toddy.  Other marked and well-known
characteristics of the members are skilfully introduced in the picture.
The artist afterwards sold it to Mr. Horrocks of Preston, in Lancashire.

Besides portrait painting, my father was much employed in assisting the
noblemen and landed gentry of Scotland in improving the landscape
appearance of their estates, especially when seen from their mansion
windows.  His fine taste, and his love of natural scenery, gave him
great advantages in this respect.  He selected the finest sites for the
new mansions, when they were erected in lieu of the old towers and
crenellated castles.  Or, he designed alterations of the old buildings
so as to preserve their romantic features, and at the same time to fit
them for the requirements of modern domestic life.

In those early days of art-knowledge, there scarcely existed any
artistic feeling for the landscape beauty of nature.  There was an
utter want of appreciation of the dignified beauty of the old castles
and mansions, the remnants of which were in too many instances carted
away as material for now buildings.  There was also at that time an
utter ignorance of the beauty and majesty of old trees.  A forest of
venerable oaks or beeches was a thing to be done away with.  They were
merely cut down as useless timber; even when they so finely embellished
the landscape.  My father exerted himself successfully to preserve
these grand old forest trees.  His fine sketches served to open the
eyes of their possessors to the priceless treasures they were about to
destroy; and he thus preserved the existence of many a picturesque old
tree.  He even took the pains in many cases to model the part of the
estate he was dealing with; and he also modelled the old trees he
wished to preserve.  Thus, by a judicious clearing out of the
intercepting young timber, he opened out distant views of the
landscape, and at the same time preserved many a monarch of the
forest.*
 [footnote...
It is even now to be deeply deplored that those who inherit or come
into possession of landed estates do not feel sufficiently impressed
with the possession of such grand memorials of the past.  Alas! how
often have we to lament the want of taste that leads to the sacrifice
of these venerable treasures.  Would that the young men at our
universities especially those likely to inherit estates--were
impressed with the importance of preserving them. They would thus
confer an inestimable benefit to thousands.  About forty years ago Lord
Cockburn published a pamphlet on How to Destroy the Beauty of
Edinburgh!  He enforced the charm of green foliage in combination with
street architecture.  The burgesses were then cutting down trees.
His lordship went so far as to say "that he would as soon cut down a
burgess as a tree!"  Since then the growth of trees in Edinburgh,
especially in what was once the North Loch, has been greatly improved;
and might be still further improved if that famous tree, "The London
plane," were employed.
 ...]

[Image]  The Family Tree

My father modelled old castles, old trees, and such like objects as he
wished to introduce into his landscapes.  The above illustration, may
perhaps give a slight idea of his artistic skill as a modeller.
I specially refer to this, which he called "The Family Tree," as he
required each member of his family to assist in its production.
We each made a twig or small branch, which he cleverly fixed into its
place as a part of the whole.  The model tree in question was
constructed of wire slightly twisted together, so as to form the main
body of a branch.  It was then subdivided into branchlets, and finally
into individual twigs.  All these, combined together by his dexterous
hand, resulted in the model of an old leafless tree, so true and
correct, that any one would have thought that it had been modelled
direct from nature.

The Duke of Athol consulted my father as to the improvements which he
desired to make in his woodland scenery near Dunkeld.  The Duke was
desirous that a rocky crag, called Craigybarns, should be planted with
trees, to relieve the grim barrenness of its appearance.  But it was
impossible for any man to climb the crag in order to set seeds or
plants in the clefts of the rocks.  A happy idea struck my father.
Having observed in front of the castle a pair of small cannon used for
firing salutes, it occurred to him to turn them to account.  His object
was to deposit the seeds of the various trees amongst the soil in the
clefts of the crag.  A tinsmith in the village was ordered to make a
number of canisters with covers.  The canisters were filled with all
sorts of suitable tree seeds.  A cannon was loaded, and the canisters
were fired up against the high face of the rock.  They burst and
scattered the seed in all directions.  Some years after, when my father
revisited the place, he was delighted to find that his scheme of
planting by artillery had proved completely successful; for the trees
were flourishing luxuriantly in all the recesses of the cliff. This was
another instance of my father's happy faculty of resourcefulness.

Certain circumstances about this time compelled my father almost
entirely to give up portrait painting and betake himself to another
branch of the fine arts.  The earnest and lively interest which he took
in the state of public affairs, and the necessity which then existed
for reforming the glaring abuses of the State, led him to speak out his
mind freely on the subject.  Edinburgh was then under the reign of the
Dundases; and scarcely anybody dared to mutter his objections to
anything perpetrated by the "powers that be."  The city was then a much
smaller place than it is now.  There was more gossip, and perhaps more
espionage, among the better classes, who were few in number.  At all
events, my father's frank opinions on political subjects began to be
known.  He attended Fox dinners.  He was intimate with men of known
reforming views.  All this was made the subject of general talk.
Accordingly, my father received many hints from aristocratic and
wealthy personages, that "if this went on any longer they would
withdraw from him their employment."  My father did not alter his
course; it was right and honest.  But he suffered nevertheless.
His income from portrait painting fell off rapidly.

At length he devoted himself to landscape painting.  It was a freer and
more enjoyable life.  Instead of painting the faces of those who were
perhaps without character or attractiveness, he painted the fresh and
ever-beautiful face of nature.  The field of his employment in this
respect was almost inexhaustible.  His artistic talent in this
delightful branch of art was in the highest sense congenial to his mind
and feelings; and in course of time the results of his new field of
occupation proved thoroughly satisfactory.  In fact, men of the highest
rank with justice entitled him the "Father of landscape painting in
Scotland."

[Image]  No.  47 York Place, Edinburgh

At the same time, when changing his branch of art, he opened a class in
his own house forgiving practical instruction in the art of landscape
painting.  He removed his house and studio from St. James's Square to
No. 47 York Place.  There was at the upper part of this house a noble
and commodious room.  There he held his class.  The house was his own,
and was built after his own designs.  A splendid prospect was seen from
the upper windows; and especially from the Belvidere, which he had
constructed on the summit of the roof.  The view extended from Stirling
in the west to the Bass Rock in the east.  In fine summer evenings the
sun was often seen setting behind Ben Lomond and the more conspicuous
of the Perthshire mountains.

My father did not confine himself to landscape painting, or to the
instruction of his classes.  He was an all-round man.  He had something
of the Universal about him.  He was a painter, an architect, and a
mechanic.  Above all, he possessed a powerful store of common sense.
Of course, I am naturally a partial judge of my father's character; but
this I may say, that during my experience of over seventy years I have
never known a more incessantly industrious man.  His hand and mind were
always at work from morn till night.  During the time that he was
losing his business in portrait painting, he set to work and painted
scenery for the theatres.  The late David Roberts--himself a scene
painter of the highest character--said that his style was founded
upon that of Nasmyth.*
 [footnote...
David Roberts, R,A., in his Autobiography, gives the following
recollections of Alexander Nasmyth: -- "In 1819 I commenced my career as
principal scene painter in the Theatre Royal, Glasgow.  This theatre
was immense in its size and appointments--in magnitude exceeding
Drury Lane and Covent Garden. The stock scenery had been painted by
Alexander Nasmyth, and consisted of a series of pictures far surpassing
anything of the kind I had ever seen.  These included chambers,
palaces, streets, landscapes, and forest scenery.  One, I remember
particularly, was the outside of a Norman castle, and another of a
cottage charmingly painted, and of which I have a sketch.  But the act
scene, which was a view on the Clyde looking towards the Highland
mountains with Dumbarton Castle in the middle distance, was such a
combination of magnificent scenery, so wonderfully painted, that it
excited universal admiration.  These productions I studied incessantly;
and on them my style, if I have any, was originally founded."
 ...]

Stanfield was another of his friends.  On one occasion Stanfield showed
him his sketch-book, observing that he wished to form a style of his
own.  "Young man," said Nasmyth, "there's but one style an artist
should endeavour to attain, and that is the style of nature; the nearer
you can get to that the better."

My father was greatly interested in the architectural beauty of his
native city, and he was professionally consulted by the authorities
about the laying out of the streets of the New Town.  The subject
occupied much of his time and thought, especially when resting from the
mental fatigue arising from a long sitting at the easel.  It was his
regular practice to stroll about where the building work was in
progress, or where new roads were being laid out, and carefully watch
the proceedings.  This was probably due to the taste which he had
inherited from his forebears--more especially from his father, who
had begun the buildings of the New Town.  My father took pleasure in
modelling any improvement that occurred to him; and in discussing the
subject with the architects and builders who were professionally
engaged in the works.  His admirable knack of modelling the contour of
the natural surface of the ground, and applying it to the proposed new
roads or new buildings, was striking and characteristic.  His efforts
in this direction were so thoroughly disinterested that those in office
were all the more anxious to carry out his views.  He sought for no
reward; but his excellent advice was not unrecognised.  In testimony of
the regard which the Magistrates of Edinburgh had for his counsel and
services, they presented him in 1815 with a sum of #200, together with
a most complimentary letter acknowledging the value of his
disinterested advice.  It was addressed to him under cover, directed to
"Alexander Nasmyth, Architect."

He was, indeed, not unworthy of the name.  He was the architect of the
Dean Bridge, which spans the deep valley of the Water of Leith,
north-west of the New Town.  Sir John Nesbit, the owner of the property
north of the stream, employed my father to make a design for the
extension of the city to his estate.  The result was the construction
of the Dean Bridge, and the roads approaching it from both sides.
The Dean Estate was thus rendered as easy and convenient to reach as
any of the level streets of Edinburgh.  The construction of the bridge
was superintended by the late James Jardine, C.E. Mr Telford was
afterwards called upon to widen the bridge.  He threw out parapets on
each side, but they did not improve the original design.

[Image]  St Bernard's Well

From the Dean Bridge another of my father's architectural buildings may
be seen, at St. Bernard's Well.  It was constructed at the instance of
his friend Lord Gardenstone.  The design consists of a graceful
circular temple, built over a spring of mineral water, which issues
from the rock below.  It was dedicated to Hygeia, the Goddess of
Health.  The whole of the details are beautifully finished, and the
basement of the design will be admired by every true artist.  It is
regarded as a great ornament, and is thoroughly in keeping with the
beauty of the surrounding scenery.

Shortly after the death of Lord Nelson it was proposed to erect a
monument to his memory on the Calton Hill.  My father supplied a
design, which was laid before the Monument Committee.  It was so much
approved that the required sum was rapidly subscribed.  But as the
estimated cost of this erection was found slightly to exceed the amount
subscribed, a nominally cheaper design was privately adopted. It was
literally a job.  The vulgar, churn-like monument was thus thrust on
the public and actually erected; and there it stands to this day, a
piteous sight to beholders.  It was eventually found greatly to exceed
in cost the amount of the estimate for my father's design.  I give a
sketch of my father's memorial; and I am led to do this because it is
erroneously alleged that he was the architect of the present inverted
spy glass, called "Nelson's Monument"

[Image]  Nelson's Monument as it should have been.

Then, with respect to my father's powers as a mechanic.  This was an
inherited faculty, and I leave my readers to infer from the following
pages whether I have not had my fair share of this inheritance. Besides
his painting room, my father had a workroom fitted up with all sorts of
mechanical tools.  It was one of his greatest pleasures to occupy
himself there as a relief from sitting at the easel, or while within
doors from the inclemency of the weather.  The walls and shelves of his
workroom were crowded with a multitude of artistic and ingenious
mechanical objects, nearly all of which were the production of his own
hands.  Many of them were associated with the most eventful incidents
in his life.  He only admitted his most intimate friends, or such as
could understand and appreciate the variety of objects connected with
art and mechanism, to his workroom.  His natural taste for neatness and
arrangement gave it a very orderly aspect, however crowded its walls
and shelves might be.  Everything was in its place, and there was a
place for everything.  It was in this workroom that I first began to
handle mechanical tools.  It was my primary technical school--the
very foreground of my life.

[Image]  Bow-and-string Roofs and Bridges

I may mention one or two of my father's mechanical efforts, or rather
his inventions in applied science.  One of the most important was the
"bow-and-string bridge," as he first called it, to which he early
directed his attention.  He invented this important method of
construction about the year 1794.  The first bow-and-string bridge was
erected in the island of St. Helena over a deep ravine.

Many considered, from its apparent slightness, that it was not fitted
to sustain any considerable load.  A remarkable and convincing proof
was, however, given of its stability by the passage over it of a herd
of wild oxen, that rushed across without the slightest damage to its
structure.  After so severe a test it was for many succeeding years
employed as a most valuable addition to the accessibility of an
important portion of the island.  The bow-and-string bridge has since
been largely employed in spanning wide spaces over which suburban and
other railways pass, and in roofing over such stations as those at
Birmingham, Charing Cross, and other Great Metropolitan centres, as
well as in bow-and-string bridges over rivers.  I give the fac-simile
of his original drawings*
 [footnote...
 The original drawings of these bow-and-string bridges, of various
spans, are now deposited at the Gallery of the Museum of Naval
Architecture at South Kensington, and are signed "Alexander Nasmyth
1796."
 ...]
for the purpose of showing our great railway engineers the originator
of the graceful and economical method of spanning wide spaces, now
practised in every part of the civilised world.

Another of his inventions was the method of riveting by compression
instead of by blows of the hammer.  It originated in a slight
circumstance.  One wet, wintry Sunday morning he went into his
workroom.  There were some slight mechanical repairs to be performed
upon a beautiful little stove of his own construction.  To repair it,
iron rivets were necessary to make it serviceable.  But as the
hammering of the hot rivets would annoy his neighbours by the unwelcome
sound of the hammer, he solved the difficulty by using the jaws of his
bench vice to squeeze in the hot rivets when put into their places.
The stove was thus quickly repaired in the most perfect silence.

This was, perhaps, the first occasion on which a squeeze or compressive
action was substituted for the percussive action of the hammer,
in closing red-hot rivets, for combining together pieces of stout sheet
or plate iron.  This system of riveting was long afterwards patented by
Smith of Deanston in combination with William Fairbairn of Manchester;
and it was employed in riveting the plates used in the construction of
the bridges over the River Conway and the Menai Straits.

It is also universally used in boiler and girder making, and in all
other wrought-iron structures in which thorough sound riveting is
absolutely essential; and by the employment of hydraulic power in a
portable form a considerable portion of iron shipbuilding is effected
by the silent squeeze  system in place of hammers, much to the
advantage of the soundness of the work.  My father frequently,
in aftertimes, practised this mode of riveting by compression in place
of using the blow of a hammer; and in remembrance of the special
circumstances under which he contrived this silent and most effective
method of riveting, he named it "The Sunday Rivet."


CHAPTER 3.   An Artist's Family.

Although Alexander Nasmyth had to a considerable extent lost his
aristocratic connection as a portrait painter, yet many kind and
generous friends gathered round him.  During his sojourn in Italy,
in 1783, he had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of Sir James
Hall of Dunglass, Haddingtonshire.  The acquaintance afterwards ripened
into a deeply-rooted friendship.

During the winter season Sir James resided with his family in his town
house in George Street.  He was passionately attached to the pursuit of
art and science.  He practised the art of painting in my father's room,
and was greatly helped by him in the requisite manipulative skill.
Sir James was at that time engaged in writing his well-known essay
"On the Origin of Gothic Architecture," and in this my father was of
important use to him.  He executed the greater number of the
illustrations for this beautiful work.  The book when published had a
considerable influence in restoring the taste of architects to a style
which they had heretofore either neglected or degraded.

Besides his enthusiasm in art and architecture, Sir James devoted a
great deal of time to the study of geology.  The science was then in
its infancy.  Being an acute observer, Hall's attention was first
attracted to the subject by the singular geological features of the
sea-coast near his mansion at Dunglass.  The neighbourhood of Edinburgh
also excited his interest.  The upheaval of the rocks by volcanic heat
--as seen in the Castle Hill, the Calton Hill, and Arthur's Seat--
formed in a great measure the foundation of the picturesque beauty of
the city.  Those were the days of the Wernerian and Huttonian
controversy as to the origin of the changes on the surface of the
earth.  Sir James Ball was President of the Edinburgh Royal Society,
and necessarily took an anxious interest in the discussions.
He observed and experimented, and established the true volcanic nature
of the composition and formation of the rocks and mountains which
surround Edinburgh.

I have been led to speak of this subject, because when a boy I was
often present at the discussions of these great principles.
My father, Sir James Hall, Professors Playfair and Leslie, took their
accustomed walks round Edinburgh, and I clung eagerly to their words.
Though unable to understand everything that was said, these walks had a
great influence upon my education.  Indeed, what education can compare
with that of listening attentively to the conversation and interchange
of thought of men of the highest intelligence?  It is on such occasions
that ideas, not mere words, take hold of the memory, and abide there
until the close of life.

Besides mixing in the society of scientific men, my father enjoyed a
friendly intercourse with the artists of his day.  He was often able to
give substantial help and assistance to young students; and he was most
liberal in giving them valuable practical instruction, and in assisting
them over the manipulative difficulties which lay in their way.  He was
especially assiduous when he saw them inspired by the true spirit of
art, and full of application and industry,--without which nothing can
be accomplished.  Amongst these young men were David Wilkie, Francis
Grant, David Roberts, Clarkson Stanfield, William Allan, Andrew Geddes,
"Grecian" Williams, Lizars the engraver, and the Rev. John Thomson of
Duddingston.

Henry Raeburn was one of his most intimate friends and companions.
He considered Raeburn's broad and masterly style of portrait painting
as an era in Scottish art.  Raeburn, with innate tact, discerned the
character of his sitters, and he imparted so much of their
individuality into his portraits as to make them admirable likenesses
in the highest sense.  In connection with Raeburn, I may mention that
when he was knighted by George IV. in 1822, my father, who was then at
the head of his profession in Scotland, was appointed chairman at the
dinner held to do honour to the great Scottish portrait painter.

Raeburn often joined my father in his afternoon walks round Edinburgh
--a relaxation so very desirable after hours of close attention to
artistic work.  They took delight in the wonderful variety of
picturesque scenery by which the city is surrounded.  The walks about
Arthur's Seat were the most enjoyable of all.  When a boy I had often
the pleasure of accompanying them, and of listening to their
conversation.  I thus picked up many an idea that served me well in
after life.  Indeed, I may say, after a long experience, that there is
no class of men whose company I more delight in than that of artists.
Their innate and highly-cultivated power of observation, not only as
regards the ever-varying aspects of nature, but also as regards the
quaint, droll, and humorous varieties of character, concur in rendering
their conversation most delightful.  I look back on these walks as
among the brightest points in my existence.  I have been led to digress
on this subject.  Although more correctly belonging to my father's
life, yet it is so amalgamated with my own that it almost forms part of
it, and it is difficult for me to separate the one from the other.