William and Charles Grant were the sons of a farmer in Inverness-
shire, whom a sudden flood stripped of everything, even to the very
soil which he tilled.  The farmer and his sons, with the world
before them where to choose, made their way southward in search of
employment until they arrived in the neighbourhood of Bury in
Lancashire.  From the crown of the hill near Walmesley they
surveyed the wide extent of country which lay before them, the
river Irwell making its circuitous course through the valley.  They
were utter strangers in the neighbourhood, and knew not which way
to turn.  To decide their course they put up a stick, and agreed to
pursue the direction in which it fell.  Thus their decision was
made, and they journeyed on accordingly until they reached the
village of Ramsbotham, not far distant.  They found employment in a
print-work, in which William served his apprenticeship; and they
commanded themselves to their employers by their diligence,
sobriety, and strict integrity.  They plodded on, rising from one
station to another, until at length the two men themselves became
employers, and after many long years of industry, enterprise, and
benevolence, they became rich, honoured, and respected by all who
knew them.  Their cotton-mills and print-works gave employment to a
large population.  Their well-directed diligence made the valley
teem with activity, joy, health, and opulence.  Out of their
abundant wealth they gave liberally to all worthy objects, erecting
churches, founding schools, and in all ways promoting the well-
being of the class of working-men from which they had sprung.  They
afterwards erected, on the top of the hill above Walmesley, a lofty
tower in commemoration of the early event in their history which
had determined the place of their settlement.  The brothers Grant
became widely celebrated for their benevolence and their various
goodness, and it is said that Mr. Dickens had them in his mind's
eye when delineating the character of the brothers Cheeryble.  One
amongst many anecdotes of a similar kind may be cited to show that
the character was by no means exaggerated.  A Manchester
warehouseman published an exceedingly scurrilous pamphlet against
the firm of Grant Brothers, holding up the elder partner to
ridicule as "Billy Button."  William was informed by some one of
the nature of the pamphlet, and his observation was that the man
would live to repent of it.  "Oh!" said the libeller, when informed
of the remark, "he thinks that some time or other I shall be in his
debt; but I will take good care of that."  It happens, however,
that men in business do not always foresee who shall be their
creditor, and it so turned out that the Grants' libeller became a
bankrupt, and could not complete his certificate and begin business
again without obtaining their signature.  It seemed to him a
hopeless case to call upon that firm for any favour, but the
pressing claims of his family forced him to make the application.
He appeared before the man whom he had ridiculed as "Billy Button"
accordingly.  He told his tale and produced his certificate.  "You
wrote a pamphlet against us once?" said Mr. Grant.  The supplicant
expected to see his document thrown into the fire; instead of which
Grant signed the name of the firm, and thus completed the necessary
certificate.  "We make it a rule," said he, handing it back, "never
to refuse signing the certificate of an honest tradesman, and we
have never heard that you were anything else."  The tears started
into the man's eyes.  "Ah," continued Mr. Grant, "you see my saying
was true, that you would live to repent writing that pamphlet.  I
did not mean it as a threat--I only meant that some day you would
know us better, and repent having tried to injure us."  "I do, I
do, indeed, repent it."  "Well, well, you know us now.  But how do
you get on--what are you going to do?"  The poor man stated that he
had friends who would assist him when his certificate was obtained.
"But how are you off in the mean time?"  The answer was, that,
having given up every farthing to his creditors, he had been
compelled to stint his family in even the common necessaries of
life, that he might be enabled to pay for his certificate.  "My
good fellow, this will never do; your wife and family must not
suffer in this way; be kind enough to take this ten-pound note to
your wife from me:  there, there, now--don't cry, it will be all
well with you yet; keep up your spirits, set to work like a man,
and you will raise your head among the best of us yet."  The
overpowered man endeavoured with choking utterance to express his
gratitude, but in vain; and putting his hand to his face, he went
out of the room sobbing like a child.

The True Gentleman is one whose nature has been fashioned after the
highest models.  It is a grand old name, that of Gentleman, and has
been recognized as a rank and power in all stages of society.  "The
Gentleman is always the Gentleman," said the old French General to
his regiment of Scottish gentry at Rousillon, "and invariably
proves himself such in need and in danger."  To possess this
character is a dignity of itself, commanding the instinctive homage
of every generous mind, and those who will not bow to titular rank,
will yet do homage to the gentleman.  His qualities depend not upon
fashion or manners, but upon moral worth--not on personal
possessions, but on personal qualities.  The Psalmist briefly
describes him as one "that walketh uprightly, and worketh
righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart."

The gentleman is eminently distinguished for his self-respect.  He
values his character,--not so much of it only as can be seen of
others, but as he sees it himself; having regard for the approval
of his inward monitor.  And, as he respects himself, so, by the
same law, does he respect others.  Humanity is sacred in his eyes:
and thence proceed politeness and forbearance, kindness and
charity.  It is related of Lord Edward Fitzgerald that, while
travelling in Canada, in company with the Indians, he was shocked
by the sight of a poor squaw trudging along laden with her
husband's trappings, while the chief himself walked on
unencumbered.  Lord Edward at once relieved the squaw of her pack
by placing it upon his own shoulders,--a beautiful instance of what
the French call politesse de coeur--the inbred politeness of the
true gentleman.

The true gentleman has a keen sense of honour,--scrupulously
avoiding mean actions.  His standard of probity in word and action
is high.  He does not shuffle or prevaricate, dodge or skulk; but
is honest, upright, and straightforward.  His law is rectitude--
action in right lines.  When he says YES, it is a law:  and he
dares to say the valiant NO at the fitting season.  The gentleman
will not be bribed; only the low-minded and unprincipled will sell
themselves to those who are interested in buying them.  When the
upright Jonas Hanway officiated as commissioner in the victualling
department, he declined to receive a present of any kind from a
contractor; refusing thus to be biassed in the performance of his
public duty.  A fine trait of the same kind is to be noted in the
life of the Duke of Wellington.  Shortly after the battle of
Assaye, one morning the Prime Minister of the Court of Hyderabad
waited upon him for the purpose of privately ascertaining what
territory and what advantages had been reserved for his master in
the treaty of peace between the Mahratta princes and the Nizam.  To
obtain this information the minister offered the general a very
large sum--considerably above 100,000l.  Looking at him quietly for
a few seconds, Sir Arthur said, "It appears, then, that you are
capable of keeping a secret?"  "Yes, certainly," replied the
minister.  "THEN SO AM I," said the English general, smiling, and
bowed the minister out.  It was to Wellington's great honour, that
though uniformly successful in India, and with the power of earning
in such modes as this enormous wealth, he did not add a farthing to
his fortune, and returned to England a comparatively poor man.

A similar sensitiveness and high-mindedness characterised his noble
relative, the Marquis of Wellesley, who, on one occasion,
positively refused a present of 100,000l. proposed to be given him
by the Directors of the East India Company on the conquest of
Mysore.  "It is not necessary," said he, "for me to allude to the
independence of my character, and the proper dignity attaching to
my office; other reasons besides these important considerations
lead me to decline this testimony, which is not suitable to me.  I
THINK OF NOTHING BUT OUR ARMY.  I should be much distressed to
curtail the share of those brave soldiers."  And the Marquis's
resolution to refuse the present remained unalterable.

Sir Charles Napier exhibited the same noble self-denial in the
course of his Indian career.  He rejected all the costly gifts
which barbaric princes were ready to lay at his feet, and said with
truth, "Certainly I could have got 30,000l. since my coming to
Scinde, but my hands do not want washing yet.  Our dear father's
sword which I wore in both battles (Meanee and Hyderabad) is
unstained."

Riches and rank have no necessary connexion with genuine
gentlemanly qualities.  The poor man may be a true gentleman,--in
spirit and in daily life.  He may be honest, truthful, upright,
polite, temperate, courageous, self-respecting, and self-helping,--
that is, be a true gentleman.  The poor man with a rich spirit is
in all ways superior to the rich man with a poor spirit.  To borrow
St. Paul's words, the former is as "having nothing, yet possessing
all things," while the other, though possessing all things, has
nothing.  The first hopes everything, and fears nothing; the last
hopes nothing, and fears everything.  Only the poor in spirit are
really poor.  He who has lost all, but retains his courage,
cheerfulness, hope, virtue, and self-respect, is still rich.  For
such a man, the world is, as it were, held in trust; his spirit
dominating over its grosser cares, he can still walk erect, a true
gentleman.

Occasionally, the brave and gentle character may be found under the
humblest garb.  Here is an old illustration, but a fine one.  Once
on a time, when the Adige suddenly overflowed its banks, the bridge
of Verona was carried away, with the exception of the centre arch,
on which stood a house, whose inhabitants supplicated help from the
windows, while the foundations were visibly giving way.  "I will
give a hundred French louis," said the Count Spolverini, who stood
by, "to any person who will venture to deliver these unfortunate
people."  A young peasant came forth from the crowd, seized a boat,
and pushed into the stream.  He gained the pier, received the whole
family into the boat, and made for the shore, where he landed them
in safety.  "Here is your money, my brave young fellow," said the
count.  "No," was the answer of the young man, "I do not sell my
life; give the money to this poor family, who have need of it."
Here spoke the true spirit of the gentleman, though he was but in
the garb of a peasant.

Not less touching was the heroic conduct of a party of Deal boatmen
in rescuing the crew of a collier-brig in the Downs but a short
time ago. {36}  A sudden storm which set in from the north-east
drove several ships from their anchors, and it being low water, one
of them struck the ground at a considerable distance from the
shore, when the sea made a clean breach over her.  There was not a
vestige of hope for the vessel, such was the fury of the wind and
the violence of the waves.  There was nothing to tempt the boatmen
on shore to risk their lives in saving either ship or crew, for not
a farthing of salvage was to be looked for.  But the daring
intrepidity of the Deal boatmen was not wanting at this critical
moment.  No sooner had the brig grounded than Simon Pritchard, one
of the many persons assembled along the beach, threw off his coat
and called out, "Who will come with me and try to save that crew?"
Instantly twenty men sprang forward, with "I will," "and I."  But
seven only were wanted; and running down a galley punt into the
surf, they leaped in and dashed through the breakers, amidst the
cheers of those on shore.  How the boat lived in such a sea seemed
a miracle; but in a few minutes, impelled by the strong arms of
these gallant men, she flew on and reached the stranded ship,
"catching her on the top of a wave"; and in less than a quarter of
an hour from the time the boat left the shore, the six men who
composed the crew of the collier were landed safe on Walmer Beach.
A nobler instance of indomitable courage and disinterested heroism
on the part of the Deal boatmen--brave though they are always known
to be--perhaps cannot be cited; and we have pleasure in here
placing it on record.

Mr. Turnbull, in his work on 'Austria,' relates an anecdote of the
late Emperor Francis, in illustration of the manner in which the
Government of that country has been indebted, for its hold upon the
people, to the personal qualities of its princes.  "At the time
when the cholera was raging at Vienna, the emperor, with an aide-
de-camp, was strolling about the streets of the city and suburbs,
when a corpse was dragged past on a litter unaccompanied by a
single mourner.  The unusual circumstance attracted his attention,
and he learnt, on inquiry, that the deceased was a poor person who
had died of cholera, and that the relatives had not ventured on
what was then considered the very dangerous office of attending the
body to the grave.  'Then,' said Francis, 'we will supply their
place, for none of my poor people should go to the grave without
that last mark of respect;' and he followed the body to the distant
place of interment, and, bare-headed, stood to see every rite and
observance respectfully performed."

Fine though this illustration may be of the qualities of the
gentleman, we can match it by another equally good, of two English
navvies in Paris, as related in a morning paper a few years ago.
"One day a hearse was observed ascending the steep Rue de Clichy on
its way to Montmartre, bearing a coffin of poplar wood with its
cold corpse.  Not a soul followed--not even the living dog of the
dead man, if he had one.  The day was rainy and dismal; passers by
lifted the hat as is usual when a funeral passes, and that was all.
At length it passed two English navvies, who found themselves in
Paris on their way from Spain.  A right feeling spoke from beneath
their serge jackets.  'Poor wretch!' said the one to the other, 'no
one follows him; let us two follow!'  And the two took off their
hats, and walked bare-headed after the corpse of a stranger to the
cemetery of Montmartre."

Above all, the gentleman is truthful.  He feels that truth is the
"summit of being," and the soul of rectitude in human affairs.
Lord Chesterfield declared that Truth made the success of a
gentleman.  The Duke of Wellington, writing to Kellerman, on the
subject of prisoners on parole, when opposed to that general in the
peninsula, told him that if there was one thing on which an English
officer prided himself more than another, excepting his courage, it
was his truthfulness.  "When English officers," said he, "have
given their parole of honour not to escape, be sure they will not
break it.  Believe me--trust to their word; the word of an English
officer is a surer guarantee than the vigilance of sentinels."

True courage and gentleness go hand in hand.  The brave man is
generous and forbearant, never unforgiving and cruel.  It was
finely said of Sir John Franklin by his friend Parry, that "he was
a man who never turned his back upon a danger, yet of that
tenderness that he would not brush away a mosquito."  A fine trait
of character--truly gentle, and worthy of the spirit of Bayard--was
displayed by a French officer in the cavalry combat of El Bodon in
Spain.  He had raised his sword to strike Sir Felton Harvey, but
perceiving his antagonist had only one arm, he instantly stopped,
brought down his sword before Sir Felton in the usual salute, and
rode past.  To this may be added a noble and gentle deed of Ney
during the same Peninsular War.  Charles Napier was taken prisoner
at Corunna, desperately wounded; and his friends at home did not
know whether he was alive or dead.  A special messenger was sent
out from England with a frigate to ascertain his fate.  Baron
Clouet received the flag, and informed Ney of the arrival.  "Let
the prisoner see his friends," said Ney, "and tell them he is well,
and well treated."  Clouet lingered, and Ney asked, smiling, "what
more he wanted"?  "He has an old mother, a widow, and blind."  "Has
he? then let him go himself and tell her he is alive."  As the
exchange of prisoners between the countries was not then allowed,
Ney knew that he risked the displeasure of the Emperor by setting
the young officer at liberty; but Napoleon approved the generous
act.

Notwithstanding the wail which we occasionally hear for the
chivalry that is gone, our own age has witnessed deeds of bravery
and gentleness--of heroic self-denial and manly tenderness--which
are unsurpassed in history.  The events of the last few years have
shown that our countrymen are as yet an undegenerate race.  On the
bleak plateau of Sebastopol, in the dripping perilous trenches of
that twelvemonth's leaguer, men of all classes proved themselves
worthy of the noble inheritance of character which their
forefathers have bequeathed to them.  But it was in the hour of the
great trial in India that the qualities of our countrymen shone
forth the brightest.  The march of Neill on Cawnpore, of Havelock
on Lucknow--officers and men alike urged on by the hope of rescuing
the women and the children--are events which the whole history of
chivalry cannot equal.  Outram's conduct to Havelock, in resigning
to him, though his inferior officer, the honour of leading the
attack on Lucknow, was a trait worthy of Sydney, and alone
justifies the title which has been awarded to him of, "the Bayard
of India."  The death of Henry Lawrence--that brave and gentle
spirit--his last words before dying, "Let there be no fuss about
me; let me be buried WITH THE MEN,"--the anxious solicitude of Sir
Colin Campbell to rescue the beleaguered of Lucknow, and to conduct
his long train of women and children by night from thence to
Cawnpore, which he reached amidst the all but overpowering assault
of the enemy,--the care with which he led them across the perilous
bridge, never ceasing his charge over them until he had seen the
precious convoy safe on the road to Allahabad, and then burst upon
the Gwalior contingent like a thunder-clap;--such things make us
feel proud of our countrymen and inspire the conviction that the
best and purest glow of chivalry is not dead, but vigorously lives
among us yet.

Even the common soldiers proved themselves gentlemen under their
trials.  At Agra, where so many poor fellows had been scorched and
wounded in their encounter with the enemy, they were brought into
the fort, and tenderly nursed by the ladies; and the rough, gallant
fellows proved gentle as any children.  During the weeks that the
ladies watched over their charge, never a word was said by any
soldier that could shock the ear of the gentlest.  And when all was
over--when the mortally-wounded had died, and the sick and maimed
who survived were able to demonstrate their gratitude--they invited
their nurses and the chief people of Agra to an entertainment in
the beautiful gardens of the Taj, where, amidst flowers and music,
the rough veterans, all scarred and mutilated as they were, stood
up to thank their gentle countrywomen who had clothed and fed them,
and ministered to their wants during their time of sore distress.
In the hospitals at Scutari, too, many wounded and sick blessed the
kind English ladies who nursed them; and nothing can be finer than
the thought of the poor sufferers, unable to rest through pain,
blessing the shadow of Florence Nightingale as it fell upon their
pillow in the night watches.

The wreck of the Birkenhead off the coast of Africa on the 27th of
February, 1852, affords another memorable illustration of the
chivalrous spirit of common men acting in this nineteenth century,
of which any age might be proud.  The vessel was steaming along the
African coast with 472 men and 166 women and children on board.
The men belonged to several regiments then serving at the Cape, and
consisted principally of recruits who had been only a short time in
the service.  At two o'clock in the morning, while all were asleep
below, the ship struck with violence upon a hidden rock which
penetrated her bottom; and it was at once felt that she must go
down.  The roll of the drums called the soldiers to arms on the
upper deck, and the men mustered as if on parade.  The word was
passed to SAVE THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN; and the helpless creatures
were brought from below, mostly undressed, and handed silently into
the boats.  When they had all left the ship's side, the commander
of the vessel thoughtlessly called out, "All those that can swim,
jump overboard and make for the boats."  But Captain Wright, of the
91st Highlanders, said, "No! if you do that, THE BOATS WITH THE
WOMEN MUST BE SWAMPED;" and the brave men stood motionless.  There
was no boat remaining, and no hope of safety; but not a heart
quailed; no one flinched from his duty in that trying moment.
"There was not a murmur nor a cry amongst them," said Captain
Wright, a survivor, "until the vessel made her final plunge."  Down
went the ship, and down went the heroic band, firing a feu de joie
as they sank beneath the waves.  Glory and honour to the gentle and
the brave!  The examples of such men never die, but, like their
memories, are immortal.

There are many tests by which a gentleman may be known; but there
is one that never fails--How does he EXERCISE POWER over those
subordinate to him?  How does he conduct himself towards women and
children?  How does the officer treat his men, the employer his
servants, the master his pupils, and man in every station those who
are weaker than himself?  The discretion, forbearance, and
kindliness, with which power in such cases is used, may indeed be
regarded as the crucial test of gentlemanly character.  When La
Motte was one day passing through a crowd, he accidentally trod
upon the foot of a young fellow, who forthwith struck him on the
face:  "Ah, sire," said La Motte, "you will surely be sorry for
what you have done, when you know that I AM BLIND."  He who bullies
those who are not in a position to resist may be a snob, but cannot
be a gentleman.  He who tyrannizes over the weak and helpless may
be a coward, but no true man.  The tyrant, it has been said, is but
a slave turned inside out.  Strength, and the consciousness of
strength, in a right-hearted man, imparts a nobleness to his
character; but he will be most careful how he uses it; for


"It is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant."


Gentleness is indeed the best test of gentlemanliness.  A
consideration for the feelings of others, for his inferiors and
dependants as well as his equals, and respect for their self-
respect, will pervade the true gentleman's whole conduct.  He will
rather himself suffer a small injury, than by an uncharitable
construction of another's behaviour, incur the risk of committing a
great wrong.  He will be forbearant of the weaknesses, the
failings, and the errors, of those whose advantages in life have
not been equal to his own.  He will be merciful even to his beast.
He will not boast of his wealth, or his strength, or his gifts.  He
will not be puffed up by success, or unduly depressed by failure.
He will not obtrude his views on others, but speak his mind freely
when occasion calls for it.  He will not confer favours with a
patronizing air.  Sir Walter Scott once said of Lord Lothian, "He
is a man from whom one may receive a favour, and that's saying a
great deal in these days."

Lord Chatham has said that the gentleman is characterised by his
sacrifice of self and preference of others to himself in the little
daily occurrences of life.  In illustration of this ruling spirit
of considerateness in a noble character, we may cite the anecdote
of the gallant Sir Ralph Abercromby, of whom it is related, that
when mortally wounded in the battle of Aboukir, he was carried in a
litter on board the 'Foudroyant;' and, to ease his pain, a
soldier's blanket was placed under his head, from which he
experienced considerable relief.  He asked what it was.  "It's only
a soldier's blanket," was the reply.  "WHOSE blanket is it?" said
he, half lifting himself up.  "Only one of the men's."  "I wish to
know the name of the man whose blanket this is."  "It is Duncan
Roy's, of the 42nd, Sir Ralph."  "Then see that Duncan Roy gets his
blanket this very night." {37} Even to ease his dying agony the
general would not deprive the private soldier of his blanket for
one night.  The incident is as good in its way as that of the dying
Sydney handing his cup of water to the private soldier on the field
of Zutphen.

The quaint old Fuller sums up in a few words the character of the
true gentleman and man of action in describing that of the great
admiral, Sir Francis Drake:  "Chaste in his life, just in his
dealings, true of his word; merciful to those that were under him,
and hating nothing so much as idlenesse; in matters especially of
moment, he was never wont to rely on other men's care, how trusty
or skilful soever they might seem to be, but, always contemning
danger, and refusing no toyl, he was wont himself to be one
(whoever was a second) at every turn, where courage, skill, or
industry, was to be employed."



Footnotes:


{1}  Napoleon III., 'Life of Caesar.'

{2}  Soult received but little education in his youth, and learnt
next to no geography until he became foreign minister of France,
when the study of this branch of knowledge is said to have given
him the greatest pleasure.--'OEuvres, &c., d'Alexis de Tocqueville.
Par G. de Beaumont.'  Paris, 1861. I. 52

{3}  'OEuvres et Correspondance inedite d'Alexis de Tocqueville.
Par Gustave de Beaumont.'  I. 398.

{4}  "I have seen," said he, "a hundred times in the course of my
life, a weak man exhibit genuine public virtue, because supported
by a wife who sustained hint in his course, not so much by advising
him to such and such acts, as by exercising a strengthening
influence over the manner in which duty or even ambition was to be
regarded.  Much oftener, however, it must be confessed, have I seen
private and domestic life gradually transform a man to whom nature
had given generosity, disinterestedness, and even some capacity for
greatness, into an ambitious, mean-spirited, vulgar, and selfish
creature who, in matters relating to his country, ended by
considering them only in so far as they rendered his own particular
condition more comfortable and easy."--'OEuvres de Tocqueville.'
II. 349.

{5}  Since the original publication of this book, the author has in
another work, 'The Lives of Boulton and Watt,' endeavoured to
portray in greater detail the character and achievements of these
two remarkable men.

{6}  The following entry, which occurs in the account of monies
disbursed by the burgesses of Sheffield in 1573 [?] is supposed by
some to refer to the inventor of the stocking frame:- "Item gyven
to Willm-Lee, a poore scholler in Sheafield, towards the settyng
him to the Universitie of Chambrydge, and buying him bookes and
other furnyture [which money was afterwards returned] xiii iiii
[13s. 4d.]."--Hunter, 'History of Hallamshire,' 141.

{7}  'History of the Framework Knitters.'

{8}  There are, however, other and different accounts.  One is to
the effect that Lee set about studying the contrivance of the
stocking-loom for the purpose of lessening the labour of a young
country-girl to whom he was attached, whose occupation was
knitting; another, that being married and poor, his wife was under
the necessity of contributing to their joint support by knitting;
and that Lee, while watching the motion of his wife's fingers,
conceived the idea of imitating their movements by a machine.  The
latter story seems to have been invented by Aaron Hill, Esq., in
his 'Account of the Rise and Progress of the Beech Oil
manufacture,' London, 1715; but his statement is altogether
unreliable.  Thus he makes Lee to have been a Fellow of a college
at Oxford, from which he was expelled for marrying an innkeeper's
daughter; whilst Lee neither studied at Oxford, nor married there,
nor was a Fellow of any college; and he concludes by alleging that
the result of his invention was to "make Lee and his family happy;"
whereas the invention brought him only a heritage of misery, and he
died abroad destitute.

{9}  Blackner, 'History of Nottingham.'  The author adds, "We have
information, handed down in direct succession from father to son,
that it was not till late in the seventeenth century that one man
could manage the working of a frame.  The man who was considered
the workman employed a labourer, who stood behind the frame to work
the slur and pressing motions; but the application of traddles and
of the feet eventually rendered the labour unnecessary."

{10}  Palissy's own words are:- "Le bois m'ayant failli, je fus
contraint brusler les estapes (etaies) qui soustenoyent les tailles
de mon jardin, lesquelles estant bruslees, je fus constraint
brusler les tables et plancher de la maison, afin de faire fondre
la seconde composition.  J'estois en une telle angoisse que je ne
scaurois dire:  car j'estois tout tari et deseche a cause du labeur
et de la chaleur du fourneau; il y avoit plus d'un mois que ma
chemise n'avoit seiche sur moy, encores pour me consoler on se
moquoit de moy, et mesme ceux qui me devoient secourir alloient
crier par la ville que je faisois brusler le plancher:  et par tel
moyen l'on me faisoit perdre mon credit et m'estimoit-on estre fol.
Les autres disoient que je cherchois a faire la fausse monnoye, qui
estoit un mal qui me faisoit seicher sur les pieds; et m'en allois
par les rues tout baisse comme un homme honteux:  . . . personne ne
me secouroit:  Mais au contraire ils se mocquoyent de moy, en
disant:  Il luy appartient bien de mourir de faim, par ce qu'il
delaisse son mestier.  Toutes ces nouvelles venoyent a mes
aureilles quand je passois par la rue."  'OEuvres Completes de
Palissy.  Paris, 1844;' De l'Art de Terre, p. 315.

{11}  "Toutes ces fautes m'ont cause un tel lasseur et tristesse
d'esprit, qu'auparavant que j'aye rendu mes emaux fusible a un
mesme degre de feu, j'ay cuide entrer jusques a la porte du
sepulchre:  aussi en me travaillant a tels affaires je me suis
trouve l'espace de plus se dix ans si fort escoule en ma personne,
qu'il n'y avoit aucune forme ny apparence de bosse aux bras ny aux
jambes:  ains estoyent mes dites jambes toutes d'une venue:  de
sorte que les liens de quoy j'attachois mes bas de chausses
estoyent, soudain que je cheminois, sur les talons avec le residu
de mes chausses."--'OEuvres, 319-20.

{12}  At the sale of Mr. Bernal's articles of vertu in London a few
years since, one of Palissy's small dishes, 12 inches in diameter,
with a lizard in the centre, sold for 162l.

{13}  Within the last few months, Mr. Charles Read, a gentleman
curious in matters of Protestant antiquarianism in France, has
discovered one of the ovens in which Palissy baked his chefs-
d'oeuvre.  Several moulds of faces, plants, animals, &c., were dug
up in a good state of preservation, bearing his well-known stamp.
It is situated under the gallery of the Louvre, in the Place du
Carrousel.

{14}  D'Aubigne, 'Histoire Universelle.'  The historian adds,
"Voyez l'impudence de ce bilistre! vous diriez qu'il auroit lu ce
vers de Seneque:  'On ne peut contraindre celui qui sait mourir:
Qui mori scit, cogi nescit.'"

{15}  The subject of Palissy's life and labours has been ably and
elaborately treated by Professor Morley in his well-known work.  In
the above brief narrative we have for the most part followed
Palissy's own account of his experiments as given in his 'Art de
Terre.'

{16}  "Almighty God, the great Creator,
Has changed a goldmaker to a potter."

{17}  The whole of the Chinese and Japanese porcelain was formerly
known as Indian porcelain--probably because it was first brought by
the Portuguese from India to Europe, after the discovery of the
Cape of Good Hope by Vasco da Gama.

{18}  'Wedgwood:  an Address delivered at Burslem, Oct. 26th,
1863.'  By the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, M.P.

{19}  It was characteristic of Mr. Hume, that, during his
professional voyages between England and India, he should
diligently apply his spare time to the study of navigation and
seamanship; and many years after, it proved of use to him in a
remarkable manner.  In 1825, when on his passage from London to
Leith by a sailing smack, the vessel had scarcely cleared the mouth
of the Thames when a sudden storm came on, she was driven out of
her course, and, in the darkness of the night, she struck on the
Goodwin Sands.  The captain, losing his presence of mind, seemed
incapable of giving coherent orders, and it is probable that the
vessel would have become a total wreck, had not one of the
passengers suddenly taken the command and directed the working of
the ship, himself taking the helm while the danger lasted.  The
vessel was saved, and the stranger was Mr. Hume.

{20}  'Saturday Review,' July 3rd, 1858.

{21}  Mrs. Grote's 'Memoir of the Life of Ary Scheffer,' p. 67.

{22}  While the sheets of this revised edition are passing through
the press, the announcement appears in the local papers of the
death of Mr. Jackson at the age of fifty.  His last work, completed
shortly before his death, was a cantata, entitled 'The Praise of
Music.'  The above particulars of his early life were communicated
by himself to the author several years since, while he was still
carrying on his business of a tallow-chandler at Masham.

{23}  Mansfield owed nothing to his noble relations, who were poor
and uninfluential.  His success was the legitimate and logical
result of the means which he sedulously employed to secure it.
When a boy he rode up from Scotland to London on a pony--taking two
months to make the journey.  After a course of school and college,
he entered upon the profession of the law, and he closed a career
of patient and ceaseless labour as Lord Chief Justice of England--
the functions of which he is universally admitted to have performed
with unsurpassed ability, justice, and honour.

{24}  On 'Thought and Action.'

{25}  'Correspondance de Napoleon Ier.,' publiee par ordre de
l'Empereur Napoleon III, Paris, 1864.

{26}  The recently published correspondence of Napoleon with his
brother Joseph, and the Memoirs of the Duke of Ragusa, abundantly
confirm this view.  The Duke overthrew Napoleon's generals by the
superiority of his routine.  He used to say that, if he knew
anything at all, he knew how to feed an army.

{27}  His old gardener.  Collingwood's favourite amusement was
gardening.  Shortly after the battle of Trafalgar a brother admiral
called upon him, and, after searching for his lordship all over the
garden, he at last discovered him, with old Scott, in the bottom of
a deep trench which they were busily employed in digging.

{28}  Article in the 'Times.'

{29}  'Self-Development:  an Address to Students,' by George Ross,
M.D., pp. 1-20, reprinted from the 'Medical Circular.'  This
address, to which we acknowledge our obligations, contains many
admirable thoughts on self-culture, is thoroughly healthy in its
tone, and well deserves republication in an enlarged form.

{30}  'Saturday Review.'

{31}  See the admirable and well-known book, 'The Pursuit of
Knowledge under Difficulties.'

{32}  Late Professor of Moral Philosophy at St. Andrew's.

{33}  A writer in the 'Edinburgh Review' (July, 1859) observes that
"the Duke's talents seem never to have developed themselves until
some active and practical field for their display was placed
immediately before him.  He was long described by his Spartan
mother, who thought him a dunce, as only 'food for powder.'  He
gained no sort of distinction, either at Eton or at the French
Military College of Angers."  It is not improbable that a
competitive examination, at this day, might have excluded him from
the army.

{34}  Correspondent of 'The Times,' 11th June, 1863.

{35}  Robertson's 'Life and Letters,' i. 258.

{36}  On the 11th January, 1866.

{37}  Brown's 'Horae Subsecivae.'