Boulton concluded by requesting instructions how to act; but all necessity for further caution was shortly after removed by Fulton coming over to England and imparting his secret to the British Government. An old Danish brig was placed at his disposal in Walmer Roads, and after two days’ effort, during which he was assisted by Sir Home Popham, he eventually succeeded in blowing up the vessel; but he accomplished his purpose with so much difficulty, that from that time no further fears were entertained of the much dreaded ‘Nautilus.’

In the following year the steam-engine ordered by Fulton for his proposed boat was proceeded with at Soho. It was of about nineteen horse power. The cylinder was 24 inches in diameter, and the stroke four feet. The dimensions were as nearly as possible the same as those of Symington’s ‘Charlotte Dundas’ engine; and Mr. Woodcroft pertinently remarks that “such similarity in the dimensions cannot easily be imagined to have been accidental.” The engine, when finished, was sent to America early in 1805. She was there fitted on board the vessel which had been prepared for her reception; and the first voyage of Fulton and Livingstone’s ‘Clermont’ was made in August, 1807, when a speed of nearly four miles an hour was attained. This was the first vessel that ran regularly for commercial purposes and for the benefit of her owners; and though Fulton neither invented the ship, nor the engine by which she was driven, nor the combination of the two, he was entitled to every merit for the perseverance and ability with which he carried his important enterprise to a successful issue.

A few years later Henry Bell, in like manner, introduced steam navigation on the Clyde. He had at an early period pressed the subject on the consideration of the Government, but failed to induce them to take up the scheme.[382] He then resolved himself to start a steamboat, as the best and most practical method of exhibiting its powers; and the ‘Comet,’ of thirty tons burthen, was built to his order by Messrs. John Wood and Company, of Port Glasgow. The vessel began to ply regularly between Glasgow and Greenock in August, 1812;[383] and before long Clyde steamers were known all over the world.

It will thus be observed how very gradual has been the invention of the steamboat. It has been made step by step, by many men living in many ages. First, we have Blasco Garay making experiments with paddle-wheels in the harbour of Barcelona three hundred years ago, the revival probably of some old and half-forgotten method of propelling ships; then the repetition of the experiment by Prince Rupert and Savery in the Thames more than a hundred and fifty years later; next Savery’s invention of his steam-engine, followed by Papin’s idea of combining the engine with the paddles, and his construction of a model to illustrate its practicability. Later, we have Jonathan Hulls’s patent for his steamboat, in which the engine was worked by atmospheric pressure, followed by numerous experiments with a like object, in England, France, and America. The invention of the condensing engine of Watt, and its application to rotary motions, was the next great step. Miller’s revival of the experiments with paddle-wheels led to the application by Symington of Papin’s idea of combining the steam-engine with the paddles, which he at length successfully worked out in the ‘Charlotte Dundas.’ And finally the invention was applied to practical purposes by Fulton and Livingstone in America, and by Bell in Scotland.

And thus became established, in the eloquent words of George Canning, “the new and mighty power, new at least in the application of its might, which walks the waters like a giant rejoicing in its course, stemming alike the tempest and the tide, accelerating intercourse, shortening distances, creating, as it were, unexpected neighbourhoods, and new combinations of social and commercial relations, and giving to the fickleness of winds and the faithlessness of waves the certainty and steadiness of a highway upon the land.” But it is a noteworthy fact, that it was not until the invention of James Watt was applied to the purposes of steam navigation that its practicability was established and its success secured. Until then, all the experiments which had been made were regarded as comparatively fruitless, though they were leading step by step to the great result; and to this day the engines constructed after Watt’s principle continue to be the great motive power alike of river and ocean navigation.

CHAPTER XXII.
Declining Years of Boulton and Watt—Bereavements—Gregory Watt—Death of Boulton.

On the dissolution of the original partnership between Boulton and Watt at the expiry of the patent in 1800, Boulton was seventy-two years old, and Watt sixty-four. The great work of their life had been done, and the time was approaching when they must needs resign into other hands the great branches of industry which they had created. Watt, though the younger of the two, was the first to withdraw from an active share in the concerns of Soho. He could scarcely be said to taste the happiness of life until he had cast business altogether behind him.

It was far different with Boulton, to whom active occupation had become a second nature. For several years, indeed, his constitution had been showing signs of giving way, and nature was repeating her warnings, at shorter recurring intervals, that it was time to retire. But in the case of men such as Boulton, with whom business has become a habit and necessity, as well as a pleasure and recreation, to retire is often to die. He himself was accustomed to say that he must either “rub or rust;” and as the latter was contrary to his nature, he rubbed on to the end, continuing to take an active interest in the working of the great manufactory which it had been the ambition of his life to build up.

The department of business that most interested him in his later years was the coinage. His chief pleasure consisted in seeing his new and beautiful pieces following each other in quick succession from the Soho Mint. Nor did he cease occupying himself with new inventions; for we find him as late as 1797 taking out a patent for raising water by impulse, somewhat after the manner of Montgolier’s Hydraulic Ram, to which he added many ingenious improvements. His house at Soho continued to be the resort of distinguished visitors; and his splendid hospitality never failed. But, as years advanced and his infirmities increased, we find him occasionally expressing a desire for quiet. He would then retire to Cheltenham for the benefit of the waters, requesting his young partners to keep him advised from time to time of the proceedings at Soho. Thus we find young Watt writing him during his absence on one occasion,—“Everything is going on well here: the Mint works six presses at present with ease; but, unless you have secured a supply of copper, I fear they will soon work out the present stock.” In the same letter his young friend advised him that he had duly despatched the chemical apparatus; for even at Cheltenham Boulton could not be idle, but undertook a careful analysis of all the waters of the place, the results of which he entered, in minute detail, in his memorandum-books.

An alarming incident occurred at Soho towards the end of 1800, which is worthy of passing notice, as illustrative of Boultons vigour and courage even at this advanced period of his life. A large gang of Birmingham housebreakers, knowing the treasures accumulated in the silver-plate house, determined to break into it and carry off the silver, as well as the large sum of money usually accumulated in the counting-house for the purpose of paying the wages of the workmen, upwards of 600 in number, on Christmas Eve. They had provided false keys for most of the doors, and bribed the watchman, who communicated the plot to Boulton, to admit them within the gates. He took his steps accordingly, arming a number of men, and stationing them in different parts of the building.

The robbers made the attempt on three several occasions. On the first night they tried their keys on the counting-house door, but failed to open it, on which they shut their dark lantern and retired. Boulton sent an account of the proceedings each night to his daughter in London. On the first attempt being made, he wrote,—“The best news I can send you is that we are all alive; but I have lost my voice and found a troublesome cough by the agreeable employment of thief-watching.” Two nights after, the burglars came again, with altered keys, but still they could not open the counting-house door. The third night they determined to waive art, and break in by force. They were allowed to break in and seize their booty, and were making off with 150 guineas and a load of silver, when Boulton gave the word to seize them. A quantity of tow soaked with turpentine was instantly set fire to, numerous lights were turned on, and the robbers found themselves surrounded on all sides by armed men. Four of them were taken after a desperate struggle; but the fifth, though severely wounded, contrived to escape over the tops of the houses in Brook-row.

Writing to his friend Dumergue, in London, of the exploit, Boulton said,—“You know I seldom do things by halves; so I have sent the four desperate wolves to Stafford Gaol, and I believe the fifth is much wounded. If I had made my attack with a less powerful army than I did, we should probably have had a greater list of killed and wounded.”[384] It was in allusion to this exploit that Sir Walter Scott said of Boulton to Allan Cunningham, “I like Boulton; he is a brave man, and who can dislike the brave?”[385] The incident, when communicated to Scott during one of his visits to Soho, is said to have suggested the scene in ‘Guy Mannering,’ in which the attack is made on Dirk Hatterick in the smuggler’s cave.

With Watt, occupation in business was not the necessity that it was to Boulton; and he was only too glad to get rid of it and engage in those quiet pursuits in which he found most pleasure. In the year 1790, he removed from the house he had so long occupied on Harper’s Hill, to a new and comfortable house which he had built for himself at Heathfield in the parish of Handsworth, where he continued to live until the close of his life. The land surrounding the place was, until then, common, and he continued to purchase the lots as they were offered for sale, until, by the year 1794, he had enclosed about forty acres. He took pleasure in laying out the grounds, planting many of the trees with his own hands; and in course of time, as the trees reached maturity, the formerly barren heath became converted into a retreat of great rural beauty.

Annexed to the house, in the back yard, he built a forge, and upstairs, in his “Garret,” he fitted up a workshop, in which he continued to pursue his mechanical studies and experiments for many years. While Watt was settling himself for the remainder of his life in the house at Heathfield, Boulton was erecting his large new Mint at Soho, which was completed and ready for use in 1791.

When the lawsuits, which had given Watt so much anxiety, were satisfactorily disposed of, an immense load was removed from his mind; and he indulged in the anticipation of at last enjoying the fruits of his labour in peace. Being of frugal habits, he had already begun to save money, and indeed accumulated as much as he desired. But when the heavy arrears of Cornish dues were collected, about the period of expiry of the patent, a considerable sum of money necessarily fell to Watt’s share; and then he began to occupy himself in the pleasant recreation of looking out for an investment of it in land. He was, however, hard to please, and made many journeys before he succeeded in buying his estate.

A fortnight later he was at Exmouth, but still undecided.

Eventually Watt made several purchases of land at Doldowlod, on the hanks of the Wye, between Rhayader and Newbridge, in Radnorshire. There was a pleasant farmhouse on the property, in which he occasionally spent some pleasant months in summer time amidst beautiful scenery; but he had by this time grown too old to root himself kindly in a new place; and his affections speedily drew him back again to the neighbourhood of Soho, and to his comfortable home at Heathfield.

During the short peace of Amiens in the following year, he made the longest journey in his life. Accompanied by Mrs. Watt, he travelled through Belgium, up the banks of the Rhine to Frankfort, and home by Strasburg and Paris. While absent, Boulton wrote him many pleasant letters, telling him of what was going on at Soho. The brave old man was still at the helm there, and wrote in as enthusiastic terms as ever of the coins and medals he was striking at his Mint. Though strong in mind, he was, however, growing feebler in body, and suffered much from attacks of his old disease. “It is necessary for me,” he wrote, “to pass a great part of my time in or upon the bed; nevertheless, I go down to the manufactory or the Mint once or twice a day, without injuring myself as heretofore, but not without some fatigue. However, as I am now taking bark twice a day, I find a daily increase of strength, and flatter myself with the pleasure of taking a journey to Paris in April or May next.”[388]

On Watt’s arrival in London, a letter of hearty welcome from Boulton met him; but it conveyed, at the same time, the sad intelligence of the death of Mrs. Keir, a lady beloved by all who knew her, and a frequent inmate at Soho and Heathfield. One by one the members of the circle were departing, leaving wide gaps, which new friends could never fill up. The pleasant associations which are the charm of old friendships, were becoming mingled with sadness and regret. The grave was closing over one after another of the Soho group; and the survivors were beginning to live for the most part upon the memories of the past. But it is one of the penalties of old age to suffer a continuous succession of such bereavements; and that state would be intolerable but for the comparative deadening of the feelings which mercifully accompanies the advance of years. “We cannot help feeling with deep regret,” wrote Watt, “the circle of our old friends gradually diminishing, while our ability to increase it by new ones is equally diminished; but perhaps it is a wise dispensation of Providence so to diminish our enjoyments in this world that when our turn comes we may leave it without regret.”[389]

One of the deaths most lamented by Watt was that of Dr. Black of Edinburgh, which occurred in 1799. Black had watched to the last with tender interest the advancing reputation and prosperity of his early protégé. They had kept up a continuous and confidential correspondence on subjects of mutual interest for a period of about thirty years. Watt, though reserved to others, never feared unbosoming himself to his old friend, telling him of the new schemes he had on foot, and freely imparting to him his hopes and fears, his failures and successes. When Watt visited Scotland he rarely failed to take Edinburgh on his way, for the purpose of spending a few days with Black and Robison. The latter went express to London, for the purpose of giving evidence in the suit of Watt against the Hornblowers, and his testimony proved of essential service. “Our friend Robison,” Watt wrote to Black, “ exerted himself much; and, considering his situation, did wonders.” When Robison returned to Edinburgh, his Natural Philosophy class received him with three cheers. He proceeded to give them a short account of the trial, which he characterised as “not more the cause of Watt versus Hornblower, than of science against ignorance.” “When I had finished,” said he, “I got another plaudit, that Mrs. Siddons would have relished.”[390]

No one was more gratified at the issue of the trial than Dr. Black, who, when Robison told him of it, was moved even to tears. “It’s very foolish,” he said, “but I can’t help it when I hear of anything good to Jamie Watt.” The Doctor had long been in declining health, but was still able to work. He was busy writing another large volume, and had engaged the engraver to come to him for orders on the day after that on which he died. His departure was singularly peaceful. His servant had delivered to him a basin of milk, which was to serve for his dinner, and retired from the room. In less than a minute he returned, and found his master sitting where he had left him, but dead, with the basin of milk unspilled in his hand. Without a struggle, the spirit had fled. As the servant expressed it, “his poor master had given over living.” He had twice before said to his doctor that “he had caught himself forgetting to breathe.” On hearing of the good old man’s death, Watt wrote to Robison,—“I may say that to him I owe, in a great measure, what I am; he taught me to reason and experiment in natural philosophy, and was a true friend and philosopher, whose loss will always be lamented while I live. We may all pray that our latter end may be like his; he has truly gone to sleep in the arms of his Creator, and been spared all the regrets attendant on a more lingering exit. I could dwell longer on this subject; but regrets are unavailing, and only tend to enfeeble our own minds, and make them less able to bear the ills we cannot avoid. Let us cherish the friends we have left, and do as much good as we can in our day!”[391]

Lord Cockburn, in his ‘Memorials,’ gives the following graphic portrait of the father of modern chemistry:—“Dr. Black was a striking and beautiful person; tall, very thin, and cadaverously pale; his hair carefully powdered, though there was little of it except what was collected into a long thin queue; his eyes dark, clear, and large, like deep pools of pure water. He wore black speckless clothes, silk stockings, silver buckles, and either a slim green silk umbrella, or a genteel brown cane. His general frame and air was feeble and slender. The wildest boy respected Black. No lad could be irreverent towards a man so pale, so gentle, so elegant, and so illustrious. So he glided, like a spirit, through our rather mischievous sportiveness, unharmed.”[392]

Of the famous Lunar Society, Boulton and Watt now remained almost the only surviving members. Day was killed by a fall from his horse in 1789. Josiah Wedgwood closed his noble career at Etruria in 1795, in the sixty-fifth year of his age. Dr. Withering, distinguished alike in botany and medicine, died in 1799, of a lingering consumption. Dr. Darwin was seized by his last attack of angina pectoris in 1802, and, being unable to bleed himself, as he had done before, he called upon his daughter to apply the lancet to his arm; but, before she could do so, he fell back in his chair and expired. Dr. Priestley, driven forth into exile,[393] closed his long and illustrious career at Northumberland in Pennsylvania in 1803. The Lunar Society was thus all but extinguished by death; the vacant seats remained unfilled; and the meetings were no longer held.

But the bereavements which Watt naturally felt the most, were the deaths of his own children. He had two by his second wife, a son and a daughter, both full of promise, who had nearly grown up to adult age, when they died. Jessie was of a fragile constitution from her childhood, but her health seemed to become re-established as she grew in years. But before she had entered womanhood, the symptoms of an old pulmonary affection made their appearance, and she was carried off by consumption. Mr. Watt was much distressed by the event, confessing that he felt as if one of the strongest ties that bound him to life was broken, and that the acquisition of riches availed him nothing when unable to give them to those he loved. In a letter to a friend, he thus touchingly alluded to one of the most sorrowful associations connected with the deaths of children:—“Mrs. Watt continues to be much affected whenever anything recalls to her mind the amiable child we have parted with; and these remembrances occur but too frequently,—her little works of ingenuity, her books and other objects of study, serve as mementoes of her who was always to the best of her power usefully employed even to the last day of her life. With me, whom age has rendered incapable of the passion of grief, the feeling is a deep regret; and, did nature permit, my tears would flow as fast as her mother’s.”

To divert and relieve his mind, as was his wont, he betook himself to fresh studies and new inquiries. It is not improbable that the disease of which his daughter had died, as well as his own occasional sufferings from asthma, gave a direction to his thoughts, which turned on the inhalation of gas as a remedial agent in pulmonary and other diseases. Dr. Beddoes of Bristol had started the idea, which Watt now took up and prosecuted with his usual zeal. He contrived an apparatus for extracting, washing, and collecting gases, as well as for administering them by inhalation. He professed that he had taken up the subject not because he understood it, but because nobody else did, and that he could not withhold anything which might be of use in prompting others to do better. The result of his investigations was published at Bristol under the title of ‘Considerations on the Medicinal use of Fictitious Airs,’ the first part of which was written by Dr. Beddoes, and the second part by Watt.

But a still heavier blow than the loss of his only daughter, was the death of his son Gregory a few years later. He was a young man of the highest promise, and resembled Watt himself in many respects—in mind, character, and temperament. Those who knew him while a student at Glasgow College, spoke of him long after in terms of the most glowing enthusiasm. Among his fellow-students were Francis, afterwards Lord Jeffrey, and the poet Campbell. Both were captivated not less by the brilliancy of his talents than by the charming graces of his person. Campbell spoke of him as “a splendid stripling—literally the most beautiful youth I ever saw. When he was only twenty-two, an eminent English artist—Howard, I think—made his head the model of a picture of Adam.” Campbell, Thomson, and Gregory Watt, were class-fellows in Greek, and avowed rivals; but the rivalry only served to cement their friendship. In the session of 1793–4, after a brilliant competition which excited unusual interest, the prize was awarded to Thomson; but, with the exception of the victor himself, Gregory was the most delighted student in the class. “He was,” says the biographer of Campbell, “a generous, liberal, and open-hearted youth; so attached to his friend, and so sensible of his merit, that the honours conferred on Thomson obliterated all recollections of personal failure.”[394] Francis Jeffrey was present at the commemoration of the first of May, two years later, and was especially struck with the eloquence of young Watt, “who obtained by far the greatest number of prizes, and degraded the prize-readers most inhumanly by reading a short composition of his own, a translation of the Chorus of the Medea, with so much energy and grace, that the verses seemed to me better perhaps than they were in reality. He is a young man of very eminent capacity, and seems to have all the genius of his father, with a great deal of animation and ardour which is all his own.”[395]

Campbell thought him born to be a great orator, and anticipated for him the greatest success in Parliament or at the Bar. His father had, however, already destined him to follow his own business. Indeed, Gregory was introduced a partner into the Soho concern about the same time as Mr. Boulton, jun., and his elder brother James. But he never gave much attention to the business. Scarcely had he left college, before symptoms of pulmonary affection showed themselves; and, a physician having been consulted, Mr. Watt was recommended to send his son to reside in the south of England. He accordingly went to Penzance for the benefit of its mild climate, and, by a curious coincidence, he took up his abode as boarder and lodger in the house of Humphry Davy’s mother. The afterwards brilliant chemist was then a boy some years younger than Gregory. He had already made experiments in chemistry, with sundry phials and kitchen utensils, assisted by an old glyster apparatus presented to him by the surgeon of a French vessel wrecked on the coast. Although Gregory possessed great warmth of heart, there was a degree of coldness in his manner to strangers, which repelled any approach to familiarity. When his landlady’s son, therefore, began talking to him of metaphysics and poetry, he was rather disposed to turn a deaf ear; but when Davy touched upon the subject of chemistry, and made the rather daring boast for a boy, that he would undertake to demolish the French theory in half an hour, Gregory’s curiosity was roused. The barrier of ice between them was at once removed; and from thenceforward they became attached friends.[396] Young Davy was encouraged to prosecute his experiments, which the other watched with daily increasing interest; and in the course of the following year, Gregory communicated to Dr. Beddoes, of Bristol, then engaged in establishing his Pneumatic Institution, an account of Davy’s experiments on light and heat, the result of which was his appointment as superintendent of the experiments at the Institution, and the subsequent direction of his studies and investigations.

Gregory’s health having been partially re-established by his residence at Penzance, he shortly after returned to his father’s house at Birmingham, whither Davy frequently went, and kept up the flame of his ambition by intercourse with congenial minds. Gregory heartily co-operated with his father in his investigations on air, besides inquiring and experimenting on original subjects of his own selection. Among these may be mentioned his inquiries into the gradual refrigeration of basalt, his paper on which, read before the Royal Society, would alone entitle him to a distinguished rank among experimentalists.[397]

By the kindness of his elder brother James, Gregory Watt was relieved of his share of the work at Soho, and was thereby enabled to spend much of his time in travelling about for the benefit of his health. Early in 1801, we find him making excursions in the western counties in company with Mr. Murdock, jun.; and looking forward with still greater anticipations of pleasure to the tour which he subsequently made through France, Germany, and Austria. We find him afterwards writing his father from Freiburg, to the effect that he was gradually growing stronger, and was free from pulmonary affection. From Leipzig he sent an equally favourable account of himself, and gave his father every hope that on his return he would find him strong and sound.

These anticipations, however, proved delusive, for the canker was already gnawing at poor Gregory’s vitals. Returned home, he busied himself with his books, his experiments, and his speculations; assisting his father in recording observations on the effects of nitrous oxide and other gases. But it was shortly found necessary to send him again to the south of England for the benefit of a milder climate. In the beginning of 1804, his father and mother went with him to Clifton, where he had an attack of intermittent fever, which left him very weak. From thence they removed to Bath, and remained there for about a month, the invalid being carefully attended by Dr. Beddoes. During their stay at Bath, Gregory’s brother paid him a visit, and was struck by his altered appearance. The fever had left him, but his cough and difficulty of breathing were very distressing to witness. As usual in such complaints, his mind was altogether unaffected. “Indeed,” wrote his brother, “he is as bright, clear, and vigorous, upon every subject as I ever knew him to be. His voice, too, is firm and good, and when he enters into conversation I should lose the recollection of his complaint if his appearance did not so forcibly remind me of it. It is fortunate that he does not suffer much bodily pain, or, so far as I can discover, any mental anxiety as to the issue of his complaint.”[398]

When Gregory was sufficiently recovered from the debilitating effects of his fever, he was moved to Sidmouth, where he appeared to improve; but he himself believed the sea air to be injurious to him, and insisted on being again removed inland. During all this time his father’s anxiety may be imagined, though he bore up with as much equanimity as was practicable under circumstances so distressing. “Ever since we left Bath,” he wrote to Mr. Boulton at Soho, “ours has been a state of anxiety very distressing to us, and the communication of which would not have been pleasing to our friends. To add to this, I have myself been exceedingly unwell, though I am now much better. Gregory suffered very much from the journey, which was augmented by his own impatience; and though he seemed to recover a little from his fatigue during the first week, his breath became daily worse, until we were obliged to remove him, on Thursday last, to the neighbourhood of Exeter, where he now is with his aunt.”[399] The invalid became rapidly worse, and survived his removal only a few days. “This day,” wrote the sorrowing father to Boulton, “the remains of poor Gregory were deposited in a decent, though private manner, in the north aisle of the cathedral here, near the transept.... I mean to erect a tablet to his memory on the adjoining wall; but his virtues and merits will be best recorded in the breasts of his friends.... As soon as we can settle our accounts, we shall all return homewards, with heavy hearts.”[400]

Davy was deeply affected by Gregory Watt’s death; and in the freshness of his grief he thus unbosomed himself to his friend Clayfield:—

More deaths! A few years later, and Watt lost his oldest friend, Professor Robison of Edinburgh, his companion and fellow-worker at Glasgow College nearly fifty years before. Since then, their friendship had remained unchanged, though their respective pursuits kept them apart. Robison continued busily and usefully occupied to the last. He had finished the editing of his friend Black’s lectures, and was occupied in writing his own ‘Elements of Mechanical Philosophy,’ when death came and kindly released him from a lingering disorder which had long oppressed his body, though it did not enervate his mind. A few years before his death he wrote Watt, informing him that he had got an addition to his family in a fine little boy, a grandchild, healthy and cheerful, who promised to be a source of much amusement to him. “I find this a great acquisition,” said he, “notwithstanding a serious thought sometimes stealing into my mind. I am infinitely delighted with observing the growth of its little soul, and particularly with the numberless instincts, which formerly passed unheeded. I thank the French theorists for more forcibly directing my attention to the finger of God, which I discover in every awkward movement and every wayward whim. They are all guardians of his life, and growth, and powers. I regret that I have not time to make infancy, and the development of its powers, my sole study.”[402] In 1805 he was taken from his little playfellow, and from the pursuit of his many ingenious speculations.[403] Watt said of him, “he was a man of the clearest head and the most science of anybody I have ever known, and his friendship to me ended only with his life, after having continued for nearly half a century.... His religion and piety, which made him patiently submit without even a fretful or repining word in nineteen years of unremitting pain,—his humility, in his modest opinion of himself,—his kindness, in labouring with such industry for his family during all this affliction,—his moderation for himself, while indulging an unbounded generosity to all about him,—joined to his talents, form a character so uncommon and so noble, as can with difficulty be conceived by those who have not, like me, had the contemplation of it.”

Little more remains to be recorded of the business life of Boulton and Watt. The former, notwithstanding his declining health and the frequent return of his malady, continued to take an active interest in the Soho coinage. Watt often expostulated with him, but in vain, urging that it was time for him to retire wholly from the anxieties of business. On Boulton bringing out his Bank of England silver dollar, with which he was himself greatly pleased, he sent some specimens to Watt, then staying at Clifton, for his inspection. Watt replied,—“Your dollar is universally admired by all to whom we have shown it, though your friends fear much that your necessary attention to the operation of the coinage may injure your health.”[404] And again he wrote from Sidmouth,—“We are all glad to hear of your amendment, which we hope will be progressive, and possibly it might be better if you could summon up resolution enough to rid yourself of some of those plagues you complain of; but while you suffer yourself to be intruded upon in the manner you do, you can never enjoy that quiet which is now so necessary to your health and comfort.”[405] Mrs. Watt joined her entreaties to those of her husband, expressing the wish that, for Mr. Boulton’s sake, it might rain every day, to prevent his fatiguing himself by walking to and from the works, and there occupying himself with the turmoils of business. Why should he not do as Mr. Watt had done, and give up Soho altogether, leaving business and its anxieties to younger and stronger men? But business, as we have already explained, was Boulton’s habit, and pleasure, and necessity. Moreover, occupation of some sort served to divert his attention from the ever-present pain within him; and, so long as his limbs were able to support him, he tottered down the hill to see what was going forward at Soho.

As for Watt, we find that he had at last learnt the art of taking things easy, and that he was trying to make life as agreeable as possible in his old age. Thus at Cheltenham, from which place Mrs. Watt addressed Boulton in the letter of advice above referred to, we find the aged pair making pleasant excursions in the neighbourhood during the day, and reading novels and going to the theatre occasionally in the evening. “As it is the fashion,” wrote Mrs. Watt,—“and wishing to be very fashionable people, we subscribe to the library. Our first book was Mrs. Opie’s ‘Mother and Daughter,’ a tale so mournful as to make both Mr. Watt and myself cry like schoolboys that had been whipped; ... and to dispel the gloom that poor Adeline hung over us, we went to the theatre last night to see the ‘Honeymoon,’ and were highly pleased.”

Towards the end of 1807 Boulton had a serious attack of his old disease, which fairly confined him to his bed; and his friends feared lest it should prove his last illness. He was verging upon his eightieth year, and his constitution, though originally strong, was gradually succumbing to confinement and pain. He nevertheless rallied once more, and was again able to make occasional visits to the works as before. He had promised to send a box of medals to the Queen, and went down to the Mint to see them packed. The box duly reached Windsor Castle, and De Luc acknowledged its reception:—

De Luc concluded by urging Mr. Boulton to abstain from further work and anxiety, and reminded him that after a life of such activity as his had been, both body and mind required complete rest.

Boulton’s life was, indeed, drawing to a close. He had for many years been suffering from an agonising and incurable disease—stone in the kidneys and bladder—and waited for death as for a friend. The strong man was laid low; and the night had at length come when he could work no more. The last letter which he wrote was to his daughter, in March, 1809; but the characters are so flickering and indistinct as to be scarcely legible. “If you wish to see me living,” he wrote, “pray come soon, for I am very ill.” Nevertheless, he suffered on for several months longer. At last he was released from his pain, and peacefully expired on the 17th of August, 1809, at the age of eighty-one. Though he fell like a shock of corn in full season, his death was lamented by a wide circle of relatives and friends. A man of strong affections, with an almost insatiable appetite for love and sympathy, he inspired others with like feelings towards himself; and when he died, they felt as if a brother had gone. He was alike admired and beloved by his workmen; and when he was carried to his last resting-place in Handsworth Church, six hundred of them followed the hearse, and there was scarcely a dry eye among them.[407]

Matthew Boulton was, indeed, a man of truly noble nature. Watt, than whom none knew him better, was accustomed to speak of him as “the princely Boulton.” He was generous and high-souled, a lover of truth, honour, and uprightness. His graces were embodied in a manly and noble person. We are informed through Dr. Guest that on one occasion, when Mr. Boulton’s name was mentioned in his father’s presence, he observed, “the ablest man I ever knew.” On the remark being repeated to Dr. Edward Johnson, a courtly man, he said,—“As to his ability, other persons can better judge. But I can say that he was the best mannered man I ever knew.” The appreciation of both was alike just and characteristic, and has since been confirmed by Mrs. Schimmelpenninck. She describes with admiration his genial manner, his fine radiant countenance, and his superb munificence: “He was in person tall, and of a noble appearance; his temperament was sanguine, with that slight mixture of the phlegmatic which gives calmness and dignity; his manners were eminently open and cordial; he took the lead in conversation; and, with a social heart, had a grandiose manner, like that arising from position, wealth, and habitual command. He went about among his people like a monarch bestowing largesse.”