When, in 1866, after the assassination of President Lincoln, Andrew Johnson was acting President of the United States, he appointed Carl Schurz as special commissioner to visit and report on the actual condition of the southern country, then under process of reconstruction. On his return from this mission our German Ulysses migrated to Detroit in Michigan, where he founded a newspaper. The ensuing year he moved again to the city of St. Louis, in Missouri, where he founded a German newspaper, took an active part for General Grant in both languages in 1868, and in 1869 was elected United States senator for six years’ term from Missouri. Disagreeing with General Grant’s policy and mode of conducting public affairs, Mr. Schurz passed over to the Opposition to his administration, and, in conjunction with Horace Greeley—like himself an Abolitionist and Republican—sought to establish a reform party of Liberal Republicans, as opposed to the Spoils party of Grant. Mr. Schurz was the presiding officer in the Cincinnati Republican Convention, which nominated Horace Greeley for the presidency, and since then his career has been one of unmitigated success.
In the new States, as well as in the old, these American money-makers flourish. As I write, I hear that Mark Hopkins, the great Californian railway millionaire, has died with upwards of £3,000,000, and his will cannot be found. In the absence of a will his widow takes two-thirds of the fortune, and his two brothers the remainder. Money-making, it may be said, is the chief characteristic of Brother Jonathan and his numerous and pushing tribe.
The life of a self-made man is at all times a deeply interesting study. We like to see how he mastered surrounding circumstances, with what bravery he met adverse fate, and how he fared when he had triumphed and become strong. Such a man is not always a model to be held up for admiration. Often there is a hardness and coarseness about him which is undesirable, and an assumption of greatness on account of pecuniary success, which, in good society at any rate, will be resented. When the late Mr. Peabody was honoured with a statue under the shadow of the Royal Exchange, and within the heart of the City, it was said by some ill-natured Yankee, that if England wished to erect statues to such men, there were plenty of rich men America could supply us with for that purpose; and certainly it is not in the true interests of humanity that we should get into the habit of paying too much homage to worshippers of the Golden Calf. Undoubtedly it will be much to be deprecated if that be the worship of the future; but it is a danger in these levelling days, when democracy is coming more and more to the front, against which the preacher and the moralist must ever guard the nation. At all times the tone of public thought must be pitched low, and when rank has lost its prestige, the danger of being swamped by vulgar plutocrats is immensely increased. As was to be expected, Mrs. O’Connell is very proud of her father, and, as was also to be expected, the father was very proud of himself. He was a very illiterate man. He even could not spell the word money properly; but no man knew better what it meant, and no man could have ever anticipated that he would have secured so much of it as he did. As a boy he had the reputation of being stupid, and also wild; and it seems to have been with the view of getting rid of him that his father sent him from his home in the Lombard Highlands, in company with one Andrea Faroni, to England, where he was to learn to become a dealer in prints, barometers, and eye-glasses. It was a fortunate thing for Charles Bianconi that Favoni brought him instead to Ireland. In London—the great cold world of London—it would have fared hard with the poor Italian lad. In Dublin and the country round, the good-looking foreigner, with his bright eyes and his civil tongue, met with a warm reception—a reception all the more warm, inasmuch as he was of the Irish faith; but even then it is strange how he prospered as he did. Without knowing a word of the language, and with fourpence in his pocket to pay expenses, he was sent out into the country on the Monday morning with two pounds’ worth of prints to sell, and with the understanding that he was to be back by Saturday night; but the lad had made up his mind to be a somebody, and he was as good as his word; and he had not been long in Ireland before he hit on the idea which led him to fame and fortune.
One of his first lessons in Ireland was, he tells us, the great difference between the pedlar doomed to tramp on foot, and his more fortunate fellow who could post or ride on horseback. When he became a small shopkeeper at Carrick, the need of equestrian conveyance was brought home to him in a still more forcible manner. “I supplied,” he writes, “my Carrick shop with gold-leaf from Waterford, going down in Tom Mahony’s boat to buy it. Carrick-on-Suir is twelve or thirteen miles from Waterford by land, but the windings of the river make it twenty-four by water. This boat, then, was the only public conveyance. The time of its departure had to depend upon the tide, and it took four or five hours to make the journey.” One day, going to Waterford by the boat, Bianconi got sodden with the wet, and was laid up with cold and pleurisy for a couple of months. This Irish experience was putting him in the right track; and in 1815, when good horses were to be had cheap, in consequence of the peace, he had the courage to start his cars, running at first between Carrick and Clonmel, a distance of some twelve miles. At first Bianconi only contemplated carrying the poorer people. There was the aristocratic mail-coach for the people of quality; but greatness was thrust upon him. In 1830 he carried the mails direct from the post-office, and had bought up some leading coaching lines. In his latter years he had 1,400 horses at work, and daily covered 3,800 miles. Still further, to give the reader an idea of the extent of his business, we may note there were 140 stations for the change of horses, and that these latter consumed from 3,000 to 4,000 tons of hay, and from 30,000 to 40,000 barrels of oats annually. In England Bianconi could never have made his fortune in this way. In Ireland he appeared at the right time, and was the right man in the right place.
As a benefactor to Ireland it is almost impossible to overestimate Bianconi’s usefulness. The farmer who formerly drove spent three days in making his market; when the cars came into operation one day was sufficient, thereby saving two clear days and expense of his horse. Another good object gained was the opening up the resources of the interior of the country. And lastly, there was the civilising effects of the intercommunion created among classes of the country, by means of travelling together on one or other of the Bianconi cars. The way in which the system was organised ensured its success, “I take my drivers,” said Mr. Bianconi at the Cork meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, “from the lowest grade of the establishment. They are progressively advanced, according to their respective merits, as opportunity offers, and they know that nothing can deprive them of these rewards, and also of a pension of their full wages in cases of old age or accident, unless it be their own wilful and improper conduct.” The whole establishment must have had a beneficial influence over a large area. Any man found guilty of uttering a falsehood, however venial, was instantly dismissed, and this consequently insured truth, accuracy, and punctuality. It must be remembered, too, at the time in which Mr. Bianconi commenced his career, the county of Tipperary was much disorganised, owing to the maladministration of the laws, and to the almost total severance of the bond which ought to have united the upper and humble classes of society. At that time the Catholics were generally looked down upon as beings of an inferior race. A Catholic was not permitted to buy or become possessed of land. In his very short autobiography, Mr. Bianconi thus describes the grievances of the Roman Catholics:—
“One of the injustices of which the Catholics used to tell me, was the unfair way in which the Catholics were treated in Clonmel. Amongst others, they relate a practice then in existence. The Protestant shopkeepers, upon a certain day, used to go about the town levying a tax upon their Catholic neighbours who attempted to open shops within the town walls of Clonmel. They used to wring from each individual from two to four guineas, which they called intrusion money. My informants especially praised an old Mrs. Ryan, now dead, who boldly refused to comply with their demands. The tax-makers, therefore, seized her goods. She afterwards recovered them at law, and her spirited conduct led to the abolition of this toll. We Catholics had at one time to pay a tax upon all bought merchandise, while our more favoured Protestant and Dissenting fellow-townsmen were saved not only from a needless expenditure, but from the galling contact with such a class as the toll-gatherers. In the house, 112, Main Street, was the news-room, which I joined. I was greatly struck by the loud and consequential talk constantly going on between a Mr. Jephson and a Sir Richard Jones, and two more of their set, whereas I and my fellow-Papists were not allowed to speak above a whisper. This I resolved not to submit to; for I could see no reason why, when I had paid my money in a public place, I should not share all equal rights. Others followed my example; and as we all, Protestants and Papists, indulged in equally noisy declamation, a stranger entering our news-room would have been puzzled to say which party were the privileged administrators of the penal code.”
Irish like, Mr. Bianconi managed now and then to have his joke. One day, when he was sending home in a large wooden case a very superior looking-glass, an old lady asked what was in the box thus carefully conveyed. “The Repeal of the Union,” was Bianconi’s reply. The old woman’s delight and astonishment knew no bounds. She knelt down on her knees in the middle of the road, to thank God for having preserved her so long, that at last, in her old days, she should have seen the Repeal of the Union. As another illustration, we quote the story of the opposition car:—
“His first attempt he thought was going to be a failure; scarcely anybody went by car. People were used to trudging along on foot, and they continued to do, thus saving their money, which was more valuable than their time. Another man would have abandoned the speculation; but Mr. Bianconi did nothing of the kind. He started an opposition car, at a cheaper rate, which was not known to be his—not even by the rival drivers, who raced against each other for the foremost place. The excitement of the contest, the cheapness of the fare, the occasional free lifts given to passengers, soon began to attract a paying public, and before very long both the cars every day came in full. He had bought a great, strong, yellow horse, as he called him, to run in the opposition car; he gave, he said, £20 for the animal. One evening his own recognised driver came to him in great pride and excitement. ‘You know the great, big, yallah horse under the opposition car? Well, sir, he’ll never run another yard. I broke his heart this night. I raced him from beyant Moore-o’-Barns, and he’ll never thravel agin.’ Mr. Bianconi told me he was obliged to show the greatest gratification at the loss of his beast; but it gave him enough of the opposition car, which there and then came to an end, like the poor horse. The habit of travelling on a car increased among a people when they had become alive to its advantage.”
The main principle on which Bianconi acted was never to despise poor people, or apparently small interests. “His great enterprise,” wrote Dr. Cook Taylor, “arose from the problems, how to make a two-wheeled car pay while running for the accommodation of poor districts and poor people, as regularly as the mail-coaches did for the rich; and when that was solved, how to regulate a system of traffic by a network of cars, the cars increasing in size as the traffic required, from the short one-horse car, holding six people, to the long four-horse car, holding twenty people.” One extract more will give the reader Mr. Bianconi’s secret of money-making:—
“I remember when I was earning a shilling a day in Clonmel, I used to live upon eightpence, and that did not prevent the people from making me their mayor. I did the same at Cashel and at Thurles, and that does not prevent me from at present living between the towns, on a property of seven miles circumference, and on which I pay her Majesty £7 2s. 6d. per year, or from being a J.P. or a D.L.
“It gives me sincere pleasure in seeing you follow the sound principle of having your wants within your means. Don’t be fond of changes. It is better for you to be at the head of a small republic than at the foot of a great one.”
“I may add, as a postscript, what my father once said to a young Yorkshireman, ‘Keep before the wheels, young man, or they will run over you. Always keep before the wheels.’”
In his way, Mr. Bianconi was a religious man. He and his priest were always on good terms. He did not run his cars on a Sunday, because the Irish, being a religious people, will not travel for business on that day. He also found his horses worked better for one day’s rest in seven. With Daniel O’Connell he was on the most intimate terms, and Sheil was often a guest at his house. He was an out-and-out Liberal, and always maintained that when the Tory landlords saw that they would fail to get one of their own party into parliament, they encouraged their tenants to vote for the Home Rule nominee, in the hope of balking the steady-going Liberal who could afford to be honest. “I have known,” writes Mrs. O’Connell, “a great Protestant land-owner boast of having given tacit support to the ultra-Liberal candidate, in the pious hope that he could thereby cause mischief in the Liberal benches.”
It is not pleasant to read that Bianconi, true friend to Ireland as he was, narrowly escaped the penalty too generally attached to ownership of land in Ireland. It was said that he was marked out to be shot!—it was even thought that the deed had been planned and attempted, and frustrated only by the parish priest, who asked him to take a seat in his gig on his way home from Cashel. Bianconi had driven in from Longfield in his own carriage, but he accepted the priest’s invitation and went back with him. It seems there are two roads leading from Cashel towards Longfield House, and the priest chose the longer of the two. “Why do you take this road?” said Bianconi. “I prefer it,” replied the priest, and nothing more was said about it then; but it was suspected that the old priest had heard something, or got some warning, for it afterwards became known that a party of men had that night been watching on the other road. Happily for the credit of Ireland, Bianconi expired peacefully in 1873, at a ripe old age, as is manifest when we state that he was born in 1786. One of his last acts was characteristic. Struck with paralysis, he discovered, about a week before his death an error of eightpence in the deduction for poor-rates out of a large rent cheque. Verily, of such is the kingdom of Mammon. Mrs. O’Connell, however, has done her best to make her father’s memory fragrant; but she is a novice in the art of book-making, and we must take the will for the deed. Let us hope her countrymen will study the example she holds out to them of a man industrious, and careful, and economical, and eager for the main chance. It is such men Ireland needs far more than agitators for Home Rule. In the colonies no one learns more readily the value of thrift than the Irishman, or gives us a finer example of how to reap the golden harvest which it ensures; but in his native land the Irishman loves more to spend money than earn it. Sir Thomas Dargan, the great railway contractor, was, however, one of those exceptions which teach us how, even in his native land, the poorest Irishman may amass a fortune. Young Dargan received a good education, and after leaving school was placed in a surveyor’s office. With little beyond this training, and a character for the strictest integrity, he left Ireland to push his fortunes. His first employment was under Telford, who was then engaged in constructing the Holyhead Road. When this was completed Dargan returned to Ireland, and embarked in several minor undertakings, in which he was fortunate enough to gain sufficient to form the nucleus of that princely fortune which entitled him to the appellation of a millionaire. After the highly successful result of the Great Exhibition of 1851, Mr. Dargan, with the view of developing the industrial resources of his native country, and with a munificence certainly without parallel in one who had been “the architect of his own fortune,” resolved on founding an Industrial Exhibition in Dublin, and placed £20,000 in the hands of a committee, consisting of the leading citizens, and empowered them to erect a building, and to defray all the necessary expenses connected with the undertaking, on the sole condition that no begging-box should be handed found for further contributions. He undertook, moreover, to advance whatever additional sums might be required to carry the enterprise to a successful issue. In fact, before the Exhibition opened (May 12, 1853), Mr. Dargan’s advances are said not to have fallen far short of £100,000.
Perhaps one of the most remarkable cases of success in life is the following, as described by Mr. Napier, of Merchiston, in a paper in “Fraser’s Magazine.” He says:—
“After the reading of my paper on the vegetarian core for intemperance, before the Bristol Meeting of the British Association in 1875, I was addressed by an elderly gentleman and his wife, who said my views were strictly in accordance with theirs. After some conversation, we adjourned to his hotel, where he hospitably entertained me, and gave me a narrative of his life, with permission to publish it in the interest of the good cause, suppressing his name and abode, as he said he was particularly shy and retired in his habits, and had a great objection to see his name in print.
“He was born in the north of England in 1811; but although his hair was grey, he otherwise appeared better preserved by fifteen years than most persons of his age. His father was a minister of religion, and he was the eldest of twelve children. He was of ancient and distinguished lineage; but his father never having had more than £300 a-year, he was obliged to send his children out early into the world, and so at fourteen he was put into a house of business in a great northern town.
“For the first three years he had nothing but his board with one of the senior clerks; but at the end of that time he got as much dry bread and water for his lunch as he could take, and ten shilling a a-week to board and lodge himself. He accidentally obtained some works on vegetarianism, and was resolved to put in practice what he had read, as otherwise he found he could not support and clothe himself decently. I will give now his own words as nearly as I can recollect.
“‘I was seventeen years of age then, five feet eight inches high, and strongly built. I had but ten shillings a-week for everything. How should I best lay it out? The senior clerk took me as a lodger at eighteenpence a-week, for one good room. There was a bedstead in it, but no bedding or other furniture. I was resolved to do what best I could, and owe no man anything. Some canvas coverings, which my good mother had put round my packages, served me to make a mattress when filled with hay. For the first eight weeks I slept in my oldest clothes on this mattress. My diet was ample and nourishing, but very cheap. Threepence a-day was the cost. About one pound of beans, which did not cost more than a penny, half a pound of bread daily, and two halfpenny cabbages, and three pounds of potatoes in the week. Two-pennyworth of seed oil, [76a] one pound of twopenny rice, and about a farthing’s worth of tartar [76b] from the wine casks, constituted my very nourishing diet.
“‘When my parents sent me a basket of fruit, I indulged in it freely; but I did not care for it unless the carriage was paid, which was not always the case. Thus 1s. 9d. for my food and 1s. 6d. for my lodging, and 9½d. for my fuel and light, left me 5s. 11½d. for other purposes. At the end of the eight weeks I have specified, I was in possession of above £2. It took me nearly this sum to purchase a straw paillasse, blankets, sheets, and pillows second-hand. I persevered for another year on this diet, and found myself in possession of about £12. As I had some respectable acquaintance in the town, I resolved on spending this sum in furniture, in order that I might have a decent room into which to ask my visitors. Taking a lesson from the poet Goldsmith, I had ‘a bed by night—a chest of drawers by day,’ so that my apartment, alternately sitting-room and bedroom, was suitable for lady visitors. I often invited the lady you see sitting opposite to you, to take tea on Sunday with me and then go to church. She was my own age exactly, and was the prey of a cruel stepmother; she was, in fact, a sort of Cinderella in a large family. Her stepmother aimed at marrying her to a widower of forty-five, with seven children; but this my young girl of eighteen objected to. Her father at first sanctioned our engagement; but when a suitor in a good position came forward for his daughter, he forbade me the house, and made her walk daily with the gentleman whom we nick-named ‘number forty-five.’ I resolved to marry her as soon as I could furnish two more rooms and had laid in a good stock of clothes.
“‘My young lady studied my vegetarian books, and determined not to eat any meat at home. All the family laughed at her, but she was sufficiently resolute to withstand ridicule.
“‘She told her father that, he having once sanctioned her engagement to me, she must be bound to me, and could not accept anyone else. Her father remonstrated with her, but it was of no use. At the end of the two years, when I had just passed my twentieth birthday, I called on her father and said, ‘I have now three rooms well furnished, and am able to keep your daughter; I want you to fix a day for my marrying her.’ He pressed my hand warmly, and said, ‘Well, I will, and give you my blessing into the bargain.’ He was a good-hearted man at bottom, but too much ruled by his wife. He gave my wife a good large outfit and a purse of £10, and her stepmother even gave her £2, and her brothers and sisters bought her a family Bible, and one of them wrote in it, ‘At the end of ten days their countenances did appear fairer and fatter of flesh than all the children which did eat the portion of the king’s meat—Daniel i. 15.’
“The old gentleman laughed very much when he told me this, and said that the vegetarianism of Daniel had been the text of many a sermon which he had preached to his children, who, profiting by so good an example, were all vegetarians.
“But to resume. ‘I found myself married and very happy, but with 10s. a-week only. We laid out our money as follows: We paid 3s. 6d. for three rooms, 1s. for fuel and light, 3s. 6d. for food, and had 2s. for other contingencies. Our food consisted of—Bean stew three times a-week; potatoe pie twice a-week; puddings without eggs twice a-week; carrots, turnips, or some green vegetable daily. Our breakfast was porridge, either of corn or oatmeal. We ate bread with it, thus insuring mastication, and rendering butter, milk, tea, coffee, or cocoa unnecessary. We sometimes took tea in the evening, but oftener cold water. We formed the acquaintance of a fruit-merchant, who, though laughing at our vegetarianism, often sent us baskets of fruit. I was married in December, and in the following November my wife had a son. In a few days the wife of the head of the firm paid us a visit, and the next day I was informed that my salary was to be raised to 18s. a-week. I was before this in great difficulty what to do, as I did not much like my wife being the sole nurse of her child. Before this she had attended to all our wants. I now took an Irish servant girl, who was willing to be a vegetarian and receive 6d. a-week in wages for the first year.
“‘I was in possession, at the end of my second year of married life, of £10 sterling. I will now tell you how I invested it. ‘Our firm’ was both speculative and manufacturing, and employed some 100 workmen, who purchased the tools they required at rather high prices in the town. Ascertaining that the tools might be had cheaper at Birmingham and Sheffield, I went myself and laid in a small stock, which I sold within a week to the workmen at 18 per cent. profit, but still full 10 per cent. under what they were in the habit of paying. Being offered a month’s credit, I received a consignment of tools from Birmingham and Sheffield. At the end of a year I found myself in possession of £150, which I had made by the sale of these tools to our own hands. My wife kept my books, and this little business necessitated the hiring of another room. But in other respects this great increase of income did not induce us to enlarge our expenses.
“‘A foreman lost his hand through an accident, and was incapacitated for work; I made him my traveller, to call at other workshops and sell tools to workmen.
“‘The firms at Birmingham and Sheffield had confidence in me. I obtained credit more largely. I engaged a warehouse and a clerk. At the end of my fourth year of marriage I was in possession of £1,500 by the sale of these tools. I now thought of a bold project, since I was a capitalist. I went to the head of our firm, and I said, ‘My wife is carrying on a business which seems likely to produce us £1,500 a-year clear profit; I have no wish to leave your service, but I shall certainly do so, unless my salary is raised to £250 a-year.’ This sum being agreed on, I was contented for the present.
“‘We now kept two servants, and lived in two floors over our warehouse, and had two children.
“‘I had been married about six years, and had three children,’ continued the old vegetarian, ‘when my warehouse and all my furniture were totally destroyed by fire; fortunately they were insured for about £5,000. As this was another crisis in my career, I went to ‘the firm,’ and said, ‘I now know about as much of my business as I can learn, and have a large connection. I am offered credit if I will embark my capital—£8,000—to open a business in opposition to yours. But I do not want to do this if you will only give me a liberal salary. I want £450 a-year, and I will carry on my business in tools in my leisure hours as before.’ My terms were accepted; I was assigned a separate office, and five clerks were at my command. Every letter to me was now addressed Esquire; formerly I was only Mr., at least to the firm. I got my family arms engraved on a seal. I began to dress better. I kept three maid-servants and a page, and lived in a house out of the town—a road-side villa, with vegetable garden—bringing my expenses within the £450 a-year; reserving the profits of my business for the increase of my capital.
“‘The heads of the firm—two brothers—paid a visit to Ireland, and, coming back, a terrific storm arose; they were washed off the deck of the steamer and drowned, leaving in the firm only the junior, the son of the elder brother, a young man of twenty years of age. As his capacity was moderate, and his habits not very regular, the trustees of the two deceased partners, of their own accord, proposed that I should receive £750 per annum, take the entire charge of the business, and stay an hour longer than hitherto. But after six months, finding that I lost rather than gained by the arrangement, as it encroached on the time I had hitherto devoted to my private business, I plainly told the trustees that I must be taken into partnership, or I would abandon the concern and establish a rival business, which might very seriously damage theirs. They proposed that I should be partner for life, with £1,500 a-year as a first charge on the profits of the business, but should have no right to leave any part of it to my family, but should have two-thirds of the profits as surviving partner in case of the death of the present head of the firm without children. A deed was executed to embrace these provisions, and I bound myself not to enter into any other business which would aim to rival that of the firm. On this I took a superior house, kept a horse and open carriage, two gardeners, and otherwise lived at the rate of about £1,200 a-year. My wife now retired entirely from business, which she had seen after for about the half of three days in the week.
“‘About four years after this, to my sorrow, but at the same time pecuniary advantage, the young man, my senior partner, died, after a few days’ illness, from pleurisy, brought on by bathing. His constitution was mainly built up on beer, beef, and tobacco. I, a vegetarian, was never ill after bathing. This young man was a martyr to the abuse of stimulants, who his foolish doctor encouraged in their use. I have made my will, and none of my children shall inherit a penny if they are not at the time of my death vegetarians and total abstainers.
“‘We had been so absorbed in business since we were married, that we had not for ten years taken a sea-side holiday; so in the summer of 1846 we determined on a yacht voyage to last two months, from May 1st till July 1st, round the coast of Ireland. We hired a yacht of fourteen tons, four men, and a boy. My wife and three eldest children and self went on board at Liverpool, and we had a most enjoyable sail until we reached the north-west coast of Ireland. We landed and explored many rocky bays, and I collected many beautiful sea-birds’ eggs, and shot many of the more uncommon of the sea-fowl, of which I have at present a trophy of stuffed birds, nine feet long, in my hall.
“‘Wishing to see the wildest part of the Irish coast, we sailed for the Arran Isles, and, landing there, spent some days in examining the curious stones for which these islands are famous. Some fishermen there spoke of an isolated rock in the sea, about a quarter of a mile long, very high, with a cavern in it, as the haunt of myriads of sea-fowl, some of species found nowhere else in the same abundance. With one of these fishermen as our pilot we reached the spot. There was a heavy swell round this island-rook, and we had great difficulty in landing. We determined to anchor the yacht about half a mile off, and proceed to the island in the boat with two of our men. Thinking we might like to spend the day there, we took with us two bags of rice, a basket of oranges, some loaves of bread, some peas and beans for soup, and utensils and wood for cooking. In order to afford a seat for the children, a tin chest from the cabin, full of a variety of provisions, was put in the boat’s stern, and we embarked, my wife expressing a regret that the provisions had not been emptied out lest they should make the boat too heavy. With great difficulty we managed to run the boat into a chasm about twenty feet wide and one hundred feet long in the cliff, which was high and very precipitous. This chasm formed a miniature harbour, where the boat could lie without any danger of being swamped, in deep water close to the cliff, against which it was moored to a projecting rock, as to an artificial quay. It was a considerable scramble to get out of the boat and up the cliff; we just managed it, and landing our provisions, one of our men made a fire and acted as cook, while we wandered over the island, and explored the cave. It was, in fact, a sort of twin cavern, two branches having one entrance; that on the right-hand side was about 150 feet deep, and was not tenanted, as it had no exit; that on the left hand was a tunnel of even greater length, and about forty feet high; it was the nesting-place of many sea-birds; cormorants, puffins, guillemots, razorbills, several species of seagulls, the arctic tern and gannet very abundant, and a few pairs of the shearwater; of some sort we took a good many eggs. We packed baskets with at least 100 dozen. I did not shoot, as I did not like disturbing the birds, they were so tame, being but little accustomed to the visits of man. There were some goats on the island, which we conjectured had swum ashore from a shipwrecked vessel.
“‘This plateau, which was the highest part of the island, was reached by a path ascending about 200 feet. It was a beautiful emerald meadow, bounded by almost precipitous cliffs, which my eldest boy and I climbed up, but my wife declined the ascent. At about five we sat down to our dinner of pea-soup, boiled cabbage, bread, haricot beans, batter-pudding, and fruit.
“‘We were seated in the entrance of the cave, when suddenly a storm sprang up. The wind was so violent, that though we sadly wished it, we did not deem it prudent to get into our boat to rejoin the yacht. One of the sailors went on a high part of the island to observe, and soon informed us that the yacht had apparently dragged its anchor, and was fast disappearing.
“‘We were all in a sad dilemma. Leaving my dinner unfinished, I, with my eldest son, went up the cliff; the yacht was nowhere to be seen, and the wind was so violent that we were hardly able to keep our feet on the cliff. I came down, and said we should be obliged to pass the night on the island. Accordingly, the sailors brought out of the boat all we had left in it, including some shawls, a large fur rug, and two sails and a quantity of tarpaulin, which we had intended to sit on had the ground been damp. Lighting a small lamp, I made a careful survey of the right-hand cavern; it was not straight, but turned at a sharp angle; the floor was dry, as were also the walls. I collected a heap of loose dry sand eight or ten feet long, by as many feet wide, and in this I spread the tarpaulin, and over this some shawls. As it got dark, myself, wife, and three children lay down on this extemporised bed, covering ourselves with the large fur rug. The wind made a great noise. The sailors lay down a short distance from us, wrapped in the sails. The next morning, between five and six, we were all up, and I made an inventory of our provisions. We had about eight pounds of oatmeal, about the same quantity of haricot beans, about fourteen pounds of lentils, about twelve pounds of maize flour, three pounds of arrowroot, two pounds of potatoes, a cabbage, four loaves of bread, and about a dozen oranges. With economy, we had vegetarian provisions to last a fortnight, if we could get fresh water—as yet we had found none. In the cavern where the sea-birds were, there was a patch of green moss on the wall, nearly obscuring a deep crack, extending for some yards into the rock. On putting my ear to the crack I distinctly heard water dropping. I tied a towel to a walking-stick and poked it into the crack, and pulled out the towel dripping. By dint of probing the rock, I increased the supply, and at last was enabled to get an oar into the crack, which, being placed obliquely, acted as a lead to the water, which now trickled down sufficiently fast to fill a tin can of a gallon capacity in about a quarter of an hour. I considered this providential. We were on this island ten days, and slept in the same manner. During the day we kept a sail on an oar attached to the boat’s mast, on the highest part of the island, as a signal of distress. We saw several vessels, but they did not come near the island. At last a smack lay to, and sent a boat to the island, and in about an hour we were on board the smack. On the island we adhered strictly to our vegetarian diet, substituting sea-fowls’ eggs for hens’ eggs. [83]
“‘The sailors killed and roasted two kids.
“‘The smack put us on shore at Dingle Bay, and after a month’s travel in Ireland we returned home, and heard that our sailors, taking advantage of our absence, had drunk too much of the store of rum they had provided at their own expense for the voyage, and that the vessel, becoming unmanageable, had capsised, the two men and pilot being drowned, the boy alone escaping, and, clinging to the keel of the yacht, he was picked up a few hours after. The yacht was righted by some fishermen, and eventually brought to the Isle of Man, where she was claimed by her owners, who had to pay a salvage of £70. As this incident had occurred during my hiring of her, I recouped them of part, and received back my baggage, not so very much injured as I expected. At the bottom of our box of provisions were some seeds from our garden, which we were carrying to distribute amongst the poor Irish at the places where we landed; so, thinking that some future shipwrecked wanderers might be benefited thereby, I cleared a patch of ground, and planted carrot, parsnip, and cabbage seed, before I left the little island; hoping, but not expecting, the goats would leave the tender vegetables unmolested.
“‘I had been married about sixteen years, when I resolved to print a pamphlet on the subject of vegetarianism, giving my experiences and those of my wife and family. I gave away 2,000 copies, and with some result, for they were the means of adding over forty to the vegetarian flock. In this pamphlet I propounded a scheme for the renovation of my neighbourhood on vegetarian principles. At this time I employed about eight servants, male and female, in the house and garden. I gave the men 14s. a-week to find themselves, and they were allowed a certain proportion of such common vegetables as potatoes, carrots, turnips, and onions free. Being married men, they had each a distinct cottage, large and comfortable, with an ornamental flower-garden in front, and a fruit-garden at the back. They were built in the Gothic style, after my own design. Each of them kept bees and fowls for their own profit. Their style of living was the envy of all their neighbours. I allow none of them to take lodgers, and insisted on cleanliness; no rooms were papered, but all were whitewashed annually. During the many years that have elapsed since the first cottage was built, according to this plan, I have added to them, until the number has reached fourteen. They are mostly inhabited by Scotchmen. They are all temperance men, anti-tobacco, and mostly vegetarians. I do not give a man a cottage to himself until he is married to a clean, orderly, industrious women. My labourers’ children turn out well.
“‘One cottage is inhabited by my second gardener and his wife, without children. She teaches the boys and girls of the other cottages, and has done so for twenty years. I pay her £30 a-year. She was a trained schoolmistress before she was married. My head gardener is a religious man, and holds divine service in one of my barns, for about 100 persons connected with the estate. It is like a mother’s meeting, children of all ages being present. I am not sorry for this, for the parson of the neighbourhood is a great man for beef and beer, and his influence I dread on my little Arcadia. My head gardener now and then gives a lecture on vegetarianism in school-rooms, and we two have drown up a table suggestive of expenditure for rich and poor. Out of his wages he keeps his father and mother and two maiden aunts, comfortably, at an expenditure of about 7s. per week. He is an Aberdeenshire man, and about forty years of age. I hope his eldest son will become an eminent man; and I am paying for his education at one of the universities, on account of his extraordinary ability and fine natural disposition, and also on account of the respect which I feel for his father, who has helped me to carry out my principles on my estate. This man’s parents and aunts live in Aberdeenshire, and have never been on the parish. The laird gives them three rooms over an outhouse at 6d. a-week. They spent 2s. a-week on oatmeal, and 1s. a-week on milk. They grow vegetables enough to make a stew for dinner; a shilling’s-worth of flour gives them a meal of bread in the evening. They eat their bread without butter, but with their vegetable soup, made either of peas or beans; 3d. buys what condiments or groceries they require. They are always clean and tidy, and gather what fuel they need from the peat on the moor. The blind aunts are very strong, whereas the father is very feeble. They work the garden and collect the wood, he going with them to lead them on their way. My gardener has drawn up a table how an adult man may supply himself with wholesome food, lodging, and clothing at 7s. 6d. per week on vegetarian principles. He can get a room unfurnished for 1s. a-week; he can get attendance, to a certain extent, for 1s. a-week extra; his broad bill need not be more than 1s. 6d. per week; 1s. 6d. for green vegetables, including potatoes; 6d. for butter or oil; 6d. for cocoa, and 6d. for groceries; 6d. for clothing 6d. for washing. So the money is spent.
“‘Some of my gardeners’ sons, trained on the estate, spend no more when they go away from it. In one of them, named Dickenson, I have always taken a great interest, as he was the first born on the estate, and for a humble working man he has had a glorious career. At sixteen I gave him 16s. a-week for attending to my stove plants. At fourteen he had 10s. a-week. When he was eighteen a nobleman’s steward saw him, and offered him 30s. a-week to superintended a great stove-house. As I could not give such wages I let him go, but with great reluctance. He wrote to his father that, although he got 30s. a-week and many perquisites, yet he limited his expenditure to 8s. a-week until they offered to feed him and house him, when he cut down his expenditure to 3s. a-week. He could have had the best of meat, but he still preferred the vegetarian diet, and he induced two of the other servants, who were much troubled with indigestion, to become vegetarians. This vegetarian movement in the servants’ hall attracted the notice of the nobleman, who was much pleased to hear of it. By the greater use of vegetables than had been done formerly, especially by the introduction of potato pie, haricot-bean stew, and macaroni as every-day dishes in the servants’ hall, a saving of £500 per annum was effected in the commissariat of the vast establishment; therefore the nobleman was well satisfied, and presented my young Dickenson with a gold watch and chain, value £36, with an inscription, acknowledging his economy and fidelity. Dickenson’s head was not turned by all this, although his wages were soon after raised to £3 per week, and all food found. When the nobleman died, his successor presented Dickenson with £250, accompanied by a flattering letter, and retained him in his service at a salary of £200 a-year, Dickenson still living as he did before. After eighteen years’ service he was pensioned off with £100 per annum, and now has a nursery of his own, and is reputed to be worth between £7,000 and £8,000, although he is not more than forty years of age. He has married lately a most frugal but accomplished governess, who has saved £2,000. She was not a vegetarian when he married her, but is so now. I am as proud of Dickenson as if he was my own son. His sister is a most exemplary vegetarian governess; she has induced no less than eight families, with whom she has lived, to become vegetarians; and from her economy in her dress she has saved, in the course of twenty years of governessing, £400. On her showing me her bank-book I added £100 to it, and said if she saved £1,000 during my lifetime, I would add £500 to it. She is trying hard, and her brother has given her £110 towards it.
“‘My eldest unmarried daughter keeps my domestic accounts most beautifully, and audits those of any of the people I employ, with the object of impressing on them the advantages of economy. I have intimated to my children, that in proportion as they save they shall inherit. This may be an excess of paternal government in the estimation of many, but it has had a most beneficial effect. My family are so methodical and self-denying that they are said to realise some people’s idea of Quakers; but I have had little intercourse with that sect. The success of my own offspring, and the prosperity of my household and establishment, as you remarked to me, seemed to be due to an exceptional combination of qualities and circumstances—in my wife and myself in the first instance, and, secondly, in those I employ, who are somewhat like myself. This is true, I will admit; but it does not militate against the great principle as laid down in the Bible, that ‘the hand of the diligent maketh rich,’ that ‘industry has its sure reward,’ and that those who honour their parents shall receive blessing. I have done more for my parents than all my brothers and sisters united, and I have received more blessing than all my brothers and sisters united. Pardon my egotism.
“‘I will give you a few facts of vegetarians in our county. A squire and magistrate, with £2,000 a-year, used to spend £1,500 as a flesh-eater; he new spends £1,150, and is more comfortable, as a vegetarian. A barrister, whose doctor assured him that he should take three meals of meat and a bottle of wine daily for his health’s sake, now finds that by a vegetarian and temperance diet his expenses are reduced more than one-half, his health is better, and there is a corresponding increase of vigour and power of sustaining labour, such as he never before knew. A struggling clergyman, whom custom induced, he called it ‘compelled,’ to take three meals of meat daily, was under this system always in debt, and obliged to send the churchwardens, round every Christmas to ask for means to pay his way: now, on the vegetarian diet, he balances his income and expenditure, and is able to carry forward a few pounds every quarter. I believe, from more than forty years’ experience of the vegetarian diet, that were it generally adopted, nine-tenths of the pauperism and crime would disappear, that England would be able to supply herself with all the home-grown corn she requires, and that the national debt, if deemed desirable, could be paid off in thirty years.
“‘I corresponded regularly with my parents, and they, hearing I was getting into comfortable circumstances, would frequently write me complaints of poverty. To these I responded by remittances of money, and at this time wrote to my father, saying I would allow him £25 a-year, and my mother a similar amount. I visited my father about once in two years, but always took a lodging, and took my meals apart from him, for he was an inveterate smoker and a great beer-drinker, and filled his snuff-box three times weekly. I once made a random calculation that he had wasted £1,500 on stimulants in his life. These reflections prevented me from being more liberal to him. If I had given him £100 a-year, I only know he would have spent more on cigars. He would have bought wine at 6s. a bottle, and, perhaps, have increased his consumption of snuff. On getting a legacy of £75 once, £40 went to pay his publican’s bill. One day my father wrote asking me to accommodate my youngest brother and two sisters a few weeks, that they might see the sights of the town and get change of air. I wrote to my father that my wife and I would be very glad to see them, but they must not expect us to make any change in our vegetarian and temperance diet, but at the same time intimating that our style of living was very comfortable. There was an amount of formality between me and my father; he would sometimes call me, in derision, the Joseph of the family, because I went away from the rest and got rich, and I held his ill-success in life to be owing to his improvidence and self-indulgence, and feared he might want me to keep the whole family in idleness; accordingly I was not very much pleased at his proposal to send my sisters and younger brother to me. However, I assented, and they came. My elder sister, Mary Ann, was one of those sulky, vain, indolent natures which neither my wife nor I can sympathise with at all. Public opinion was her god, and Mrs. Grundy her godmother. One day she said to my wife, ‘I wonder you can endure to live as you do with your means; it strikes me as being very poor and miserable. Most people of your means have three meals of meat a-day. Do you never feel tired of the vegetables?’ My wife said no, and that she did not think she could preserve the same health and strength on a meat diet. My wife rose at six, and went to bed at half-past ten, whereas Mary Ann and her sister could not get down to breakfast till ten at home; but when they were with us we took care to have the breakfast cleared away at eight, so that if they came down at ten they had to wait till lunch before they got anything to eat. This strict commissariat roused Mary Ann two hours sooner than usual.
“‘Mary Ann was fantastic in her dress, and talked a great deal of nonsense to the servants, endeavouring to make them discontented with the vegetarian diet, and one of them gave notice to leave in consequence; so I thought it was time to settle with my sisters, and I placed them in a lodging and gave them £2 a-week to feed themselves as they chose, but they were welcome to come to our meals when they liked. To my surprise, although professing abhorrence of a vegetarian diet, they all came to take dinner and tea with us. My sisters were without watches or jewellery of any kind, and begged me to supply them. This I did, at a cost of about £40. My other sisters living at home, as well as those married and away, hearing of these gifts, wrote to me and demanded similar presents almost as a matter of right. I complied, although it cost me £120 more. I began to be weary of my family connections; they were no comfort to me, and my elder daughters began to be impertinent in consequence of the example of their aunts. My wife and I, when they left, resolved to drop all intercourse with them, lest the evil association might impair the discipline of our house.
“‘After staying six months, instead of a few weeks, my sisters and little brother left, saying they would probably come again about the same time next year. True to their promise they appeared the next year, and asked me to take a lodging for them as before. As they had come without any invitation, I thought that I would now for the first time read them a moral lecture, which, for the sake of the other members of the family, I put in the form of a letter, which was a good deal to the following effect. I have a copy of it in my letter-book at home. It began:—
“‘Dear Mary Ann, and my Sisters and Brothers,—After some prayer, I consider it my solemn duty to write to you, and warn you of your dangerous position. There is not one of you that fears God: you all are steeped in self-indulgence of one kind or another. I won’t mention names, but I put it to your consciences whether any of you have ever denied yourselves to do any good action; whether or not you have not lived lives purely selfish. You wrangled and quarrelled like vultures at your meals, each demanding the largest share. You girls esteemed it degrading to make your own clothes when your milliner’s rags were worn out, and adopted a style of dress which to my mind seemed a burlesque. You were at good schools, but you were too indolent to make good use of them; and your brothers have spent a small fortune on stimulants. Your marriages have all been contemptible. Finally, let me say I have no respect for any of you; but, as I fear God, I will not see you want. Those of you, married and single, who will become vegetarians and renounce stimulants, I will endeavour to assist in life, provided you bring up your children as vegetarians. But I shall renounce all connection with those relatives who do not in six months become vegetarians. I feel impelled to do so by a sense of duty.’
“‘I had this letter printed, and sent a copy to all my brothers and sisters; most of them replied, and said they would consider the proposal. Of my numerous brothers and sisters, none were at this time in prosperous circumstances, and yet they had all had a much better chance than I; more money had been spent on their education, and all of them had some legacies left them by an uncle, who left me nothing, as I was supposed to be separated from the rest.
“‘After spending about £15,000 in endeavouring to benefit my brothers and sisters and their children, I have determined to spend no more money on them, as they are incorrigibly self-indulgent, reckless, and vain-glorious, but keep all my money for my own offspring and those whom I can morally respect. Do you not think I am right, Mr. Napier?
“‘I will now tell you the state of my family. They are all healthy and well formed, luxuriant in hair, sound in teeth, and much better proportioned in feature and figure than usual. I confess, sir, that I take no small pleasure in my family. Even my married children do nothing of importance without consulting me. I share my income liberally with them; but they, with commendable prudence, live plainly and economically, and save much; some are better at it than others, but I cannot complain of any of them; they are liberal too. My grown-up sons spend a tenth of their incomes on moral and religious purposes. I do not devote much time to business now—not more than three hours daily; literary, scientific, and other intellectual pursuits fill up the rest of my time.’
“The vegetarian’s wife described their mansion in the country as containing thirty rooms, among which is a fine picture-gallery, 90 feet long; about twenty conservatories and thirty gardeners are attached to the house. By the sale of early fruits and vegetables, and the rearing of certain orchids, the great expense of this wholesale gardening is reduced to about £1,000 a-year, which her husband does not wish this hobby to exceed. He grows grapes throughout the greater part of the year, and pine-apples also, so that the dessert-fruit on his table is scarcely to be surpassed. His entire living-expenses do not exceed £3,000 a-year, although his income is something like six times that amount. Sometimes he will spend £3,000 a-year in relieving distress, as he did at the time of the cotton famine. His wife said he is so shy and reserved with people in general that he avoids society; but rich people are sought after, and he sometimes receives a thousand begging-letters in the year. He thought his life ought to be written, and added as an appendix to Mr. Smiles’s ‘Self-Help;’ and so I have sent this sketch of it for publication.”
Vegetarianism has been a stepping-stone to wealth in more than one instance. Undoubtedly Franklin’s vegetarianism was useful to him in a pecuniary as well as in a moral point of view. He writes:—“When about sixteen years of age, I happened to meet with a book written by one Tryson, recommending a vegetable diet. I determined to go into it. My brother, being unmarried, did not keep home, but boarded himself and his apprentices in another family. My refusing to eat flesh occasioned an inconvenience, and I was frequently chid for my singularity. I made myself acquainted with Tryson’s manner of preparing some of his dishes—such as boiling potatoes or rice, making pastry, puddings, and a few others; and then proposed to my brother, that if he would give me, weekly, half the money he paid for my board, I would board myself. He instantly agreed to it, and I presently found that I could save half what he paid me. This was an additional fund for the buying of books; but I had another advantage in it. My brother and the rest going from the printing-house to their meals, I remained there alone, and, despatching presently my light repast (which was often no more than a biscuit or a slice of bread, a handful of raisins, or a tart from the pastrycook’s, and a glass of water), had the rest of the time till their return for study, in which I made the greater progress from that greater clearness of head and quicker apprehension which generally attend temperance in eating and drinking. Now it was that, being on some occasion made ashamed of my ignorance in figures, which I had twice failed learning when at school, I took Cocker’s book on ‘Arithmetic,’ and went through the whole by myself with the greatest ease. I also read Seller’s and Thorny’s book on ‘Navigation,’ which made me acquainted with the little geometry it contains; but I never proceeded far in that science. I also read, about this time, Locke on the ‘Human Understanding;’ and the ‘Art of Thinking,’ by one of the writers of Port Royal.”
The vegetarians would do better did they exercise more of the grace of charity. In one of the numbers of Social Notes, Mr. Nunn, who is secretary of the “Food Reform Society,” is indignant at the bill of fare in the coffee public-houses. The food is “too stimulating, and not at all in accordance with dietetic principles.” They sell “the highly-seasoned, and drunkard’s thirst-creating, and expensive corned beef,” and “innutritious and indigestible ham and bacon.” Worse than all, the unhappy directors “must needs, of all miserable and doubtful food, sell—pork sausages;” and not only pork sausages, but wheaten bread; and not only wheaten bread—tell it not in Seven Dials!—but absolutely “pander to the wretched drunkard’s appetite for stimulating, innutritious, unhealthy, and expensive food,” by letting their customers have beef-steaks! “Now,” says the Echo, “allowing all of Mr. Nunn’s premises—and we gladly allow many of them—we think he is going a little too far, and certainly a good deal too fast. To attempt to entirely alter the food proclivities of the British workman while the experiment of the coffee public-house is yet unsolved, would, we humbly think, be decidedly of that character. It might be perfectly true that pork sausages and wheaten bread are not the most theoretically nutritious of food, and that they provoke thirst. Yet we fancy if the journeyman bricklayer could not get them in the coffee-house, he would seek them in the public-house, which it is the object of the directors of the former to win him away from. When one has to choose between gin and beef we fancy even Mr. Nunn would agree that the latter is of two evils the least. Accordingly we think that to a more convenient season it would be well to relegate the reformation of the coffee public-houses bill of fare.”
Vegetarianism has made many people rich, but much more money has been made by men who have given up the practice of drinking beer, or wine, or spirits, and have profitably invested the money which would have otherwise been spent at the public-house. In every town and city and village in the land, there are men who, by their temperance, have thus raised themselves into a condition of comparative wealth and independence. I have met with hundreds of such men. Let me give, as an illustration, the career of Mr. James M‘Currey, who claims to be the teetotal father of the Rev. Dr. Robert Maguire. M‘Currey was born in Glasgow, as far back as 1801, and he is now, in the year 1878, a fine hearty-looking old man, with apparently many years of usefulness before him. His parents were working people, and when M‘Currey first went to work as a lad, his chief employment was to fetch in the drink for the men, and for his reward to have a sup for himself. No wonder the lad at times drank, and, as he says, worked hard in the workshop, and worked with equal energy at the devil’s workshop, the public-house. Fortunately, he married a good wife, who was no friend to the whiskey; and owing to her influence he left off going to the public-house; but even then, when he came to London and got good work, he took occasionally to drinking. He writes—
“I dearly loved my wife and child, but drink came between me, and them. Ever, on my senses returning, my remorse was horrible, more than I could bear. I longed to get away from my work—from London, anywhere. Hard times came; years of trial to my wife, of reproach to me, in which I was miserable when drunk, and more miserable when sober.” Happily, in 1828–9, he became a Christian man, and a very earnest one; but even then he had not taken the pledge, and had much trouble in consequence. Unfortunately, he was at work in Theobald’s Road, and when the men were paid they used to go to the public-house to get change, and M‘Currey went with the rest. One day, just as he was going through the passage of the inn, the head foreman, who was in the parlour, saw him passing, and said—
“‘Come in here, M‘Currey;’ and in the next moment he had handed me a glass of brandy-and-water, which was lying before him on the table. He then said—
“‘Sit down and have a pipe.’
“Being called upon to do this by a man in his position, I did so, for I thought to myself I cannot very well say ‘No.’ The tempter came in an insidious form, and I fell before his wiles. That night I was taken home drunk to my wife. She was fit to go beside herself with grief. There was I lying drunk in the house, where, for a long time past, we had been so comfortable. I, who had been one of the visitors of the Strangers’ Friend; I, who had gone to Guy’s Hospital to talk to people about their soul’s eternal salvation; there was I, lying drunk. It was a dreadful fall for me. I went to my class-leader about it. He said—
“‘Well, Brother M‘Currey, what is the matter?’
“I told him; but there he was, the man to whom I had gone for advice, sitting with a bottle of gin on the table, and a jug of spring water. He filled up some and handed it to me. He said—
“‘You see, Mr. M‘Currey, you take too much; take a little now and it will steady your nerves;’ for I was trembling like a leaf.
“‘It is the accursed little, sir, that is the stumblingblock to me.’
“‘Never mind; you take a little of this, and don’t be tempted to take too much.’”
We need not say that Mr. M‘Currey took some of what was offered him; but he was glad to leave his class-leader’s presence, and church, and neighbourhood, and he went to work at Chelsea. There he met with a teetotaller, who persuaded him to go to a temperance meeting. He did, and became a teetotaller. The struggle at first was long and severe. Times were bad, and he had to borrow tools to go to work with. He had also at that time (1837) much opposition to encounter from his fellow-workmen, who often injured his clothes and his tools, and were ready to do him all the harm they could. At length he borrowed a sovereign, and commenced selling coke in the streets till better days came round, and in a little while he commenced his career as a master-builder. It is thus he writes in his interesting autobiography:—
“There is a very noble verse of my countryman, Robert Burns, which I have ever heard with admiration:—
“‘To catch Dame Fortune’s golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her,
And gather gear by every wile
That’s justified by honour.
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Not for a train attendant,
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.’
“That motive seems to me to be right for both worlds. Honest independence leads to true Christian manliness.”
At that time Buckingham Palace was under repairs. M‘Currey writes—“I was one of those employed on this important structure. I very frequently used to be working for the Baroness Burdett Coutts, Lord Paget, and others in the same rank of life. When I was at work one Saturday, some one came in and said that her Majesty was expected home, and that the apartments which she occupied must be finished by a certain time that was named; and, in order to get them done by the appointed time, my employer, a Mr. Evans, said I must work all Sunday. I said—
“‘I will not work at all on Sunday, though I am prepared to work till midnight every other day to get the work done, or I am willing to come at two o’clock in the morning on Monday, and work till it is finished.’
“He said, ‘You are not a loyal subject.’
“‘Yes, I am; and if anybody were to tell me the palace was on fire, and her Majesty inside, I would risk my life to save her; but I won’t risk my soul for the sake of working on Sundays.’
“The consequence of all this was, that I got my discharge, and from that moment I began to get on, on my own account. This was one of God’s blessings in disguise. When I came home my wife said—
“‘Never mind about it;’ and we kneeled down and prayed, and we opened the hymn-hook at the very hymn where it says—
“‘Ye fearful saints fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.’
“I was really encouraged by this. It seemed like the omen of mercy and goodness, which has ever since followed me in my path through life.
“When I left working at her Majesty’s palace, I, under the circumstances mentioned, had arrived at a turning-point in my worldly fortunes. Shakspeare has said, that ‘there is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;’ and I believe the tide of my fortunes came at this time; and, through the blessing of God, it was taken at the flood. If it has not led me on to fortune, it has at least led me to a position of comfort and respectability, which at one period of my life I would have deemed it impossible for me, by any amount of diligence, to attain. I was without work and without friends, though, thanks to teetotalism, I had a little money deposited in a place where I could easily get it, the savings-bank at Chelsea. It was in the year 1849 that I went to see Mr. Thomas Cubitt, whom I desire to mention with gratitude and respect. I told him my circumstances, and that I wanted to build a house.
“‘Well,’ he said, ‘take a piece of ground for half-a-dozen houses.’
“‘I am frightened to go too far at first,’ I replied.
“‘Very well,’ he said; ‘there is nothing like making sure steps. You are our temperance man,’ he added; ‘I remember you well.’
“This was the commencement of my rise in the world above the position of a common journeyman. Mr. Cubitt offered me bricks upon credit, sufficient to get the roof on, if I could find money for the rest. I had £65 of my own, the savings of three years’ teetotalism; and to work I went, and soon got the skeleton of the house up, on the piece of ground he granted in Wellington Street, Pimlico. Although I used to rise with the lark, I was, nevertheless, at a teetotal meeting every night; while on Sunday I was lecturing all day long. I would not give up my temperance work for any manor anything. My son and myself used to get up at four o’clock in the morning, and make up a batch of mortar, so as to be able to set the labourers to work when they came. We had two labourers to assist us, and now and then I took on a man, just to give him a little help to bide over the hard time immediately succeeding his signing the pledge. At times I used to go away, and perhaps my son with me, to another job, which would bring in a little money. When I got the roof on I was in a terrible fix. I had spent all my money; and though Mr. Cubitt was ready to give me all I wanted, yet I did not know him as I do now. I got into very low spirits; but as, in leaving her Majesty’s palace, I had made that a matter of prayer, so also did I do with this. My wife also prayed, and thus the matter was left, apparently, no better than before.
“One day I went down to my work as usual, and, on looking up the street, which was then beginning to form, I saw Mr. Robert Alsop coming along—the very man who brought two policemen to take me in charge for holding meetings at the ‘White Stiles,’ Chelsea. He did this partly on his own account, and partly because the people sent a petition to have me removed from the spot. It may be as well to give a little account of what transpired when Mr. Alsop brought the two policemen.
“‘I give,’ he said, ‘this man in charge. I have told him that the people about here are much offended. We cannot allow this disturbance to go on, and a letter has been sent on this subject. I therefore give him in charge.’
“‘Then,’ said I, ‘I give Mr. Alsop in charge; and I dare you to take me without taking him.’
“The policemen were in a fog—likewise Mr. Alsop.
“‘Well, sir,’ said one of them, at last, ‘it appears Mr. M‘Currey knows what he is doing. We know nothing about the case; and, if you force us to take this man in charge, we must take you too.’
“Mr. Alsop considered for a little. He did not know what to do. The people and the policemen were alike awaiting his decision. If he persisted, he must he conveyed, like a culprit, along with me; and he knew well that I cared little what was done, for by this time the roads to the various station-houses were getting pretty familiar. If, on the contrary, he retired from the conflict, he must do so with the ridicule of all about him. I think he chose the wisest course. He walked away amidst the derisive laughter of the crowd.
“This, then, was the man whom God, and God alone, had sent to relieve me from my embarrassment. I stood in front of the house as Mr. Alsop came by, thinking what on earth I should do, but never for a moment dreaming that he was likely to be a customer.
“‘What will be the amount?’ said Mr. Alsop, pausing in his walk, and looking up at the house.
“I said, ‘When it is finished, and you have a good tenant, I will sell it to you for £380. It has a sixteen-feet frontage, and is twenty-six feet deep.’
“‘Who is the tenant to be?’
“‘I will be your tenant. I will take it for five or seven years.’
“‘Well, I will think of it. I will call and see thee to-morrow.’
“As usual, I made it a matter of prayer. The reader may be sure that I kept a good look-out for my customer the next day, but did not let him see that I was at all anxious about the matter.
“‘Have you thought about what I said?’
“God knows I had not slept for thinking of it.
“‘Yes, I have; and I will take £380 for it, and be your tenant for three, five, or seven years. I am going to leave my present house.’
“‘I will give you £330,’ he said.
“‘Very well, I will take that. You know it is usual to pay a deposit?’
“‘Oh, yes; how much do you want? I have brought a bank cheque.’
“‘£150 would be enough.’
“‘You can have more—say £200.’
“‘Very well, that will do.’
“‘He filled up the cheque for the last-mentioned amount, and we parted for the time. I was in the highest spirits. My difficulties had vanished. With this cheque I could command all the remaining materials that I wanted. I went to Mr. Cubitt’s office, got the boards for the floor, and everything else, and set the carpenters to work, early and late. At last it was finished. Before this, however, I took ground for two more houses, which Mr. Alsop also bought. The first one I lived in myself for seven years. This was the very man who had given me in charge nine months before.
“I went on building and building until I gave up taking ground for one or two houses, but took it for ten, then fifteen, then twenty, and then for twenty-seven. All one side of Bessborough Street was built by me. My son was an immense help to me. Of course, as might have been expected, my career was not one of uninterrupted prosperity. Things went very hard with me once or twice; but my troubles were chiefly owing to the political commotion of the times, which disturbed trade and unsettled men’s minds. The Chartist riots did me some harm, as did also the Feargus O’Connor disturbances, and some trade disputes.
“It was during the time of the Chartist disturbances that my troubles reached their climax, and that I really thought that results, for which I had so long laboured, were about to be removed from my reach for ever. One day, when I was really unable to say how my engagements were to be met, one of my foremen came and said there was a gentleman waiting to see me about a house. I said—