Self Help by Samuel Smiles (desktop ebook reader txt) 📖
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resolutely he did it.
It was a maxim of Dr. Young, the philosopher, that “Any man can do
what any other man has done;” and it is unquestionable that he
himself never recoiled from any trials to which he determined to
subject himself. It is related of him, that the first time he
mounted a horse, he was in company with the grandson of Mr. Barclay
of Ury, the well-known sportsman; when the horseman who preceded
them leapt a high fence. Young wished to imitate him, but fell off
his horse in the attempt. Without saying a word, he remounted,
made a second effort, and was again unsuccessful, but this time he
was not thrown further than on to the horse’s neck, to which he
clung. At the third trial, he succeeded, and cleared the fence.
The story of Timour the Tartar learning a lesson of perseverance
under adversity from the spider is well known. Not less
interesting is the anecdote of Audubon, the American ornithologist,
as related by himself: “An accident,” he says, “which happened to
two hundred of my original drawings, nearly put a stop to my
researches in ornithology. I shall relate it, merely to show how
far enthusiasm—for by no other name can I call my perseverance—
may enable the preserver of nature to surmount the most
disheartening difficulties. I left the village of Henderson, in
Kentucky, situated on the banks of the Ohio, where I resided for
several years, to proceed to Philadelphia on business. I looked to
my drawings before my departure, placed them carefully in a wooden
box, and gave them in charge of a relative, with injunctions to see
that no injury should happen to them. My absence was of several
months; and when I returned, after having enjoyed the pleasures of
home for a few days, I inquired after my box, and what I was
pleased to call my treasure. The box was produced and opened; but
reader, feel for me—a pair of Norway rats had taken possession of
the whole, and reared a young family among the gnawed bits of
paper, which, but a month previous, represented nearly a thousand
inhabitants of air! The burning beat which instantly rushed
through my brain was too great to be endured without affecting my
whole nervous system. I slept for several nights, and the days
passed like days of oblivion—until the animal powers being
recalled into action through the strength of my constitution, I
took up my gun, my notebook, and my pencils, and went forth to the
woods as gaily as if nothing had happened. I felt pleased that I
might now make better drawings than before; and, ere a period not
exceeding three years had elapsed, my portfolio was again filled.”
The accidental destruction of Sir Isaac Newton’s papers, by his
little dog ‘Diamond’ upsetting a lighted taper upon his desk, by
which the elaborate calculations of many years were in a moment
destroyed, is a well-known anecdote, and need not be repeated: it
is said that the loss caused the philosopher such profound grief
that it seriously injured his health, and impaired his
understanding. An accident of a somewhat similar kind happened to
the MS. of Mr. Carlyle’s first volume of his ‘French Revolution.’
He had lent the MS. to a literary neighbour to peruse. By some
mischance, it had been left lying on the parlour floor, and become
forgotten. Weeks ran on, and the historian sent for his work, the
printers being loud for “copy.” Inquiries were made, and it was
found that the maid-of-all-work, finding what she conceived to be a
bundle of waste paper on the floor, had used it to light the
kitchen and parlour fires with! Such was the answer returned to
Mr. Carlyle; and his feelings may be imagined. There was, however,
no help for him but to set resolutely to work to re-write the book;
and he turned to and did it. He had no draft, and was compelled to
rake up from his memory facts, ideas, and expressions, which had
been long since dismissed. The composition of the book in the
first instance had been a work of pleasure; the re-writing of it a
second time was one of pain and anguish almost beyond belief. That
he persevered and finished the volume under such circumstances,
affords an instance of determination of purpose which has seldom
been surpassed.
The lives of eminent inventors are eminently illustrative of the
same quality of perseverance. George Stephenson, when addressing
young men, was accustomed to sum up his best advice to them, in the
words, “Do as I have done—persevere.” He had worked at the
improvement of his locomotive for some fifteen years before
achieving his decisive victory at Rainhill; and Watt was engaged
for some thirty years upon the condensing-engine before he brought
it to perfection. But there are equally striking illustrations of
perseverance to be found in every other branch of science, art, and
industry. Perhaps one of the most interesting is that connected
with the disentombment of the Nineveh marbles, and the discovery of
the long-lost cuneiform or arrow-headed character in which the
inscriptions on them are written—a kind of writing which had been
lost to the world since the period of the Macedonian conquest of
Persia.
An intelligent cadet of the East India Company, stationed at
Kermanshah, in Persia, had observed the curious cuneiform
inscriptions on the old monuments in the neighbourhood—so old that
all historical traces of them had been lost,—and amongst the
inscriptions which he copied was that on the celebrated rock of
Behistun—a perpendicular rock rising abruptly some 1700 feet from
the plain, the lower part bearing inscriptions for the space of
about 300 feet in three languages—Persian, Scythian, and Assyrian.
Comparison of the known with the unknown, of the language which
survived with the language that had been lost, enabled this cadet
to acquire some knowledge of the cuneiform character, and even to
form an alphabet. Mr. (afterwards Sir Henry) Rawlinson sent his
tracings home for examination. No professors in colleges as yet
knew anything of the cuneiform character; but there was a ci-devant
clerk of the East India House—a modest unknown man of the name of
Norris—who had made this little-understood subject his study, to
whom the tracings were submitted; and so accurate was his
knowledge, that, though he had never seen the Behistun rock, he
pronounced that the cadet had not copied the puzzling inscription
with proper exactness. Rawlinson, who was still in the
neighbourhood of the rock, compared his copy with the original, and
found that Norris was right; and by further comparison and careful
study the knowledge of the cuneiform writing was thus greatly
advanced.
But to make the learning of these two self-taught men of avail, a
third labourer was necessary in order to supply them with material
for the exercise of their skill. Such a labourer presented himself
in the person of Austen Layard, originally an articled clerk in the
office of a London solicitor. One would scarcely have expected to
find in these three men, a cadet, an India-House clerk, and a
lawyer’s clerk, the discoverers of a forgotten language, and of the
buried history of Babylon; yet it was so. Layard was a youth of
only twenty-two, travelling in the East, when he was possessed with
a desire to penetrate the regions beyond the Euphrates.
Accompanied by a single companion, trusting to his arms for
protection, and, what was better, to his cheerfulness, politeness,
and chivalrous bearing, he passed safely amidst tribes at deadly
war with each other; and, after the lapse of many years, with
comparatively slender means at his command, but aided by
application and perseverance, resolute will and purpose, and almost
sublime patience,—borne up throughout by his passionate enthusiasm
for discovery and research,—he succeeded in laying bare and
digging up an amount of historical treasures, the like of which has
probably never before been collected by the industry of any one
man. Not less than two miles of bas-reliefs were thus brought to
light by Mr. Layard. The selection of these valuable antiquities,
now placed in the British Museum, was found so curiously
corroborative of the scriptural records of events which occurred
some three thousand years ago, that they burst upon the world
almost like a new revelation. And the story of the disentombment
of these remarkable works, as told by Mr. Layard himself in his
‘Monuments of Nineveh,’ will always be regarded as one of the most
charming and unaffected records which we possess of individual
enterprise, industry, and energy.
The career of the Comte de Buffon presents another remarkable
illustration of the power of patient industry as well as of his own
saying, that “Genius is patience.” Notwithstanding the great
results achieved by him in natural history, Buffon, when a youth,
was regarded as of mediocre talents. His mind was slow in forming
itself, and slow in reproducing what it had acquired. He was also
constitutionally indolent; and being born to good estate, it might
be supposed that he would indulge his liking for ease and luxury.
Instead of which, he early formed the resolution of denying himself
pleasure, and devoting himself to study and self-culture.
Regarding time as a treasure that was limited, and finding that he
was losing many hours by lying a-bed in the mornings, he determined
to break himself of the habit. He struggled hard against it for
some time, but failed in being able to rise at the hour he had
fixed. He then called his servant, Joseph, to his help, and
promised him the reward of a crown every time that he succeeded in
getting him up before six. At first, when called, Buffon declined
to rise—pleaded that he was ill, or pretended anger at being
disturbed; and on the Count at length getting up, Joseph found that
he had earned nothing but reproaches for having permitted his
master to lie a-bed contrary to his express orders. At length the
valet determined to earn his crown; and again and again he forced
Buffon to rise, notwithstanding his entreaties, expostulations, and
threats of immediate discharge from his service. One morning
Buffon was unusually obstinate, and Joseph found it necessary to
resort to the extreme measure of dashing a basin of ice-cold water
under the bed-clothes, the effect of which was instantaneous. By
the persistent use of such means, Buffon at length conquered his
habit; and he was accustomed to say that he owed to Joseph three or
four volumes of his Natural History.
For forty years of his life, Buffon worked every morning at his
desk from nine till two, and again in the evening from five till
nine. His diligence was so continuous and so regular that it
became habitual. His biographer has said of him, “Work was his
necessity; his studies were the charm of his life; and towards the
last term of his glorious career he frequently said that he still
hoped to be able to consecrate to them a few more years.” He was a
most conscientious worker, always studying to give the reader his
best thoughts, expressed in the very best manner. He was never
wearied with touching and retouching his compositions, so that his
style may be pronounced almost perfect. He wrote the ‘Epoques de
la Nature’ not fewer than eleven times before he was satisfied with
it; although he had thought over the work about fifty years. He
was a thorough man of business, most orderly in everything; and he
was accustomed to say that genius without order lost three-fourths
of its power. His great success as a writer was the result mainly
of his painstaking labour and diligent application. “Buffon,”
observed Madame Necker, “strongly persuaded that genius is the
result of a profound attention directed to a particular subject,
said that he was thoroughly wearied out when composing his
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