Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/357

346 As he  was  speaking  the  door  on  his  left  opened, and Lady  Grace  Ravelstoke  entered  with  the  lady passenger. The lady  heard  him  speak,  and  there are some  voices  which  a woman  never  forgets,  and the dangerous  journey  over  the  rope  had  not passed in  silence.

She laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  said,  “Oh, sir, how  can  I thank  you?”

Tyrawley rose  as  in  duty  bound,  saying,  “Do not speak  of  it,  I did  not  know  when  I came off, that  I was  to  have  the  pleasure  of  assisting you.”

But the  astonishment  of  the  captain  was  beautiful to  behold.

“Why you  don’t  mean  to  say Well,  I never; — dash  my  wig — well  I’m Here,  shake hands, sir,  will  you.”  And  he  stretched  across the table  a brawny  hand,  not  much  smaller  than  a shoulder  of  mutton.

The grip  with  which  Tyrawley  met  his,  seemed to do  a great  deal  more  to  convince  him  of  his identity, than  the  lady’s  recognition  of  their preserver.

The day  was  as  wet  as  the  preceding. Half-an-hour after  breakfast,  Mr.  Tyrawley  lounged  into the back  drawing-room. There sat  Miss  Constance Baynton,  and,  by  the  singular  coincidence which  favours  lovers  or  historians,  she  sat alone.

Now Constance  had  made  up  her  mind  that  she was bound  to  apologise  to  Mr.  Tyrawley  for  her rude speeches  of  yesterday; she  had  also  decided that she  would  compliment  him  on  his  gallant conduct.

She had,  in  fact,  arranged  a neat,  quiet,  cold, formal, appropriate  form  of  words  in  which  she would give  her  views  expression. And how  do you  think  she  delivered  them? She got  up,  said, “O Mr. Tyrawley!” and burst  into  tears.

If a proud woman’s  pride  is  a shield  to  thee, O man, as  well  as  to  her,  against  the  arrows  of love,  remember,  that  if  ever  she  throws  it  away — after she  has  compelled  you  to  acknowledge  its value — you are  both  left  utterly  defenceless.

Frederick Tyrawley  capitulated  at  once. They are to  be  married  this  month. And if  Mr. Tyrawley does not,  at  some  future  time,  achieve  a reputation which  no  mystery  shall  cloud,  it  will  not  be Mrs. Tyrawley’s fault. 2em

be an  Englishman  in  the  full  sense  of  the term is  a thing  to  be  proud  of. To have  grown on the  same  soil  that  has  produced  an  Alfred,  a Shakspeare,  Milton,  Hampden,  Sydney,  and  others of our  long  line  of  worthies,  is  to  be  in  some  sort their foster-brother. And to  be  of  the  kin  of Watt  and Crompton,  and  Hargreaves,  and  the half Celt,  half  Saxon  race,  born  mechanicians, along the  course  of  Blackstone  Edge,  who  nursed up Lancashire  to  its  eminence,  and  clothed  the whole world  in  cotton — albeit  an  exotic  and  not  an indigenous  trade — to  claim  the  men  of  strong Northumberland and  skilful  Cornwall,  and  canny Yorkshire, as  our  brethren — and  the  noble  army of railway-makers  and  improvers  who—as  the Free Masons  of  old  went  forth  into  all  lands to build  churches — go  forth  into  all  lands  to  lay down the  iron  cords  that  bind  nations  together, and so  win  the  world  from  the  wilderness; — all this stirs  the  blood  in  vein  and  artery,  and impels us  to  cry  out:

“England expects  that  every  man  this  day  will  do his  duty,”  said  Nelson,  and  stern  duty  proved  to  be a stronger  thing  than  dazzling  glory, — it  was  gold versus gilding.

Hard has  ever  been  the  struggle  of  those  men, who bent  on  physical  progress  have  disturbed  the even course  of  the  Actual  in  their  search  after  the To-come. No popular  shouts  greet  them,  till external success has  stamped  them  with  its  vulgar fiat. Capital in  employment  is  all  against  them, and capital  in  speculation  is  chary. It is  not often that  originality  and  capital  get  together  at the  outset, — not  common  for  a Watt  to  meet  with a Boulton; only the  originality  that  is  united  to perseverance,  hoping  always  against  hope,  can ensure success.

Few remember  the  struggle  of  steam  to  supplant horses  on  the  highways. Many remember the struggle  to  supplant  highways  by  railways,  for the struggle  was  crowned  by  success,  and  men  of  all classes abandoned  old  pursuits  for  new. The iron wheel on  the  rail  was  substituted  for  the  wooden-wheels  on  the  gravel  and  macadam,  and  it  was even thought  that  springs  might  be  dispensed  with, till the  matter  was  put  to  the  proof. All things were topsy-turvy,  and  fabulous  prices  were  paid for some  of  the  earlier  railway-stock,  but  curiously enough the  distribution  of  rewards  gave  as  result the highest  praises  in  proportion  to  the  commonness of the  work. The men  who  made  the  earthworks accumulated fortunes,  those  who  made  the  locomotives barely  got  “salt  to  their  porridge.”  The reason is  plain; business  acuteness  on  a large scale is  more  accumulative  than  mechanical  skill or genius.

The cost  of  manual  labour,  and  that  skilled labour of  the  highest  kind,  in  working  iron,  very easily led  the  way  to  the  use  of  machine-tools, while the  softer  material,  wood,  was  left  to  the skill of  the  workman. And thus,  long  after  the construction of  locomotive-engines  on  railways  was rendered tolerably  automatic,  wagons  and  carriages of all  kinds  still  remained  a mere  handicraft. The circumstances  which  led  to  a change  were peculiar.

An inventor,  that  is,  a man  of  strong  perceptive faculties, united  with  mechanical  instincts,  whom we  will  agree  to  call  John  Smith,  obtained  a patent  for  certain  improvements  in  transit,  applicable to  ordinary  highways. An influential  director of  a railway,  struck  with  its  importance,  called on  John  Smith  and  requested  him  to  adapt  it  to railways. After considerable  expense  and  time, this  was  done,  and  the  success  of  the  principle demonstrated,  though  the  perfect  adaptation  was impracticable  without  the  cooperation  of  the holders’  of  stock. Every principle of  trade  competition forbade  this,  and  therefore, as a next  move, John  Smith  became  a builder  himself, aiming at