Famous Men of Science

Morse returned to New York after eleven months, disappointed that Congress had done nothing, "without," as he said, "a farthing in my pocket, and have to borrow even for my meals." In Paris, having learned from M. Daguerre, the inventor of the daguerreotype, the process, Morse introduced it in this country, and earned enough by taking pictures to reimburse him for his European journey. Many crowded to his rooms to be taught, and he cheerfully imparted the knowledge he possessed.

As the months went by and Congress did nothing, Morse became despondent. He had not the means even to pay postage on letters. He said, "I am sick at heart… I feel at times almost ready to cast the whole matter to the winds, and turn my attention forever from the subject." The Vails were unable to help the enterprise further, at present. Morse was still teaching a few pupils at the university. Gen. Strother, of Virginia, "Porte Crayon," thus tells of Morse's pecuniary condition: "He was very poor. I remember that when my second quarter's pay was due, my remittance from home did not come as expected; and one day the professor came in, and said, courteously:

"'Well, Strother, my boy, how are we off for money?'

"'Why, professor,' I answered, 'I am sorry to say I have been disappointed; but I expect a remittance next week.'

"'Next week,' he repeated, sadly; 'I shall be dead by that time.'

"'Dead, sir?'

"'Yes, dead by starvation!'

"I was distressed and astonished. I said, hurriedly: 'Would ten dollars be of any service?'

"'Ten dollars would save my life; that is all it would do.'

"I paid the money, all that I had, and we dined together. It was a modest meal, but good, and, after he had finished, he said: 'This is my first meal in twenty-four hours. Strother, don't be an artist. It means beggary. Your life depends upon people who know nothing of your art, and care nothing for you. A house-dog lives better, and the very sensitiveness that stimulates an artist to work keeps him alive to suffering.'"

Even the janitor of the University building said to a young man who was looking for a studio for himself: "You will have an artist for your neighbor, though he is not here much of late; he seems to be getting rather shiftless, he is wasting his time over some silly invention, a machine by which he expects to send messages from one place to another. He is a very good painter, and might do well if he would only stick to his business; but, Lord!" he added, with a sneer of contempt, "the idea of telling by a little streak of lightning what a body is saying at the other end of it!"

"Judge of my astonishment," says the young man, "when he informed me that the 'shiftless individual,' whose foolish waste of time so much excited his commiseration, was none other than the president of the National Academy of Design, – the most exalted position, in my youthful artistic fancy, it was possible for mortal to attain."

Once more, in some way, Morse obtained the money to go to Washington, and make another effort. December 30, 1842, a bill was at last submitted, asking for the thirty-thousand-dollar appropriation. It received much ridicule from some of the members. One suggested that there should be an appropriation for mesmeric experiments; another suggested the same for Millerism. At last the vote was taken in the House, Morse sitting in the gallery watching the result with feverish anxiety. The vote stood 89 yeas to 83 nays. IT WAS CARRIED.

Would it pass the Senate? The amount of business to be transacted made its coming up improbable. The last day of the session came. Morse sat all the day and evening in the gallery, and finally went to his hotel, nearly prostrated from disappointment.

In the morning, as he came down to breakfast, Annie G. Ellsworth, the daughter of his old friend, the Commissioner of Patents, came toward him with a bright smile, saying: "I have come to congratulate you!"

"For what, my dear friend?"

"On the passage of your bill."

Morse could scarcely believe the good news, that the bill had passed, in the last moments of the session, without opposition. He was nearly overcome with joy, and told the young lady that she should send the first message over the first line.

He at once proceeded to construct the first line of his electric telegraph between Washington and Baltimore. Ezra Cornell, later one of the most successful constructors and largest proprietors of telegraphs, and the founder of Cornell University, was employed at a salary of one thousand dollars a year.

After many perplexities, the line was completed. On May 24, 1844, Morse invited his friends to assemble in the chamber of the United States Supreme Court, where he had his instrument in connection with Baltimore. Annie Ellsworth's mother had suggested to her these words from the Bible, for the first message: "What hath God wrought!" No words could have been more in accordance with Morse's feelings. Taking his seat at the instrument, he spelled out the words, and instantly they were received by Mr. Vail in Baltimore, who resent them the same moment to Washington. The strip of paper on which this message is printed is now in the Athenæum at Hartford, Conn.

What must have been Professor Morse's feelings at that moment. The day of triumph had come – the twelve weary years of poverty were over. Hereafter he was to be like one of the princes of the world.

A telegraph company was formed which offered to sell the telegraph to the government for one hundred thousand dollars. Congress refused to buy, much to the subsequent profit of the Morse company. In less than thirty years, the Morse telegraph was used in America upon two hundred and fifty thousand miles of wire, and in foreign countries upon six hundred thousand miles of wire, while the telegraph receipts throughout the world were about forty million dollars yearly.

There were many amusing incidents in connection with this early telegraph. "A pretty little girl tripped into the Washington City termination, and, after a great deal of hesitation and blushing, asked how long it would take to send to Baltimore. The interesting appearance of the little questioner attracted Mr. Morse's attention, and he very blandly replied, 'One second!'

"'Oh, how delightful, how delightful!' ejaculated the little beauty, her eyes glistening with delight. 'One second only; here, send this even quicker if you can.' And Mr. Morse found in his hand a neatly folded, gilt-edged note, the very perfume and shape of which told a volume of love.

"'I cannot send this note,' said Mr. Morse, with some feeling; 'it is impossible.'

"'Oh, do, do!' implored the distracted girl. 'William and I have had a quarrel, and I shall die if he don't know that I forgive him in a second. I know I shall.'

"Mr. Morse still objected to sending the note, when the fair one, brightening up, asked, 'You will, then, send me on, won't you?'

"'Perhaps,' said one of the clerks, 'it would take your breath away to travel forty miles in a second.'

"'Oh, no, it won't! no, it won't, if it carries me to William! The cars in the morning go so slow I can't wait for them.'

"Mr. Morse now comprehended the mistake which the petitioner was laboring under, and attempted to explain the process of conveying important information along the wires. The letter-writer listened a few moments, impatiently, and then rolled her burning epistle into a ball, in the excitement under which she labored, and thrust it into her bosom.

"'It's too slow!' she finally exclaimed; 'it's too slow! and my heart will break before William knows I forgive him; and you are a cruel man, Mr. Morse,' said the fair creature, the tears coming into her eyes, 'that you won't let me travel by the telegraph to see William.' And, full of emotion, she left the office."

All these years Morse was longing for a home. In 1845 he wrote his daughter, who was now married and living in Porto Rico, in the West Indies, "I do long for the time, if it shall be permitted, to have you, with your husband and little Charles, around me; I feel my loneliness more and more keenly every day. Fame and money are, in themselves, a poor substitute for domestic happiness: as means to that end, I value them. Yesterday was the sad anniversary (the twentieth) of your dear mother's death, and I spent the most of it in thinking of her."

Two years later he purchased two hundred acres on the Hudson River, near Poughkeepsie, calling it "Locust Grove," and built a handsome and spacious Italian villa for his residence. With the telegraph in his library, he could now converse with men in all parts of the world. Here he gathered his children and grandchildren around him. He was now fifty-six years old. Fame and money had come late in life. The next year he married Miss Sarah E. Griswold, the daughter of his cousin, a lady thirty years his junior.

His life here was peaceful and happy, most of the day being spent in reading and writing. He was very fond of nature. One of his daughters writes: "He loved flowers. He would take one in his hand, and talk for hours about its beauty, its wonderful construction, and the wisdom and love of God in making so many varied forms of life and color to please our eyes. In his later years he became deeply interested in the microscope, and purchased one of great excellence and power. For whole hours, all the afternoon or evening, he would sit over it, examining flowers, or the animalcula in different fluids. Then he would gather his children about him, and give us a sort of extempore lecture on the wonders of creation, invisible to the naked eye, but so clearly brought to view by the magnifying power of the microscope.

"He was very fond of animals, cats and birds in particular. He tamed a little flying-squirrel, and it became so fond of him that it would sit on his shoulder while he was at his studies, and would eat out of his hand, and sleep in his pocket. To this little animal he became so much attached that we took it with us to Europe, where it came to an untimely end, in Paris, by running into an open fire."

In New York he bought a large house, No. 5 West Twenty-second Street, for his winter residence, and, on a vacant lot adjoining, erected an elegant building for his library and study. What a contrast between this and the time when "Porte Crayon" gave him ten dollars, which Morse said would save his life!

Honors now poured in upon him. In 1835 he had been elected a member of the Historical Institute of France.

In 1837, a member of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts of Belgium.

In 1839 the Great Silver Medal of the Academy of Industry of Paris was voted him.

In 1841, a corresponding member of the National Institution for the Promotion of Science at Washington.

In 1842, the gold medal of the American Institute.

In 1845, a corresponding member of the Archæological Society of Belgium.

In 1846, Doctor of Laws by Yale College.

In 1848, the first decoration ever bestowed by the Sultan of Turkey upon a citizen of the United States, Nishan Iftikar, in diamonds; he was also made a member of the American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia.

In 1849, a Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Boston.

In 1851, a golden snuff-box containing the Prussian golden medal for scientific merit.

In 1852, the Great Gold Medal of Arts and Sciences from the King of Würtemberg.

In 1855, the Great Gold Medal of Science and Art from the Emperor of Austria.

In 1856, the brevet and decoration as Chevalier of the Imperial Order of the Legion of Honor, from the Emperor of France.

In 1856, the Cross of the Order of Dannebrog from the King of Denmark.

In 1858, a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences in Sweden.

In 1859, the order of knighthood and Commander of the First Class of the Royal Order of Isabella the Catholic, from Isabella II. of Spain.

In 1860, Knight of the Tower and Sword, from the King of Portugal.

In 1864, Chevalier of the Royal Order of Saints Lazaro and Mauritio, from Victor Emmanuel II., King of Italy.

In 1866, honorary member of the Société de Physique et d'Histoire Naturelle of Geneva, Switzerland.

In 1857, Morse aided in the attempt to lay the Atlantic cable, being made electrician of the company. This was eminently fitting, as he had laid the first submarine cable, in 1842, October 18; one moonlight night in the harbor of New York City, between Castle Garden and Governor's Island.

In 1858, France, Austria, Belgium, the Netherlands, Piedmont, Russia, the Holy See, Sweden, Tuscany, and Turkey presented Mr. Morse with an honorary gratuity of four hundred thousand francs, "as a reward, altogether personal, of your useful labors."

During an extended trip in Europe, he was presented at the Court of Alexander III. in Russia, and met Baron Humboldt at Potsdam, from whom he received a large photograph of himself, on which he wrote in French: "To Mr. S. F. B. Morse, whose philosophic and useful labors have rendered his name illustrious in two worlds. The homage of the high and affectionate esteem of Alexander Humboldt." After also visiting his daughter in the West Indies, his return to Poughkeepsie in 1859 was made by the people a time of rejoicing. Crowds flocked to the station to welcome him. The children of the public schools joined in the procession, while bells rung, flags waved, and bands played, as they followed the carriage of Professor Morse to the gateway of his residence, which had been festooned with flowers and evergreens. Was ever a man more honored? The world loves heroes, though it takes very little pains to help men or women to achieve greatness.

In 1866, Morse crossed the ocean again to give his children the opportunity of study abroad. He was now seventy-five years old, yet seemingly as vigorous as ever. At the Paris Exposition he was one of the committee upon telegraphic instruments. At Düsseldorf, he was received with great enthusiasm by the artists of the city. He purchased there five valuable pictures, as he was now in circumstances to be a patron of art. He also purchased Allston's celebrated painting of "Jeremiah," for seven thousand dollars, and gave it to Yale College; a portrait of Allston, at five hundred dollars, he presented to the Academy of Design. Thus did he remember the man who had been his friend in his young manhood.

Morse also gave to the Union Theological Seminary, in the city of New York, ten thousand dollars, endowing a lectureship on the "Relation of the Bible to the Sciences," named in honor of his father.

In 1868, a public dinner was given Professor Morse in New York, by the distinguished men of the day. Chief Justice Chase presided, and made an able address. After recounting the discoveries of others in electricity, "not least illustrious among these illustrious men, our countryman Henry," he said: "And it is the providential distinction and splendid honor of the eminent American who is our guest to-night that, happily prepared by previous acquirements and pursuits, he was quick to seize the opportunity, and give to the world the first recording telegraph. Fortunate man! thus to link his name forever with the greatest wonder and the greatest benefit of the age!" Other addresses were made by Bryant, Evarts, and many prominent men.

In 1871, June 10, a bronze statue of Professor Morse was unveiled in Central Park, the money for it being raised, in small amounts, from telegraphic operatives all over the country. In the evening, a brilliant reception was tendered him in the Academy of Music, the following despatch being sent on his ORIGINAL register: "Greeting and thanks to the telegraphic fraternity throughout the land. Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good-will to men."

And then the white-haired Morse, now eighty years old, took his seat at the instrument, and signed his name to his message – "S. F. B. Morse." The entire audience rose and cheered, and many eyes filled with tears, as he gave his farewell address.

The last time Mr. Morse appeared in public was when he unveiled the statue of Benjamin Franklin in Printing-House Square, in front of the City Hall, January 17, 1872.

Death came in a few weeks. To his pastor, Rev. Dr. Adams, he said in response to a remark concerning the goodness of God to him in the past, "The best is yet to come."

Near the last, when the physicians were inspecting his lungs, and tapping upon his breast, one said, "This is the way we doctors telegraph."

"Very good," said the dying man, and passed away, April 2, 1872.

He was buried with distinguished honors from Madison Square Presbyterian Church, New York. Scientific, philanthropic, and religious institutions everywhere adopted resolutions of respect for his memory. A solemn service was held in the hall of the House of the Representatives at Washington, April 16, with appropriate addresses from Garfield and others. An oil painting of Professor Morse hung in front of the main gallery, surrounded by the historic words, "What hath God wrought!" Telegraphic messages were sent from Europe, Asia, and Africa, to this memorial meeting. Did any of those present remember how Congress allowed him nearly to die of despair and want, only a few years before? Truly a life that reads like a romance, in its misfortunes and its fortunes! Through all the days of poverty, as well as prosperity, Morse preserved his earnest Christian character, and his childlike, tender, loving nature. Trials did not embitter him, as they sometimes do, and honors did not exalt him above his fellows. American history does not furnish a more sublime illustration of faith in God and indomitable perseverance.

SIR CHARLES LYELL

Galileo studied and found out the truth that the earth moves around the sun, and died recanting it.

Buffon, the great French naturalist, studied, and ascertained that the earth has been subject to changes which must have required millions of years. He wrote: "The waters of the sea have produced the mountains and valleys of the land – the waters of the heavens, reducing all to a level, will at last deliver the whole land over to the sea, and the sea, successively prevailing over the land, will leave dry new continents like those which we inhabit."

He was at once summoned before the Faculty of Theology in Paris to recant his opinions, saying, "I declare that I had no intention to contradict the text of Scripture; that I believe most firmly all therein related about the creation, both as to order of time and matter of fact; I abandon everything in my book respecting the formation of the earth, and, generally, all which may be contrary to the narration of Moses."

A little more than a century later, at Kinnordy, Forfarshire, Scotland, a boy was born, Charles Lyell, who was destined not only to make geology as fascinating to the world as a novel, but to prove more fully and conclusively than any one had previously done that the world is not only six thousand years old, but perhaps six thousand million years old; and that man has lived here not for a few centuries only, but for thousands of centuries. Lyell knew and felt what the Christian world has come to feel, that truth must and will stand, and that there is no real conflict between science and religion.

Charles Lyell, the eldest of ten children, having two brothers and seven sisters, was born November 14, 1797. He had the early training of an educated and refined father, a man who had devoted himself to the study of botany, and written several works on Dante. The mother was a woman of practical common-sense, and from her, doubtless, Charles inherited that good judgment which characterized all his work and life.

At seven the child was sent to Ringwood, to a school kept by Rev. R. S. Davies. Here, being the youngest, and one of the gentlest, he was spared the roughness too often found in boys' schools. At ten he and his brother Tom were sent to a school in Salisbury, sixteen miles from Bartley Lodge, whither the family had moved from Kinnordy.

Though they missed their favorite sport of hay-making, they enjoyed walks to Old Sarum, a famous camp of Roman times. Here the boys amused themselves by heaping up piles of chalk flints on the opposite ridges, and letting them roll down, and dash against each other like two armies.

The teacher, Dr. Radcliffe, was called "Bluebeard," from having his fourth wife. The boys, however, liked him, because he had the rare merit of being impartial, while they were never tired of annoying another teacher, who had his favorites. Says Lyell of these early days, "Monsieur Borelle's room was within one in which I and eight others slept. One night, when we were very angry with him for having spatted us all round with a ruler, for a noise in the schoolroom which only one had made, and no one would confess, we determined to be revenged. We balanced a great weight of heavy volumes on the top of the door, so that no one could open it without their falling on his head. He was caught like a mouse in a trap, and threw a book in a rage at each boy's head, as they lay shamming sound asleep.

"Another stratagem of mine and young Prescott (son of Sir G. P.) was to tie a string across the room from the legs of two beds, so as to trip him up; from this string others branched off, the ends of which were fixed to the great toes of two sound sleepers, so that when Monsieur drew the lines, they woke, making a great outcry. At last we wearied him out, and he went and slept elsewhere.

"I conclude that there were far too many hours allotted to sleep at this school, for at all others we were glad to sleep after the labors of the day, and got punished for late rising in the morning, and being too late for roll-call. Here, on the contrary, a great many of our best sports were at night, particularly one, which, as very unique and one which lasted all the time I was there, I must describe. It consisted of fighting, either in single combat, or whole rooms against others, with bolsters. These were shaken until all the contents were at one end, and then they were kept there by a girth of string or stockings. This made a formidable weapon, the empty end being the handle, and the ball at the other would hit a good blow, or coil round a fellow's leg, and by a jerk pull him up so that he fell backwards… The invading party were always to station a watch at the head of the stairs, to give notice of the approach of 'Bluebeard,' for he was particularly severe against this warfare, though he never succeeded in putting it down. He used to come up with a cane, which, as none were clothed, took dire effect on those caught out of bed. He had a fortunate twist in his left foot, which made his step recognizable at a distance, and his shoe to creak loudly. This offence was high treason, not only because it led to broken heads, and made a horrible row in the night, but because Mrs. Radcliffe found that it made her bolsters wear out most rapidly."

Charles grew ill at Salisbury, and was taken home for three months. "I began," he says, "to get annoyed with ennui, which did not improve my health, for I was always most exceedingly miserable if unemployed, though I had an excessive aversion to work unless forced to it. It happened that, a little before this time, my father had for a short time exchanged botany for entomology, a fit which only lasted just long enough to induce him to purchase some books on the latter subject, after which he threw it up; principally, I believe, from a dislike to kill the insects. I did not like this department of the subject either…

"Collecting insects was just the sort of desultory occupation which suited me at that time, as it gave sufficient employment to my mind and body, was full of variety, and to see a store continually increasing gratified what in the cant phrase of the phrenologist is termed the 'accumulative propensity.' I soon began to know what was rare, and to appreciate specimens by this test. In the evenings I used to look over 'Donovan's Insects,' a work in which a great number of the British species are well given in colored plates, but which has no scientific merit. This was a royal road of arriving at the names, and required no study, but mere looking at pictures. At first I confined my attention to the Lepidoptera (butterflies, moths, etc.), as the most beautiful, but soon became fond of watching the singular habits of the aquatic insects, and used to sit whole mornings by a pond, feeding them with flies, and catching them if I could.