He was even an anxious father; perhaps that is the part where optimism is hardest tested. He was eager for his sons; eager for their health, whether of mind or body; eager for their education; in that, I should have thought, too eager. But he kept a pleasant face upon all things, believed in play, loved it himself, shared boyishly in theirs, and knew how to put a face of entertainment upon business and a spirit of education into entertainment. If he was to test the progress of the three boys, this advertisement would appear in their little manuscript paper:—‘Notice: The Professor of Engineering in the University of Edinburgh intends at the close of the scholastic year to hold examinations in the following subjects: (1) For boys in the fourth class of the Academy—Geometry and Algebra; (2) For boys at Mr. Henderson’s school—Dictation and Recitation; (3) For boys taught exclusively by their mothers—Arithmetic and Reading.’ Prizes were given; but what prize would be so conciliatory as this boyish little joke? It may read thin here; it would smack racily in the playroom. Whenever his sons ‘started a new fad’ (as one of them writes to me) they ‘had only to tell him about it, and he was at once interested and keen to help.’ He would discourage them in nothing unless it was hopelessly too hard for them; only, if there was any principle of science involved, they must understand the principle; and whatever was attempted, that was to be done thoroughly. If it was but play, if it was but a puppetshow they were to build, he set them the example of being no sluggard in play. When Frewen, the second son, embarked on the ambitious design to make an engine for a toy steamboat, Fleeming made him begin with a proper drawing—doubtless to the disgust of the young engineer; but once that foundation laid, helped in the work with unflagging gusto, ‘tinkering away,’ for hours, and assisted at the final trial ‘in the big bath’ with no less excitement than the boy. ‘He would take any amount of trouble to help us,’ writes my correspondent. ‘We never felt an affair was complete till we had called him to see, and he would come at any time, in the middle of any work.’ There was indeed one recognised playhour, immediately after the despatch of the day’s letters; and the boys were to be seen waiting on the stairs until the mail should be ready and the fun could begin. But at no other time did this busy man suffer his work to interfere with that first duty to his children; and there is a pleasant tale of the inventive Master Frewen, engaged at the time upon a toy crane, bringing to the study where his father sat at work a half-wound reel that formed some part of his design, and observing, ‘Papa, you might finiss windin’ this for me; I am so very busy to-day.’
I put together here a few brief extracts from Fleeming’s letters, none very important in itself, but all together building up a pleasant picture of the father with his sons.
‘Jan. 15th, 1875.—Frewen contemplates suspending soap bubbles by silk threads for experimental purposes. I don’t think he will manage that. Bernard’ [the youngest] ‘volunteered to blow the bubbles with enthusiasm.’
‘Jan. 17th.—I am learning a great deal of electrostatics in consequence of the perpetual cross-examination to which I am subjected. I long for you on many grounds, but one is that I may not be obliged to deliver a running lecture on abstract points of science, subject to cross-examination by two acute students. Bernie does not cross-examine much; but if anyone gets discomfited, he laughs a sort of little silver-whistle giggle, which is trying to the unhappy blunderer.’
‘May 9th.—Frewen is deep in parachutes. I beg him not to drop from the top landing in one of his own making.’
‘June 6th, 1876.—Frewen’s crank axle is a failure just at present—but he bears up.’
‘June 14th.—The boys enjoy their riding. It gets them whole funds of adventures. One of their caps falling off is matter for delightful reminiscences; and when a horse breaks his step, the occurrence becomes a rear, a shy, or a plunge as they talk it over. Austin, with quiet confidence, speaks of the greater pleasure in riding a spirited horse, even if he does give a little trouble. It is the stolid brute that he dislikes. (N.B. You can still see six inches between him and the saddle when his pony trots.) I listen and sympathise and throw out no hint that their achievements are not really great.’
‘June 18th.—Bernard is much impressed by the fact that I can be useful to Frewen about the steamboat’ [which the latter irrepressible inventor was making]. ‘He says quite with awe, “He would not have got on nearly so well if you had not helped him.”’
‘June 27th.—I do not see what I could do without Austin. He talks so pleasantly and is so truly good all through.’
‘June 27th.—My chief difficulty with Austin is to get him measured for a pair of trousers. Hitherto I have failed, but I keep a stout heart and mean to succeed. Frewen the observer, in describing the paces of two horses, says, “Polly takes twenty-seven steps to get round the school. I couldn’t count Sophy, but she takes more than a hundred.”’