HIS OUTSIDE HELPERS.
It is not, however, the amount of love and respect with which a man is regarded at home, that satisfies him,—so much as the esteem with which he is regarded by his fellow-men. When a man works gratuitously for science, and labours for the advancement of knowledge, he seems entitled to admiration and respect. But Edward did not think that his labours had been properly recognised. This seems to have vexed him very much. He had often been promised aid in the shape of books. But no such aid ever came. “All my honours,” said he, “have come from a distance. I have kept the museum of the Banff Institution for about twenty-one years, for I may say almost nothing; and though the Linnean Society thought me worthy of being elected an Associate, the people here did not think me worthy of being an honorary member of their Society. Still, I am not complaining. The people of Banff had no right to make me a gentleman.”
The truth is, that it was a misfortune for Edward to have lived so far from the centre of scientific pursuits. Banff was a place comparatively unknown. In the pursuit of science, a man requires fellowship. He especially requires the fellowship of books. Banff could do little for him in this respect. Had he lived in a larger town, with a library at his command, he could have acquired the friendship of scientific men, who are rarely disposed to be narrow in their “encouragement of native genius and talent,” however poor the student may be.
HIS FAILURES.
But it was difficult for Edward to remove to any other place. He had his family to provide for, and he had not the means of removing them elsewhere. He was tied like a limpet to its rock. Still, he did all that he could to improve his position where he was. He tried to secure an appointment in connection with the police; but having no influence, he failed. He applied to the London College of Surgeons for a curatorship, but Mr. Quekett having informed him that it was only a fourth portership that was wanted, he failed there too. Then he studied electricity, for the purpose of assisting a doctor in electrifying his patients; but thinking that he might kill more than he could cure, he gave up the idea of proceeding further. He next tried photography, but not being provided with sufficient capital, he gave up that too. The last application he made was for an appointment as sub-curator of the City Industrial Museum of Glasgow, but he received no encouragement.
RESIGNATION.
After abandoning photography as a means of subsistence, he returned to his old trade. “As a last and only remaining source,” he said in June 1875, “I betook myself to my old and time-honoured friend, a friend of fifty years’ standing, who has never yet forsaken me, nor refused help to my body when weary, nor rest to my limbs when tired—my well-worn cobbler’s stool. And here I am still on the old boards, doing what little I can, with the aid of my well-worn kit, to maintain myself and my family; with the certainty that instead of my getting the better of the lapstone and leather, they will very soon get the better of me. And although I am now like a beast tethered to his pasturage, with a portion of my faculties somewhat impaired, I can still appreciate and admire as much as ever the beauties and wonders of Nature, as exhibited in the incomparable works of our adorable Creator.”
“AND HERE I AM STILL.”