To this individual the world is indebted for one of its most valuable and economical means of internal communication. James Brindley, a self-made man, was the founder of canal navigation. The first undertaking of the kind was projected in 1759, under the patronage of the Duke of Bridgewater, and the subject of this memoir was the man by whose talents the scheme was carried into execution.

James Brindley was born in 1716 at Tunstead, or at Thornsett, in Derbyshire. His father was a spendthrift, who cared more for his own enjoyment than for the prosperity of his family. Consequently, Brindley was denied the advantages of an education, and at an early age had to obtain employment on the neighboring farms. When he was seventeen he apprenticed himself to a millwright, and soon displayed so much expertness that he was frequently left for whole weeks to execute works concerning which he had received no instruction from his master. His mechanical ingenuity was great, and when he experienced a difficulty, his inventive genius assisted him to get out of it. In every thing he undertook, he displayed so much ready skill that the millers considered it a favor to obtain his services in preference to those of his master.

In due time he set up for himself as a millwright, and by his ingenious inventions and contrivances acquired a widely-spread reputation, extending even to the metropolis. He was employed in the construction of the most complicated machinery, and seldom undertook a task of the kind without introducing some important improvements of his own.

From pursuits of this kind Brindley was called away to others of much greater importance. The Duke of Bridgewater was owner of an estate at Worsley, about seven miles from Manchester, beneath the soil of which were immense mines of coal, from which no profit accrued to him, because the cost of land-carriage was so heavy that it prevented the coal from being brought into the market. To remedy this evil, the duke obtained acts of Parliament (1758-9) enabling him to form a navigable canal from Worsley to Manchester. Brindley's reputation had reached the duke's ears, and he selected him as a fitting person to carry out his scheme. The enterprise was one of remarkable difficulty, and had to be prosecuted in the face of prejudice and sneers. To avoid the waste of water which the lockage would occasion, the canal was to be on a dead level, and, to effect this, tunnels must be perforated, enormous embankments raised, and an aqueduct of three arches thrown over the navigable river Irwell, at an elevation of little less than fifty feet. The audacity of this last idea-carrying water over water-exposed Brindley to so much ridicule, that for a moment he lost confidence in himself, and begged the duke to consult some other engineer, and convince himself that he was not insane. A learned man was accordingly sent for, and the matter proposed to him. He ridiculed the idea, and, when the height and dimensions were communicated to him, exclaimed, “I have often heard of castles in the air, but never before was shown where any of them were to be erected." Such a self-sufficient ignoramus was properly estimated by the duke; he disregarded his opinion, and directed Brindley to proceed. The Worsley canal was soon in successful operation; the impossible aqueduct was begun and completed in twelve months.

This triumphant demonstration was the making of Brindley as an engineer, and at no distant period turned the attention of the public to the subject of opening water communication with various parts of the kingdom. The Duke of Bridgewater immediately determined to continue his canal to the tideway of the Mersey, at

Runcorn, so as to connect Liverpool and Manchester by water in a thoroughly practical way. The distance to be accomplished was thirty miles, and there were two rivers and many deep and wide valleys to be crossed, the one by aqueducts, the other by broad and lofty embankments. Notwithstanding these obstacles, the undertaking was completed in five years. There were but

ten locks on the whole line, and these were constructed on such easy principles that they could be worked with little or no delay. The next in order to the Bridgewater canals was that which the proprietors designed to call the Trent and Mersey Canal, but to which Brindley gave the name of the Grand Trunk, because he was convinced that many branches would be extended from it, as was subsequently the case. This work was ninety-three miles in length, united the ports of Hull and Liverpool, and required seventy-six locks, three aqueducts, and five tunnels to carry it through the route. Here was an opportunity for the display of the highest engineering skill, and Brindley availed himself of it with avidity. An eminence called Harecastle Hill was considered the great obstacle of the line. Brindley made up his mind that it should be tunneled, and, notwithstanding innumerable difficulties, arising from the nature of the soil, succeeded in boring the hill at the distance of seventy yards from the surface. The tunnel is more than a mile and a half long.

Now that the entire practicability of canal navigation had been fully established, Brindley found himself overwhelmed with business. His enthusiasm led him to undertake more than he could well attend to without encroaching on his constitution. He was destined to fall a martyr to the cause in which he was engaged. For some years previous to his death he suffered constantly from intermittent fever, aggravated, of course, by frequent exposure to moist, unwholesome atmospheres. His system became completely worn out, and on the 27th of September, 1772, he died, in the fifty-sixth year of his age.

The character of Brindley was quiet, modest, and unassuming. Devoted entirely to his occupations, and accustomed to find every resource within himself, he did not cultivate society, or feel much at home in it. His appearance was rather against him than otherwise, being boorish and provincial; but his conversation is described as pleasing, and strongly colored with the warm imagination of a man who would not see an impossibility. During the latter years of his life, his whole soul was absorbed in specula

on

tions respecting canals; he meditated on them not only by day, but dreamed of them by night. Most of his schemes were remarkable for their vastness and practicability, but, in common with other ingenious men, he had his wild dreams of the impracticable. To this order belonged his scheme for uniting Ireland to England by means of a navigable canal. He had such faith in aqueducts that he believed even the sea might be spanned by them. A funny circumstance is recorded concerning the fixity of his ideas these subjects. While he was under examination before a committee of the House of Commons, he spoke so slightingly of rivers that a member asked him for what purpose he supposed them to have been created. "To feed navigable canals," replied Brindley. Once, and but once in his life, he saw a play. It happened while he was in London, and for several days afterward he complained that it had confused his ideas and unfitted him for business. So strong and disagreeable was the effect produced, that he declared nothing on earth should ever induce him to see another play.

When any extraordinary difficulty occurred to Mr. Brindley in the execution of his works, having little or no assistance from books, or the labors of other men, his resources lay within himself. In order, therefore, to be quiet and uninterrupted while he was in search of the necessary expedients, he generally retired to his bed; and he has been known to lie there one, two, or three days, till he had attained the object in view. He would then get up, and execute his design without any drawing or model. Indeed, it never was his custom to make either, unless he was obliged to do it to satisfy his employers. His memory was so remarkable, that he often declared he could remember and execute all the parts of the most complex machine, provided he had time, in his survey of it, to settle in his mind the several departments, and their relations to each other. His method of calculating the powers of any machine invented by him was peculiar to himself. He worked the question for some time in his head, and then put down the results in figures. After this, taking it up again in this. stage, he worked it further in his mind for a certain time, and set down the results as before. In the same way he still proceeded, making use of figures only at stated periods of the question. Yet the ultimate result was generally true, though the road he traveled in search of it was unknown to any one but himself; and perhaps it would not have been in his power to have shown it to another.

THOMAS HOLCROFT

was the son of a shoemaker, and was born in London on the 10th of December, 1745. The paternal Holcroft was, in many respects, a remarkable character. He possessed a passion for making experiments in all sorts of businesses; he dealt in greens and oysters as well as shoes, and, finding that this was not sufficient, he added the undignified calling of horse-dealer. For this latter business he conceived a strong affection, which manifested itself in an ardent desire to teach Master Thomas to ride. When the latter was very young, his father discarded his petticoats, and placed him in pantaloons, in order that he might straddle a horse in the proper way. One accomplishment led to another. The elder Holcroft conceived a fresh notion that his son was a great musical genius, and immediately placed him under the tuition of a violin player. What progress he made in the instrument is unknown, but he says himself that at the age of seven he had wholly forgotten all he had learned.

About this time a change took place in his father's circumThe famstances, and he left London in great embarrassment.