Thirty more famous stories retold

Front matter

FAMOUS STORIES

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Kt (Cornell MnitterattH

II

The young traveler lost no time in making the acquaintance of Laurence Coster. The old man was delighted to meet with one who was interested in his work. He showed him the books he had printed. He showed him the types and the rude little press that he used. The types were made of pieces of wood that Coster had whittled out with his penknife.

" It took a long time to make them," he said; "but see how quickly I can print a page with them."

He placed a small sheet of paper upon some types which had been properly arranged. With great care he adjusted them all in his press. Then he threw the weight of his body upon a long lever that operated the crude machine.

" See now the printed page," he cried, as he carefully drew the sheet out. " It \vould have taken hours to write it with a pen. I have printed it in as many minutes."

Gutenberg was delighted.

" It was by accident that I discovered it," said old Laurence. " I went out into the woods one afternoon with my grandchildren. There were some beech trees there, and the little fellows wanted me to carve their names on the smooth bark. I did so, for I was always handy with a penknife. Then, while they were running around, I split off some fine pieces of bark and cut the letters of the alphabet upon them — one letter on each piece. I thought they would amuse the baby of the family, and perhaps help him to remember his letters. So I wrapped them in a piece of soft paper and carried them home. When I came to undo the package I was surprised to see the forms of some of the letters distinctly printed on the white paper. It set me to thinking, and at last I thought out this whole plan of printing books."

"And a great plan it is ! " cried Gutenberg. " Ever since I was a boy at school I have been trying to invent some such thing."

He asked Laurence Coster a thousand questions, and the old man kindly told him all that he knew.

" Now, indeed, knowledge will fly to the ends of the earth," said the delighted young traveler as he hastened back to his inn. He could scarcely wait to be gone.

The next morning he was off for Strasburg.

At Strasburg young Gutenberg shut himself up in a hired room and began to make sets of type like those which Laurence Coster had shown him. He arranged them in words and sentences. He experimented with them until he was able to print much faster than old Laurence had done.

Finally, he tried types of soft metal and found them better than those of wood. He learned to mix ink so it would not spread when pressed by the type. He made brushes and rollers for applying it evenly and smoothly. He improved this thing and that until, at last, he was able to do that which he had so long desired — make a book so quickly and cheaply that even a poor man could afford to buy it.

And thus the art of printing was discovered.

JOHN GUTENBERG AND THE VOICES

One night John Gutenberg worked until very late at his press. He was printing a large folio edition of the Bible in Latin. For weeks he had given all his thoughts to this great work, and now he was completing the last sheets. He was worn out with fatigue, but proud of that which he had accomplished. He leaned his head upon the framework of his press, and gave himself up to thought.

Suddenly, from among the t3^es two voices were heard. They were speaking in low but earnest tones, and seemed to be talking about Gutenberg and his invention.

" Happy, happy man ! " said the first voice, which was gentle and sweet and full of encouragenjent. " Let him go on with the work he has begun. Books will now be plentiful and cheap. The poorest man can buy them. Every child will learn to read. The words of the wise and the good will be printed on thousands of sheets and carried all over the world. They will be read in every household. The age of ignorance will be at an end. Men will learn to think and know and act for themselves.

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They will no longer be the slaves of kings. And the name of John Gutenberg, inventor of printing, will be remembered to the end of time."

Then the other voice spoke. It was a stern, strong voice, although not unpleasant, and it spoke in tones of warning. " Let John Gutenberg beware of what he is doing. His invention will prove to be a curse rather than a blessing. It is true that books will be plentiful and cheap, but they will not all be good books. The words of the vulgar and the vile will also be printed. They will be carried into millions of households to poison the minds of children and to make men and women doubt the truth and despise virtue. Let John Gutenberg beware lest he be remembered as one who brought evil into the world rather than good."

And so the two voices went on, one claiming that the printing press would bless all mankind, the other saying that it would surely prove to be a curse. John Gutenberg felt much distressed. He did not know what to do. He thought of the great harm that might be done through the printing of bad books — how they would corrupt the minds of the innocent, how they would stir up the passions of the wicked.

Suddenly he seized a heavy hammer and began to break his press in pieces. " It shall not be said

JOHN GUTENBERG AND THE VOICES 49

of me that I helped to make the world worse," he cried.

But as he was madly destroying that which had cost him so much pains to build, he heard a third voice. It seemed to come from the press itself, and it spoke in tones of sweet persuasion.

" Think still again," it said, " and do not act rashly. The best of God's gifts may be abused, and yet they are all good. The art of printing will enlighten the world. Its power for blessing mankind will be a thousand times greater than its power for doing harm. Hold your hand, John Gutenberg, and remember that you are helping to make men better and not worse."

The upraised hammer dropped from his hands. The sound of its striking the floor aroused him. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. He wondered if he had been dreaming.

JAMES WATT AND THE TEAKETTLE

A little Scotch boy was sitting in . his grandmother's kitchen. He was watching the red flames in the wide open fireplace and quietly wondering about the causes of things. Indeed, he was always wondering and always wanting to know.

"Grandma," he presently asked, " what makes the fire burn ? "

This was not the first time he had puzzled his grandmother with questions that she could not answer. So she went on with her preparations for supper and paid no heed to his query.

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JAMES WATT AND THE TEAKETTLE 51

Above the fire an old-fashioned teakettle was hanging. The water within it was beginning to bubble. A thin cloud of steam was rising from the spout. Soon the lid began to rattle and shake. The hot vapor puffed out at a furious rate. Yet when the lad peeped under the lid he could see nothing.

" Grandma, what is in the teakettle ? " he asked.

" Water, my child — nothing but water."

" But I know there is something else. There is something in there that lifts the lid and makes it rattle."

The grandmother laughed. " Oh, that is onlysteam," she said. " You can see it coming out of the spout and puffing up under the lid."

" But you said there was nothing but water in the kettle. How did the steam get under the lid .'' "

"Why, my dear, it comes out of the hot water. The hot water makes it." The grandmother was beginning to feel puzzled.

The lad lifted the lid and peeped inside again. He could see nothing but the bubbling water. The steam was not visible until after it was fairly out of the kettle.

" How queer ! " he said. " The steam must be very strong to lift the heavy iron lid. Grandma, how much water did you put into the kettle?"

" About a quart, Jamie."

" Well, if the steam from so little water is so strong, why would not the steam from a great deal of water be a great deal stronger? Why couldn't it be made to lift a much greater weight? Why couldn't it be made to turn wheels ? "

The grandmother made no reply. These questions of Jamie's were more puzzling than profitable, she thought. She went about her work silently, and Jamie sat still in his place and studied the teakettle.

How to understand the power that is in steam, and how to make it do other things than rattle the lids of teakettles — that was the problem which James Watt, the inquisitive Scotch boy, set himself to solve. Day after day he thought about it, and evening after evening he sat by his grandmother's fireside and watched the thin, white vapor come out of the teakettle and lose itself in the yawning black throat of the chimney. The idea grew with him as he grew into manhood, and by long study he began to reason upon it to some purpose.

" There is a wonderful power in steam," he said to himself. " There was never a giant who had so much strength. If we only knew how to harness that power, there is no end to the things it might

JAMES WATT AND THE TEAKETTLE 53

do for US. It would not only lift weights, but it would turn all kinds of machinery. It would draw our wagons, it would push our ships, it would plow and sow, it would spin and .weave. For thousands of years n>en have been working alongside of this power, never dreaming that it might be made their servant. But how can this be done.? That is the question."

He tried one experiment after another. He failed again and again, but from each failure he learned something new. Men laughed at him. " How ridiculous," they said, " to think that steam can be made to run machinery ! "

But James Watt persevered, and in the end was able to give to the world the first successful form of the steam engine. Thus, from the study of so simple a thing as a common teakettle, the most useful of all modern inventions was finally produced.

DR. JOHNSON AND HIS FATHER

Scene First

It is in a little bookshop in the city of Lichfield, England. The floor has just been swept and the shutter taken down from the one small window. The hour is early, and customers have not yet begun to drop in. Out of doors the rain is falling.

At a small table near the door, a feeble, white-haired old man is making up some packages of books. As he arranges them in a large basket, he stops now and then as though disturbed by pain. He puts his hand to his side ; he coughs in a most distressing way ; then he sits down and rests himself, leaning his elbows upon the table.

" Samuel ! " he calls.

In the farther corner of the room there is a young man busily reading from a large book that is spread open before him. He is a very odd-looking fellow, perhaps eighteen years of age, but you would take him to be older. He is large and awkward, with a great round face, scarred and marked by a strange disease. His eyesight must be poor, for, as he reads, he bends down until his face is quite near the printed page.

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DR. JOHNSON AND HIS FATHER 55

" Samuel ! " again the old man calls.

But Samuel makes no reply. He Is so deeply interested in his book that he does not hear. The old man rests himself a little longer and then finishes tying his packages. He lifts the heavy basket and sets it on the table. The exertion brings on another fit of coughing ; and when it is over he calls for the third time, " Samuel ! "

" What is it, father ? " This time the call is heard.

" You know, Samuel," he says, " that to-morrow is market day at Uttoxeter, and our stall must be attended to. Some of our friends will be there to look at the new books which they expect me to bring. One of us must go down on the stage this morning and get everything in readiness. But I hardly feel able for the journey. My cough troubles me quite a little, and you see that it is raining very hard."

" Yes, father ; I am sorry," answers Samuel ; and his face is again bent over the book.

" I thought perhaps you would go down to the market, and that I might stay here at the shop," says his father. But Samuel does not hear. He is deep in the study of some Latin classic.

The old man goes to the door and looks out. The rain is still falling. He shivers, and buttons his coat.

S6 THIRTY MORE FAMOUS STORIES

It is a twenty-mile ride to Uttoxeter. In five minutes the stage will pass the door.

" Samuel, will you not go down to the market for me this time ? "

The old man is putting on his great coat.

He is reaching for his hat.

The basket is on his arm. i .

He casts a beseeching glance at his son, hoping that he will relent at the last moment.

" Here comes the coach, Samuel ; " and the old man is choked by another fit of coughing.

Whether Samuel hears or not, I do not know. He is still reading, and he makes no sign nor motion.

The stage comes rattling down the street.

The old man with his basket of books staggers out of the door. The stage halts for a moment while he climbs inside. Then the driver swangs his whip, and all are away.

Samuel, in the shop, still bends over his book.

Out of doors the rain is falling.