ONE who has enriched the inheritance left by Newton and has consolidated the work of Faraday,—one who impelled the mind of Cambridge to a fresh course of real investigation,—has clearly earned his place in human memory.

But there was more in James Clerk Maxwell than is implied in any praise that can be awarded to the discoverer, or in the honour justly due to the educational reformer,—much, indeed, which his friends feel they can but partly estimate, and still less adequately describe.

We have, notwithstanding, undertaken this imperfect Memoir of him, in which the purpose of this First Part will be to trace the growth from childhood to maturity, and to record the untimely death, of a man of profound original genius, who was also one of the best men who have lived, and, to those who knew him, one of the most delightful and interesting of human beings.

If I can bring before the readers mind, even in shadowy outline, the wise and gentle but curiously blended influences which formed the cradle of his young imagination, the channels through which ideas reached him from the past, the objects which most challenged his observation and provoked his invention, his first acquaintance with what permanently interested him in contemporary speculation and discovery, and the chief moments of his own intellectual progress in earlier years,—such record should have a right to live. And it may be that a congenial spirit here and there may look with me into the depths of this unique personality, and feel the value of the impulses, often seemingly wayward, and strange even to himself, with which the young eagle “imped his wings” for flight, or taught his eyes to bear the unclouded light. And many to whom modern Science is a sealed book may find an interest in observing the combination of extraordinary gifts with a no less remarkable simplicity and strength of character.

James Clerk Maxwell was born at No. 14 India Street, Edinburgh, on the 13th of June 1831. His parents were John Clerk Maxwell, one of the Clerks of Penicuik, in Midlothian, and Frances, daughter of R. H. Cay, Esq. of N. Charlton, Northumberland. Excepting a daughter, Elizabeth, who had died in infancy, James was their only child.

Edinburgh was at this time the natural meeting-place for the best spirits of the North. How much of intellect and individuality; of genuine though often eccentric worth, of high thinking and plain living, then forgathered in Auld Reekie, and found ample scope and leisure there, is known to the lovers of Sir W. Scott and to the readers of Lord Cockburn—both prominent figures in the Edinburgh of 1824-1831.

And the agora of “Modern Athens” was the Parliament House. There the heir-presumptive could while away his time of waiting for “dead men’s shoon”; there the laird’s brother might qualify for some berth hereafter to be provided for him; and the son of those whose ancestral estates had been impaired by rashness or misfortune, and who had perchance sought the asylum of the Abbey, might hope through honourable industry to restore the fallen house, or even to win new lustre for an ancient name.

When John Clerk Maxwell, after leaving the University, first sought those purlieus of the law, he was already a laird, although a younger brother. For he had inherited the estate of Middlebie, which, by the conditions of the entail under which it had descended from the Maxwells,[1] could not be held together with Penicuik, and was therefore necessarily relinquished by Sir George Clerk in favour of his brother John.

This arrangement had been completed when the two brothers were boys together at the High School, and were living in George Square with their mother and their sister Isabella. Their father, James Clerk,[2] who died before his elder brother, Sir John, was a naval captain in the H.E.I.C.S., but retired early, and married Miss Janet Irving, who thus became the mother of Sir George Clerk and of John Clerk Maxwell. When Sir George had come of age, and taken up his abode at Penicuik, John Clerk Maxwell continued living with his mother, Mrs. Clerk, in Edinburgh. About 1820, in order to be near Isabella, Mrs. Wedderburn, they “flitted” to a house in the New Town, No. 14 India Street, which was built by special contract for them. Mrs. Clerk died there in the spring of 1824.

The old estate of Middlebie had been considerably reduced, and there was nothing in what remained of it to tempt its possessor, while a single man, to leave Edinburgh, or to break off from his profession at the Bar. There was not even a dwelling-house for the laird. Mr. Clerk Maxwell therefore lived in Edinburgh until the age of thirty-six, pacing the floor of the Parliament House, doing such moderate business as fell in his way, and dabbling between-whiles in scientific experiment. In vacation time he made various excursions in the Highlands of Scotland and in the north of England, and kept a minute record of his observations.

But when, after his mother’s death, he had married a lady of tastes congenial to his own and of a sanguine active temperament, his strong natural bent towards a country life became irresistible. The pair soon conceived a wish to reside upon their estate, and began to form plans for doing so; and they may be said to have lived thenceforth as if it and they were made for one another. They set themselves resolutely to the work of making that inheritance of stony and mossy ground to become one of the habitable places of the earth. John Clerk Maxwell had hitherto appeared somewhat indolent; and there was a good deal of inertia in his composition. But the latent forces of his character were now to be developed.

He was one of a race[3] in whom strong individuality had occasionally verged on eccentricity. For two centuries the Clerks had been associated with all that was most distinguished in the Northern kingdom, from Drummond of Hawthornden to Sir Walter Scott. Each generation had been remarkable for the talents and accomplishments of some of its members; and it was natural that a family with such antecedents should have acquired something of clannishness. But any narrowing effect of such a tendency was counteracted by a strong intellectual curiosity, which kept them en rapport with the world, while they remained independent of the world. And as each scion of the stock entered into new relations, the keen mutual interest, instead of merely narrowing, became an element of width. I speak now of the generation preceding our own. No house was ever more affluent in that Coterie-Sprache, for which the Scottish dialect of that day afforded such full materials. It would be pleasant, if possible, to recall that humorous gentle speech, as it rolled the cherished vocables like a sweet morsel on the tongue, or minced them with a lip from which nothing could seem coarse or broad,—caressing them as some Lady Bountiful may caress a peasant's child,—or as it coined sesquipedalia verba, which passed current through the stamp of kindred fancy. This quaint freemasonry was unconsciously a token not only of family community, but also of that feudal fellowship with dependents which was still possible, and which made the language and the manners of the most refined to be often racy of the soil. But Time will not stand still, and neither the delicate “couthy” tones, nor that which they signified, can be fully realised to-day. But we can still in part appreciate the playful irony which prompted these humorous vagaries of old leisure, wherein true feeling found k modest veil, and a naive philosophy lightened many troubles of life by making light of them.

Mr. John Clerk Maxwell’s own idiosyncrasy, as has been said, was well suited for a country life. But to give a true idea of him it is necessary to be more precise. His main characteristic, beyond a warm, affectionate heart, the soundest of sound sense, and absolute sincerity, was a persistent practical interest in all useful processes.[4] When spending his holidays at Penicuik as a boy from the Edinburgh High School (as well as long afterwards), he took delight in watching the machinery of Mr. Cowan’s paper-mill, then recently established in that neighbourhood. And Mr. R. D. Cay remembers him, when still a young man living in India Street with his mother (about 1821-24), to have been engaged, together with John Cay, who was afterwards his brother-in-law, in a series of attempts to make a bellows that should have a continuous even blast. We can readily imagine, therefore, how closely he must have followed every step in the gradual application of steam to industry, and the various mechanical improvements which took place in his youth and early manhood.[5]

His practical thoroughness was combined with a striking absence of conventionality and contempt for ornament. In matters however seemingly trivial—nothing that had to be done was trivial to him—he considered not what was usual, but what was best for his purpose. In the humorous language which he loved to use, he declared in favour of doing things with judiciosity. One who knew him well describes him as always balancing one thing with another—exercising his reason about every matter, great or small. He was fond of remarking, for example, on the folly of coachmen in urging a horse to speed as soon as they saw the top of a hill, when, by waiting half a minute until the summit was really attained, they might save the animal. “A sad waste of work,” he would say. Long before the days of “anatomical” bootmaking, he insisted on having ample room for his feet. His square-toed shoes were made by a country shoemaker under his direction on a last of his own and out of a piece of leather chosen by himself. This is only one example of the manner in which he did everything. It was thought out from the beginning to the end, and so contrived as to be most economical and serviceable in the long run. In his Diary (1841) we find him cutting out his own and his son’s shirts, while planning the outbuildings which still exist at Glenlair. And he not only planned these, but made the working plans for the masons (1842) with his own hand.[6] This habitual careful adaptation of means to ends was the characteristic which (together with profound simplicity) he most obviously transmitted to his son. Its effect, heightened by perfect science, is still apparent in the construction and arrangement of the Cavendish Laboratory at Cambridge.

While thus unostentatious and plain in all his ways, he was essentially liberal and generous. No one could look in his broad face beaming with kindliness and believe otherwise. But his benevolence was best known nearest home. And in caring for others, as in providing for his own house, his actions were ruled, not by impulse, but persistent thoughtfulness. By his ever-wakeful consideration, he breathed an atmosphere of warm comfort and quiet contentment on all (including the dumb animals) within his sphere. Whoever had any claim upon his affectionate heart, whether as an old dependant, or as a relation or friend, might command from him any amount of patient thought, and of pains given without stint and without complaint. His “judiciosity” was used as freely for them as for himself.[7] And where need was he could be an effectual peacemaker.

He was assiduous also in county business (road meetings, prison boards, and the like), and in his own quiet way took his share in political movements, on the Conservative side.

There was a deep unobtrusive tenderness in him, which in later years gave a touching, almost feminine, grace to his ample countenance, and his portly, even somewhat unwieldy, frame.[8] He was a keen sportsman (unlike his son in this), and an excellent shot; but it was observed that he was above all careful never to run the risk of wounding without killing his game.

His temper was all but perfect; yet, as “the best laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft agley,” the minute care with which he formed his plans sometimes exposed him to occasions which showed that his usual calm self-possession was not invulnerable. At such times he would appear not angry, only somewhat discomposed or “vexed,” and, after donning his considering-cap for a little while, would soon resume his benign equanimity.

An interesting trait is revealed to us by the Diary. Minute as the entries are for day after day, things which, if mentioned, might reflect unfavourably upon others, are invariably omitted. They have come down through other channels, but in this scrupulous record they have left no trace.

His otherwise happy life was crossed with one deep, silent sorrow,—but was crowned with one long comfort in the life of his son. They were bound together by no ordinary ties, and were extremely like in disposition, in simplicity, unworldliness, benevolence, and kindness to every living thing. Those who knew Maxwell best will be least apt to think irrelevant this somewhat lengthy description of his father.

The portrait of Mr. John Clerk Maxwell by Watson Gordon is a faithful representation of a face which returns more vividly than most others to the eye of memory, but no portrait can restore “the busy wrinkles round his eyes,” or give back to them their mild radiance—

He lived amidst solid realities, but his vision was neither shallow nor contracted. And his sense of things beyond, if inarticulate, was, in later life at least, not the less serious and profound. Yet those who shall compare this likeness with the study of James Clerk Maxwells head by Mrs. Blackburn, may at once detect something of the difference between the father and the son. In the one there is a grave and placid acquiescence in the nearer environment, the very opposite of enthusiasm or mysticism; in the other, the artist has succeeded in catching the unearthly look which often returned to the deep-set eyes under the vaulted brow, when they had just before been sparkling with fun,—the look as of one who has heard the concert of the morning stars and the shouting of the Sons of God.

James himself has said to me that to have had a wise and good parent is a great stay in life, and that no man knows how much in him is due to his progenitors. And yet the speculative ideal element which was so strong in him—the struggle towards the infinite through the finite—was not prominent in either of his parents. Mrs. Clerk Maxwell was, no doubt, a good and pious (not bigoted) Episcopalian; but, from all that appears, her chief bent, like that of her husband, must have been practical and matter-of-fact. Her practicality, however, was different from his. She was of a strong and resolute nature,—as prompt as he was cautious and considerate,—more peremptory, but less easily perturbed. Of gentle birth and breeding, she had no fine-ladyisms, but with blunt determination entered heart and soul into that rustic life. It is told of her that when some men had been badly hurt in blasting at a quarry on the estate, she personally attended to their wounds before a surgeon could be brought, and generally that wherever help was needed she was full of courage and resource. She was very intelligent and ingenious, played well on the organ, and composed some music, but in other respects was less “accomplished” than most of her family, except in domestic works, and above all in knitting, which in those days was an elegant and most elaborate pursuit.

Her father, E. Hodshon Cay, Esq., of N. Charlton, is thus spoken of in Lockhart’s Life of Scott (p. 86 of the abridged edition, 1871):—“I find him” (Scott) “further nominated in March 1796, together with Mr. Robert Cay,—an accomplished gentleman, afterwards Judge of the Admiralty Court in Scotland,—to put the Faculty’s cabinet of medals in proper arrangement.” Mr. Cay at one time held the post of Judge-Admiral and Commissary-General, and while thus dignified in his profession used to reside for part of the year on his hereditary estate of Charlton, which had been freed from certain burdens[9] upon his coming of age.

He married Elizabeth Liddell, daughter of John Liddell, Esq., of Tynemouth, about the year 1789. The eldest son, John, has been already mentioned as an early companion of John Clerk Maxwell’s, and both his name and those of Jane and E. D. Cay will reappear in the sequel. Between Frances (Mrs. Clerk Maxwell) and her sister Jane, who was never married, there existed a very close affection. There is a picture of them both as young girls (a three-quarter length in water-colours) done by their mother, who was an accomplished artist. Her gift in this way, which was very remarkable, and highly cultivated for an amateur, was continued in Jane and Robert, and has been transmitted to the succeeding generation. Miss Jane Cay was one of the warmest hearted creatures in the world; somewhat wayward in her likes and dislikes, perhaps somewhat warm-tempered also, but boundless in affectionate kindness to those whom she loved. Mr. E. D. Cay, W.S., married a sister of Dyce the artist, and, after acting for some time as one of the Judges' clerks, proceeded in 1844 to Hong-Kong, where he had an appointment. His wife joined him there in 1845, and died in 1852. In two of their sons, besides the artistic tastes which they inherited through both parents, there was developed remarkable mathematical ability. It should be also noticed that Mr. John Cay, the Sheriff of Linlithgow, though not specially educated in mathematics, was extremely skilful in arithmetic and fond of calculation as a voluntary pursuit. He was a great favourite in society, and full of general information. We have already seen him assisting at experiments which might have led to the invention of “blowing fans,” but seem to have produced no such profitable result. And we shall find that his interest in practical Science was continued late in after life.[10]

In speaking of the Cay family it has been necessary to anticipate a little, in order to advert to some particulars which, although later in time, seemed proper to an introduction. Having departed so far from the order of events, I may before concluding this chapter make explicit mention of the loss which coloured the greater part of James Clerk Maxwell's existence, by leaving him motherless in his ninth year. Mrs. Clerk Maxwell died on the 6th of December 1839. There was extant until after Professor Maxwell's death a memorandum or diary kept at the time by her husband, describing the heroic fortitude which she had shown under the pain of her disease, and of the operation by which they had attempted to save her. Anæsthetics were then unknown. She had nearly completed her forty-eighth year, having been born on the 25th of March 1792, and married at the age of 34 (October 4, 1826). Mr. Maxwell was aged fifty-two at the time of his wife's death. He did not marry again.

We now return from this sad record to the birth of the son and heir, which was the more welcome to the parents after the loss of their first-born child. At this joyful epoch Mr. and Mrs. Clerk Maxwell, though retaining the house in India Street, had been already settled for some years in their new home at Glenlair.