Science and Education | Page 4

man who was being denounced all
over the country as an infidel and an atheist somewhat embarrassing. In
fact, a passage in Priestley's "Autobiography" on the occasion of the
publication of his "Disquisitions relating to Matter and Spirit," which
took place in 1777, indicates pretty clearly the state of the case:--
"(126) It being probable that this publication would be unpopular, and
might be the means of bringing odium on my patron, several attempts
were made by his friends, though none by himself, to dissuade me from
persisting in it. But being, as I thought, engaged in the cause of
important truth, I proceeded without regard to any consequences,
assuring them that this publication should not be injurious to his
lordship."
It is not unreasonable to suppose that his lordship, as a keen, practical
man of the world, did not derive much satisfaction from this assurance.
The "evident marks of dissatisfaction" which Priestley says he first
perceived in his patron in 1778, may well have arisen from the peer's
not unnatural uneasiness as to what his domesticated, but not tamed,
philosopher might write next, and what storm might thereby he brought
down on his own head; and it speaks very highly for Lord Shelburne's
delicacy that, in the midst of such perplexities, he made not the least
attempt to interfere with Priestley's freedom of action. In 1780,
however, he intimated to Dr. Price that he should be glad to establish

Priestley on his Irish estates: the suggestion was interpreted, as Lord
Shelburne probably intended it should be, and Priestley left him, the
annuity of £150 a year, which had been promised in view of such a
contingency, being punctually paid.
After leaving Calne, Priestley spent some little time in London, and
then, having settled in Birmingham at the desire of his brother-in-law,
he was soon invited to become the minister of a large congregation.
This settlement Priestley considered, at the time, to be "the happiest
event of his life." And well he might think so; for it gave him
competence and leisure; placed him within reach of the best makers of
apparatus of the day; made him a member of that remarkable "Lunar
Society," at whose meetings he could exchange thoughts with such men
as Watt, Wedgwood, Darwin, and Boulton; and threw open to him the
pleasant house of the Galtons of Barr, where these men, and others of
less note, formed a society of exceptional charm and intelligence. [4]
But these halcyon days were ended by a bitter storm. The French
Revolution broke out. An electric shock ran through the nations;
whatever there was of corrupt and retrograde, and, at the same time, a
great deal of what there was of best and noblest, in European society
shuddered at the outburst of long-pent-up social fires. Men's feelings
were excited in a way that we, in this generation, can hardly
comprehend. Party wrath and virulence were expressed in a manner
unparalleled, and it is to be hoped impossible, in our times; and
Priestley and his friends were held up to public scorn, even in
Parliament, as fomenters of sedition. A "Church-and-King" cry was
raised against the Liberal Dissenters; and, in Birmingham, it was
intensified and specially directed towards Priestley by a local
controversy, in which he had engaged with his usual vigour. In 1791,
the celebration of the second anniversary of the taking of the Bastille
by a public dinner, with which Priestley had nothing whatever to do,
gave the signal to the loyal and pious mob, who, unchecked, and indeed
to some extent encouraged, by those who were responsible for order,
had the town at their mercy for three days. The chapels and houses of
the leading Dissenters were wrecked, and Priestley and his family had
to fly for their lives, leaving library, apparatus, papers, and all their
possessions, a prey to the flames.
Priestley never returned to Birmingham. He bore the outrages and

losses inflicted upon him with extreme patience and sweetness, [5] and
betook himself to London. But even his scientific colleagues gave him
a cold shoulder; and though he was elected minister of a congregation
at Hackney, he felt his position to be insecure, and finally determined
on emigrating to the United States. He landed in America in 1794;
lived quietly with his sons at Northumberland, in Pennsylvania, where
his posterity still flourish; and, clear-headed and busy to the last, died
on the 6th of February 1804.
Such were the conditions under which Joseph Priestley did the work
which lay before him, and then, as the Norse Sagas say, went out of the
story. The work itself was of the most varied kind. No human interest
was without its attraction for Priestley, and few men have ever had so
many irons in the fire at once; but, though