e compatible with the exercise of
the greatest amount of strength. I was particularly struck by the absence
of all exaggeration in the muscular developments as represented. I saw by
this statue that a Hercules must be free from superfluous flesh, neatly
made, and finely organized,--that form and quality were of more account
than quantity in his formation. Some years earlier I might have been more
attracted by the Apollo Belvedere; but it was a Hercules I dreamed of
becoming, and the Apollo was but the incipient and potential Hercules. Two
other statues that shared my admiration and study were the Quoit-Thrower
and the Dying Gladiator. From the careful inspection of all these relics
of ancient Art I obtained some valuable hints as to my own physical
deficiencies. I learned that the upper region of my chest needed
developing, and that in other points I had not yet reached the artist's
ideal of a strong man.

Good casts of these and other masterpieces in statuary may be had at a
trifling cost. Why are they not generally introduced into the gymnasia
attached to our colleges and schools? The habitual contemplation of such
works could not fail to have a good effect upon the physical bearing and
development of the young. We are the creatures of imitation. I remember,
at the school I attended in my seventh year, the strongest boy among my
mates was quite round-shouldered. Fancying that he derived his strength
from his stoop, I began to imitate him; and it was not till I learned that
he was strong in spite of his round shoulders, and not because of them,
that I gave up aping his peculiarity.

On the 29th of January, 1856, I lifted seven hundred pounds in Bailey's
Gymnasium, Franklin Street, Boston. The exhibition created great surprise
among the lookers-on; and at that time it was, perhaps, an extraordinary
feat; but since the extension and growth of the lifting mania, it would
not be regarded by the knowing ones as anything to marvel at. The fourth
of April following, my lifting capacity had reached eight hundred and
forty pounds.

On Fast-Day of that year, two Irishmen knocked at my door and asked to see
the strong man. I presented myself, and they told me there was great
curiosity among the "ould counthrymen" in the vicinity to ascertain if one
Pat Farren, the strongest Irishman in Roxbury, could lift my weight.
"Would it be convanient for me to let him thry?" "Certainly,--and I think
he'll lift it," I modestly added.

So