CHAPTER III.
Count Rumford negotiates with Mr. Underwood on the subject of Davy's appointment to the Royal Institution.—Terms of his engagement communicated in a letter to Mr. Gilbert.—Davy arrives, and takes possession of his apartments.—He receives various mortifications.—He is elected a member of the Tepidarian Society.—Is appointed Lecturer instead of assistant.—He makes a tour in Cornwall with Mr. Underwood.—Anecdotes.—His Poem on Spinosism.—His letter to Mr. Gilbert, communicating a galvanic discovery.—He commences his first grand course of lectures.—His brilliant success.—A letter from Mr. Purkis.—Davy's style criticised.—His extraordinary method of experimenting.—Davy and Wollaston compared as experimentalists.—The style of Davy as a lecturer and a writer contrasted.
It may be readily supposed that the prominent situation held by Davy at Bristol, as well as the merited celebrity of his writings, must have rendered his name familiar to all the leading philosophers of the day. It were vain, therefore, to enquire through what channel the echo of his fame first reached the ear of Count Rumford;[34] it is sufficient to state that Mr. Underwood, a gentleman ardently attached to science, and devoted to the interests of the Royal Institution, was amongst the first to urge the expediency of inviting him to London as a public lecturer. Mr. Underwood, in a letter lately addressed to me from Paris, says, "In consequence of several conversations with Count Rumford, on the subject of Davy's superior talents, and the advantages that would accrue to the Institution from engaging him as a lecturer, the Count called upon me on the 5th of January 1801, having received from the Managers of the Institution full powers to negotiate upon the subject. On this occasion, however, I thought it advisable to introduce the Count to Mr. James Thomson, as being the more eligible person to treat in behalf of Davy, not only on account of his greater intimacy with him, but because, not being a proprietor, he was unconnected with the interests of the Institution."
Mr. Thomson, who saw the prospect of honour and emolument thus opened for his friend, after a satisfactory interview with Count Rumford, immediately wrote to Davy, with an earnest recommendation that he should, without loss of time, come to town, and conclude an arrangement thus auspiciously commenced.
Davy, with his characteristic ardour, answered the letter in person. He was introduced to the Managers, and the preliminary arrangements were soon completed; the nature of which is disclosed by himself in the following letter to Mr. Gilbert.
Hotwells, March 8, 1801.
I cannot think of quitting the Pneumatic Institution, without giving you intimation of it in a letter; indeed, I believe I should have done this some time ago, had not the hurry of business, and the fever of emotion produced by the prospect of novel changes in futurity, destroyed to a certain extent my powers of consistent action.
You, my dear Sir, have behaved to me with great kindness, and the little ability I possess you have very much contributed to develope; I should therefore accuse myself of ingratitude, were I to neglect to ask your approbation of the measures I have adopted with regard to the change of my situation, and the enlargement of my views in life.
In consequence of an invitation from Count Rumford, given to me with some proposals relative to the Royal Institution, I visited London in the middle of February, where, after several conferences with that gentleman, I was invited by the Managers of the Royal Institution to become the Director of their laboratory, and their Assistant Professor of chemistry; at the same time I was assured that, within the space of two or three seasons, I should be made sole Professor of Chemistry, still continuing Director of the laboratory.
The immediate emolument offered was sufficient for my wants; and the sole and uncontrolled use of the apparatus of the Institution, for private experiments, was to be granted me.
The behaviour of Count Rumford, Sir Joseph Banks, Mr. Cavendish, and the other principal managers, was liberal and polite; and they promised me any apparatus that I might need for new experiments.
The time required to be devoted to the services of the Institution was but short, being limited chiefly to the winter and spring. The emoluments to be attached to the office of sole Professor of Chemistry are great; and, above all, the situation is permanent, and held very honourable.
These motives, joined to the approbation of Dr. Beddoes, who with great liberality has absolved me from my engagements at the Pneumatic Institution, and the strong wishes of most of my friends in London and Bristol, determined my conduct.
Thus I am quickly to be transferred to London, whilst my sphere of action is considerably enlarged, and as much power as I could reasonably expect, or even wish for at my time of life, secured to me without the obligation of labouring at a profession.
The Royal Institution will, I hope, be of some utility to society. It has undoubtedly the capability of becoming a great instrument of moral and intellectual improvement. Its funds are very great. It has attached to it the feelings of a great number of people of fashion and property, and consequently may be the means of employing, to useful purposes, money which would otherwise be squandered in luxury, and in the production of unnecessary labour.
Count Rumford professes that it will be kept distinct from party politics; I sincerely wish that such may be the case, though I fear it.[35] As for myself, I shall become attached to it full of hope, with the resolution of employing all my feeble powers towards promoting its true interests.
So much of my paper has been given to pure egotism, that I have but little room left to say any thing concerning the state of science, and the public mind in town; unfortunately, there is little to say. I have heard of no important discoveries. In politics, nothing seems capable of exciting permanent interest. The stroke of poverty, though severely felt, has been a torpedo, benumbing all energy, and not irritating and awakening it, as might have been expected.
Here, at the Pneumatic Institution, the nitrous oxide has evidently been of use. Dr. Beddoes is proceeding in the execution of his great popular physiological work, which, if it equals the plan he holds out, ought to supersede every work of the kind.
I have been pursuing Galvanism with labour, and some success. I have been able to produce galvanic power from simple plates, by effecting on them different oxidating and deoxidating processes; but on this point I cannot enlarge in the small remaining space of paper.
Your remark concerning negative Galvanism, and deoxidation, is curious, and will most probably hold good.
It will give me much pleasure to see your mathematical Paper[36] in the Philosophical Transactions, but it will be, unfortunately, to me the pleasure of blind sympathy, though derived from the consciousness that you ought to be acting upon, and instructing the world at large.
It will give me sincere pleasure to hear from you, when you are at leisure. After the 11th I shall be in town—my direction, Royal Institution, Albemarle Street. I am, my dear friend, with respect and affection,
Yours,
Humphry Davy.
The first notice of Davy's name, in the Minute Book of the Royal Institution, occurs in the Report adopted at a Meeting of the Managers, on Monday the 16th of February 1801.
"Resolved—That Mr. Humphry Davy be engaged in the service of the Royal Institution, in the capacities of Assistant Lecturer in Chemistry, Director of the Laboratory, and Assistant Editor of the Journals of the Institution, and that he be allowed to occupy a room in the house, and be furnished with coals and candles; and that he be paid a salary of one hundred guineas per annum."
On the 16th of March 1801, after reporting that "a room had been prepared and furnished for Davy," the Minute proceeds to state that "Mr. Davy had arrived at the Institution on Wednesday the 11th of March, and taken possession of his situation."
It is a curious fact, that the first impression produced on Count Rumford by Davy's personal appearance, was highly unfavourable to the young philosopher, and he expressed to Mr. Underwood his great regret at having been influenced by the ardour with which his suit had been urged; and he actually would not allow him to lecture in the Theatre, until he had given a specimen of his abilities in the smaller lecture-room. His first lecture, however, entirely removed every prejudice which had been formed; and at its conclusion the Count emphatically exclaimed—"Let him command any arrangements which the Institution can afford." He was accordingly, on the very next day, promoted to the great Theatre.
Davy's uncouth appearance and address subjected him to many other mortifications on his first arrival in London. There was a smirk on his countenance, and a pertness in his manner, which, although arising from the perfect simplicity of his mind, were considered as indicating an unbecoming confidence. Johnson, the publisher, as many of my readers will probably remember, was in the custom of giving weekly dinners to the more distinguished authors and literary stars of the day. Davy, soon after his appointment, was invited upon one of these occasions, but the host actually considered it necessary to explain, by way of apology, to his company, the motives which had induced him to introduce into their society a person of such humble pretensions. At this dinner a circumstance occurred, which must have been very mortifying to the young philosopher. Fuseli was present, and, as usual, highly energetic upon various passages of beauty in the poets, when Davy most unfortunately observed, that there were passages in Milton which he could never understand. "Very likely, very likely, Sir," replied the artist in his broad German accent, "but I am sure that is not Milton's fault."
On the 7th of April, he was elected a member of a society which consisted of twenty-five of the most violent republicans of the day; it was called the "Tepidarian Society," from the circumstance of nothing but tea being allowed at their meetings, which were held at Old Slaughter's Coffee House in Saint Martin's Lane. To the influence of this society, Mr. Underwood states that Davy was greatly indebted for his early popularity. Fame gathers her laurels with a slow hand, and the most brilliant talents require a certain time for producing a due impression upon the public; the Tepidarians exerted all their personal influence to obtain an audience before the reputation of the lecturer could have been sufficiently known to attract one.
Although the acquaintance between Davy and Count Rumford commenced so inauspiciously, they very soon became friends, and mutually entertained for each other the highest regard.
Davy's improved manners and naturally simple habits, at this period, were highly interesting and exemplary: towards his old friends he conducted himself with the greatest amenity, and frequently consulted them upon certain points connected with his new station in society. The following anecdote was communicated by Mr. Underwood.—"I introduced him," says he, "to my old friend, the excellent Sir Henry Englefield, who was the first intimate acquaintance Davy had formed in the higher circles; he was received by him with all that warmth of manner, and kindness of feeling, which so eminently distinguished him. Shortly after this introduction, Sir Harry sent him an invitation to meet me at dinner. Davy found himself unable to frame an answer to his satisfaction, and fearing he might betray his ignorance of etiquette, ran to my house, and greatly alarmed my mother by the extreme anxiety he displayed, and the manner in which he entreated her to send me to him the moment I returned. I went and found him cudgelling his brains to produce this first attempt at fashionable composition; a dozen answers were on his table, and he was in the highest degree excited and annoyed."
It would appear that, immediately after his arrival at the Royal Institution, he entered upon the duties of his station, and performed them so greatly to the satisfaction of the Managers, that, at a Meeting held on the first of June, not more than six weeks afterwards, the following Resolutions were passed.
"Resolved—That Mr. Humphry Davy, Director of the Chemical Laboratory, and Assistant Lecturer in Chemistry, has, since he has been employed at the Institution, given satisfactory proofs of his talents as a Lecturer.
"Resolved—That he be appointed, and in future denominated, Lecturer in Chemistry at the Royal Institution, instead of continuing to occupy the place of Assistant Lecturer, which he has hitherto filled."
From an examination of the Minute Book, it appears that Dr. Garnett, whose health had long been on the decline, resigned his professorship on the 15th of June,[37] and that on the 6th of July in the same year, Dr. Young was engaged as Professor of Natural Philosophy, Editor of the Journals, and general Superintendent of the House, at the salary of 300l. per annum.
With Dr. Garnett he had lived on terms of great intimacy; with his successor he associated with less ease and freedom.
At a meeting of the Managers, also held in July, several Resolutions were passed to the following effect.
"Resolved—That a Course of Lectures on the Chemical Principles of the Art of Tanning be given by Mr. Davy. To commence the second of November next; and that respectable persons of the trade, who shall be recommended by Proprietors of the Institution, be admitted to these lectures gratis.
"Resolved further—That Mr. Davy have permission to absent himself during the months of July, August, and September, for the purpose of making himself more particularly acquainted with the practical part of the business of tanning, in order to prepare himself for giving the above-mentioned course of lectures."
Davy, it would appear, availed himself of the permission granted to him by the above resolution of the Managers, and during the interval visited his native country.
He had arranged with his friend Underwood to make a tour through Cornwall; but as it was his wish to remain at Bristol for a few days, on his way to the West, it was agreed between them that they should meet at Penzance.
Davy, however, became impatient, and wrote the following letter to his friend, a composition of much wildness, and obnoxious to the suspicion of Spinosism.
MY DEAR UNDERWOOD,
That part of Almighty God which resides in the rocks and woods, in the blue and tranquil sea, in the clouds and sunbeams of the sky, is calling upon thee with a loud voice: religiously obey its commands, and come and worship with me on the ancient altars of Cornwall.
I shall leave Bristol on Thursday next, possibly before, so that by this day week I shall probably be at Penzance. Ten days or a fortnight after, I shall expect to see you, and to rejoice with you.
We will admire together the wonders of God,—rocks and the sea, dead hills and living hills covered with verdure. Amen.
Write to me immediately, and say when you will come. Direct H. Davy, Penzance. Farewell, Being of energy!
Your's with unfeigned affection,
H. Davy.
Mr. Underwood transmitted to me the above letter with the following extract from his journal.
"On the 25th I went to Bristol, and on the 30th arrived at Mrs. Davy's at Penzance. On the 1st of August we set off on a pedestrian excursion, and proceeded along the edge of the cliffs, round the Land's End, Cape Cornwall, Saint Just, and Saint Ives, to Redruth, and thence back to Penzance.
"Two days afterwards we again started, and trudged along the shore to the Lizard. Kynance Cove had from the commencement of our intimacy been a daily theme of his conversation. No epithets were sufficiently forcible to express his admiration at the beauty of the spot: the enthusiastic delight with which he dwelt upon the description of the Serpentine rocks, polished by the waves, and reflecting the brightest tints from their surfaces, seemed inexhaustible, and when we had arrived at the spot he appeared absolutely entranced.
"During these excursions his conversation was most romantic and poetical. His views of Nature, and her sublime operations, were expressed without reserve, as they rapidly presented themselves to his imagination: they were the ravings of genius; but even his nonsense was that of a superior being."
At the village of Mullion, a little incident occurred, which evinced the existence of that gastronomic propensity which, in after years, displayed itself in a wider range of operations. The tourists had, on their road, purchased a fine large bass of a fisherman, with the intention of desiring the landlady to dress it. On arriving at the inn, Mr. Underwood retired into a room for the purpose of making some notes in the journal he regularly kept. Davy had disappeared. In the course of a few minutes a most tremendous uproar was heard in the kitchen, and the indignant vociferations of the hostess, which, even with all the advantages of Cornish recitative, was not of the most melodious description, became fearfully audible. Davy, it seems, had volunteered his assistance in making the sauce and stuffing for the aforesaid bass; and had he not speedily retreated, his services would have been rewarded, not according to the scientific practice of appending a string of letters to his name, but in conformity with the equally ancient custom of attaching a certain dishonourable addition to the skirts of his jacket.
I have observed that his letter to Mr. Underwood betrayed a tincture of Spinosism. It may be here remarked, that during the year 1801 he composed a poem, which he arbitrarily distinguished by that appellation, singularly opposed to the tenor of the sentiments. Through the kindness of Mr. Greenough I possess a copy of it in its original state, for it was subsequently altered, and published in a collection, edited by Miss Johanna Baillie; and still more recently, it underwent farther corrections, and was printed for private circulation in the form in which I shall here introduce it.
Lo! o'er the Earth the kindling spirits pour
The flames of life, that bounteous Nature gives;
The limpid dew becomes the rosy flower;
The insensate dust awakes, and moves, and lives.
All speaks of change: the renovated forms
Of long forgotten things arise again.
The light of suns, the breath of angry storms,
The everlasting motions of the main;
These are but engines of the Eternal Will,
The One Intelligence; whose potent sway
Has ever acted, and is acting still,
Whilst stars, and worlds, and systems, all obey:
Without whose power, the whole of mortal things
Were dull, inert, an unharmonious band;
Silent as are the harp's untuned strings
Without the touches of the poet's hand.
A sacred spark, created by His breath,
The immortal mind of man his image bears;
A spirit living midst the forms of death,
Oppress'd but not subdued by mortal cares—
A germ, preparing in the winter's frost,
To rise and bud and blossom in the spring;
An unfledged eagle by the tempest tost,
Unconscious of his future strength of wing:—
The child of trial, to mortality,
And all its changeful influences given:
On the green earth decreed to move and die;
And yet by such a fate prepared for Heaven.—
Soon as it breathes, to feel the mother's form
Of orbed beauty, through its organs thrill;
To press the limbs of life with rapture warm,
And drink of transport from a living rill:
To view the skies with morning radiance bright,
Majestic mingling with the ocean blue,
Or bounded by green hills, or mountains white;
Or peopled plains of rich and varied hue:
The nobler charms astonish'd to behold
Of living loveliness, to see it move,
Cast in expression's rich and varied mould,
Awakening sympathy, compelling love:—
The heavenly balm of mutual hope to taste,
Soother of life; affection's bliss to share,
Sweet as the stream amidst the desert waste,
As the first blush of arctic daylight fair:—
To mingle with its kindred, to descry
The path of power—in public life to shine;
To gain the voice of popularity;
The idol of to-day, the man divine:—
To govern others by an influence strong
As that high law, which moves the murm'ring main;
Raising and carrying all its waves along,
Beneath the full-orb'd moon's meridian reign:—
To scan how transient is the breath of praise;
A winter's zephyr trembling on the snow,
Chill'd as it moves; or as the northern rays,
First fading in the centre, whence they flow:—
To live in forests mingled with the whole
Of natural forms, whose generations rise
In lovely change, in happy order roll
On land, in ocean, in the glittering skies:—
Their harmony to trace—The Eternal Cause
To know in love, in reverence to adore—
To bend beneath the inevitable law,
Sinking in death; its human strength no more:—
Then, as awakening from a dream of pain,
With joy its mortal feelings to resign;
Yet all its living essence to retain,
The undying energy of strength divine:
To quit the burdens of its earthly days,
To give to Nature all her borrow'd powers;
Ethereal fire to feed the solar rays,
Ethereal dew to glad the earth in showers.
The following letter was written from London, after his return from his Cornish excursion.
TO DAVIES GIDDY, ESQ.
Royal Institution, Nov. 14, 1801.
MY DEAR SIR,
After leaving Cornwall in August, I spent about three weeks in Bristol, and at Stowey, so that I did not arrive in London until the 20th of September.
On my arrival I found that Count Rumford had altered his plans of absence, and had left London on that very day for the Continent, purposing to return in about two months. He is now at Paris, and in about a fortnight we expect him here.
I shall soon have an opportunity of submitting Captain Trevitheck's boiler to his observation, and in my next letter I shall give you his opinion of it.
You of course have read an account of Dr. Herschel's experiments on the heat-making rays; from some late observations it appears, that there are other invisible rays beyond the violet ones, possessed of the chemical agency of Light. Sennebier ascertained some time ago that the violet rays blackened muriate of silver in three seconds; whereas the red rays required, for this effect, twenty minutes. Ritter and Dr. Wollaston have found that beyond the violet rays there is exerted a strong deoxidating action. Muriate of silver placed in the spectrum is not altered beyond the red rays; but it is instantly blackened when placed on the outside of the violet rays. I purpose to try whether the invisible deoxidating rays will produce light, when absorbed by solar phosphorus.
The most curious galvanic facts lately noticed, are the combustion of gold, silver, and platina. Professor Tromsdorf, by connecting the ends of a moderately strong battery with gold and silver leaf, produced the combustion of them with vivid light. In repeating the experiment on a thin slip of platina, I have produced the same effect.
I yesterday ascertained rather an important fact, namely, that a galvanic battery may be constructed without any metallic substance! By means of ten pieces of well-burnt charcoal, nitrous acid, and water, arranged alternately in wine-glasses, I produced all the effects usually obtained from zinc, silver, and water.
The Bakerian Lecture by Dr. Young, our Lecturer on Natural Philosophy, is now reading before the Royal Society. He attempts to revive the doctrine of Huygens and Euler, that light depends upon undulations of an ethereal medium. His proofs (i.e. his presumptive proofs) are drawn from some strong and curious analogies he has discovered between Light and Sound.
I shall strongly hope, now the Peace has arrived, to see you soon in London, as you proposed a tour through the Continent; indeed, you should fix your permanent residence in London, where alone you can do what you ought—instruct and delight numbers of improved men.
I am, my friend, yours
With unfeigned esteem and respect,
Humphry Davy.
Although during 1801 Davy had given some desultory Lectures, his splendid career cannot be said to have commenced until the following year, when on the 21st of January he delivered his Introductory Lecture to a crowded and enlightened audience in the Theatre of the Royal Institution; which was afterwards printed at the request of a respectable proportion of the Society.
It contains a masterly view of the benefits to be derived from the various branches of science. He represents the Chemist as the Ruler of all the elements that surround us, and which he employs either for the satisfaction of his wants, or the gratification of his wishes. Not contented with what is to be found on the surface of the earth, he describes him as penetrating into her bosom, and even of searching the depths of the ocean, for the purpose of allaying the restlessness of his desires, or of extending and increasing the boundaries of his power.
In examining the science of Chemistry, with regard to its great agency in the improvement of society, he offers the following almost prophetic remarks. "Unless any great physical changes should take place upon the globe, the permanency of the Arts and Sciences is rendered certain, in consequence of the diffusion of knowledge, by means of the invention of Printing; and by which those words which are the immutable instruments of thought, are become the constant and widely diffused nourishment of the mind, and the preservers of its health and energy.
"Individuals influenced by interested motives or false views, may check for a time the progress of knowledge;—moral causes may produce a momentary slumber of the public spirit;—the adoption of wild and dangerous theories, by ambitious or deluded men, may throw a temporary opprobrium on literature; but the influence of true philosophy will never be despised; the germs of improvement are sown in minds, even where they are not perceived; and sooner or later, the spring-time of their growth must arrive.
"In reasoning concerning the future hopes of the human species, we may look forward with confidence to a state of society, in which the different orders and classes of men will contribute more effectually to the support of each other than they have hitherto done. This state, indeed, seems to be approaching fast; for, in consequence of the multiplication of the means of instruction, the man of science and the manufacturer are daily becoming more assimilated to each other. The artist, who formerly affected to despise scientific principles, because he was incapable of perceiving the advantages of them, is now so far enlightened as to favour the adoption of new processes in his art, whenever they are evidently connected with a diminution of labour; and the increase of projectors, even to too great an extent, demonstrates the enthusiasm of the public mind in its search after improvement.
"The arts and sciences, also, are in a high degree cultivated and patronized by the rich and privileged orders. The guardians of civilization and of refinement, the most powerful and respected part of society, are daily growing more attentive to the realities of life,—and giving up many of their unnecessary enjoyments, in consequence of the desire to be useful, are becoming the friends and protectors of the labouring part of the community.
"The unequal division of property and of labour, the differences of rank and condition amongst mankind, are the sources of power in civilized life—its moving causes, and even its very soul. In considering and hoping that the human species is capable of becoming more enlightened and more happy, we can only expect that the different parts of the great whole of society should be intimately united together, by means of knowledge and the useful arts; that they should act as the children of one great parent, with one determinate end, so that no power may be rendered useless—no exertions thrown away.
"In this view, we do not look to distant ages, or amuse ourselves with brilliant though delusive dreams, concerning the infinite improveability of man, the annihilation of labour, disease, and even death, but we reason by analogy from simple facts, we consider only a state of human progression arising out of its present condition,—we look for a time that we may reasonably expect—FOR A BRIGHT DAY, OF WHICH WE ALREADY BEHOLD THE DAWN."
The extraordinary sensation produced amongst the members of the Institution by this first course of lectures, has been vividly described by various persons who had the good fortune to be his auditors; and foreigners have recorded in their travels the enthusiasm with which the great English chemist had inspired his countrymen.
The members of the Tepidarian Society, sanguine in the success of their child,—for so they considered Davy,—purposely appointed their anniversary festival on the day of his anticipated triumph. They were not disappointed in their hopes; and their dinner was marked by every demonstration of hilarity. In the evening, Davy accompanied by a few friends, attended, for the first time in his life, a masquerade which was given at Ranelagh.
On the following day, he dined with Sir Harry Englefield. I have a copy of the invitation, addressed to Mr. Underwood, now before me.
DEAR UNDERWOOD,
Davy, covered with glory, dines with me to-day at five. If you could meet him, it would give me great pleasure.
Tilney Street, Friday.Yours truly,
H. C. Englefield.
At this dinner, Sir Harry wrote a request to Davy to print his Lecture, which was signed by every one present, except Mr. Underwood, who declined, from the apprehension that the signature of so intimate a friend might give to that which was a spontaneous homage to talent, the appearance of a previously concerted scheme.
I shall here weave into my narrative some extracts from several letters, with which Mr. Purkis, one of the earliest friends of Davy, has lately favoured me.
"On his first appointment at the Royal Institution, I was specially introduced to him by a common friend, Thomas Poole, Esq. of Nether Stowey in Somersetshire; and I continued in habits of friendship with him during a great portion of his life, though somewhat less intimately during the last few years. I loved him living—I lament his early death: I shall ever honour his memory.
"The sensation created by his first course of Lectures at the Institution, and the enthusiastic admiration which they obtained, is at this period scarcely to be imagined. Men of the first rank and talent,—the literary and the scientific, the practical and the theoretical, blue-stockings, and women of fashion, the old and the young, all crowded—eagerly crowded the lecture-room. His youth, his simplicity, his natural eloquence, his chemical knowledge, his happy illustrations and well-conducted experiments, excited universal attention and unbounded applause. Compliments, invitations, and presents, were showered upon him in abundance from all quarters; his society was courted by all, and all appeared proud of his acquaintance.
"One instance of attention is particularly recalled to my memory. A talented lady, since well known in the literary world, addressed him anonymously in a poem of considerable length, replete with delicate panegyric and genuine feeling. It displayed much originality, learning, and taste: the language was elegant, the versification harmonious, the sentiments just, and the imagery highly poetical. It was accompanied with a handsome ornamental appendage for the watch, which he was requested to wear when he delivered his next lecture, as a token of having received the poem, and pardoned the freedom of the writer. It was long before the fair authoress was known to him, but they afterwards became well acquainted with each other."
I should not redeem the pledge given to my readers, nor fulfill the duties of an impartial biographer, were I to omit acknowledging that the manners and habits of Davy very shortly underwent a considerable change. Let those who have vainly sought to disparage his excellence, enjoy the triumph of knowing that he was not perfect; but it may be asked in candour, where is the man of twenty-two years of age, unless the temperature of his blood were below zero, and his temperament as dull and passionless as the fabled god of the Brahmins, who could remain uninfluenced by such an elevation? Look at Davy in the laboratory at Bristol, pursuing with eager industry various abstract points of research; mixing only with a few philosophers, sanguine like himself in the investigation of chemical phenomena, but whose sphere of observation must have been confined to themselves, and whose worldly knowledge could scarcely have extended beyond the precincts of the Institution in which they were engaged. Shift the scene—behold him in the Theatre of the Royal Institution, surrounded by an aristocracy of intellect as well as of rank; by the flowers of genius, the élite of fashion, and the beauty of England, whose very respirations were suspended in eager expectation to catch his novel and satisfactory elucidations of the mysteries of Nature. Could the author of the Rambler have revisited us, he would certainly have rescinded the passage in which he says—"All appearance of science is hateful to women; and he who desires to be well received by them, must qualify himself by a total rejection of all that is rational and important; must consider learning as perpetually interdicted, and devote all his attention to trifle, and all his eloquence to compliment."
It is admitted that his vanity was excited, and his ambition raised, by such extraordinary demonstrations of devotion; that the bloom of his simplicity was dulled by the breath of adulation; and that, losing much of the native frankness which constituted the great charm of his character, he unfortunately assumed the garb and airs of a man of fashion; let us not wonder if, under such circumstances, the inappropriate robe should not always have fallen in graceful draperies.
At length, so popular did he become, under the auspices of the Duchess of Gordon and other leaders of high fashion, that even their soirées were considered incomplete without his presence; and yet these fascinations, strong as they must have been, never tempted him from his allegiance to Science: never did the charms of the saloon allure him from the pursuits of the laboratory, or distract him from the duties of the lecture-room. The crowds that repaired to the Institution in the morning were, day after day, gratified by newly devised and highly illustrative experiments, conducted with the utmost address, and explained in language at once perspicuous and eloquent.
He brought down Science from those heights which were before accessible only to a few, and placed her within the reach of all; he divested the goddess of all severity of aspect, and represented her as attired by the Graces.
It is perhaps not possible to convey a better idea of the fascination of his style, than by the relation of the following anecdote. A person having observed the constancy with which Mr. Coleridge attended these lectures, was induced to ask the poet what attractions he could find in a study so unconnected with his known pursuits. "I attend Davy's lectures," he replied, "to increase my stock of metaphors."
But, as Johnson says, in the most general applause some discordant voices will always be heard; and so was it upon the present occasion. It was urged by several modern Zoili, that the style was far too florid and imaginative for communicating the plain lessons of truth; that he described objects of Natural History by inappropriate imagery, and that violent conceits frequently usurped the place of philosophical definitions. This was Bœotian criticism; the Attic spirits selected other points of attack: they rallied him on the ground of affectation, and whimsically represented him as swayed by a mawkish sensibility, which constantly betrayed him into absurdity. There might be some show of justice in this accusation: The world was not large enough to satisfy the vulgar ambition of the conqueror, but the minutest production of nature afforded ample range for the scrutinizing intelligence of the philosopher; and he would consider a particle of crystal with so delicate a regard for its minute beauties, and expatiate with so tender a tone of interest on its fair proportions, as almost to convey an idea that he bewailed the condition of necessity which for ever allotted it so slender a place in the vast scheme of creation.
After the observations which have been offered with regard to the injurious tendency of metaphors in all matters relating to science, I may probably be charged with inconsistency in defending Davy from the attacks thus levelled against his style. We need not the critic to remind us that the statue of a Lysippus may be spoiled by gilding; but I would observe that the style which cannot be tolerated in a philosophical essay, may under peculiar circumstances be not only admissible, but even expedient, in a popular lecture. "Neque ideo minus efficaces sunt orationes nostræ quia ad aures judicantium cum voluptate perveniunt. Quid enim si infirmiora horum temporum templa credas, quia non rudi cæmento, et informibus tegulis exstruuntur; sed marmore nitent et auro radiantur?"
Let us consider, for a moment, the class of persons to whom Davy addressed himself. Were they students prepared to toil with systematic precision, in order to obtain knowledge as a matter of necessity?—No—they were composed of the gay and the idle, who could only be tempted to admit instruction by the prospect of receiving pleasure,—they were children, who could only be induced to swallow the salutary draught by the honey around the rim of the cup.
It has been well observed, that necessity alone can urge the traveller over barren heaths and snow-topped mountains, while he treads with rapture along the fertile vales of those happier climes where every breeze is perfume, and every scene a picture.
If Science can be promoted by increasing the number of its votaries, and by enlisting into its service those whom wealth and power may render valuable as examples or patrons, there does not exist a class of philosophers to which we are more largely indebted than to popular lecturers, or to those whose eloquence has clothed with interest, subjects otherwise severe and uninviting. How many disciples did Mineralogy acquire through the lectures of Dr. Clarke at Cambridge, who may truly be said to have covered a desert with verdure, and to have raised from barren rocks flowers of every hue and fragrance! In the sister university, what an accession of strength and spirit have the animated discourses of Dr. Buckland brought to the ranks of Geologists! To judge fairly of the influence of a popular style, we should acquaint ourselves with the effects of an opposite method; and if an appeal be made to experience, I may very safely abide the issue. Dr. Young, whose profound knowledge of the subjects he taught, no one will venture to question, lectured in the same theatre, and to an audience similarly constituted to that which was attracted by Davy, but he found the number of his attendants diminish daily, and for no other reason than that he adopted too severe and didactic a style.[38]
In speaking of Davy's lectures as mere specimens of happy oratory, we do injustice to the philosopher. Had he merely added the Corinthian foliage to a temple built by other hands, we might have commended his taste, and admired his talent of adaptation, and there our eulogium must have ended; but the edifice itself was his own; he dug the materials from the quarry, formed them into a regular pile, and then with his masterly touch added to its strength beauty, and to its utility grace.
In addition to these morning lectures, we find that he was also engaged in delivering a course in the evening; of which the following notice is extracted from one of the scientific journals of the time. "On the 25th, Mr. Davy commenced a course of lectures on Galvanic phenomena. Sir Joseph Banks, Count Rumford, and other distinguished philosophers, were present. The audience were highly gratified, and testified their satisfaction by general and repeated applause.
"Mr. Davy, who appears to be very young, acquitted himself admirably. From the sparkling intelligence of his eye, his animated manner, and the tout ensemble, we have no doubt of his attaining a very distinguished eminence."
From a Minute entered on the Records of the Institution, it appears that, at a meeting of Managers held on the 31st of May 1802, it was moved by Sir Joseph Banks, and seconded by Mr. Sullivan,—
"That Mr. Humphry Davy be for the future styled Professor of Chemistry to the Royal Institution."
A sufficient proof of the universal feeling of admiration which his lectures had excited.
The success of his exertions is communicated by him to his early friend, in the following letter.
TO DAVIES GIDDY, ESQ.
DEAR FRIEND,
Since the commencement of the Session at the Institution, I have had but few moments of leisure. The composition of a first course of lectures, and the preparation for experiments, have fully occupied my time; and the anxieties and hopes connected with a new occupation have prevented me from paying sufficient attention even to the common duties and affections of life. Under such circumstances, I trust you will pardon me for having suffered your letters to remain so long unanswered. In human affairs, anticipation often constitutes happiness: your correspondence is to me a real source of pleasure, and, believe me, I would suffer no opportunity to escape of making it more frequent and regular.
My labours in the Theatre of the Royal Institution have been more successful than I could have hoped from the nature of them. In lectures, the effect produced upon the mind is generally transitory; for the most part, they amuse rather than instruct, and stimulate to enquiry rather than give information. My audience has often amounted to four and five hundred, and upwards; and amongst them some promise to become permanently attached to Chemistry. This science is much the fashion of the day.
Amongst the latest scientific novelties, the two new planets occupy the attention of Astronomers, while Natural Philosophers and Chemists are still employed upon Galvanism.
In a paper lately read before the Royal Society, Dr. Herschel examines the magnitudes of the bodies discovered by Mr. Piazzi and Dr. Olbers. He supposes the apparent diameter of Ceres to be about 22´´, and that of Pallas, 17´´ or 13´´, so that their real diameters are 163, and 95 or 71 English miles—How small! The Doctor thinks that they differ from planets in their general character, as to their diminutive size, the great inclination of their orbits, the coma surrounding them, and as to the proximity of their orbits.—From comets, in their want of their eccentricity, and any considerable nebulosity. He proposes to call them Asteroids.
I mentioned to you in a former letter the great powers of Galvanism in effecting the combustion of metals. I have lately had constructed for the laboratory of the Institution, a battery of immense size: it consists of four hundred plates of five inches in diameter, and forty, of a foot in diameter. By means of it, I have been enabled to inflame cotton, sulphur, resin, oil, and ether; it fuses platina wire, and makes red hot and burns several inches of iron wire of 1-300th of an inch in diameter; it easily causes fluid substances, such as oil and water, to boil, decompounds them, and converts them into gases. I am now examining the agencies of it upon certain substances that have not as yet been decomposed, and in my next letter I hope to be able to give you an account of my experiments.
I shall hope soon to hear that the roads of England are the haunts of Captain Trevitheck's dragons. You have given them a characteristic name.
I wish any thing would happen to tempt you to visit London. You would find a number of persons very glad to see you, with whose attentions you could not be displeased. With unfeigned respect,
Yours sincerely,
H. Davy.
It is perhaps not possible to imagine a greater contrast, than between the elegant manner in which Davy conducted his experiments in the theatre, and the apparently careless and slovenly style of his manipulations in the laboratory: but in the one case he was communicating knowledge; in the other, obtaining it. Mr. Purkis relates an anecdote very characteristic of this want of refinement in his working habits. "On one occasion, while reading over to me an introductory lecture, and wishing to expunge a needless epithet, instead of taking up the pen, he dipped his forefinger into the ink-bottle, and thus blotted out the unmeaning expletive."
It was his habit in the laboratory, to carry on several unconnected experiments at the same time, and he would pass from one to the other without any obvious design or order: upon these occasions he was perfectly reckless of his apparatus; breaking and destroying a part, in order to meet some want of the moment. So rapid were all his movements, that, while a spectator imagined he was merely making preparations for an experiment, he was actually obtaining the results, which were just as accurate as if a much longer time had been expended. With Davy, rapidity was power.
The rapid performance of intellectual operations was a talent which displayed itself at every period of his life. We have heard with what extraordinary rapidity he read at the age of five years; and we now learn that his chemical enquiries were conducted with similar facility and quickness.
His early friend Mr. Poole bears his testimony to the existence of the same quality in the following passage, extracted from a letter I had lately the favour of receiving from him. "From my earliest knowledge of my admirable friend, I consider his most striking characteristic to have been the quickness and truth of his apprehension. It was a power of reasoning so rapid, when applied to any subject, that he could hardly be himself conscious of the process; and it must, I think, have been felt by him, as it appeared to me, pure intuition. I used to say to him, 'You understand me before I half understand myself?'
"I recollect on our first acquaintance, he knew but little of the practice of agriculture. I was at that time a considerable farmer, and very fond of the occupation. During his visits in those days, I was at first something like his teacher, but my pupil soon became my master both in theory and practice."
The chemical manipulations of Wollaston and Davy offered a singular contrast to each other, and might be considered as highly characteristic of the temperaments and intellectual qualities of these remarkable men. Every process of the former was regulated with the most scrupulous regard to microscopic accuracy, and performed with the utmost neatness of detail. It has been already stated with what turbulence and apparent confusion the experiments of the latter were conducted; and yet each was equally excellent in his own style; and, as artists, they have not unaptly been compared to Teniers and Michael Angelo. By long discipline, Wollaston had acquired such power in commanding and fixing his attention upon minute objects, that he was able to recognise resemblances, and to distinguish differences, between precipitates produced by re-agents, which were invisible to ordinary observers, and which enabled him to submit to analysis the minutest particle of matter with success. Davy, on the other hand, obtained his results by an intellectual process, which may be said to have consisted in the extreme rapidity with which he seized upon, and applied, appropriate means at appropriate moments.
Many anecdotes might be related in illustration of the curiously different structure of the minds of these two ornaments of British Science. The reader will, in the course of these memoirs, be furnished with sufficient evidence of the existence of those qualities which I have assigned to Davy; another biographer will no doubt ably illustrate those of Dr. Wollaston.
I shall only observe, that to this faculty of minute observation, which Dr. Wollaston applied with so much advantage, the chemical world is indebted for the introduction of more simple methods of experimenting,—for the substitution of a few glass tubes, and plates of glass, for capacious retorts and receivers, and for the art of making grains give the results which previously required pounds. A foreign philosopher once called upon Dr. Wollaston with letters of introduction, and expressed an anxious desire to see his laboratory. "Certainly," he replied; and immediately produced a small tray containing some glass tubes, a blow-pipe, two or three watch-glasses, a slip of platinum, and a few test bottles.
Wollaston appeared to take great delight in showing by what small means he could produce great results. Shortly after he had inspected the grand galvanic battery constructed by Mr. Children, and had witnessed some of those brilliant phenomena of combustion which its powers produced, he accidentally met a brother chemist in the street, and seizing his button, (his constant habit when speaking on any subject of interest,) he led him into a secluded corner; when taking from his waistcoat pocket a tailor's thimble, which contained a galvanic arrangement, and pouring into it the contents of a small phial, he instantly heated a platinum wire to a white heat.
There was another peculiarity connected with Wollaston's habit of minute observation: it enabled him to press into his service, at the moment, such ordinary and familiar materials as would never have occurred to less observing chemists. Mr. Brande relates an anecdote admirably calculated to exemplify this habit. He had called upon Dr. Wollaston to consult him upon the subject of a calculus;—it will be remembered that neither phosphate of lime, constituting the 'bone earth' species, nor the ammoniaco-magnesian phosphate, commonly called the 'triple phosphate,' is $1fusible; but that when mixed, these constitute the 'fusible calculus' which readily melts before the blow-pipe. Dr. Wollaston, on finding the substance under examination refractory, took up his paper-folder, and scraping off a fragment of the ivory, placed it on the specimen, when it instantly fused.[39]
Having contrasted the manipulations of Davy, as exhibited in the theatre, with those performed by him in the laboratory, it may, in this place, be interesting to offer a few remarks upon the difference of his style as a lecturer and as a writer. Whatever diversity of opinion may have been entertained as to the former, I believe there never was but one sentiment with respect to the latter. There is an ethereal clearness of style, a simplicity of language, and, above all, a freedom from technical expression, which render his philosophical memoirs fit studies and models for all future chemists. Mr. Brande, in a late lecture delivered before the members of the Royal Institution, very justly alluded to this latter quality of his writings, and forcibly contrasted it with the system of Berzelius, of whom it is painful to speak but in terms of the most profound respect, and yet it is impossible not to express a deep regret at this distinguished chemist's introduction of a system of technical expressions, which from its obscurity is calculated to multiply rather than to correct error, and from its complications, to require more labour than the science to which it administers: to apply the quaint metaphor of Locke, "it is no more suited to improve the understanding, than the move of a jack is to fill our bellies."
From the readiness with which some continental chemists have adopted such terms, and from the spirit in which they have defended them, one might almost be led to suspect that they believed them, like the words used by the Magi of Persia, to possess a cabalistic power. Davy foresaw the injury which science must sustain from such a practice, and endeavoured, both by precept and example, to discountenance it.
With regard to the introduction of a figurative and ornamental style into memoirs purely scientific, no one could entertain a more decided objection; and in his "Last Days," he warns us against the practice.
"In detailing the results of experiments, and in giving them to the world, the chemical philosopher should adopt the simplest style and manner; he will avoid all ornaments, as something injurious to his subject, and should bear in mind the saying of the first king of Great Britain, respecting a sermon which was excellent in doctrine, but overcharged with poetical allusions and figurative language,—"that the tropes and metaphors of the speaker were like the brilliant wild flowers in a field of corn, very pretty, but which did very much hurt the corn."