THE CLEVER BOY AND THE ELECTRICAL MACHINE.
An electrical machine was in the window of a scientific instrument maker's shop, and a youth stood looking at it with eager eyes. He was observing every part with intense curiosity. At length, after a long, absorbing gaze, a neighbouring clock struck. He started like one awakened from a sleep, and ran with all speed to his master's workshop.
The boy was the son of a working man—a smith, and was intended also for a working man, but not quite so laborious a trade. Perhaps the boy was not strong enough for his father's manly trade, so he was apprenticed to a bookbinder in Blandford Street, Marylebone. He was a very diligent lad, fond of work in hours of business, and fond of a book in hours of leisure. His master noticed this, and gave him leave to stay in the workshop during the dinner-hour.
Whilst his fellow-workers were drinking and smoking, the orphan boy was storing his mind with useful knowledge. In particular he loved books on scientific subjects. He liked to read about the wonders of chemistry; still more about electricity—that wonderful power that flashes out of the thunder-cloud, that dwells unseen in the dew-drop, that, at a touch, thrills through the startled nerves, and, like an invisible but mighty spirit, pervades all things, from the clouds of heaven to the clods of earth.
One day he found out the shop window with the electrical machine, and at every spare moment he haunted that window, taking the shape and measure of every knob, and wire, and wheel, and plate, with earnest eyes. Then he resolved to try and make one for himself; so by the light of the early summer mornings, he was up and working away at his machine.
In time he completed it, and found it would act. He touched the knob, and the shock that went through him was as nothing compared with the joy that throbbed through his heart at seeing his work complete.
He showed it to his master, who, being a kind and sensible man, was pleased and surprised at the ingenuity of the lad. The master was fond of showing the electrical apparatus of his industrious apprentice to every person likely to be interested in a clever youth. Amongst them were some Fellows of the Royal Society, who might, perhaps, have an admission ticket to give.
Some few years after, the lad, now a young man, was again gazing with wide open eyes, and laying up all he saw in his mind. This time it was not through a shop window that he looked. It was from a seat in the Royal Society's lecture-room that he witnessed Sir Humphrey Davey making some beautiful chemical experiments.
The youth did not know which most to admire—the beautiful apparatus, the wonderful experiments, or the eloquent lecture. All was so new to him—so interesting. But the lecturer himself was, above all the rest, the object of his admiration. Our youth, having been a reader, knew that Sir Humphrey Davey was not born of rich parents, though his kindred and his breeding were virtuous and respectable. In the remote town of Penzance, in Cornwall, from the most western extremity in England, the great man had come. He had taught himself nearly all he knew; and now the youth saw him standing before the mighty and the noble of the land, the light of genius in his flashing eyes, the words of wisdom on his eloquent lips. "Oh, if I could but follow the steps of such a master!" was the involuntary wish of the youthful hearer.
This thought soon produced action. Promptness was a leading part of the young man's character, so he resolved to write to the great chemist, and state that he wished to follow some other trade than that to which he had been apprenticed; that he loved science, and would think himself happy to be employed in any way in the laboratory of so great a man. It was a bold step, but the request, though urgent, was full of the noble humility of real worth. His letter was not neglected. Inquiries were made. The good master had no wish to prevent the youth entering on a career for which his talents and studious habits fitted him. The electrical apparatus was another aid to him, so the wish of his heart was granted. He entered the laboratory of the great man, and had ample opportunity to study and to improve. There is no need to say he did not waste his time or neglect his opportunities.
Sir Humphrey Davey died, leaving a name dear to the philanthropist, as well as the man of science; but his place was not long vacant. Who filled it? He whose youth we have feebly sketched; he whose lectures at the Royal Institution were listened to by the Prince Consort and the Prince of Wales—the celebrated and much-beloved Professor Faraday.
"Seest thou the man that is diligent in business? he shall stand before kings."
Professor Faraday was not only one of the greatest scientific authorities that ever lived, but he was a companion of humble-minded Christians. His weekdays he devoted to science, but on the Sunday he might be heard telling the story of redeeming love to delighted listeners.
Christ's time was largely taken up in making people happy. We do well to remember that, and to do our best in ministering to the happiness of all around us.