There was about young Humphrey’s outward appearance about this time nothing specially attractive. He had round shoulders, not a comely face, and a manner that was in no way remarkable or engaging, but surely the light of genius must have shone from his eyes!
However, such as he was outwardly, he now prepared to launch away into the great world. A professor of chemistry in Bristol had heard of his experiments in light and heat, and proposed to him that he should become assistant in the Pneumatic Institution there. There was not much money to be earned by it.
“He must be maintained, but the fund will not furnish a salary from which a man can lay up anything.” So they told him. But was it not his most direct road to fortune?
Perhaps Humphrey thought so. At any rate, the Penzance surgeon was prevailed upon to cut short the term of the boy’s apprenticeship, “on account of the singularly promising talents Mr. Davy had displayed.”
So Humphrey went out from his native town, and from his home, as many a young man had gone before him, with a heart beating high with hope, and, as his young, ardent spirit believed, the world spread out before him.
And certainly a brilliant future was opening to the boy. He turned his steps to Bristol, throwing himself in his own characteristic way into his new work.
He made experiments on air and gases, some of these daring and dangerous enough, and entailing not a little personal risk. But while these things lay nearest to his heart, he had eye and ear both open for all that was going forward in his new life. He was so many-sided himself, it was as if he could not come in contact with anyone without catching some spark of interest from him—the philosopher, the poet, the physician, the sportsman. He had something in common with all.
He entered into his work as if body and mind knew no fatigue. If an idea came into his head he could not rest until he had worked it out. If he broke down in health, he simply started afresh when he had recovered.
In his spare time he wrote books and pamphlets on chemistry, so that in writing and experimenting his name came to be known to the scientific men of the day. And now it seemed as if one step in fame followed another. Success was crowned by success.
He was appointed Assistant Lecturer in Chemistry to the Royal Institution in 1801. He had now entered on manhood, and was launched on the great world of London, having all the ability to carry himself through. He may have been handicapped with slight flaws of manner. If he appeared over-confident, it probably was that in reality he was shy and timid, and attempted to cover these little awkwardnesses. His friends grieved in secret over the noticeable change, fearing lest with simplicity of manner he might throw over simplicity of character. But no man is, after all, perfect, and in spite of this, Davy was rapidly mounting the ladder of success.