Makers of Electricity

by Brother Potamian; James J. Walsh

Probably the feature of the careers of Darwin and Spencer which are saddest for their adherents, and which made those who refused to be recognized as among their followers appreciate their one-sidedness, is the confession by both of them, that they had lost their interest in poetry and even in literature of all kinds, and toward the end of their lives particularly lost entirely their appreciation of things artistic. As might be expected from what we know of Faraday, this was not at all the case with him; but, on the contrary, down to the end of his life, he retained all his youthful admiration for the poets. His niece tells the story of hearing him often read poetry, and of how much he used to be affected by his favorite poems. In one of her letters she says:

"But of all things, I used to like to hear him read 'Childe Harold'; and never shall I forget the way in which he read the description of the storm on Lake Leman. He took great pleasure in Bryon, and Coleridge's 'Hymn to Mont Blanc' delighted him. When anything touched his feelings as he read—and it happened not infrequently—he would show it not only in his voice, but by tears in his eyes also."

As a young man, he was so completely taken up with the scientific studies that he could not think that he would ever find time for the ordinary interests of life. Especially was this true with regard to the question of marriage. He felt that he would never marry, and he seems rather to have pitied those, the weakness of whose nature pushed them on to assume many duties in life and look for merely selfish happiness. It was as a very young man that he wrote:

"What is't that comes in false, deceitful guise,
Making dull fools of those that 'fore were wise?
'Tis Love."

When the time came, however, he altered this opinion. Among the elders of the Church which he attended in London was a Mr. Barnard, a silversmith. Faraday occasionally spent an evening at his house, and incidentally met his daughter Sarah. He had not met her many times before his ideas as to what love might mean in life were completely changed, and not long after making her acquaintance he wrote her a letter, in which he recants and asks her to be more than a friend. His letter is rather interesting as love letters go.

"You know me as well or better than I do myself. You know my former prejudices and my present thoughts; you know my weaknesses, my vanity, my whole mind; you have converted me from one erroneous way; let me hope that you will attempt to correct what others are wrong.... Again and again I attempt to say what I feel, but I cannot. Let me, however, claim not to be the selfish being that wishes to bend his affections for his own sake only. In whatever way I can best minister to your happiness, either by assiduity or by absence, it shall be done. Do not injure me by withdrawing your friendship, or punish me for aiming to be more than a friend by making me less; and if you cannot grant me more, leave me what I possess but hear me."

In spite of the sincere feeling of this letter, the lady hesitated. For a time she left London, apparently in order to give herself a breathing spell from the ardor of his suit. In spite of his deep interest in science, Faraday followed her to the seacoast, and after they had wandered together for several days at Margate and Dover, where Shakespeare's Cliff Was an especial haunt of theirs, the lady relented. Faraday returned to London bubbling over with happiness. He was not quite thirty when they were married, and at the time his salary did not amount to more than a thousand dollars a year. It was distinctly not a marriage of reason.

Most of the happiness of his life came to him from his marriage. Many years afterward, he called it "An event which, more than any other, contributed to my happiness and healthful state of mind." With years, this feeling only deepened and strengthened. In the midst of his scientific triumphs, his first thought was always of her. When his attendance at scientific congresses took him away from her, his letters were frequent, and always expressive of his longing to be with her. One of his biographers has said "that doubtless at any time between their marriage and his final illness, he might have written to her as he did from Birmingham, at the time of the meeting of the British Association there."

"After all, there is no pleasure like the tranquil pleasure of home; and here, the moment I leave the table, I wish I were with you in quiet. Oh! what happiness is ours! My runs into the world in this way only serve to make me esteem that happiness the more."

Faraday had probably lost more illusions than most men, and came to the true appreciation of things as they are. In spite of his life-long study, he had no illusions with regard to the education of the intellect merely, or the possession of superior intellectual faculties as moral factors. His keen observation of men had made any such mistake as that impossible. On the other hand, he had often noted that the ignorant, or at least those lacking education, were very admirable in conduct and in principle, and so we have his suggestive testimony: