“Majestic Cliff! Thou birth of unknown time,
Long had the billows beat thee, long the waves
Rush’d o’er thy hollow’d rocks, ere life adorn’d
Thy broken surface, ere the yellow moss
Had tinted thee, or the wild dews of heaven
Clothed thee with verdure, or the eagles made
Thy caves their aëry. So in after time
Long shalt thou rest unalter’d mid the wreck
Of all the mightiness of human works;
For not the lightning, nor the whirlwind’s force,
Nor all the waves of ocean, shall prevail
Against thy giant strength, and thou shalt stand
Till the Almighty voice which bade thee rise
Shall bid thee fall.”
In spite of a love-passage which seems to have provoked a succession of sonnets, his devotions to Calliope were by no means so unremitting as to prevent him from following the plan of study he had marked out for himself. His note-books show that in the early part of 1796 he attacked the mathematics, and with such ardour that in little more than a year he had worked through a course of what he called “Mathematical Rudiments,” in which he included “fractions, vulgar and decimal; extraction of roots; algebra (as far as quadratic equations); Euclid’s elements of geometry; trigonometry; logarithms; sines and tangents; tables; application of algebra to geometry, etc.”
In 1797 he began the study of natural philosophy, and towards the end of this year, when he was close on nineteen, he turned his attention to chemistry, merely, however, at the outset as a branch of his professional education, and with no other idea than to acquaint himself with its general principles. His good fortune led him to select Lavoisier’s “Elements”—probably Kerr’s translation, published in 1796—as his text-book. No choice could have been happier. The book is well suited to a mind like Davy’s, and he could not fail to be impressed by the boldness and comprehensiveness of its theory, its admirable logic, and the clearness and precision of its statements.
From reading and speculation he soon passed to experiment. But at this time he had never seen a chemical operation performed, and had little or no acquaintance with even as much as the forms of chemical apparatus. Phials, wine-glasses, tea-cups, and tobacco-pipes, with an occasional earthen crucible, were all the paraphernalia he could command; the common mineral acids, the alkalis, and a few drugs from the surgery constituted his stock of chemicals. Of the nature of these early trials we know little. It is, however, almost certain that the experiments with sea-weed, described in his two essays “On Heat, Light and the Combinations of Light” and “On the Generation of Phosoxygen and the Causes of the Colours of Organic Beings” (see p. [30]), were made at this time, and it is highly probable that the experiments on land-plants, which are directly related to those on the Fuci and are described in connection with them, were made at the same period. That he pursued his experiments with characteristic ardour is borne out by the testimony of members of his family, particularly by that of his sister, who sometimes acted as his assistant, and whose dress too frequently suffered from the corrosive action of his chemicals. The good Mr. Tonkin and his worthy brother, the Reverend Doctor, were also from time to time abruptly and unexpectedly made aware of his zeal. “This boy Humphry is incorrigible! He will blow us all into the air!” were occasional exclamations heard to follow the alarming noises which now and then proceeded from the laboratory. The well-known anecdote of the syringe which had formed part of a case of instruments of a shipwrecked French surgeon, and which Davy had ingeniously converted into an air-pump, although related by Dr. Paris “with a minuteness and vivacity worthy of Defoe,” is, in all probability, apocryphal. Nor has Lord Brougham’s story, that his devotion to chemical experiments and “his dislike to the shop” resulted in a disagreement with his master, and that “he went to another in the same place,” where “he continued in the same course,” any surer foundation in fact.
Two or three circumstances conduced to develop Davy’s taste for scientific pursuits, and to extend his opportunities for observation and experiment. One was his acquaintance with Mr. Gregory Watt; another was his introduction to Mr. Davies Gilbert (then Mr. Davies Giddy), a Cornish gentleman of wealth and position, who lived to succeed him in the presidential chair of the Royal Society.
Gregory Watt, the son of James Watt, the engineer, by his second marriage, was a young man of singular promise who, had he lived, would—if we may judge from his paper in the Philosophical Transactions—have almost certainly acquired a distinguished position in science. Of a weakly, consumptive habit, he was ordered to spend the winter of 1797 in Penzance, where he lodged with Mrs. Davy, boarding with the family. Young Watt was about two years older than Davy, and had just left the University of Glasgow, “his mind enriched beyond his age with science and literature, with a spirit above the little vanities and distinctions of the world, devoted to the acquisition of knowledge.” He remained in Penzance until the following spring, and by his example, and by the generous friendship which he extended towards him, he developed and strengthened Davy’s resolve to devote himself to science. Davy’s introduction to Mr. Gilbert, “a man older than himself, with considerable knowledge of science generally, and with the advantages of a University education,” was also a most timely and propitious circumstance. According to Dr. Paris—
“Mr. Gilbert’s attention was attracted to the future philosopher, as he was carelessly swinging over the hatch, or half-gate, of Mr. Borlase’s house, by the humorous contortions into which he threw his features. Davy it may be remarked, when a boy, possessed a countenance which even in its natural state was very far from comely; while his round shoulders, inharmonious voice and insignificant manner, were calculated to produce anything rather than a favourable impression: in riper years, he was what might be called ‘good-looking,’ although as a wit of the day observed, his aspect was certainly of the ‘bucolic’ character. The change which his person underwent, after his promotion to the Royal Institution, was so rapid that in the days of Herodotus, it would have been attributed to nothing less than the miraculous interposition of the Priestesses of Helen. A person, who happened to be walking with Mr. Gilbert upon the occasion alluded to, observed that the extraordinary looking boy in question was young Davy, the carver’s son, who, he added, was said to be fond of making chemical experiments.”
Mr. Gilbert was thus led to interest himself in the boy, whom he invited to his house at Tredrea, offering him the use of his library, and such other assistance in his studies as he could render. On one occasion he was taken over to the Hayle Copper-House, and had the opportunity of seeing a well-appointed laboratory:
“The tumultuous delight which Davy expressed on seeing, for the first time, a quantity of chemical apparatus, hitherto only known to him through the medium of engravings, is described by Mr. Gilbert as surpassing all description. The air-pump more especially fixed his attention, and he worked its piston, exhausted the receiver, and opened its valves, with the simplicity and joy of a child engaged in the examination of a new and favourite toy.”