The life of this singular man was morally a blank, and can only be described by negations. He did not love; he did not hate; he did not hope; he did not worship. He separated himself from his fellow-men and from his God. There was nothing earnest, enthusiastic, heroic, in his nature, and as little that was mean, groveling, or ignoble. He was passionless, wholly destitute of emotion. Everything that required the exercise of fancy, imagination, faith, or affection, was distasteful to Cavendish. He had a clear head for thinking, a pair of eyes for observing, hands for experimenting and recording, and these were all. His brain was a calculating engine; his eyes, inlets of vision, not fountains of tears; his heart, an anatomical organ necessary for the circulation of the blood. If such a man can not be loved, he can not be abhorred or despised. He was as the Almighty made him, and he served an important end in the world.
Such a man manifestly would never sit for his portrait. And he never did. It was taken by Borrow the painter, unobserved by Cavendish, while at a dinner-party given for the express purpose of securing the likeness. It is now in the British Museum. Cuts of this painting are rare.—Popular Science News.
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