CHAPTER VI.

MIDDLE AND LATER LIFE.

Although to avoid discontinuity the account of Faraday’s researches has in the previous chapter been followed to their close in 1862, we must now return to his middle period of life, when his activities at the Royal Institution were at their zenith.

[Sidenote: BREAKDOWN OF HEALTH.]

Mention has been made of the serious breakdown of Faraday’s health at the close of 1839. Dr. Latham, whom he consulted as to his attacks of giddiness, wrote to Brande:--

Grosvenor Street, December 1, 1839.

DEAR BRANDE,--I have been seeing our friend Faraday these two or three days, and been looking after his health. I trust he has no ailment more than rest of body and mind will get rid of. But rest is absolutely necessary for him. Indeed, I think it would be hardly prudent for him to lecture again for the present. He looks up to his work; but, in truth, he is not fit, and if he is pressed he will suddenly break down. When we meet, I will talk the matter over with you.

Yours most sincerely, P. M. LATHAM.

The advice was taken. He gave up nearly all research work, but tried to go on with Friday night discourses and afternoon lectures in 1840. Then came a more serious breakdown, and he rested for nearly four years, with the exception of the Christmas lectures in 1841 and a few Friday discourses in 1842 and 1843. This illness caused him great distress of mind, mainly due to an idea that the physicians did not understand his condition. When in this state he sometimes set down pencil notes on scraps of paper to relieve his feelings. One such is the following:--

Whereas, according to the declaration of that true man of the world Talleyrand, the use of language is to conceal the thoughts; this is to declare in the present instance, when I say I am not able to bear much talking, it means really, and without any mistake, or equivocation, or oblique meaning, or implication, or subterfuge, or omission, that I am not able; being at present rather weak in the head, and able to work no more.

During these times of enforced idleness he used to amuse himself with games of skill, with paperwork, and with visits to the theatre and to the Zoological Gardens. Mrs. Faraday left the following note:--

Michael was one of the earliest members of the Zoological Society, and the Gardens were a great resource to him when overwrought and distressed in the head. The animals were a continual source of interest, and we, or rather I, used to talk of the time when we should be able to afford a house within _my_ walking distance of the entrance; for I much feared he could not continue to live in the Institution with the continual calls upon his time and thought; but he always shrank from the notion of living away from the R. I.

His niece, Miss Reid, told how fond he was of seeing acrobats, tumblers, dwarfs and giants; even a Punch and Judy show was an unfailing source of delight. When travelling in Switzerland, as he did on several occasions, accompanied by Mrs. Faraday and her brother, George Barnard, the artist, he kept a journal, which reveals his simple pleasures and enthusiasms. He is delighted with waterfalls and avalanches, watches the cowherd collecting his cows and the shepherd calling the sheep, which followed him, leaving the goats to straggle. On one such visit (in 1841), in order that he might not be absent on Sunday from his wife, he walked the whole distance from Leukerbad to Thun, over the Gemmi--a distance of 45 miles--in one day. At Interlaken, observing that clout-nail-making was practised as a local industry, he wrote: “I love a smith’s shop and everything relating to smithery. My father was a smith.”

[Sidenote: IMPRESSIONS OF LIEBIG.]

In 1844 he was well enough to attend the British Association meeting at York. Liebig, who had also been there, wrote to him three months later with some reminiscences. What had struck him most was the tendency in England to ignore the more purely scientific works and to value only those with a “practical” bearing. “In Germany it is quite the contrary. Here, in the eyes of scientific men, no value, or at least but a trifling one, is placed on the practical results. The enrichment of science is alone considered worthy of attention.” Liebig further expressed himself dissatisfied with the meeting at York. He had been interested to make the acquaintance of so many celebrated men, but it was, strictly, “a feast given to the geologists, the other sciences serving only to decorate the table.” Then came a more personal note:--

Often do my thoughts wander back to the period which I spent in England, among the many pleasant hours of which the remembrance of those passed with you and your amiable wife is to me always the dearest and most agreeable. With the purest pleasure I bring to mind my walk with her, in the botanical garden at York, when I was afforded a glance of the richness of her mind; what a rare treasure you possess in her! The breakfast in the little house with Snow Harris, and Graham, and our being together at Bishopthorpe, are still fresh in my memory.

If Liebig was disposed to underrate the useful applications of science, Faraday certainly was not. Though his own research work was carried on with the single aim of scientific progress; though he himself never swerved aside into any branch research that might have yielded money; yet he was ever ready to examine, and even to lecture upon, the inventions of others. He accepted for the subjects of his Friday night discourses all sorts of topics--artificial stone, machinery for pen-making, lithography, Ruhmkorff’s induction coil, a process for silvering mirrors, and lighthouse illumination by electric light. His very last lecture was on Siemens’s gas-furnaces. He could be just as enthusiastic over the invention of another as over some discovery of his own. With respect to his lecture on the Ruhmkorff coil, Tyndall describes him in a passage which is interesting, as containing an epithet since adopted for another great man for whom Tyndall had less respect than for Faraday:--

I well remember the ecstasy and surprise of _the grand old man_, evoked by effects which we should now deem utterly insignificant.

Bence Jones says:--

When he brought the discoveries of others before his hearers, one object, and one alone, seemed to determine all he said and did, and that was, “without commendation and without censure,” to do the utmost that could be done for the discoverer.

In so perfect a character it would be marvellous if there were not some flaw. His persistent ignoring of Sturgeon, and his attribution of the invention of the electromagnet to Moll and Henry, whose work was frankly based on Sturgeon’s, is simply inexplicable. He failed to appreciate the greatness of Dalton, and thought him an overrated man.

[Sidenote: PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS.]

Amid all his overflowing kindliness of heart, Faraday preserved other less obvious traits of character. Any act of injustice or meanness called forth an almost volcanic burst of indignation. Hot flashes of temper, fierce moments of wrath were by no means unknown. But he exercised a most admirable self-control, and a habitual discipline of soul that kept his temper under. Grim and forbidding, and even exacting he could show himself to an idle or unfaithful servant. There were those who feared as well as those who loved and admired him. Dr. Gladstone says of him that he was no “model of all the virtues,” dreadfully uninteresting, and discouraging to those who feel calm perfection out of their reach. “His inner life was a battle, with its wounds as well as its victory.” “It is true also,” he adds, “that with his great caution and his repugnance to moral evil, he was more disposed to turn away in disgust from an erring companion than to endeavour to reclaim him.”

For thirty years Faraday was the foremost of lecturers on science in London. From the first occasion when, in 1823, as Sir Roderick Murchison narrates, he was called upon unexpectedly to act as substitute for Professor Brande at one of his morning lectures at the Royal Institution (then held in the subterranean laboratory), down to the time of his latest appearance as a lecturer in 1862, he was without a rival as the exponent of natural science.

As no man could achieve and retain such a position without possessing both natural gifts and appropriate training, it is fitting to inquire what were those gifts and what the training which were so happily united in him.

I was (he said) a very lively, imaginative person, and could believe in the Arabian Nights as easily as in the Encyclopædia; but facts were important to me, and saved me. I could trust a fact, and always cross-examined an assertion.

From the very first Faraday had an appreciation of the way in which public lectures should be given. In his notes of Davy’s fourth lecture of April, 1812, he wrote:--

During the whole of these observations his delivery was easy, his diction elegant, his tone good, and his sentiments sublime.

His own first lecture was given in the kitchen of Abbott’s house, with home-made apparatus placed on the kitchen table. To Abbott, after only a few weeks of experience at the Royal Institution, he wrote the letters upon lectures and lecturers, to which allusion was made on p. 15. These show a most remarkably sound perception of the material and mental furniture requisite for success. From the third and fourth of them are culled the following excerpts:--

[Sidenote: QUALIFICATIONS OF A LECTURER.]

The most prominent requisite to a lecturer, though perhaps not really the most important, is a good delivery; for though to all true philosophers science and nature will have charms innumerable in every dress, yet I am sorry to say that the generality of mankind cannot accompany us one short hour unless the path is strewed with flowers. In order, therefore, to gain the attention of an audience (and what can be more disagreeable to a lecturer than the want of it?), it is necessary to pay some attention to the manner of expression. The utterance should not be rapid and hurried, and consequently unintelligible, but slow and deliberate, conveying ideas with ease from the lecturer, and infusing them with clearness and readiness into the minds of the audience. A lecturer should endeavour by all means to obtain a facility of utterance, and the power of clothing his thoughts and ideas in language smooth and harmonious, and at the same time simple and easy.

With respect to the action of the lecturer, it is requisite that he should have some, though it does not here bear the importance that it does in other branches of oratory; for though I know of no species of delivery (divinity excepted) that requires less motion, yet I would by no means have a lecturer glued to the table or screwed on the floor. He must by all means appear as a body distinct and separate from the things around him, and must have some motion apart from that which they possess.

A lecturer should appear easy and collected, undaunted and unconcerned, his thoughts about him, and his mind clear and free for the contemplation and description of his subject. His action should not be hasty and violent, but slow, easy, and natural, consisting principally in changes of the posture of the body, in order to avoid the air of stiffness or sameness that would otherwise be unavoidable. His whole behaviour should evince respect for his audience, and he should in no case forget that he is in their presence. No accident that does not interfere with their convenience should disturb his serenity, or cause variation in his behaviour; he should never, if possible, turn his back on them, but should give them full reason to believe that all his powers have been exerted for their pleasure and instruction.

Some lecturers choose to express their thoughts extemporaneously immediately as they occur to the mind, whilst others previously arrange them and draw them forth on paper. But although I allow a lecturer to write out his matter, I do not approve of his reading it--at least, not as he would a quotation or extract.

A lecturer should exert his utmost effort to gain completely the mind and attention of his audience, and irresistibly to make them join in his ideas to the end of the subject. He should endeavour to raise their interest at the commencement of the lecture, and by a series of imperceptible gradations, unnoticed by the company, keep it alive as long as the subject demands it. A flame should be lighted at the commencement, and kept alive with unremitting splendour to the end. For this reason I very much disapprove of breaks in a lecture, and where they can by any means be avoided they should on no account find place.... For the same reason--namely, that the audience should not grow tired--I disapprove of long lectures; one hour is long enough for anyone. Nor should they be allowed to exceed that time.

A lecturer falls deeply beneath the dignity of his character when he descends so low as to angle for claps and asks for commendation. Yet have I seen a lecturer even at this point. I have heard him causelessly condemn his own powers. I have heard him dwell for a length of time on the extreme care and niceness that the experiment he will make requires. I have heard him hope for indulgence when no indulgence was wanted, and I have even heard him declare that the experiment now made cannot fail, from its beauty, its correctness, and its application, to gain the approbation of all.... I would wish apologies to be made as seldom as possible, and generally only when the inconvenience extends to the company. I have several times seen the attention of by far the greater part of the audience called to an error by the apology that followed it.

’Tis well, too, when the lecturer has the ready wit and the presence of mind to turn any casual circumstance to an illustration of his subject. Any particular circumstance that has become table-talk for the town, any local advantages or disadvantages, any trivial circumstance that may arise in company, give great force to illustrations aptly drawn from them, and please the audience highly, as they conceive they perfectly understand them.

Apt experiments (to which I have before referred) ought to be explained by satisfactory theory, or otherwise we merely patch an old coat with new cloth, and the whole [hole] becomes worse. If a satisfactory theory can be given, it ought to be given. If we doubt a received opinion, let us not leave the doubt unnoticed and affirm our own ideas, but state it clearly, and lay down also our objections. If the scientific world is divided in opinion, state both sides of the question, and let each one judge for himself by noticing the most striking and forcible circumstances on each side. Then, and then only, shall we do justice to the subject, please the audience, and satisfy our honour, the honour of a philosopher.

[Sidenote: USE OF CRITICISM.]

One who already had set before himself such high ideals could not fail at least to attempt to fulfil them. Accordingly, when in 1816 he began to lecture to the City Philosophical Society, he began to attend an evening class on elocution conducted by Mr. B. H. Smart, though the pinch of poverty made it difficult to him to afford the needful fees. Again, in 1823, previous to taking part in Brande’s laboratory lectures, he took private lessons in elocution from Smart, at the rate of half-a-guinea a lesson. After 1827, when he was beginning his regular courses of lectures in the theatre, he often used to get Mr. Smart to attend in order to criticise his delivery.

Amongst the rules found in his manuscript notes were the following:--

Never to repeat a phrase.

Never to go back to amend.

If at a loss for a word, not to ch-ch-ch or eh-eh-eh, but to stop and wait for it. It soon comes, and the bad habits are broken and fluency soon acquired.

Never doubt a correction given to me by another.

His niece, Miss Reid, who lived from 1830 to 1840 at the Institution with the Faradays, gave the following amongst her recollections:--

Mr. Magrath used to come regularly to the morning lectures, for the sole purpose of noting down for him any faults of delivery or defective pronunciation that could be detected. The list was always received with thanks; although his corrections were not uniformly adopted, he was encouraged to continue his remarks with perfect freedom. In early days he always lectured with a card before him with _Slow_ written upon it in distinct characters. Sometimes he would overlook it and become too rapid; in this case, Anderson had orders to place the card before him. Sometimes he had the word _Time_ on a card brought forward when the hour was nearly expired.

[Sidenote: AS LECTURER.]

In spite of his recourse to aids in acquiring elocutionary excellence, his own style remained simple and unspoiled. “His manner,” says Bence Jones, “was so natural, that the thought of any art in his lecturing never occurred to anyone. For his Friday discourses, and for his other set lectures in the theatre, he always made ample preparation beforehand. His matter was always over-abundant. And, if his experiments were always successful, this was not solely attributable to his exceeding skill of hand. For, unrivalled as he was as a manipulator, in the cases in which he attempted to show complicated or difficult experiments, that which was to be shown was always well rehearsed beforehand in the laboratory. He was exceedingly particular about small and simple illustrations. He never merely _told_ his hearers about an experiment, but _showed_ it to them, however simple and well known it might be. To a young lecturer he once remarked: ‘If I said to my audience, “This stone will fall to the ground if I open my hand,” I should open my hand and let it fall. Take nothing for granted as known; inform the eye at the same time as you address the ear.’ He always endeavoured at the outset to put himself _en rapport_ with his audience by introducing his subject on its most familiar side, and then leading on to that which was less familiar. Before the audience became aware of any transition, they were already assimilating new facts which were thus brought within their range. Nor did he stay his discourse upon the enunciation of facts merely. Almost invariably, as his allotted hour drew towards its close, he gave rein to his imagination. Those who had begun with him on the lower plane of simple facts and their correlations were bidden to consider the wider bearings of scientific principles and their relations to philosophy, to life, or to ethics. While he never forced a peroration, nor dragged in a quotation from the poets, his own scientific inspiration, as he outlined some wide-sweeping speculation or suggestion for future discoveries, amply supplied the fitting finale. If the rush of his ideas might sometimes be compared to tearing through a jungle, it at least never degenerated into sermonising; and never, save when he was physically ill, failed to arouse an enthusiastic glow of response in his hearers. ‘No attentive listener,’ says Mrs. Crosse, ‘ever came away from one of Faraday’s lectures without having the limits of his spiritual vision enlarged, or without feeling that his imagination had been stimulated to something beyond the mere expression of physical facts.’”

He was not one who let himself dwell in illusions. When he did well he was perfectly conscious of the fact, and enjoyed a modest satisfaction. If he had failed of his best, he was conscious too of that. His deliberate act in giving up all other lectures at the time when his brain-troubles were gaining upon him, while retaining the Christmas lectures to juveniles, was thoroughly characteristic. Of one of his earlier courses of lectures he himself made--about 1832--the following note:--

The eight lectures on the operations of the laboratory at the Royal Institution, April, 1828, were not to my mind. There does not appear to be that opportunity of fixing the attention of the audience by a single clear, consistent, and connected chain of reasoning which occurs when a principle (_sic_) or one particular application is made.... I do not think the operations of the laboratory can be rendered useful and popular in lectures....

The matter of these same lectures was, however, the basis of his book on Chemical Manipulation published in 1827. It went through three editions, and was reprinted in America. But in 1838 he declined to let a new edition be issued, as he considered the work out of date.

Besides the note quoted above from the Faraday MS. occurs the following:--

The six juvenile lectures given Christmas, 1827, were just what they ought to have been, both in matter and manner; but it would not answer to give an extended course in the same spirit.

Nineteen times did Faraday give the Christmas lectures. Those on the Chemistry of a Candle were given more than once; and were the last he gave, in 1860. They have been published, as were those on the Forces of Nature. The lectures on Metals he was urged to publish, but declined in the following terms:--

Royal Institution, January 3, 1859.

DEAR SIR,--Many thanks to both you and Mr. Bentley. Mr. Murray made me an unlimited offer like that of Mr. Bentley’s many years ago, but for the reasons I am about to give you I had to refuse his kindness. He proposed to take them by shorthand, and so save me trouble, but I knew that would be a thorough failure; even if I cared to give time to the revision of the MS., still the lectures without the experiments and the vivacity of speaking would fall far behind those in the lecture-room as to effect. And then I do not desire to give time to them, for money is no temptation to me. In fact, I have always loved science more than money; and because my occupation is almost entirely personal I cannot afford to get rich. Again thanking you and Mr. Bentley, I remain,

Very truly yours, M. FARADAY.

[Sidenote: AN INSPIRED CHILD.]

Of his lectures Lady Pollock wrote:--

He would play with his subject now and then, but very delicately; his sport was only just enough to enliven the attention. He never suffered an experiment to allure him away from his theme. Every touch of his hand was a true illustration of his argument.... But his meaning was sometimes beyond the conception of those whom he addressed. When, however, he lectured to children he was careful to be perfectly distinct, and never allowed his ideas to outrun their intelligence. He took great delight in talking to them, and easily won their confidence. The vivacity of his manner and of his countenance, and his pleasant laugh, the frankness of his whole bearing, attracted them to him. They felt as if he belonged to them; and indeed he sometimes, in his joyous enthusiasm, appeared like an inspired child.

... His quick sympathies put him so closely in relation with the child that he saw with the boy’s new wonder, and looked, and most likely felt for the moment, as if he had never seen the thing before. Quick feelings, quick movement, quick thought, vividness of expression and of perception, belonged to him. He came across you like a flash of light, and he seemed to leave some of his light with you. His presence was always stimulating.--_St. Paul’s Magazine_, June, 1870.

A writer in the _British Quarterly Review_ says:--

He had the art of making philosophy charming, and this was due in no little measure to the fact that to grey-headed wisdom he united wonderful juvenility of spirit.... Hilariously boyish upon occasion he could be, and those who knew him best knew he was never more at home, that he never seemed so pleased, as when making an old boy of himself, as he was wont to say, lecturing before a juvenile audience at Christmas.

Caroline Fox (in “Memories of Old Friends”), under date June 13th, 1851, wrote in her journal:--

We went to Faraday’s lecture on “Ozone.” He tried the various methods of making ozone which Schönbein had already performed in our kitchen, and he did them brilliantly. He was entirely at his ease, both with his audience and his chemical apparatus.

In the diary of H. Crabb Robinson is an appreciation of Faraday of some interest:--

May 8th, 1840.... Attended Carlyle’s second lecture. It gave great satisfaction, for it had uncommon thoughts and was delivered with unusual animation.... In the evening heard a lecture by Faraday. What a contrast to Carlyle! A perfect experimentalist with an intellect so clear. Within his sphere _un uomo compito_.

Many references to Faraday’s lectures occur in the life of Sir Richard Owen (published 1894), chiefly extracted from Mrs. Owen’s diary. Two or three extracts must suffice:--

1839, Jan. 8th. At eight o’clock with R. to the Royal Institution to hear Faraday lecture on electricity, galvanism, and the electric eel. Faraday is the _beau idéal_ of a popular lecturer.

1845, Jan. 31. To Faraday’s lecture at the Royal Institution. The largest crowd I have ever seen there. Many gentlemen were obliged to come into the ladies’ gallery, as they could not get seats elsewhere. After an exceedingly interesting lecture, Faraday said he had a few remarks to make on some new reform laws for the Institution. These remarks were admirably made, and no one could feel offended, although it was a direct attack on those gentlemen who helped to render the ladies very uncomfortable, sometimes by filling seats, and often front seats, in the part intended only for ladies. Wearing a hat in the library was one of the delinquencies, likewise sitting in the seats reserved for the directors, who were obliged by their office and duties to be last in. Mr. Faraday also remarked that the formation of two currents caused by certain gentlemen rushing upstairs the instant the lecture was over to fetch their lady friends was not conducive to the comfort of those coming downstairs. Everything taken very well.

[Sidenote: ROYAL INSTITUTION LECTURES.]

1849, May 28th. With R. to Royal Institution. We got there just before three, and there was a crowded audience as usual to hear Faraday’s lecture. The poor man entered and attempted to speak, but he was suffering from inflammation or excessive irritation of the larynx, and after some painful efforts to speak, a general cry arose of “Postpone,” and someone, apparently in authority, made a short speech from the gallery. Mr. Faraday still wished to try and force his voice, saying he was well aware of the difficulty of getting back the carriages, etc., before the time for the lecture had elapsed, to say nothing of the disappointment to some; but every moment the cry increased. “No, no; you are too valuable to be allowed to injure yourself. Postpone, postpone.” Poor Faraday was quite overcome.

The interrupted lecture was resumed after a fortnight’s interval; and he made up the full number of lectures by giving two extra discourses, at one of which the Prince Consort was present.

At another lecture [in 1856] Faraday explained the magnet and strength of attraction. He made us all laugh heartily; and when he threw a coalscuttle full of coals, a poker, and a pair of tongs at the great magnet, and they stuck there, the theatre echoed with shouts of laughter.

His friend De la Rive testified in striking terms to Faraday’s power as a speaker.

Nothing can give a notion of the charm which he imparted to these improvised lectures, in which he knew how to combine animated, and often eloquent, language with a judgment and art in his experiments which added to the clearness and elegance of his exposition. He exerted an actual fascination upon his auditors; and when, after having initiated them into the mysteries of science, he terminated his lecture, as he was in the habit of doing, by rising into regions far above matter, space, and time, the emotion which he experienced did not fail to communicate itself to those who listened to him, and their enthusiasm had no longer any bounds.

Faraday remained all his life a keen observer of other lecturers. Visiting France in 1845, he went to hear Arago give an astronomical lecture. “He delivered it in an admirable manner to a crowded audience,” was his comment.

To the Secretary of the Institution, who in 1846 consulted him regarding evening lectures, he said:

I see no objection to evening lectures if you can find a fit man to give them. As to popular lectures (which at the same time are to be _respectable_ and _sound_), none are more difficult to find. Lectures which _really teach_ will never be popular; lectures which are popular will never _really teach_. They know little of the matter who think science is more easily to be taught or learned than A B C; and yet who ever learned his A B C without pain and trouble? Still, lectures can (generally) inform the mind, and show forth to the attentive man what he really has to learn, and in their way are very useful, especially to the public. I think they might be useful to us now, even if they only gave an answer to those who, judging by their own earnest desire to learn, think much of them. As to agricultural chemistry, it is no doubt an excellent and a popular subject, but I rather suspect that those who know least of it think that most is known about it.

[Sidenote: USE OF MODELS AND CARDS.]

His fondness for illustrating obscure points in his lectures by models has been more than once alluded to. He would improvise these out of wood, paper, wire, or even out of turnips or potatoes, with much dexterity of hand. In one of his unpublished manuscripts, dating about 1826, dealing with the then recently discovered phenomena of electromagnetism, occurs the following note:--

It is best for illustration to have a model of the constant position which the needle takes across the wire: _le voila_ (Fig. 21).

Many such simple models were used in his lectures. He leaned upon them to aid his defective memory; but they helped his audience quite as much as they aided him. Reference was made on p. 7 to his use of cards, on which to jot down notes of thoughts that occurred to him. One such runs as follows:--

Remember to do one thing at once.

Also to finish a thing.

Also to do a little if I could not do _much_.

Pique about mathematics in chemists, and resolution to support the character of experiment--as better for the mass. Hence origin of the title _Exp. researches_.

Influence of authority. Davy and difficulty of steering between _self-sufficiency_ and dependance (_sic_) on others.

Aim at high things, but not presumptuously.

Endeavour to succeed--expect not to succeed.

_Criticise_ one’s own view in every way by experiment--if possible, leave no objection to be put by others.

Faraday’s enthusiasm about experimental researches was at times unrestrained, and always contagious. Dumas describes how Faraday repeated for him the experimental demonstration of the action of magnetism on light. Having come to the final experiment, Faraday rubbed his hands excitedly, while his eyes lit up with fire, and his animated countenance told the passionate feelings which he brought to the discovery of scientific truth. On another occasion Plücker, of Bonn, then on a visit to London, showed Faraday in his own laboratory the action of a magnet upon the luminous electric discharge in vacuum tubes. “Faraday danced round them; and as he saw the moving arches of light, he cried: ‘Oh, to live always in it!’” Once a friend met him at Eastbourne in the midst of a tremendous storm, rubbing his hands together gleefully because he had been fortunate enough to see the lightning strike the church tower. To the Baroness Burdett-Coutts he once wrote inviting her to see some experiments upon spectrum analysis in his private room. _The experiments_, he wrote, _will not be beautiful except to the intelligent_.

Yet another reminiscence is to be found in the Memorials of Joseph Henry. It relates, probably, to the date of 1837, when Henry visited Europe.

Henry loved to dwell on the hours that he and Bache had spent in Faraday’s society. I shall never forget Henry’s account of his visit to King’s College, London, where Faraday, Wheatstone, Daniell, and he had met to try and evolve the electric spark from the thermopile. Each in turn attempted it and failed. Then came Henry’s turn. He succeeded, calling in the aid of his discovery of the effect of a long interpolar wire wrapped around a piece of soft iron. Faraday became as wild as a boy, and, jumping up, shouted: “Hurrah for the Yankee experiment!”

The following memorandum was found on a slip of paper in Faraday’s “research drawer”:--

THE FOUR DEGREES.

The discoverer of a fact. The reconciling of it to known principles. Discovery of a fact not reconcilable. He who refers all to still more general principles.

M.F.

[Sidenote: FREEDOM OF SPECULATION.]

Faraday’s mind was of a very individual turn; he could not walk along the beaten tracks, but must pursue truth wherever it led him. His dogged tenacity for exact fact was accompanied by a perfect fearlessness of speculation. He would throw overboard without hesitation the most deeply-rooted notions if experimental evidence pointed to newer ideas. He had learned to doubt the idea of _poles_; so he outgrew the idea of _atoms_, which he considered an arbitrary conception. Many who heard his bold speculations and his free coinage of new terms deemed him vague and loose in thought. Nothing could be more untrue. He let his mind play freely about the facts; he framed thousands of hypotheses, only to let them go by if they were not supported by facts. “He is the wisest philosopher,” he said in a lecture on the nature of matter, “who holds his theory with some doubt--who is able to proportion his judgment and confidence to the value of the evidence set before him, taking a fact for a fact and a supposition for a supposition, as much as possible keeping his mind free from all source of prejudice; or, where he cannot do this (as in the case of a theory), remembering that such a source is there.”

In one of his later experimental researches he wrote:--

As an experimentalist, I feel bound to let experiment guide me into any train of thought which it may justify; being satisfied that experiment, like analysis, must lead to strict truth if rightly interpreted; and believing also that it is in its nature far more suggestive of new trains of thought and new conditions of natural power.

[Sidenote: WHY NO SUCCESSOR.]

Perhaps it was this very freedom of thought which debarred him from enlisting other men as collaborators in his researches. His one assistant for thirty years, Sergeant Anderson, was indeed invaluable to him for his quality of implicit obedience. Other helpers in the laboratory he had none. Apparently he found his researches to be of too individual a character to permit him to deputise any part of his work. He was never satisfied when told about another’s experiment; he must perform it for himself. Often a discovery arose from some chance or trivial incident of an otherwise unsuccessful experiment. The power of “lateral vision,” which Tyndall has so strongly emphasised, was a prime factor in his successes. That power could not be delegated to any mere assistant. Many times did outsiders approach him, thinking to bring new facts to his notice; never, save on the solitary occasion when a Mr. William Jenkin drew his attention to the “extra-current” spark seen on the breaking of an electric circuit, did such novelties turn out to be really new. Alleged discoveries thus brought to him merely plagued him. He thought that anyone who had the wit to observe any really new phenomenon would be the person best qualified to work it out. His method was to work on alone, dwelling amidst his experiments until the mind, familiarising itself with the facts, was ready to suggest their correlations. It was sometimes urged against him as a complaint that he never took up any younger man to train him as his successor, even as Davy had taken up himself and trained him in scientific work. One of the miscellaneous notes, found after his death, throws some light on this:--

It puzzles me greatly to know what makes the successful philosopher. Is it industry and perseverance with a moderate proportion of good sense and intelligence? Is not a modest assurance or earnestness a requisite? Do not many fail because they look rather to the renown to be acquired than to the pure acquisition of knowledge, and the delight which the contented mind has in acquiring it for its own sake? I am sure I have seen many who would have been good and successful pursuers of science, and have gained themselves a high name, but that it was the name and the reward they were always looking forward to--the reward of the world’s praise. In such there is always a shade of envy or regret over their minds, and I cannot imagine a man making discoveries in science under these feelings. As to Genius and its power, there may be cases; I suppose there are. I have looked long and often for a genius for our Laboratory, but have never found one. But I have seen many who would, I think, if they had submitted themselves to a sound self-applied discipline of mind, have become successful experimental Philosophers.

To Dr. Becker he wrote:

I was never able to make a fact my own without seeing it; and the descriptions of the best works altogether failed to convey to my mind such a knowledge of things as to allow myself to form a judgment upon them. It was so with _new_ things. If Grove, or Wheatstone, or Gassiot, or any other told me a new fact, and wanted my opinion either of its value, or the cause, or the evidence it could give on any subject, I never could say anything until I had seen the fact. For the same reason I never could work, as some Professors do most extensively, by students or pupils. All the work had to be my own.

[Sidenote: INCOME AND EXPENDITURE.]

Of Faraday’s social life and surroundings during his meridional and later period much might be written. After his great researches of 1831 to 1836 scientific honours flowed in freely upon him, especially from foreign academies and universities; and the fame he won at home would have brought him, had he been so minded, an ample professional fortune and all the artificial amenities of Society which follow the successful money-maker. From all such mundane “success” he cut himself off when in 1831 he decided to abandon professional fee-earning, and to devote himself to the advancement of science. Probably the tenets of the religious body to which he belonged were a leading factor in compelling this decision. Not having laid upon him the necessity of providing for a family, and accustomed to live in an unostentatious style, he could contemplate the future without anxiety. With his pension, his Woolwich lectures, and his Trinity House appointment, Faraday was in no sense poor, though his Royal Institution professorship never brought him so much as £300 a year until after he was over sixty years of age; but on the other hand, his private charities were very numerous. How much of his income was spent in that way can never be known; for the very privacy of his deeds of kindness prevented any record from being kept. Certain it is that his gifts to the aged poor and sick must have amounted to several hundreds of pounds a year; for while his income for many years must have averaged at least £1,000 or £1,100, and his domestic expenditure could not have much exceeded half that sum, he does not seem to have attempted to save anything. Nor did he grudge time or strength to do kindly charitable acts in visiting the sick.

From about the year 1834 he resolutely declined invitations to dinners and such social gaieties; not, as some averred, from any religious asceticism, but that he might the more unrestrainedly devote himself to his researches. “If,” says Mrs. Crosse, “Babbage, Wheatstone, Grove, Owen, Tyndall, and a host of other distinguished scientists, were to be met very generally in the society of the day, there was one man who was very conspicuous by his absence--this was Faraday! His biographers say that in earlier years he occasionally accepted Lady Davy’s invitations to dinner; but I never heard of his going anywhere, except in obedience to the commands of royalty.” He did indeed occasionally dine quietly with Sir Robert Peel or Earl Russell; and of the few public dinners he attended, he enjoyed most the annual banquet of the Royal Academy of Arts.

Faraday does not, however, appear to have had any very direct relations with the world of art. Once he was consulted by Lord John Russell as to the removal of Raphael’s cartoons from Hampton Court to the National Gallery. His advice was adverse, on account of the penetrating power of dust. Though a sufficiently good draughtsman to prepare his own drawings, he had little or no knowledge of the technicalities of painting. Yet his sensitive and enthusiastic temperament had much in common with that of the artist, and he enjoyed music, especially good music, greatly. In early life he played the flute and knew many songs by heart. He took bass parts in concerted singing, and is said to have sung correctly in time and tune. In his circle of acquaintanceship were numbered several painters of eminence--Turner, Landseer, and Stanfield. His brother-in-law, Mr. George Barnard, the late well-known water-colour artist, has written the following note:--

My first and many following sketching trips were made with Faraday and his wife. Storms excited his admiration at all times, and he was never tired of looking into the heavens. He said to me once, “I wonder you artists don’t study the light and colour in the sky more, and try more for effect.” I think this quality in Turner’s drawings made him admire them so much. He made Turner’s acquaintance at Hullmandel’s, and afterwards often had applications from him for chemical information about pigments. Faraday always impressed upon Turner and other artists the great necessity there was to experiment for themselves, putting washes and tints of all their pigments in the bright sunlight, covering up one half, and noticing the effect of light and gases on the other....

Faraday did not fish at all during these country trips, but just rambled about geologising or botanising.

[Sidenote: SCIENCE, LITERATURE, AND ART.]

Earlier in his career, Faraday and his brother-in-law used to enjoy conversaziones of artists, actors, and musicians at Hullmandel’s. Sometimes they went up the river in Hullmandel’s eight-oar boat, camping gipsy-wise on the banks for dinner, and enjoying the singing of Signor Garcia and his wife and of his daughter, afterwards Madame Malibran. From these things, too, he withdrew very largely when he ceased to dine out, though he still liked to hear the opera and to visit the theatre. Curiously enough, he seems to have had very little in common with literary men. In the last half of the previous century there had been many intimate relations between the leaders of literature and those of science. The circle which included Watt, Boulton, and Wedgwood included also Priestley and Erasmus Darwin. In our own time the names of Darwin, Huxley, Hooker, and Tyndall are to be found in conjunction with those of Tennyson, Browning, and Jowett. But the biographies of literary men and artists of the period from 1830 to 1850 bear few references to Faraday. He moved in his own world, and that a world very much apart from literature or art. In his method of working he was indeed an artist, often feeling his way rather than calculating it, and arriving at his conclusions by what seemed insight rather than by any direct process of reasoning. The discovery of truth comes about in many ways; and if Faraday’s method in science was artistic rather than scientific, it was amply justified by the brilliant harvest of discoveries which it enabled him to reap.

As is well known, Faraday never took out any patents for his discoveries; indeed, whenever in his investigations he seemed to come near to the point where they began to possess a marketable value from their application to the industries, he left them, to pursue his pioneering inquiries in other branches. He sought, indeed, for principles rather than for processes, for facts new to science rather than for merchantable inventions. When he had made the discovery of magneto-electric induction--the basis of all modern electric engineering--he carried the research to the point of constructing several experimental machines, and then abruptly turned away with these memorable words:--

I have rather, however, been desirous of discovering new facts and new relations dependent on magneto-electric induction than of exalting the force of those already obtained; being assured that the latter would find their full development hereafter.

[Sidenote: PRACTICAL UTILITIES.]

Several times was Faraday known, when asked about the possible utility of some new scientific discovery, to quote Franklin’s rejoinder: “What is the use of a baby?”

It is narrated of him that on one occasion, at a Trinity House dinner, he and the Duke of Wellington had a little friendly chat, in the course of which the Duke advised Faraday to give his speculations “a practical turn as far as possible”--“a suggestion,” said Faraday, who always spoke of the veteran with pleasure, “full of weight, coming from such a man.” Faraday was, however, the last to despise the importance of industrial applications of science. In his unpublished manuscripts at the Royal Institution there are some curious references to trials which he made of a meat-canning process, invented about 1848 by a Mr. Goldner, of Finsbury. He also had fancies for other domestic applications, including wine-making. He used himself to bind his own note-books. To a Mr. Woolnough, who had written a book on the marbling of paper, he wrote a letter saying how much interest he felt in the subject, “because of its associations with my early occupation of bookbinding; and also because of the very beautiful principles of natural philosophy which it involves.” He even, on one occasion, produced a home-made pair of boots. His devotion to the practical applications of science is attested by his untiring work for improving the lighthouses of our coast. It is believed that his death was accelerated by a severe cold caught when on a visit of lighthouse inspection during stormy weather.

Faraday was never ashamed of the circumstance of his having risen from a humble origin. In his letters he not unfrequently alludes to things that remind him of his bookbinding experiences, or of boyish episodes in his father’s smithy. Yet he had none of the vulgar pride of ascent which too often dogs the path of the self-made man. Severe self-discipline and genuine humility prevented either undue proclamation or awkward reticence respecting his early life. His elder brother Robert was a gasfitter. Faraday was not ashamed to help him to secure work in his trade, nor to give him the benefit of his scientific aid in perfecting appliances for ventilating by gas-burners. The following characteristic story was told by Frank Barnard:--

Robert was throughout life a warm friend and admirer of his younger brother, and not a whit envious at seeing himself passed in the social scale by him. One day he was sitting in the Royal Institution just previous to a lecture by the young and rising philosopher, when he heard a couple of gentlemen behind him descanting on the natural gifts and rapid rise of the lecturer. The brother--perhaps not fully apprehending the purport of their talk--listened with growing indignation while one of them dilated on the lowness of Faraday’s origin. “Why,” said the speaker, “I believe he was a mere shoeblack at one time.” Robert could endure this no longer; but turning sharply round he demanded: “Pray, sir, did he ever black your shoes?” “Oh! dear no, certainly not,” replied the gentleman, much abashed at the sudden inquisition into the facts of the case.

[Sidenote: SPIRIT MEDIUMS EXPOSED.]

In 1853 Faraday came before the public in a novel manner--as the exposer of the then rampant charlatanry of table-turning and spirit-rapping. The _Athenæum_ for July 2nd contains a long letter from him on table-turning. He experimentally investigated the alleged phenomena as produced by three skilful mediums in _séances_ at the house of a friend. His mechanical skill was more than a match, however, for that of the supposed spirits. When the observers assembled around the table placed their hands in the orthodox way upon the table-top, the table turned, apparently without any effort on the part of any one of the party. This was eminently satisfactory for the spirits. But when Faraday interposed between each hand and the table-top a simple roller-mechanism which, if any individual in the circle applied muscular forces tending to turn it, instantly indicated the fact, the table remained immovable. Faraday wrote merely describing the facts, and saying that the test apparatus was now on public view at 122, Regent Street. He ends thus:--

I must bring this long description to a close. I am a little ashamed of it, for I think, in the present age, and in this part of the world, it ought not to have been required. Nevertheless, I hope it may be useful. There are many whom I do not expect to convince; but I may be allowed to say that I cannot undertake to answer such objections as may be made. I state my own convictions as an experimental philosopher, and find it no more necessary to enter into controversy on this point than on any other in science, as the nature of matter, or inertia, or the magnetisation of light, on which I may differ from others. The world will decide sooner or later in all such cases, and I have no doubt very soon and correctly in the present instance.

This exposure excited great interest at the time, and there was an active correspondence in _The Times_. The spiritualists, instead of appreciating the services to truth rendered by the man of science, railed bitterly at him. Even the refined and noble spirit of Mrs. Browning was so dominated by the superstition of the moment that, as shown by her recently published letters, she denounced Faraday in singularly acrimonious terms, and taunted him for shallow materialism! What Faraday thought of the hubbub evoked by his action is best learned from a letter which he addressed three weeks later to his friend Schönbein:--

I have not been at work except in turning the tables upon the table-turners, nor should I have done that, but that so many inquiries poured in upon me, that I thought it better to stop the inpouring flood by letting all know at once what my views and thoughts were. What a weak, credulous, incredulous, unbelieving, superstitious, bold, frightened, what a ridiculous world ours is, as far as concerns the mind of man. How full of inconsistencies, contradictions, and absurdities it is. I declare that, taking the average of many minds that have recently come before me (and apart from that spirit which God has placed in each), and accepting for a moment that average as a standard, I should far prefer the obedience, affections, and instinct of a dog before it. Do not whisper this, however, to others. There is One above who worketh in all things, and who governs even in the midst of that misrule to which the tendencies and powers of men are so easily perverted.

He declined an invitation in 1855 to see manifestations by the medium Home, saying that he had “lost too much time about such matters already.” Nine years later the Brothers Davenport invited him to witness their cabinet “manifestations.” Again he declined, and added: “I will leave the spirits to find out for themselves how they can move my attention. I am tired of them.”

In this year he wrote to _The Times_ respecting the disgraceful and insanitary condition of the river Thames. In _Punch_ of the following week appeared a cartoon representing Faraday presenting his card to old Father Thames, who rises holding his nose to avoid the stench.

[Sidenote: FAILURE OF MEMORY.]

With increasing age the infirmity of loss of memory made itself increasingly felt. He alludes frequently to this in his letters. To one friend who upbraided him gently for not having replied to a letter he says: “Do you remember that I forget?” To another he says he is forgetting how to spell such words as “withhold” and “successful.” To Matteucci, in 1849, he bemoans how, after working for six weeks at certain experiments, he found, on looking back to his notes, he had ascertained all the same results eight or nine months before, and had entirely forgotten them! In the same year he wrote to Dr. Percy:--

I cannot be on the Committee; I avoid everything of that kind, that I may keep my stupid head a little clear. As to being on a Committee and not working, that is worse still.

In 1859, in a letter to his niece, Mrs. Deacon, filled mainly with religious thoughts, he says: “My worldly faculties are slipping away day by day. Happy is it for all of us that the true good lies not in them.”

From the journals of Walter White comes the following anecdote under date December 22nd, 1858:--

Mr. Faraday called to enquire on the part of Sir Walter Trevelyan whether a MS. of meteorological observations made in Greenland would be acceptable. The question answered, I expressed my pleasure at seeing him looking so well, and asked him if he were writing a paper for the Royal. He shook his head. “No: I am too old.” “Too old? Why, age brings wisdom.” “Yes, but one may overshoot the wisdom.” “You cannot mean that you have outlived your wisdom?” “Something like it, for my memory is gone. If I make an experiment, I forget before twelve hours are over whether the result was positive or negative; and how can I write a paper while that is the case? No, I must content myself with giving my lectures to children.”

From another source we learn of a hitherto unrecorded incident which happened to Mr. Joseph Newton, for some time an assistant in the Royal Mint. While arranging some precious material on the Royal Institution theatre lecture-table, previous to a lecture on the Mint and minting operations by Professor Brande, Mr. Newton noticed an elderly, spare, and very plainly-dressed individual watching his movements. Imagining that this person was a superior messenger of the Institution, Mr. Newton volunteered some information as to the coinage of gold. “I suppose,” said the Mint employee, “you have been some years at the Royal Institution?” “Well, yes, I have, a good many,” responded the dilapidated one. “I hope they treat you pretty liberally--I mean, that they give you a respectable ‘screw,’ for that is the main point.” “Ah! I agree with you there. I think that the labourer is worthy of his hire, and I shouldn’t mind being paid a little better.” Mr. Newton’s surprise, on returning to the Royal Institution in the evening, to find that the man whom he had so recently patronised was none other than the illustrious but modest Michael Faraday can better be imagined than described.

A pretty instance, given on the authority of Lady Pollock, may be recorded of the feeling aroused by Faraday’s presence when he returned to his accustomed seat in the lecture-room of the Royal Institution, after a protracted absence occasioned by illness:--

As soon as his presence was recognised, the whole audience rose simultaneously and burst into a spontaneous utterance of welcome, loud and long. Faraday stood in acknowledgment of this enthusiastic greeting, with his fine head slightly bent; and then a certain resemblance to the pictures and busts of Lord Nelson, which was always observable in his countenance, was very apparent. His hair had grown white and long, his face had lengthened, and the agility of his movement was gone. The eyes no longer flashed with the fire of the soul, but they still radiated kindly thought; and ineffaceable lines of intellectual force and energy were stamped upon his face.

[Sidenote: HONOURS OFFERED AND DECLINED.]

In 1857 he was offered the Presidency of the Royal Society. A painting preserved in the rooms of the Royal Society records the scene when Lord Wrottesley, Grove, and Gassiot waited upon him as a deputation from the Council, to press on him his acceptance of the highest place which science has to offer. He hesitated and finally declined, even as he had declined the suggestion of knighthood years before. “Tyndall,” he said in private to his successor, “I must remain plain Michael Faraday to the last; and let me now tell you, that if I accepted the honour which the Royal Society desires to confer upon me, I could not answer for the integrity of my intellect for a single year.” He also declined the Presidency of the Royal Institution, which he had served for fifty years. His one desire was for rest. “The reverent affection of his friends was,” said Tyndall, “to him infinitely more precious than all the honours of official life.”

Allusion has been made to Faraday’s tender and chivalrous regard for his wife. Extracts from two letters, written in 1849 and 1863 respectively, must here suffice to complete the story:--

Birmingham, Dr. Percy’s: Thursday evening, September 13, 1849.

MY DEAREST WIFE,--I have just left Dr. Percy’s hospitable table to write to you, my beloved, telling you how I have been getting on. I am very well, excepting a little faceache; and very kindly treated here. They all long most earnestly for your presence, for both Mrs. and Dr. Percy are anxious you should come; and this I know, that the things we have seen would delight you, but then I doubt your powers of running about as we do; and though I know that if time were given you could enjoy them, yet to press the matter into a day or two would be a failure. Besides this, after all, there is no pleasure like the tranquil pleasures of home, and here--even 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. I mean to be at home on Saturday night, but it may be late first, so do not be surprised at that; for if I can, I should like to go on an excursion to the Dudley caverns, and that would take the day....

Write to me, dearest. I shall get your letter on Saturday morning, or perhaps before.

Love to father, Margery, and Jenny, and a thousand loves to yourself, dearest,

From your affectionate husband, M. FARADAY.

* * * * *

5, Claremont Gardens, Glasgow: Monday, August 14, 1863.

DEAREST,--Here is the fortnight complete since I left you and the thoughts of my return to _our home_ crowd in strongly upon my mind. Not that we are in any way uncared for, or left by our dear friends, save as I may desire for our own retirement. Everybody has overflowed with kindness, but you know their manner, and their desire, by your own experience with me. I long to see you, dearest, and to talk over things together, and call to mind all the kindness I have received. My head is full, and my heart also, but my recollection rapidly fails, even as regards the friends that are in the room with me. You will have to resume your old function of being a pillow to my mind, and a rest, a happy-making wife.

My love to my dear Mary. I expect to find you together, but do not assume to know how things may be.

Jeannie’s love with mine, and also Charlotte’s, and a great many others which I cannot call to mind.

Dearest, I long to see and be with you, whether together or separate.

Your husband, very affectionate, M. FARADAY

[Sidenote: THE WIFE AND THE QUEEN.]

In 1858 the Queen, at the suggestion of Prince Albert, who much esteemed and valued Faraday’s genius, placed at his disposal for life a comfortable house on the green near Hampton Court. Faraday’s only hesitation in accepting the offer was a doubt whether he could afford the needful repairs. On a hint of this reaching the Queen, she at once directed that it should be put into thorough repair inside and out. He still kept his rooms at the Royal Institution, and continued to live there occasionally.

With the increasing infirmities of age, his anxieties for his wife seemed to be the only trouble that marred the serenity of his thought. Lady Pollock’s narrative gives the following particulars:--

Sometimes he was depressed by the idea of his wife left without kin--of the partner of his hopes and cares deprived of him. She had been the first love of his ardent soul; she was the last; she had been the brightest dream of his youth, and she was the dearest comfort of his age; he never ceased for an instant to feel himself happy with her; and he never for one hour ceased to care for her happiness. It was no wonder, then, that he felt anxiety about her. But he would rally from such a trouble with his great religious trust, and looking at her with moist eyes, he would say, “I must not be afraid; you will be cared for, my wife; you will be cared for.”

There are some who remember how tenderly he used to lead her to her seat at the Royal Institution when she was suffering from lameness; how carefully he used to support her; how watchfully he used to attend all her steps. It did the heart good to see his devotion, and to think what the man was and what he had been.

[Sidenote: CLOSE OF SCIENTIFIC CAREER.]

Gradually his powers waned. He gave his last juvenile lectures at Christmas, 1860; and in October, 1861, being now seventy years of age, he resigned his Professorship, while retaining the superintendence of the laboratory. “Nothing,” he wrote to the managers, “would make me happier in the things of this life than to make some scientific discovery or development, and by that to justify the Board in their desire to retain me in my position here.” His last research in the laboratory was made on March 12, 1862. On June 20th he gave his last Friday night discourse--on Siemens’s gas furnaces. He had, as his notes show, already made up his mind to announce his retirement, and the lecture was a sad and touching occasion, for the failure of his powers was painfully evident. He continued for two years longer, and with surprising activity, to work for Trinity House on the subject of lighthouse illumination by the electric light. In 1865 he resigned these duties to Dr. Tyndall. In 1864 he resigned his eldership in the Sandemanian church. In March, 1865, he resigned the position of superintendent of the house and laboratories of the Royal Institution. He continued to attend the Friday evening meetings; but his tottering condition of frame and mind was apparent to all. All through the winter of 1865 and 1866 he became very feeble. Yet he took an interest in Mr. Wilde’s description of his new magneto-electric machine. Almost the last pleasure he showed on any scientific matter was when viewing the long spark of a Holtz’s influence machine. He still enjoyed looking at sunsets and storms. All through the summer and autumn of 1866 and the spring of 1867 his physical powers waned. He was faithfully and lovingly tended by his wife and his devoted niece, Jane Barnard. He was scarcely able to move, but his mind “overflowed” with the consciousness of the affectionate regard of those around him. He gradually sank into torpor, saying nothing and taking little notice of anything. Sitting in his chair in his study, he died peacefully and painlessly on the 26th of August, 1867. On the 30th of August he was quietly buried in Highgate Cemetery, his remains being committed to the earth, in accordance with the custom of the religious body to which he belonged, in perfect silence. None but personal friends were present, the funeral being by his own verbal and written wishes strictly simple and private. A simple unadorned tombstone marks the last resting-place of Michael Faraday.