His friends and relations having had due attentions from him, Faraday at once began to cast about for work. On going abroad with Davy he had relinquished his position at the Royal Institution, though Sir Humphry had promised to befriend him on their return; this promise was, much to Faraday's gratification, duly fulfilled. Within a fortnight of his return Michael found himself re-engaged at the Institution in the capacity of "assistant in the laboratory and mineralogical collection, and superintendent of the apparatus," a high-sounding office that carried with it the none too substantial honorarium of thirty shillings a week, and, as before, rooms in the building. It was, however, a distinct rise, both in position and in wage, and Faraday, we may be sure, was pleased to get back to his well-loved Institution on such terms.

A life spent in scientific research is, generally, an apparently uneventful one. Faraday's life, far from being an exception to this rule, was rather an accentuation of it. The story of his life is indeed highly interesting; but its interest lies in it, not as a story of action and change, but as a life that may be said to have realised almost wholly the ideal which was set before it. From the very first moment when Faraday gave expression to his hate for trade and his love for science, his whole life was a practical illustration of his feelings; as we shall find on following him through his great and honourable career, there were many occasions on which he refused not only titles and such like honours, but pecuniary benefits which might fairly be considered his dues—no, "his work was wrought for love and not for gain," as the line which I have placed on the title page of this little book so well expresses it.

The tour on the Continent, as has been noted, was the most striking episode in Faraday's long life. From May 7th, 1815 (the date on which he rejoined the Institution), onwards, his life was a time of steady intellectual growth, spent in chemical research, in the explaining of phenomena, and in what is by no means his least claim on our regard, the popularisation of scientific knowledge. We have seen in his early correspondence with Benjamin Abbott how, on his very earliest acquaintance with lecturing and lectures at the Royal Institution, he began to study the different styles of the various lecturers, to note their peculiarities, and in what lay the secret of their success; we have seen, too, how he was striving to improve himself in composition—in the clear and intelligent method of stating things. He was preparing himself betimes for what he felt to be part of his true vocation; how eminently successful—beyond his wildest imaginings—he was, will be seen as we follow his life-story year by year.

It was, as Faraday frequently acknowledged, his good fortune to assist Sir Humphry Davy in his experiments not only while abroad, but after their home-coming. One of the most important of all Davy's discoveries was made in the year of their return. On August 3rd he acknowledged a letter which he had received from Dr. Gray, directing his attention to the awful destruction of human life by explosions in coal mines. On October 31st, Davy announced to his correspondent that he had discovered a "safety lamp;" on November 2nd he read a paper on fire-damp before the Royal Society, and on December 14th submitted to Dr. Gray models of lamps and lanterns made on the principle of his discovery, "that fire-damp will not explode in tubes or feeders of a certain small diameter." In his experiments, in connection with this discovery, Davy received considerable help from his laboratory assistant, who must have been much gratified by that passage in Davy's paper on the "safety lamp," in which the great discoverer expressed himself as "indebted to Mr. Michael Faraday for much able assistance." This was "Mr. Michael Faraday's" first public recognition, and must have been very delightful to him, especially coming as it did from the man of all others for whom, in his scientific capacity, Michael had the most profound admiration.

Davy gained, as is well known, much honour and no inconsiderable amount of money for his discovery. There are, however, circumstances in which the safety lamp is not safe; Faraday, and, it is to be presumed, Davy himself, was aware of this. It is illustrative of Faraday's stern regard for truth that, although he was at the time Davy's own assistant, he did not, and would not, attest before a parliamentary committee to the universal safety of the Davy lamp.

Early in 1816 we find Faraday beginning to put into practice those ideas on lectures and lecturing which he had so carefully considered before. On the point of giving his first lecture, though, he seems to doubt himself, and in a letter to Abbott occurs the following passage—"I intend making some experiments on that subject (lecturing) soon; I will defer it (his letter on lecturing) till after such experiments are made. In the meantime, as preparatory and introductory to such a course of experiments, I will ask your opinion of, and observations on, English composition—style, delivery, reading, oratory, grammar, pronunciation, perspicuity, and in general all the branches into which the belles lettres divide themselves; and if by asking I procure, I shall congratulate myself on the acquisition of much useful knowledge and experience."

The first lecture—on the "General Properties of Matter"—was duly and successfully delivered before the City Philosophical Society on January 17th. Before trusting himself to go upon the platform, Faraday carefully wrote out his lecture, word for word, as it was to be delivered; a plan which he followed in the case of each of the other six lectures which he gave before the same Society during the year. These lectures I have had the pleasure of seeing, as they are neatly written out and bound by their author. They are, with many similar treasures, in the possession of Miss Jane Barnard, a niece of Faraday.

This year was an important one in several ways; not only did Faraday give his first lecture, but also his first printed paper appeared in the Quarterly Journal of Science, which was edited by Mr. Brande, who succeeded Sir Humphry as chief of the Royal Institution. The paper was on an analysis of native caustic lime, which had been undertaken at Davy's instigation. That his scientific friends and patrons were beginning to recognise something out of the common in their laboratory assistant is shown in various ways, notably by such a passage as the following, taken from Faraday's note-book: "When Mr. Brande left London in August, he gave the Quarterly Journal in charge to me; it has had very much of my time and care, and writing, through it, has been more abundant with me. It has, however, also been the means of giving me earlier information on some new objects of science."

Faraday's common-place book—a kind of continuation of his Philosophical Miscellany of six years earlier—gives us a good deal of information as to his intellectual progress at this time; it shows us not only what scientific subjects were interesting him, but also how zealously he was continuing his study of composition and the mode of expressing what he had to say clearly and definitely. There are passages from the Spectator, alongside of tests with arsenic, a description of a visit to a silk-ribbon dresser's, along with an account of Zerah Colburn, the American calculating boy. Sir Humphry Davy wrote to Faraday, saying, "Mr. Colburn, the father of the American boy who has such extraordinary powers of calculation, will explain to you the method his son uses in confidence. I wish to ascertain if it can be practically used."

It has been remarked of Faraday that his was a poet-nature expressing itself through science; and this estimate seems largely true, but the verses which he wrote in his common-place book, "On Love," if they be his own composition, are extremely poor; there are other verses though which will merit quotation. They are written by Mr. Dryden, a fellow-member of the City Philosophical Society, and are entitled "Quarterly Night," October 2nd, 1816, being descriptive of one of the periodical gatherings of the Society. The following passage is of especial interest to us, as it shows how Faraday impressed a young contemporary:—

Faraday's progress during these first few years after his reinstatement at the Royal Institution was rapid: his lectures to the City Philosophical Society, his published papers, and his letters, all give evidence of it. In 1817, as in the previous year, he delivered six lectures before the Society. It is interesting to find that instead of being written out word for word, the lectures were now delivered from notes, showing how the young lecturer was becoming so assured of his own command of language as to make the earlier method no longer necessary. His common-place book for this year continues to show a wide range of reading and thoughtfulness. In the summer, when the lectures at the Institution had ceased for the recess, Faraday availed himself of an invitation from his friend Huxtable, who was living at South Moulton, and spent a month holiday-making in Devonshire. His early impressions of that county, when he passed through it with Davy on their way to the Continent, must have made him especially delighted to visit it once more; more particularly as he had an opportunity on this occasion of making geological excursions and of studying "wavellite, hydrargellite, and such hard things." A letter which he wrote from Barnstaple to his mother during this holiday is interesting, referring as it does to those country occupations amid which she, in her girlhood, passed her time:—"I have seen a great deal of country life since I left town, and am highly pleased with it, though I should by no means be contented to live away from town. I have been at sheep-shearings, merry-makings, junketings, etc., and was never more merry; and I must say of the country people (of Devonshire, at least) that they are the most hospitable I could imagine. I have seen all your processes of threshing, winnowing, cheese and butter-making, and think I could now give you some instruction, but all I have to say to you on these subjects shall be said verbally."

Each year of his life at this period Faraday found himself becoming busier than the previous one. Another five chemical lectures (on the metals, well known and little known) were given before the City Philosophical Society during 1818, completing a course, extending over three years, of seventeen lectures on the chemical science, no mean accomplishment for a young man from twenty-three to twenty-six years of age. So much was his time now becoming occupied that we find a great falling-off in his letters this year, a falling-off not only in number, but also in length. The correspondence with Abbott, commenced six years earlier, practically comes to an end in 1818; there was not, it is necessary to mention, the slightest abatement in the warmth of affection of the two friends; it was that, to a great extent, perhaps, the correspondence had done its work, and what is undoubtedly the more powerful reason, our young scientist was beginning to find his time so well occupied with his favourite work that he could not devote enough of it to the writing of long letters. Abbott was yet, and always, sure of the heartiest hand-shake and the most unaffected welcome from one who to the end of his life was the staunchest of friends.

On July 1st, 1818, Faraday read a highly interesting paper before the members of the City Philosophical Society, on "Observations on the Inertia of the Mind," in which he drew, in an able manner, an analogy between a state of the mind and what in the physical world is known as the inertia of matter. It may be of interest to note a few passages from this lecture to illustrate the thoughtfulness and thoroughness of Faraday's work at this time, and also to give an example of his early style as a lecturer.

"Unlike the animated world around him, which remains in the same constant state, man is continually varying, and it is one of the noblest prerogatives of his nature, that in the highest of earthly distinctions he has the power of raising and exalting himself continually. The transition state of man has been held up to him as a memento of his weakness; to man degraded it may be so with justice; to man as he ought to be it is no reproach; and in knowledge that man only is to be contemned and despised who is not in a state of transition....

"By advancement on the plain of life, I mean advancement in those things which distinguish men from beasts—sentient advancement. It is not he who has soared above his fellow-creatures in power, it is not he who can command most readily the pampering couch or the costly luxury; but it is he who has done most good to his fellows, he who has directed them in the doubtful moment, strengthened them in the weak moment, aided them in the moment of necessity, and enlightened them in their ignorance, that leads the ranks of mankind....

"There is a power in natural philosophy, of an influence universal, and yet withal so obscure, in its nature so unobtrusive, that for many ages no idea of it existed. It is called inertia. It tends to retain every body in its present state, and seems like the spirit of constancy impressed upon matter. Whatever is in motion is by it retained in motion, and whatever is at rest remains at rest under its sway. It opposes every new influence, strengthens every old one. Is there nothing in the human mind which seems analogous to this power?...

"Inertia is an essential property of matter; is it a never-failing attendant on the mind? I hope it is; for as it seems to be in full force whenever the mind is passive, I trust it is also in power when she is actively engaged. Was the idle mind ever yet pleased to be placed in activity? Was the dolt ever willing to resign inanity for perception? Or are they not always found contented to remain as if they were satisfied with their situation? They are like the shepherd Magnus: although on a barren rock, their efforts to remove are irksome and unpleasant; and they seem chained to the spot by a power over which they have no control, of which they have no perception. Again: in activity, what intellectual being would resign his employment? Who would be content to forego the pleasures hourly crowding upon him? Each new thought, perception, or judgment is a sufficient reward in itself for his past labours, and all the future is pure enjoyment. There is a labour in thought, but none who have once engaged in it would willingly resign it. Intermissions I speak not of; 'tis the general habit and tenor of the mind that concerns us, and that which has once been made to taste the pleasures of its own voluntary exertions will not by a slight cause be made to forego them.

"Inertia, as it regards matter, is a term sufficiently well understood both in a state of rest and of motion. As it is not my intention to attempt a description of functions of the mind according to strict mathematical terms, I shall resign the exclusive use of the word at present, and adopt two others, which, according to the sense they have acquired from usage, will, I believe, supply its place with accuracy. Apathy will represent the inertia of a passive mind; industry that of an active mind.

"It is curious to consider how we qualify ideas essentially the same, according to the words made use of to represent them. I might talk of mental inertia for a long time without attaching either blame or praise to it—without the chance even of doing so; but mention apathy and industry, and the mind simultaneously censures the one and commends the other. Yet the things are the same, both idleness and industry are habits, and habits result from inertia....

"Inertia has a sway as absolute in natural philosophy over moving bodies as over those at rest. It therefore does not retard motion or change, but is as frequently active in continuing that state as in opposing it. Now, is this the case with mental inertia?"

These passages from Faraday's early lectures serve to show us not only how he was attaining the art of expressing himself clearly, but how thoroughly he went into a subject on which he had once entered. It is not possible to follow in detail the work on which Faraday was engaged. We have seen him learning assiduously, and essaying to teach in the friendly circle of the Philosophical Society. His work during the next few years continued on very similar lines to those which we have been regarding. Year by year, about this time, his scientific writing increased—his work was increasing, his friends were increasing—he was beginning to be "somebody," though as yet but in a small world. He had commenced a correspondence with Professor G. de la Rive—the gentleman who at Geneva had been so struck by him when he was acting as Davy's travelling factotum—a correspondence which on the death of De la Rive was continued with his son, Professor Auguste de la Rive.

In 1821 Faraday married. Before, however, we treat of this important step in his life, let us glance at the journal which he kept of a walking tour he took in Wales during the summer of 1819. This journal gives us further evidence of the genuine enjoyment which he found in scenery and nature in her wilder and more impressive aspects; it also gives further evidence of his simple yet direct way of describing things, of that true descriptive power of which his Continental journal was often a good illustration. At five o'clock in the morning of July 10th, he mounted the top of the Regulator coach at the White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, and at ten o'clock of the same evening was set down at Bristol. Not at all a bad coach-ride for one day's journey. He afterwards visited Cardiff, and went over the Dowlais Ironworks at Merthyr; thence he and his companion wandered about at their own sweet will, unconfined by any artificial circumstances. They walked in that manner which adds so great a charm to a walking tour, never knowing one day whither they should bend their way on the next. The following is a delightful bit descriptive of a visit to the Fall of Scwd-yv-hÊn-rhyd, or Glentaree, formed by the descent of the River HÊn-rhyd.

"Monday, 19th.—Proceeding onward into Brecknockshire, we suddenly heard the roar of water where we least expected it, and came on the edge of a deep and woody dell. Entering among the trees, we scrambled onwards after our guide, tumbling and slipping, and jumping, and swinging down the steep sides of the dingle, sometimes in the path of a running torrent, sometimes in the projecting fragments of slate, and sometimes where no path or way at all was visible. The thorns opposed our passage, the boughs dashed the drops in our faces, and stones frequently slipped from beneath our feet into the chasm below, in places where the view fell uninterrupted by the perpendicular sides of the precipices. By the time we had reached the bottom of the dingle, our boots were completely soaked, and so slippery that no reliance could be placed on steps taken in them. We managed, however, very well, and were amply rewarded by the beauty of the fall which now came in view. Before us was a chasm enclosed by high perpendicular and water-worn rocks of slate, from the sides of which sprang a luxuriant vegetation of trees, bushes, and plants. In its bosom was a basin of water, into which fell from above a stream divided into minute drops from the resistance of its deep fall. Here and there lay trunks of trees which had been brought down by the torrent—striking marks of its power—and the rugged bed of shingles and rocky masses further heightened the idea other objects were calculated to give of the force it possessed when swelled by rains. We stepped across the river on a few tottering and slippery stones placed in its bed, and passing beneath the overhanging masses ran round on projecting points, until between the sheet of water and the rock over which it descended; and there we remained some time admiring the scene. Before us was the path of the torrent, after the fine leap which it made in this place; but the abundance of wood hid it ere it had proceeded many yards from the place where it fell. No path was discernible from hence, and we seemed to be enclosed on a spot from whence there was no exit, and where no cry for help could be heard because of the torrent-roar."

Yet another passage should be quoted from this journal; a passage descriptive of an ascent of Cader Idris during a thunder-storm. A thunder-storm was, all his life long, one of the most moving things to Faraday. It seemed always to quicken him into new life.

"Sunday, July 26th.—Ascent of Cader Idris. The thunder had gradually become more and more powerful, and now rain descended. The storm had commenced at the western extremity of the valley, and rising up Cader Idris traversed it in its length, and then passing over rapidly to the south-east, deluged the hills with rain. The waters descended in torrents from the very tops of the highest hills in places where they had never yet been observed, and a river which ran behind the house into the lake below rose momentarily, overflowing its banks, and extended many yards over the meadows. The storm then took another direction, passing over our heads to the spot in the west at which it had commenced, and having been very violent in its course, seemed there to be exhausted and to die away. The scene altogether was a very magnificent one—the lightning's vivid flash illuminated those parts which had been darkened by its humid habitation, and the thunder's roar seemed the agonies of the expiring clouds as they dissolved into rain; whilst the mountains in echoes mocked the sounds, and laughed at the fruitless efforts of the elements against them."

The journeying was continued on to Dolgelly and Llangollen; and then back again to London, and to work on in his old indefatigable manner. Sir Humphry Davy was in Italy in 1818-19, investigating the questions with regard to the unrolling of papyri recovered from the ruins of Herculaneum. In February, 1819, he wrote to Faraday saying, "I have sent a report on the state of the MSS. to our Government, with a plan for the undertaking of unrolling; one part of the plan is to employ a chemist for the purpose at Naples; should they consent, I hope I shall have to make a proposition to you on the subject." At the end of the same year Davy again wrote to his protÉgÉ in a similar strain, but nothing ever came of it. And delighted as Faraday would doubtless have been to re-visit Italy, he probably would not have undertaken the few months' work at Naples if it had meant, as it would doubtless have done, his severing his connection with the Royal Institution.

A much more important step was about to be taken by Faraday. He had a friend, also a member and elder of the Sandemanian Church, by name Barnard. Mr. Barnard was a silversmith who lived in Paternoster Row, and thither Faraday often went, attracted by the charms of Mr. Barnard's third daughter, Sarah. Faraday was at this time twenty-nine years of age, the lady who was to exercise so great an influence over his life was but twenty, and what is more she did not favour his advances. At last, in July, 1820, he wrote to her, and in a letter characterised by the depth no less than the warmth of his affection, begged at any rate to be heard. Such letters, intended for the eyes of but one person, are, as a rule, and it is well they should be, too sacred to be freely reproduced for all the world to read. The letters have, however, before been printed, and it may assist us in forming a correct picture of Michael Faraday—of the earnest, affectionate nature which was his—to re-peruse a passage such as this:—

"Again and again I attempt to say what I feel, but I cannot. Let me, however, claim not to be that selfish being that wishes to bend your 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."

Miss Barnard showed the letter from which this passage is quoted to her father, whose reply was merely to the effect that "love made philosophers into fools." Doubtful of her own decision on so momentous a question as this, involving the life-long happiness of two persons, Miss Barnard postponed making an immediate decision by accompanying a married sister to Ramsgate. Faraday made up his mind "to run all risks of a kind reception at Ramsgate." He went there, and after a week of delightful holiday-making, returned to London on August the 7th, having won the consent of her for whom he had evinced so strong a passion. Within twelve months (on June 12th, 1821), Michael Faraday and Sarah Barnard were married, and took up their residence in the Royal Institution. The union proved a perfect one, and a wedded life of nearly half-a-century's duration and of unclouded love was the result. From this time forward the kindliness, the affection, the love of home and of those persons forming "home," which had been earlier so marked in Faraday's letters to his mother, become even yet more marked in the letters written to his wife any time between his marriage and his death. Some of these we shall note as we come to treat of the period in which they were written.

The year 1820 was an important one to Faraday for other though less significant reasons: in it his first paper was read before the Royal Society, and he was also engaged with a Mr. Stodart, surgical instrument maker, in experimenting on alloys of steel with a view to improving its quality. For many years after, we are told, Faraday used to present his friends with razors made of a particular alloy discovered at this time. The paper embodying the results of these experiments in alloys was duly published in the Quarterly Journal of Science.

A description of our hero (for hero he was—one of our true "heroes of peace"), written by a friend about the time of his marriage, is interesting as assisting us to realise what manner of man he really was in the flesh. "A young-looking man of about thirty years of age, well made, and neat in his dress, his cheerfulness of disposition often breaking out in a short crisp laugh, but thoughtful enough when something important is to be done."

We find Faraday now a young man of thirty, happily married, with a large circle of friends who are finding in him something of that genius which year by year henceforward was to manifest itself; we find him not only gaining the goodwill of these friends for his talents, but gaining their affectionate regard by his unselfishness and unremitting good nature. After their marriage in June, 1821, Mr. and Mrs. Faraday took up their residence in the Institution, where they continued to live for close upon forty years. Although fortune seemed thus to be smiling upon Michael Faraday it must not be supposed that his position at the Royal Institution was a highly remunerative one, his position was yet nominally that of laboratory assistant, and the return which he received for his services was a salary of one hundred pounds per annum, a suite of rooms, and coal and gas.

One month after his marriage Faraday made his confession of sin and profession of faith before the Sandemanian Church. It is characteristic of his whole attitude towards religion, and the great and serious regard which it demands from every individual, that when his wife asked him why he had not told her what he was about to do, he simply yet earnestly answered, "That is between me and my God." Truth in all things was what he aimed at, and his whole life may be said to be a seeking after truth in the various branches of knowledge; to half know a thing was never sufficient for him, he could not rest there; he must test its truth, and either cast it away, having proved it worthless, or accept it with delight, having proved its truth. This is evidenced in all his life-work, in his social intercourse no less than in his scientific work, in his letters and journals no less than in his lectures and published papers.

A circumstantial account has appeared in some of the newspapers of Faraday's secession from the Sandemanian Church, and his penitent return to it. Not having seen any reference to such a secession in the biographies of Faraday I wrote to Miss Barnard, who in the following note, most emphatically denies the truth of the story:—"Faraday never seceded from the Church of which he became a member early in life (1821). It is true that for a few weeks in 1844 there was a cessation of his communion with this Church, but the reasons for this were absolutely private, and had nothing to do with any conflict in his mind between his faith in the Scriptures and his scientific work. The statement is altogether without foundation, and neither the scene described nor anything like it ever took place.

"10 Aug., 1891.Jane Barnard."