At various periods of Faraday's life his genial good-nature and kindliness have been brought home to us in different ways. From that early time when he used to take care of his little sister Margaret in Manchester Square, up to the very latest course of Juvenile Lectures which he delivered at the Royal Institution in 1863, he had always the same love for young people; and, as is usual with persons of such a disposition, he was ever a great favourite of the children, whether of those who used to hear his Christmas lectures, or with those happier ones who met him more intimately. Intimate seems perhaps a curious word to use with regard to the relations of young children and an old man; but yet it is the only word that really expresses what is meant; that really indicates that instant bond of sympathy that seems to connect children with men and women who possess the power of attracting and delighting them by becoming from the first as one of themselves. This quality, this delightful quality, belonged to Michael Faraday in an eminent degree.

Fortunate indeed were those children who listened to his Christmas Lectures to Juveniles, and fortunate also were those older people who were present on the same occasions. Many people who enjoyed the pleasure and privilege of hearing him at such a time recorded their impressions, and pleasant reading is the result. Lady Pollock, for instance, wrote: "When 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, 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. He was not at all a man for evening parties; he was nothing of a ladies' man; but he was the true man for the juveniles, and would go to see a domestic charade when the boys acted in it, and suddenly appear behind the scene to offer a little help or suggest a new arrangement; and then, while he was in front, he would laugh and applaud so loudly, that his presence was the best encouragement which the young performers could have. Or he would help the young people to wonder at the feats of a conjuror, or he would join in a round game, and romp quite noisily. But all was done with a natural impulse. There was no assumption of kindness, no air of condescension."

Another writer, who had the rare privilege of meeting the great man socially, said: "Nothing indeed pleased him better than to be a boy again, and to mingle in the sports of the young, especially if they took a turn congenial at all to his own pursuits. He has been known to join a youthful party on a November evening to assist in a display of fireworks. There he might be seen running to and fro in a garden at night, with his pockets crammed with combustibles—now kindling lycopodium or burning potassium—then letting off blue fires, green fires, purple fires—sometimes dropping ignited crackers at the feet of the boys with an air of affected astonishment, or probably chasing the girls in order to streak their cheeks with phosphorus."

As a lecturer to children Faraday was indeed particularly successful and especially interesting. His first course of Christmas Juvenile Lectures was given in 1827—his last, on "The Chemical History of a Candle," was given in 1863, and during that time he gave in all nineteen of these courses. The first consisted of six lectures on chemistry, and the first lecture of the course was illustrated with no fewer than eighty-six experiments, which were, it is scarcely necessary to say, carried out on the platform. In his note-book Faraday made the following entry with regard to this course, "The six juvenile lectures 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."

One secret of Faraday's success as a lecturer, both to juveniles and others, was the carefulness with which he always tried to ascertain what was the best method. In early years he would have a friend (Magrath, or some other) among the audience, who was to tell him afterwards of any peculiarities, either of manner or style, that wanted correcting; and Miss Reid tells us that in the early years of the Juvenile Lectures her uncle used to encourage her to tell him everything that struck her; and, when she did not fully understand him, where her difficulties lay. He would then enlarge upon those points in the next lecture, and thus he made a child's remark serve him in making things clear to children. He used also, at first, to have a card, on which was distinctly written the word Slow, before him; and if he forgot it and became rapid, his assistant Anderson had orders to place it before him. Sometimes also when his lecture hour was nearly expired, he would arrange to have a card with the word Time on it, placed within his view.

One of his early courses for children treated of that subject which always possessed a great fascination for him, and in which he did much of his greatest work—electricity. The slight notes which he made for the first lecture of this course are interesting. "An extraordinary power that I have to explain; not fear boldly entering into its consideration, because I think it ought to be understood by children—not minutely, but so as to think reasonably about it, and such effects as children can produce, or observe to take place in nature—simple instances of its power." This first lecture was illustrated by eighty experiments.

We have dwelt upon his kindliness and sympathy with children; but, it may be noted, he had none of his own, though from almost the earliest year of his married life he always liked to have one or other of his nieces with him. His love for children is well shown in an anecdote which Dr. Gladstone tells of his later life. He was at a soirÉe at the house of Mr. Justice Grove; the eldest daughter having heard him express himself disappointed at being too late to see any of the younger members of the family, brought down the little ones in their nightgowns to the foot of the stairs, when Faraday showed how gratified he was by saying to her, "Ah! that's the best thing you've done to-night."

Sometimes he would indulge in some slight practical jokes with the young people. For instance, a nephew visiting him in his study one morning, Faraday said to him, "Why, Frank, what a tall boy you are growing; you can almost touch that brass ball—just try." Nothing loth, the boy standing on tiptoe reached up and touched the ball with his fingers, when his playful uncle gave a turn to a wheel and the boy received a slight shock, and with it a first, and somewhat unexpected, lesson on the nature of electricity.

The Prince Consort was a constant patron of the Royal Institution, and the young princes also were present at many of the Juvenile Lectures. After attending such a course H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, then a lad of fifteen, and his brother, H.R.H. Prince Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, wrote from Windsor Castle the following letters to Professor Faraday:—

"Dear Sir,—I am anxious to thank you for the advantage I have derived from attending your most interesting lectures. Their subject, I know very well, is of great importance, and I hope to follow the advice you gave us of pursuing it beyond the lecture-room; and I can assure you that I shall always cherish with great pleasure the recollection of having been assisted in my early studies in chemistry by so distinguished a man.

"Believe me, dear Sir, yours truly,

"Albert Edward."

Prince Alfred's letter was as follows:—

"Dear Sir,—I write to thank you very much for the pleasure you have given me by your lectures, and I cannot help hoping they will not be the last I shall hear from you. Their subject was very interesting, and your clear explanations made it doubly so.

"Believe me, dear Sir, yours truly,

"Alfred."

It is interesting to learn Faraday's own views with regard to popular lectures, for never yet was there a truly scientific lecturer who was more truly popular; perhaps, indeed, there is no other single man who, without in any degree lowering his work for the purpose, succeeded so well in popularising scientific knowledge. These are his own words on the subject: "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." His own success as a lecturer was owing largely to the power he had of adapting himself to all minds, from the deepest thinkers to the liveliest youth; this power gave him a "wide range of influence, and his sympathy with the young among his listeners imparted more life and colour to his discourses than they might otherwise have possessed. 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."

"He was," to quote once more from Lady Pollock's recollections of the illustrious lecturer, "completely master of the situation; he had his audience at his command, as he had himself and all his belongings; he had nothing to fret him, and he could give his eloquence full sway. It was an irresistible eloquence, which compelled attention and insisted upon sympathy. It waked the young from their visions and the old from their dreams. There was a gleaming in his eye which no painter could copy, and which no poet could describe.... His enthusiasm sometimes carried him to the point of ecstasy when he expatiated on the beauty of nature, and when he lifted the veil from her deep mysteries. His body then took motion from his mind; his hair streamed out from his head, his hands were full of nervous action, his light, lithe body seemed to quiver with its eager life. His audience took fire with him, and every face was flushed.... A pleasant vein of humour accompanied his ardent imagination, and occasionally, not too often, relieved the tension of thought imposed upon his pupils. He would play with his subject now and then, but very delicately; his sport was only just enough to enliven the effort of 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." As he once remarked in giving advice to a young lecturer: "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."

It is of interest here—after seeing how Faraday as a lecturer impressed others—to note some of the remarks which he made on the subject of lectures, lecturers, and lecturing in his early correspondence with his friend, Benjamin Abbott. Several long letters on this matter passed between the friends, and Faraday (he was twenty-one at the time) not only speaks in a discriminating manner with regard to lectures, but he also treats with his native good sense of lecture rooms, apparatus, etc. All his remarks, he says in his earliest letter to Abbott on the subject, are the result of his own personal observation. The most necessary quality for a lecturer, says the youthful Faraday, is a good delivery; he then dwells upon the necessity of illustrating a lecture with experiments wherever possible. (How well he carried this rule into practice has been seen in an earlier part of this chapter, where we learned of some of his Juvenile Lectures being illustrated by upwards of eighty experiments.) "A lecturer," he goes on to say, "should appear easy and collected, undaunted and unconcerned,[10] his thoughts about him, and his mind clear and free for the contemplation and description of his subject." He then says, and we instantly think of the "time" card he had placed before him later, "I disapprove of long lectures; one hour is long enough for anyone, nor should they be allowed to exceed that time."

The last of this series of letters on lectures commences in a style of genial banter, which, as it illustrates the lighter side of Faraday's character, merits quotation. "Dear Abbott," he writes, "As when on some secluded branch in forest far and wide sits perched an owl, who, full of self-conceit and self-created wisdom, explains, comments, condemns, ordains, and orders things not understood, yet full of his importance still holds forth to stocks and stones around—so sits and scribbles Mike; so he declaims to walls, stones, tables, chairs, hats, books, pens, shoes, and all the things inert that be around him, and so he will to the end of the chapter."

This playful mood comes out, also, in one or two anecdotes which are told of him, when his fame was established. For instance, an old lady friend being much troubled by some rancid butter, thought that she had hit upon a method of improving it, which she did by mixing with it a quantity of soda, she having a somewhat high opinion of the purifying virtues of that alkali, although, it is to be presumed, she little suspected the uses to which it was applied in the manufactures. By this addition of soda, she triumphantly claimed that her butter "was greatly improved." One evening, when Professor Faraday called upon her, the old lady produced a sample of her "improved" butter. A merry laugh rang out from the philosopher's lips as he exclaimed, "Well done, Mrs. W., you have improved your bad butter into very indifferent soap!"

Good-humoured and good-natured as Faraday habitually was, he did not like to be worried unnecessarily over unimportant matters; and willing as he was to place even his invaluable time at the disposal of almost anyone who claimed his attention, he had no patience with persons who came to him thoughtlessly, as the following story shows: A young man called on him one morning, and with an air of great importance confided to him the result of some original researches in electrical philosophy. "And pray," asked the professor, taking down a volume of Ree's Cyclopoedia, "did you consult this, or any elementary work, to learn whether your discovery had been anticipated?" The young man replied in the negative. "Then why do you come to waste my time about well-known facts that were published forty years ago?" "Sir," said the visitor in self-excuse, and hoping to flatter the philosopher, "I thought I had better bring the matter to headquarters immediately." "All very well for you, but not so well for headquarters," replied the professor sharply, and he forthwith set his visitor to read the article in the Cyclopoedia.

Yet another story is told of a grave old gentleman who once waited upon Faraday that he might show to him "a new law of physics." The gentleman asked for a jug of water and a tumbler; they were brought, and he then produced a cork. "You will be pleased to observe," he then said, "how persistently this cork clings to the side of the glass when the vessel is half-filled."

"Just so," replied the professor.

"But now," continued the discoverer of a new law of physics, "mark what happens when I fill the glass to the brim. There! you see the cork flies to the centre—positively repelled by the sides!"

"Precisely so," answered Faraday in an amused tone, which showed that the "new law" was more familiar to him than to his visitor, who, somewhat abashed, said, "Pray, how long have you known this?" "Oh, ever since I was a boy," was the reply; but the innate kindliness of his nature must show itself even in such a case, for, seeing the old gentleman's disappointed look, he added that he was not to be grieved, he might possibly some day alight upon something really new.

The last course of Faraday's Juvenile Lectures—on "The Chemical History of a Candle"—has been referred to once or twice. These lectures are indeed of very great interest, not only in themselves as chemical illustrations, but as being part of Professor Faraday's best known works, and the only juvenile lectures of his which are obtainable in the form of a book. The way in which he introduced his subject will show us how simple, and yet how explicit he was in explaining to his young audience the phenomena which he brought before them.

"I purpose," he said, to quote the beginning of the initial lecture of the series of six, "in return for the honour you do us by coming to see what are our proceedings here, to bring before you in the course of these lectures, the chemical history of a candle. I have taken this subject on a former occasion, and were it left to my own will, I should prefer to repeat it almost every year—so abundant is the interest that attaches itself to the subject, so wonderful are the varieties of outlet which it offers into the various departments of philosophy. There is not a law under which any part of this universe is governed which does not come into play, and is touched upon in these phenomena. There is no better, there is no more open door by which you can enter into the study of natural philosophy, than by considering the physical phenomena of a candle. I trust, therefore, I shall not disappoint you in choosing this for my subject rather than any newer topic, which could not be better, were it even so good.

"And before proceeding, let me say this also—that though our subject be so great, and our intention that of treating it honestly, seriously, and philosophically, yet I mean to pass away from all those who are seniors amongst us. I claim the privilege of speaking to juveniles as a juvenile myself. I have done so on former occasions—and, if you please, I shall do so again. And though I stand here with the knowledge of having the words I utter given to the world, yet that shall not deter me from speaking in the same familiar way to those whom I esteem nearest to me on this occasion.

"And now, my boys and girls, I must first tell you of what candles are made. Some are great curiosities. I have here some bits of timber, branches of trees particularly famous for their burning. And here you see a piece of that very curious substance taken out of some of the bogs in Ireland, called candlewood—a hard, strong, excellent wood, evidently fitted for good work as a resister of force, and yet withal burning so well that where it is found they make splinters of it, and torches, since it burns like a candle, and gives a very good light indeed. And in this wood we have one of the most beautiful illustrations of the general nature of a candle that I can possibly give. The fuel provided, the means of bringing that fuel to the place of chemical action, the regular and gradual supply of air to that place of action—heat and light—all produced by a little piece of wood of this kind, forming, in fact, a natural candle.

"But we must speak of candles as they are in commerce. Here are a couple of candles commonly called dips. They are made of lengths of cotton cut off, hung up by a loop, dipped into melted tallow, taken out again and cooled, then re-dipped until there is an accumulation of tallow round the cotton. In order that you may have an idea of the various characters of these candles, you see these which I hold in my hand—they are very small and very curious. They are, or were, the candles used by miners in coal mines. In olden times the miner had to find his own candles; and it was supposed that a small candle would not so soon set fire to the fire-damp in the coal mines as a larger one; and for that reason, as well as for economy's sake, he made candles of this sort—twenty, thirty, forty, or sixty to the pound. They have been replaced since then by the steel-mill, and then by the Davy lamp, and other safety lamps of various kinds. I have here a candle that was taken out of the Royal George, it is said, by Colonel Pasley. It has been sunk in the sea for many years, subject to the action of salt water. It shows you how well candles may be preserved; for though it is cracked about and broken a good deal, yet, when lighted, it goes on burning regularly, and the tallow resumes its natural condition as soon as it is fused."

We have not space to quote further from these delightful lectures, which however, as I have said earlier, can be got in a little volume by themselves. These lectures were, as indeed were most of Faraday's lectures, beautifully illustrated with a large number of experiments.

On one occasion, when suffering much in health, Faraday yet insisted upon taking his place at the lecture table at the Royal Institution; for an obstruction of voice, which was indeed too painfully apparent, he apologised, saying that "in an engagement where the contracting parties were one and many, the one ought not on any slight ground to break his part of the engagement with the many, and therefore, if the audience would excuse his imperfect utterance he would proceed." The audience murmured, and there were cries of "Put off the lecture;" but Faraday begged to be allowed to go on. A medical man rose and said it would in his opinion be dangerous for the Professor to proceed. Faraday still urged his desire to go on with the lecture; he could not give people all the trouble of coming there, having perhaps put off other engagements, for nothing. On this, as by a single impulse, the whole audience rose, and Faraday yielded to the generally expressed desire to spare him the pain and inconvenience of lecturing. After a fortnight's rest he reappeared, and continued the broken course, carrying it on later that his audience should not lose any of the eight lectures which they had anticipated. It was on a reappearance such as this after illness that "as soon as his presence was recognised, the whole audience rose simultaneously, and burst into a spontaneous utterance of welcome, loud and long."