CHAPTER I.

Transcriber's note:

This book was published in two volumes, of which this is the first.

The second volume was released as Project Gutenberg ebook #45395,

available at http:www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45395. Italic text has

been marked with _underscores_. Please see the end of this Project

for further notes.

[Illustration]

Sir Thos. Lawrence pinxt. W. H. Worthington sculpt.

H. Davy

Engraved by permission of the Council of

the Royal Society from the original painting.

London, Published by Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley 1831.

THE LIFE

OF

SIR HUMPHRY DAVY,

BART. LL.D.

LATE PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY, FOREIGN ASSOCIATE

OF THE ROYAL INSTITUTE OF FRANCE,

&c. &c. &c.

BY

JOHN AYRTON PARIS, M.D. CANTAB. F.R.S. &C.

FELLOW OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

LONDON:

HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY,

NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

MDCCCXXXI.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,

Dorset-street, Fleet-street.

TO

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS

PRINCE AUGUSTUS FREDERICK,

DUKE OF SUSSEX, K.G. D.C.L.

_&c. &c. &c._

PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY;

THESE MEMOIRS OF A PHILOSOPHER

WHOSE SPLENDID DISCOVERIES

ILLUMINED THE AGE IN WHICH HE LIVED,

ADORNED THE COUNTRY WHICH GAVE HIM BIRTH,

AND OBTAINED FROM FOREIGN AND HOSTILE NATIONS

THE HOMAGE OF ADMIRATION AND

THE MEED OF GRATITUDE,

ARE,

BY THE GRACIOUS PERMISSION OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS,

DEDICATED WITH SENTIMENTS OF PROFOUND RESPECT,

BY

THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE.

The reflecting portion of mankind has ever felt desirous of

becoming acquainted with the origin, progress, habits, and

peculiarities of those whom the powers of genius may have raised

above the plane of intellectual equality; but neither the nature of

the information, nor the extent of the detail that may be necessary

to satisfy so laudable a curiosity, can ever be estimated by any

common standard, since it is not in our nature to contemplate an

object of admiration, but with reference to our own predilections

and sympathies; and hence every reader will form a scale for

himself, according to the degree of interest he may feel for the

particular character under review. The Poetical enthusiast, who

could not sufficiently express his gratitude on being told that

Milton wore shoe-buckles, would very probably not have given

'four farthings,' as Gray says, to know that the shoes of Davy

were tanned by catechu; and yet if the relative value of this

information were fairly estimated, it must be admitted that the

former is a matter of barren curiosity, the latter, a fact of some

practical utility. In a word, we very naturally connect the man

with his works, and we care not to extend our acquaintance with the

one, but in proportion as we have derived pleasure from the other.

In like manner, very different estimates will be formed of the

degree of praise due to a distinguished philosopher, because the

few who are deeply imbued with a knowledge of the science he may

have adorned and enlightened must not only appreciate the value

of his labours, but understand the difficulties which opposed

the accomplishment of them, before they can arrive at a sound

decision upon the question: and here again the judgment of the

most scientific may be unfortunately warped; it may be corrupted

by secret passions or sinister influences; be distorted by the

prejudices of education and habit, or unduly biassed by invincible

prepossessions.

No man ever soared, like an eagle, to the pinnacle of fame,

without exciting the envy and perhaps the hatred of those who

could only crawl up half-way; while, on the other hand, where

no rivalry can exist, the splendour of such an ascent will

captivate the bystander, and by exciting intemperate triumph and

unqualified admiration, change without diminishing the sources of

erroneous judgment, and substitute adulation for calumny. Under

such circumstances, an allusion even to the common frailties of

genius becomes offensive; the biographer is called upon for the

delineation of a perfect man; but the world is satisfied with

nothing short of 'a faultless monster;' and yet, while they would

impose upon him the same restraint as Queen Elizabeth laid upon

her artist--to execute a portrait without a single shadow, they

little imagine how completely they obscure the features of their

idol, by the haze of incense in which they continually envelope

it. These are evils against which a future historian will not have

to contend; for time tries the characters of men, as the furnace

assays the quality of metals, by disengaging the impurities,

dissipating the superficial irridescence, and leaving the sterling

gold bright and pure.

Nor can the extent of our obligations to a philosopher be

appreciated until time shall have shown the various important

purposes to which his discoveries may administer. The names of

Mayow and Hales might have been lost in the stream of discovery,

had not the results of Priestley and Lavoisier shown the value

and importance of their statical experiments on the chemical

relations of air to other substances. The discoveries of Dr. Black

on the subject of _latent_ heat could never have obtained that

celebrity they now enjoy, had not Mr. Watt availed himself of their

application for the improvement of the steam-engine; and the views

of Sir H. Davy respecting the true nature of chlorine become daily

more important from the discovery of new elements of an analogous

nature. In future ages, the metals of the alkalies and earths may

admit of applications, and open new avenues of knowledge, of which

at present we can form no idea; but it is obvious that, in the

page of history, his name will gather fame in proportion as such

discoveries unfold themselves.

It must be admitted, that such considerations may furnish

an argument against the propriety of writing the life of a

contemporaneous philosopher; and yet I will never admit, with Mr.

Babbage, that "the volume of his biography should be sealed, until

the warm feelings of surviving kindred and admiring friends shall

be cold as the grave, from which remembrance vainly recalls his

cherished form, invested with all the life and energy of recent

existence."

Is it not possible that the errors of partiality, which have

so frequently been charged upon the writer on these occasions,

may often be ascribed, with greater truth and justice, to the

prejudices of the reader--that, after all, the distortion might

not have existed in the portrait itself, but in the optics of the

observer? Such an opinion, however, even were it true, carries

along with it no consolation to the biographer; for I know of no

method by which the picture can be adapted to the focus of every

eye.

If, however, contemporaneous biography has its difficulties and

impediments, so has it also its advantages. Dr. Johnson has

remarked, in his Life of Addison, that "History may be formed from

permanent monuments and records; but Lives can only be written

from personal knowledge, which is growing every day less, and in a

short time is lost for ever. The delicate features of the mind, the

nice discriminations of character, and the minute peculiarities of

conduct, are soon obliterated."

I did not enter upon this arduous and delicate task, without

a distinct conception of the various difficulties which would

necessarily oppose its accomplishment. I well knew that

the biographer of Davy must hold himself prepared for the

dissatisfaction of one party at the commendations he might bestow,

and for the displeasure of the other at the penury of his praise,

or the asperity of his criticism.

After great labour and much anxiety, I have at length completed the

work; and in giving it to the world, I shall apply to myself the

words of Swift--"I have the ambition to wish, at least, that both

parties may think me in the right; but if that is not to be hoped

for, my next wish should be, that both might think me in the wrong,

which I would understand as an ample justification of myself, and

a sure ground to believe that I have proceeded, at least, with

impartiality, and perhaps even with truth."

It is certainly due to myself, and perhaps to the world, to

state the circumstances by which I was induced to undertake a

work requiring for its completion a freedom from anxiety, and an

extent of research, scarcely compatible with the occupations of

a laborious profession; and which, I may add, has been wholly

composed during night, in hours stolen from sleep. Very shortly

after the death of Sir Humphry Davy, an account of his life,

written by no friendly hand, nor 'honest chronicler,' was submitted

for my judgment by a Journalist who had intended to insert it in

his paper. At my request, it was committed to the flames; but

not until I had promised to supply the loss by another memoir.

The sketches by which I redeemed this pledge were published in a

weekly journal--THE SPECTATOR; and they have since been copied into

various other works, sometimes with, but frequently without any

acknowledgment. They constitute the greater part of the Life which

was printed in the Annual Obituary for 1829; and they form the

introduction to an edition of his "Last Days," lately published in

America.

I was soon recognised as the writer of these Sketches; and the

leading publishers of the day urged me to undertake a more extended

work. To these solicitations I returned a direct refusal: I even

declined entering upon any conversation on the occasion; feeling

that the wishes of Lady Davy, at that time on the Continent, ought

in the very first instance to be consulted on the subject. Had not

the common courtesy of society required such a mark of attention,

the wish expressed by Sir Humphry in his Will would have rendered

it an imperative duty. On her arrival in London, in consequence

of a letter she had addressed to Mr. Murray, I requested an

interview with her Ladyship, from whom I received not only an

unqualified permission to become the biographer of her illustrious

husband, but also the several documents which are published with

acknowledgement in these memoirs. I still felt that Dr. Davy might

desire to accomplish the task of recording the scientific services

of his distinguished brother; and, had that been the case, I should

most undoubtedly have retired without the least hesitation or

reluctance; but I was assured by those who were best calculated to

form an opinion upon this point,--for he was himself absent from

England,--that motives of delicacy which it was easy to appreciate,

would at once lead him to decline an undertaking embarrassed with

so many personal considerations. The task, however, of collating

the various works of Sir H. Davy, and of enriching them by notes

derived from his own knowledge of the circumstances under which

they were written, I do hope will be accomplished by one who is so

well calculated to heighten the interest, and to increase the value

of labours of such infinite importance to science, and to the best

interests of mankind.

The engraving which adorns the volume is from a painting by Sir

Thomas Lawrence, presented to the Royal Society by Lady Davy; and

I beg the Council of that learned body to accept my thanks for the

permission they so readily granted for its being engraved. It is

one of the happiest efforts of the distinguished Artist, and is

the only portrait I have seen in which his features are happily

animated with the expression of the poet, and whose eye is bent to

pursue the flights of his imagination through unexplored regions.

I must also embrace this opportunity of publicly expressing my

thanks to the Managers of the Royal Institution, who, in the most

handsome manner, immediately complied with my request to inspect

their Journals, and to make such extracts from them, as I might

consider necessary for the completion of my memoirs.

To Mr. Davies Gilbert, I am under obligations which it is difficult

for me to acknowledge in adequate terms, not only for the value of

the materials with which he has furnished me, but for the kindness

and urbanity with which they were communicated, and for the ready

and powerful assistance which I have so constantly received from

him during the progress of the work.

To the other enlightened individuals from whom I have received

support, I have acknowledged my obligations in the body of the

work; and should I have inadvertently passed over any service

without a becoming notice, I trust the extent of the labour and

the circumstances under which it has been performed, will plead my

apology.

Dover Street, January 1, 1831.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

Birth and family of Sir H. Davy.--Davy placed at a preparatory

school.--His peculiarities when a boy.--Anecdotes.--He is admitted

into the grammar-school at Penzance.--Finishes his education

under Dr. Cardew at Truro.--Death of his father.--He is apprenticed

by his mother to Mr. John Bingham Borlase, a surgeon

and apothecary.--He enters upon the study of Chemistry, and devotes

more time to Philosophy than to Physic.--The influence of

early impressions illustrated.--His poetical talent.--Specimens of

his versification.--An Epic Poem composed by him at the age of

twelve years.--His first original experiment in chemistry.--He

conceives a new theory of heat and light.--His ingenious experiment

to demonstrate its truth.--He becomes known to Mr. Davies

Gilbert, the founder of his future fortunes.--Mr. Gregory Watt

arrives at Penzance, and lodges in the house of Mrs. Davy.--The

visit of Dr. Beddoes and Professor Hailstone to Cornwall.--The

correspondence between Dr. Beddoes and Mr. Davies Gilbert, relative

to the Pneumatic Institution at Bristol, and the proposed appointment

of Davy.--His final departure from his native town Page 1

CHAPTER II.

Cursory thoughts on the advantages of Biography.--Plan and

objects of the Pneumatic Institution.--Davy contracts friendships

during his residence at Bristol.--His first visit to London.--His

Letters to Mr. Davies Gilbert.--The publication of the West Country

Contributions, by Dr. Beddoes.--Davy's Essays on Heat, Light,

and Respiration.--His interesting experiments on bonnet canes.--He

commences an enquiry into the nature of nitrous oxyd.--He

publishes his chemical researches.--A critical examination of the

work.--Testimony of Tobin, Clayfield, Southey, and others, respecting

the powers of nitrous oxyd.--Davy breathes carburetted

hydrogen gas, and nearly perishes from its effects.--His new Galvanic

experiments communicated in a Letter to Mr. Gilbert 56

CHAPTER III.

Count Rumford negotiates with Mr. Underwood on the subject of Davy's

appointment to the Royal Institution.--Terms of his engagement

communicated in a letter to Mr. Gilbert.--Davy arrives, and takes

possession of his apartments.--He receives various

mortifications.--He is elected a member of the Tepidarian

Society.--Is appointed Lecturer instead of assistant.--He makes a

tour in Cornwall with Mr. Underwood.--Anecdotes.--His Poem on

Spinosism.--His letter to Mr. Gilbert, communicating a galvanic

discovery.--He commences his first grand course of lectures.--His

brilliant success.--A letter from Mr. Purkis.--Davy's style

criticised.--His extraordinary method of experimenting.--Davy and

Wollaston compared as experimentalists.--The style of Davy as a

lecturer and a writer contrasted 114

CHAPTER IV.

Davy makes a tour with Mr. Purkis through Wales.--Beautiful

phenomenon observed from the summit of Arran Benllyn.--Letter

to Mr. Gilbert.--Journal of the Institution.--Davy's papers on

Eudiometry, and other subjects.--His first communication to the

Royal Society, on a new galvanic pile.--He is proposed as a Fellow,

and elected into the Society.--His paper on astringent vegetable

substances, and on their operation in tanning leather.--His

letter to Mr. Poole.--He is appointed Chemical Lecturer to the

Board of Agriculture.--He forms friendships with the Duke of

Bedford, Mr. Coke, and many other celebrated agriculturists.--Attends

the sheep-shearing at Holkham and Woburn.--Composes

a Prologue to "The Honey-Moon" 150

CHAPTER V.

Sir Thomas Bernard allots Davy a piece of ground for Agricultural

Experiments.--History of the Origin of the Royal Institution.--Its

early labours.--Davy's Letters to Mr. Gilbert and to Mr.

Poole.--Death of Mr. Gregory Watt.--Davy's Passion for Fishing,

with Anecdotes.--He makes a Tour in Ireland: his Letters on

the subject.--His Paper on the Analysis of the Wavellite.--His

Memoirs on a new method of analysing Minerals which contain a

fixed Alkali.--Reflections on the discovery of Galvanic

Electricity 188

CHAPTER VI.

The History of Galvanism divided into six grand Epochs.--Davy

extends the experiment of Nicholson and Carlisle.--His Pile of one

metal and two fluids.--Dr. Wollaston advocates the doctrine of

oxidation being the primary cause of Voltaic Phenomena.--Davy's

modification of that theory.--His Bakerian Lecture of 1806.--He

discovers the sources of the acid and alkaline matter eliminated

from water by Voltaic action.--On the nature of Electrical

decomposition and transfer.--On the relations between the Electrical

energies of bodies, and their Chemical affinities.--General

developement of the Electro-chemical Laws.--Illustrations,

Applications, and Conclusions 216

CHAPTER VII.

The unfair rivalry of Philosophers.--Bonaparte the Patron of

Science--He liberates Dolomieu.--He founds a Prize for the

encouragement of Electric researches.--His letter to the Minister of

the Interior.--Proceedings of the Institute.--The Prize is conferred

on Davy.--The Bakerian Lecture of 1807.--The Decomposition of

the Fixed Alkalies--Potassium--Sodium.--The Questions to which

the discovery gave rise.--Interesting Extracts from the Manuscript

notes of the Laboratory.--Potash decomposed by a chemical

process.--Letters to Children, and Pepys.--The true nature

of Potash discovered.--Whether Ammonia contains oxygen.--Davy's

severe Illness.--He recovers and resumes his labours.--His

Fishing Costume.--He decomposes the Earths.--Important views

to which the discovery has led 253

CHAPTER VIII.

Davy's Bakerian Lecture of 1808.--Results obtained from the

mutual action of Potassium and Ammonia upon each other.--His

belief that he had decomposed Nitrogen.--He discovers Telluretted

Hydrogen.--Whether Sulphur, Phosphorus, and Carbon may not

contain Hydrogen.--He decomposes Boracic acid.--Boron.--His

fallacies with regard to the composition of Muriatic acid.--A

splendid Voltaic battery is constructed at the Institution by

subscription.--Davy ascertains the true nature of the Muriatic and

Oxymuriatic Acids.--Important chemical analogies to which the

discovery gave origin.--Euchlorine.--Chlorides.--He delivers

Lectures before the Dublin Society.--He receives the Honorary Degree

of LL.D. from the Provost and Fellows of Trinity College.--He

undertakes to ventilate the House of Lords.--The Regent confers upon

him the honour of Knighthood.--He delivers his farewell

Lecture.--Engages in a Gunpowder manufactory.--His marriage 307

CHAPTER IX.

Davy's "Elements of Chemical Philosophy" examined.--His

Memoir on some combinations of Phosphorus and Sulphur, &c.--He

discovers Hydro-phosphoric gas.--Important Illustrations of

the Theory of Definite Proportionals.--Bodies precipitated from

water are Hydrats.--His letter to Sir Joseph Banks on a new

detonating compound.--He is injured in the eye by its explosion.--His

second letter on the subject.--His paper on the Substances

produced in different Chemical processes on Fluor Spar.--His

work on Agricultural Chemistry 358

Octr. 19{th}

When Potash was introduced into a tube having a platina wire

attached to it so & fixed into the tube so as to be a conductor

ie. so as to contain just water enough though solid--& inserted

over mercury, when the Platina was made neg--No gas was formed

& the mercury became oxydated--& a small quantity of the

athalyer was produced around the plat: wire as was evident from

its gassy alteration by the action of water

--When the mercury was made the neg: gas was developed in great

quantities from the pos: wire, & some from the neg mercury & this

gas proved to be pure? _oxygene_ Capil Expr.--

proving the decompr of _Potash_

London, Published by Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley 1831

[Illustration]

THE LIFE

OF

SIR HUMPHRY DAVY,

BART. &c. &c.

CHAPTER I.

Birth and family of Sir H. Davy.--Davy placed at a preparatory

school.--His peculiarities when a boy.--Anecdotes.--He is

admitted into the grammar-school at Penzance.--Finishes his

education under Dr. Cardew at Truro.--Death of his father.--He

is apprenticed by his mother to Mr. John Bingham Borlase, a

surgeon and apothecary.--He enters upon the study of Chemistry,

and devotes more time to Philosophy than to Physic.--The

influence of early impressions illustrated.--His poetical

talent.--Specimens of his versification.--An Epic Poem composed

by him at the age of twelve years.--His first original

experiment in chemistry.--He conceives a new theory of heat and

light.--His ingenious experiment to demonstrate its truth.--He

becomes known to Mr. Davies Gilbert, the founder of his future

fortunes.--Mr. Gregory Watt arrives at Penzance, and lodges in

the house of Mrs. Davy.--The visit of Dr. Beddoes and Professor

Hailstone to Cornwall.--The correspondence between Dr. Beddoes

and Mr. Davies Gilbert, relative to the Pneumatic Institution

at Bristol, and the proposed appointment of Davy.--His final

departure from his native town.

Humphry Davy was born at Penzance, in Cornwall, on the 17th of

December 1778.[1] His ancestors had long possessed a small estate

at Varfell, in the parish of Ludgvan, in the Mount's Bay, on which

they resided: this appears from tablets in the church, one of

which bears a date as far back as 1635. We are, however, unable to

ascend higher in the pedigree than to his paternal grandfather, who

seems to have been a builder of considerable repute in the west of

Cornwall, and is said to have planned and erected the mansion of

_Trelissick_, near Truro, at present the property and residence of

Thomas Daniel, Esq.

[1] I have been favoured by the Rev. C. Val. Le Grice, of

Trereiffe, with the following extract from the Parish Register,

kept at Madron:--"Humphry Davy, son of Robert Davy, baptized at

Penzance, January 22, 1779." The house in which he was born has

been pulled down and lately rebuilt.

His son, the parent of the illustrious subject of our history,

was sent to London, and apprenticed to a carver in wood, but, on

the death of his father, who, although originally a younger son,

had latterly become the representative of the family, he found

himself in the possession of a patrimony amply competent for the

supply of his limited desires, and therefore pursued his art rather

as an object of amusement than one of necessity: in the town and

neighbourhood of Penzance, however, there remain many specimens of

his skill; and I have myself seen several chimney-pieces curiously

embellished by his chisel.[2]

[2] Soon after the days of Gibbons, the art of ornamental carving

in wood began to decay, and it may now be considered as nearly

lost. Its decline may be attributed to two causes. In the first

place, to the change of taste in fitting up the interior of our

mansions; and in the next, to the introduction of composition for

the enrichment of picture-frames and other objects of ornament.

"Robert Davy," says a correspondent, "has been considered in this

neighbourhood as the LAST OF THE CARVERS, and from his small

size, was generally called _The little Carver_."

I am not able to discover that he was remarkable for any

peculiarity of intellect; he passed through life without bustle,

and quitted it with the usual regrets of friends and relatives. The

habits, however, generally imputed to him were certainly not such

as would have induced us to anticipate a high degree of steadiness

in the son.

His wife, whose maiden name was Grace Millett, was remarkable for

the placidity of her temper, and for the amiable and benevolent

tendency of her disposition: she had been adopted and brought up,

together with her two sisters, under circumstances of affecting

interest, by Mr. John Tonkin, an eminent surgeon and apothecary in

Penzance; a person of very considerable natural endowments, and

whose Socratic sayings are, to this day, proverbial with many of

the older inhabitants.

To withhold a narrative of the circumstances that led Mr. Tonkin

to the adoption of these orphan children, would be a species

of historical fraud and literary injustice, by which the world

would not only lose one of those bright examples of pure and

disinterested benevolence, which cheer the heart and ornament

our nature, but the medical profession would be deprived of an

additional claim to that public veneration and regard, to which the

kind sympathy of its professors has so universally entitled it.

The parents of these children, having been attacked by a fatal

fever, expired within a few hours of each other: the dying

agonies of the surviving mother were sharpened by her reflecting

on the forlorn condition in which her children would be left;

for, although the Milletts were originally aristocratic

and wealthy, the property had undergone so many subdivisions,

as to have left but a very slender provision for the member of the

family to whom she had united herself.

The affecting appeal which Mrs. Millett is said to have addressed

to her sympathising friend, and medical attendant, was not made

in vain: on her decease, Mr. Tonkin immediately removed the

three children to his own house, and they continued under the

guardianship of their kind benefactor, until each, in succession,

found a home by marriage.

The eldest sister, Jane, was married to Henry Sampson, a

respectable watchmaker at Penzance; the youngest, Elizabeth, to

her cousin, Leonard Millett of Marazion; neither of whom had any

family. The second sister, Grace, was married to Robert Davy, from

which union sprang five children, two boys and three girls, the

eldest being Humphry, the subject of our memoir, and the second

son, John, now Dr. Davy, a Surgeon to the Forces, and a gentleman

distinguished by several papers in the Philosophical Transactions.

Humphry Davy was nursed by his mother, and passed his infancy

with his parents;[3] but his childhood, after they had removed

from Penzance to reside on their estate at Varfell, was spent

partly with them and partly with Mr. John Tonkin, who extended his

disinterested kindness from the mother to all her children, but

more especially to Humphry, who is said, when a child, to have

exhibited powers of mind superior to his years. I have spared no

pains in collecting materials for the illustration of the earlier

periods of his history; as, to estimate the magnitude of an object,

we must measure the base with accuracy, in order to comprehend the

elevation of its summit.

[3] For these materials I acknowledge myself indebted to Dr.

Penneck of Penzance, and to Mrs. Millett, Sir H. Davy's sister.

The facts were communicated in letters to Lady Davy, by whom they

were kindly placed at my disposal.

He was first placed at a preparatory seminary kept by a Mr.

Bushell, who was so struck with the progress he made, that he urged

his father to remove him to a superior school.

It is a fact worthy, perhaps, of being recorded, that he would

at the age of about five years turn over the pages of a book as

rapidly as if he were merely engaged in counting the number of

leaves, or in hunting after pictures; and yet, on being questioned,

he could generally give a very satisfactory account of the

contents. I have been informed by Lady Davy that the same faculty

was retained by him through life, and that she has often been

astonished, beyond the power of expression, at the rapidity with

which he read a work, and the accuracy with which he remembered it.

Mr. Children has also communicated to me an anecdote, which may

be related in illustration of the same quality. Shortly after Dr.

Murray had published his system of chemistry, Davy accompanied Mr.

Children in an excursion to Tonbridge, and the new work was placed

in the carriage. During the occasional intervals in which their

conversation was suspended, Davy was seen turning over the leaves

of the book, but his companion did not believe it possible that he

could have made himself acquainted with any part of its contents,

until at the close of the journey he surprised him with a critical

opinion of its merits.

The book that engaged his earliest attention was "The Pilgrim's

Progress," a production well calculated, from the exuberance of its

invention, and the rich colouring of its fancy, for seizing upon

the ardent imagination of youth. This pleasing work, it will be

remembered, was the early and especial favourite of Dr. Franklin,

who never alluded to it but with feelings of the most lively

delight.

Shortly afterwards, he commenced reading history, particularly that

of England; and at the age of eight years he would, as if impressed

with the powers of oratory, collect together a number of boys in

a circle, and mounting a cart or carriage that might be standing

before the inn near Mr. Tonkin's house, harangue them on different

subjects, and offer such comments as his own ideas might suggest.

He was, moreover, at this age, a great lover of the marvellous,

and amused himself and his schoolfellows by composing stories of

romance and tales of chivalry, with all the fluency of an Italian

improvisatore; and joyfully would he have issued forth, armed

_cap-à-pié_, in search of adventures, and to free the world of

dragons and giants.

In this early fondness for fiction, and in the habit of exercising

his ingenuity in creating imagery for the gratification of his

fancy, Davy and Sir Walter Scott greatly resembled each other.

The Author of Waverley, in his general preface to the late

edition of his novels, has given us the following account of this

talent. "I must refer to a very early period of my life, were I

to point out my first achievement as a tale-teller; but I believe

most of my old schoolfellows can still bear witness that I had

a distinguished character for that talent, at a time when the

applause of my companions was my recompense for the disgraces and

punishments which the future romance-writer incurred for being idle

himself, and keeping others idle, during hours that should have

been employed on our tasks." Had not Davy's talents been diverted

into other channels, who can say that we might not have received

from his inventive pen a series of romantic tales, as beautifully

illustrative of the early history of his native country as are the

Waverley Novels of that of Scotland? for Cornwall is by no means

deficient in elfin sprites and busy "_piskeys_;" the invocation is

alone required to summon them from their dark recesses and mystic

abodes.

Davy was also in the frequent habit of writing verses and ballads;

of making fireworks, and of preparing a particular detonating

composition, to which he gave the name of "Thunder-powder," and

which he would explode on a stone to the great wonder and delight

of his young playfellows.

Another of his favourite amusements may also be recorded in this

place; for, however trifling in itself the incident may appear,

to the biographer it is full of interest, as tending to show the

early existence of that passion for experiment, which afterwards

rose so nobly in its aims and objects, as the mind expanded with

the advancement of his years. It consisted in scooping out the

inside of a turnip, placing a lighted candle in the cavity, and

then exhibiting it as a lamp; by the aid of which he would melt

fragments of tin, obtained from the metallic blocks which commonly

lie about the streets of a coinage town, and demand from his

companions a certain number of pins for the privilege of witnessing

the operation.

At an early age, but I am unable to ascertain the exact period, he

was placed at the Grammar-School in Penzance, under the Rev. J. C.

Coryton; and whilst his father resided at Varfell, he lived with

Mr. Tonkin, except during the holidays, which he always spent with

his parents.

He was extremely fond of fishing; and I have been lately informed

by one of his earliest companions, that when very young he greatly

excelled in that art. "I have known him," says my correspondent,

"catch grey-mullet at Penzance Pier, when none of us could succeed.

The mullet is a very difficult fish to hook, on account of the

diminutive size of its mouth; but Davy adopted a plan of his own

contrivance. Observing that they always swam in shoals, he attached

a succession of pilchards to a string, reaching from the surface to

the bottom of the sea, and while his prey were swimming around the

bait, he would by a sudden movement of the string entangle several

of them on the hooks, and thus dexterously capture them."

As soon as he became old enough to carry a gun, a portion of his

leisure hours was passed in the recreation of shooting; a pursuit

which also enabled him to form a collection of the rare birds which

occasionally frequented the neighbourhood, and which he is said to

have stuffed with more than ordinary skill.

When at home, he frequently amused himself with reading and

sketching, and sometimes with caricaturing any thing which struck

his fancy; on some occasions he would shut himself up in his room,

arrange the chairs, and lecture to them by the hour together.

I have been informed by one of his schoolfellows, a gentleman

now highly distinguished for his literary attainments, that, in

addition to the amusements already noticed, he was very fond

of playing at "Tournament," fabricating shields and visors of

pasteboard, and lances of wood, to which he gave the appearance

of steel by means of black-lead. Thus equipped, the juvenile

combatants, like Ascanius and the Trojan youths of classic

recollection, would tilt at each other, and perform a variety of

warlike evolutions.

By this anecdote we are forcibly reminded of the early taste of

Sir William Jones, who, when a boy at Harrow School, invented a

political play, in which William Bennet, Bishop of Cloyne, and the

celebrated Dr. Parr, were his principal associates. They divided

the fields in the neighbourhood of Harrow, according to a map

of Greece, into states and kingdoms; each fixed upon one as his

dominion, and assumed an ancient name. Some of their schoolfellows

consented to be styled Barbarians, who were to invade their

territories and attack their hillocks, which they denominated

fortresses.[4]

[4] Life of Sir William Jones, by Lord Teignmouth.

On one occasion, Davy got up a Pantomime; and I have very

unexpectedly obtained a fly-leaf, torn out of a Schrevelius'

Lexicon, on which the _Dramatis Personæ_, as well as the names

of the young actors, were registered, as originally cast. This

document appears so interesting, that I have thought it right to

place it on record.

_Father_ Cunnack.

_Harlequin_ Davy.

_Clown_ ....[5]

_Columbine_ Hichens.

_Cupid_ Veale.

_Fortuna_ Scobell.

_Ben_ Billy Giddy.

_Nurse_ Robyns.

_Maccaroni_ Dennis.

[5] Here, as Mrs. Ratcliffe would say, the Legend is so effaced

by damp and time, as to be wholly illegible.

The performers, who, I believe, with one exception, are all living,

will perhaps find some amusement in examining how far their future

characters were shadowed forth on this occasion. At all events, I

feel confident that they will receive no small gratification at

having their recollections thus carried back to the joyous scenes

of boyhood, connected as they always are, and must ever be, with

the most delightful associations of our lives.

From Penzance school he went to Truro, in the year 1793, and

finished his education under the Rev. Dr. Cardew, a gentleman who

is distinguished by the number of eminent scholars with which he

has graced his country.

That he was quick and industrious in his school exercises, may

be inferred from an anecdote related by his sister, that "on

being removed to Truro, Dr. Cardew found him very deficient in

the qualifications for the Class of his age, but on observing

the quickness of his talents, and his aptitude for learning, he

did not place him in a lower form, telling him that by industry

and attention he trusted he might be entitled to keep the place

assigned to him; which," his sister says, "he did, to the entire

satisfaction of his master."

It is very natural that an anecdote so gratifying to the family

should have been deeply imprinted on their memory; but we must not

be surprised on finding that it did not make a similar impression

upon Dr. Cardew. From a letter lately addressed by that gentleman

to Mr. Davies Gilbert, the following is an extract:--"With respect

to our illustrious countryman, Sir H. Davy, I fear I can claim but

little merit from the share I had in his education. He was not long

with me; and while he remained I could not discern the faculties

by which he was afterwards so much distinguished; I discovered,

indeed, his taste for poetry, which I did not omit to encourage."

Dr. Cardew adds, "While engaged in teaching the classics, I was

anxious to discharge faithfully the duties of my profession to the

best of my ability; but I was certainly fortunate in having so many

good materials to work upon, and thus having only '_fungi vice

cotis_,' though '_exsors ipse secandi_.'"--To the truth of this

latter part of the Doctor's quotation, will his scholars willingly

subscribe? It may be fairly doubted how far Dr. Cardew was able

to descend into the shadowy regions of Maro, without the "_donum

fatalis virgæ_."

Mrs. Millett thinks that the deficiency just alluded to may be

attributed to Mr. Coryton, rather than to the inattention of her

brother; the former having, from his neglect as a master, given

very general dissatisfaction. From what I can learn, at this

distant period, of the character of Mr. Coryton, it appears at all

events, that the "_exsors ipse secandi_" could not have been justly

applied to him; and that, owing to an unfortunate aptness in the

name to a doggrel verse, poor Davy had frequently to smart under

his tyranny.

"Now, Master Dàvy,

Now, Sir, I hàve 'e,

No one shall sàve 'e,

Good Master Dàvy;"

when the master, suiting the action to the rhythm, inflicted upon

the hand of the unlucky scholar the verberations of that type and

instrument of pedagoguish authority--the flat ruler. Here we have

another example of the seduction of sound, argued by our great

jurist Mr. Bentham,[6] to have determined the maxims of that law,

which has been pronounced by its sages the perfection of reason.

[6] "Were the enquiry diligently made," he says, "it would be

found that the Goddess of Harmony has exercised more influence,

however latent, over the dispensations of Themis, than her

most diligent historiographers, or even her most passionate

panegyrists, seem to be aware of. Every one knows how, by the

ministry of Orpheus, it was she who first collected the sons

of men beneath the shadow of the sceptre: yet in the midst of

continual experience, men seem yet to learn with what successful

diligence she laboured to guide it in its course."

From a letter, however, written by Davy a few years afterwards,

respecting the education of a member of his family, he would appear

to have entertained an opinion not very unlike that of John Locke;

for, although he testifies the highest respect for Dr. Cardew, he

seems to consider the comparative idleness of his earlier school

career, by allowing him to follow the bent of his own mind, to have

favoured the developement of his peculiar genius. "After all," he

says, "the way in which we are taught Latin and Greek, does not

much influence the important structure of our minds. I consider

it fortunate that I was left much to myself as a child, and put

upon no particular plan of study, and that I enjoyed much idleness

at Mr. Coryton's school. I perhaps owe to these circumstances the

little talents I have, and their peculiar application:--what I am I

have made myself--I say this without vanity, and in pure simplicity

of heart."

His temper during youth is represented as mild and amiable. He

never suppressed his feelings, but every action was marked by

ingenuousness and candour, qualities which endeared him to his

youthful associates, and gained him the love of all who knew him.

"Nor can I find," says his sister, "beloved as he must have been by

my mother, that she showed him any particular preference;--all her

children appeared to be alike her care, and all alike shared her

affection."

In 1794, Mr. Davy died. We cannot but regret that he did not live

long enough to witness his son's eminence; for life, as Johnson

says, has few better things to give than a talented son; but from

his widow, who has but lately descended to the tomb, full of years

and respectability, this boon was not withheld, she witnessed his

whole career of usefulness and honour, and happily closed her eyes

before her maternal fears could have been awakened by those signs

of premature decay, which for some time had excited in his friends,

and in the friends of science, an alarm which the recent deplorable

event has too fatally justified.

In the year following the decease of her husband, Mrs. Davy, who

had again taken up her residence in Penzance, apprenticed her

son,[7] by the advice of her long-valued friend, Mr. Tonkin, to Mr.

John Bingham Borlase, at that time a surgeon and apothecary, but

who afterwards obtained a diploma, and became an eminent physician

at Penzance. Davy, however, for the most part, continued to pursue

his own plans of study; for although his friend Mr. Tonkin, without

doubt, intended him for a general practitioner in his native town,

yet he himself always looked forward to graduation at Edinburgh, as

a preliminary measure to his practising in the higher walk of his

profession.

[7] The original indenture, now in the possession of Mr. R.

Edmonds, solicitor, of Penzance, is dated February 10th, 1795.

His mind had, for some time, been engrossed with philosophical

pursuits; but until after he had been placed with Mr. Borlase, it

does not appear that he indicated any decided turn for chemistry,

the study of which he then commenced with all the ardour of his

temperament; and his eldest sister, who acted as his assistant,

well remembers the ravages committed on her dress by corrosive

substances.

It has been said that his mind was first directed to chemistry by

a desire to discover various mixtures as pigments: a suggestion

to which, I confess, I am not disposed to pay much attention;

for although he might have sought by new combinations to impart

a novel and vivid richness of colouring to his drawings, it was

the character of his mind to pursue with ardour every subject of

novelty, and to get at results by his own native powers, rather

than by the recorded experience of others.

I must here relate an anecdote, in illustration of this statement,

which has been lately communicated to me by the Reverend Dr.

Batten, the principal of the East India College at Hayleybury.

This gentleman was one of the earliest of Davy's schoolfellows,

but as he advanced in age, different views, and a different plan

of education, carried him to a distant part of the kingdom; the

discipline and duties of a cloistered school necessarily estranged

him from his native town; and it was not until after his admission

at Cambridge, and the arrival of the long vacation, which afforded

a temporary oblivion of academic cares, that Mr. Batten returned

to Cornwall, to revisit the scenes, and to renew the friendships

of his boyish days. Davy, who was at that period an apprentice to

Mr. Borlase, received him with transport and affection; but he

was no longer the boy that his friend had left him; he had become

more serious and contemplative, fond of solitary rambles, and

averse to enter into society, or to join the festive parties of the

inhabitants. In fact, his mind was now in the act of being moulded

by the spirit of Nature; and, without the constraint of study, he

was insensibly inhaling knowledge with the wild breezes of his

native hills.

In the course of conversation, Mr. Batten spoke of his academic

studies; and in alluding to the principles of Mechanics, to which

he had lately paid much attention, he expressed himself more

particularly pleased with that part which treats of "the Collision

of Bodies." What was his surprise, on finding Davy as well, if not

better acquainted with its several propositions! It was true that

he had never systematically studied the subject--had never perhaps

seen any standard work upon it, but he had instituted experiments

with elastic and inelastic balls, and had worked out the results by

the unassisted energies of his own mind. It is clear that, had this

branch of science not existed, Davy would have created it.

During this period of his apprenticeship, he twice a week attended

a French school in Penzance, kept by a M. Dugast, a priest from La

Vendée; and it was remarked that, although he acquired a knowledge

of the grammatical construction of the language with greater

facility than any of the other scholars, he could not succeed

in obtaining the pronunciation; and, in fact, notwithstanding

his extensive intercourse with foreigners, and his residence in

France, he never, even in after life, could pronounce French with

correctness or speak it with fluency.

While with Mr. Borlase, it was his constant custom to walk in the

evening to Marazion, to drink tea with an aunt to whom he was

greatly attached. Upon such occasions, his usual companion was a

hammer, with which he procured specimens from the rocks on the

beach. In short, it would appear that, at this period, he paid much

more attention to Philosophy than to Physic; that he thought more

of the bowels of the earth, than of the stomachs of his patients;

and that, when he should have been bleeding the sick, he was

opening veins in the granite. Instead of preparing medicines in the

surgery, he was experimenting in Mr. Tonkin's garret, which had

now become the scene of his chemical operations; and, upon more

than one occasion, it is said that he produced an explosion, which

put the Doctor, and all his glass bottles, in jeopardy. "This boy

Humphry is incorrigible!"--"Was there ever so idle a dog!"--"He

will blow us all into the air!" Such were the constant exclamations

of Mr. Tonkin; and then, in a jocose strain, he would speak of him

as the "Philosopher," and sometimes call him "Sir Humphry," as if

prophetic of his future renown.[8]

[8] Davy appears to have been more fortunate than his prototype

Scheele; for on one occasion, as the latter was employed in

making pyrophorus, a fellow apprentice, without his knowledge,

put some fulminating powder into the mixture; the consequence was

a violent explosion; the whole family was thrown into confusion,

and the young chemist was severely chastised.

His sister has remarked that, as he advanced in life, he always

preferred the society of persons older than himself; and one of his

contemporaries informs me that he never heard him allude to any

subject of science, although he remembers that while one of his

pockets was filled with fishing-tackle, the other was as commonly

loaded with specimens of rocks. With those, however, who were

superior to him in years, he delighted to enter into discussion.

At Penzance, there still resides a member of the Society of

Friends, whose ingenuity entitles him to greater rewards than a

provincial town can afford, with whom Davy, as a boy, was in the

constant habit of discussing questions of practical mechanics. "I

tell thee what, Humphry," exclaimed the Quaker upon one of these

occasions--"thou art the most quibbling hand at a dispute I ever

met with in my life."

For the surgical department of the profession, he always

entertained a decided distaste, although the following extract

from a letter of my correspondent Mr. Le Grice will show that,

for once at least, he had the merit of mending a broken head.

"The first time I ever saw Davy was on the Battery rocks; we were

alone bathing, and he pointed out to me a good place for diving;

at the same time he talked about the tides, and Sir Isaac Newton,

in a manner that greatly amazed me. I perhaps should not have so

distinctly remembered him, but on the following day, by not exactly

marking the spot he had pointed out, I was nearly killed by diving

on a rock, and he came as Mr. Borlase's assistant to dress the

wound."

It was his great delight to ramble along the sea-shore, and often,

like the orator of Athens, would he on such occasions declaim

against the howling of the wind and waves, with a view to overcome

a defect in his voice, which, although only slightly perceptible

in his maturer age, was in the days of his boyhood exceedingly

discordant. I may be allowed to observe, that the peculiar

intonation he employed in his public addresses, and which rendered

him obnoxious to the charge of affectation, was to be referred

to a laborious effort to conceal this natural infirmity. It was

also clear that he was deficient in that quality which is commonly

called "a good ear," and with which the modulation of the voice is

generally acknowledged to have an obvious connexion. Those who knew

him intimately will readily bear testimony to this fact. Whenever

he was deeply absorbed in a chemical research, it was his habit to

hum some tune, if such it could be called, for it was impossible

for any one to discover the air he intended to sing: indeed, Davy's

music became a subject of raillery amongst his friends; and Mr.

Children informs me, that, during an excursion, they attempted to

teach him the air of 'God save the King,' but their efforts were

unavailing.

It may be a question how far the following fact, with which I

have just been made acquainted, admits of explanation upon this

principle. On entering a volunteer infantry corps, commanded by

a Captain Oxnam, Davy could never emerge from the awkward squad;

no pains could make him keep the step; and those who were so

unfortunate as to stand before him in the ranks, ought to have been

heroes invulnerable in the heel. This incapacity, as may be readily

supposed, occasioned him considerable annoyance, and he engaged a

serjeant to give him private lessons, but it was all to no purpose.

In the platoon exercise he was not more expert; and he whose

electric battery was destined to triumph over the animosity of

nations, could never be taught to shoulder a musket in his native

town.

That Davy, in his youth, possessed courage and decision, may be

inferred from the circumstance of his having, upon receiving a

bite from a dog supposed to be rabid, taken his pocket-knife, and

without the least hesitation cut out the part on the spot, and then

retired into the surgery and cauterized the wound; an operation

which confined him to Mr. Tonkin's house for three weeks. The

gentleman from whom I received an account of this adventure, the

accuracy of which has been since confirmed by Davy's sister, also

told me, that he had frequently heard him declare his disbelief

in the existence of pain whenever the energies of the mind were

directed to counteract it; but he added, "I very shortly afterwards

had an opportunity of witnessing a practical refutation of this

doctrine in his own person; for upon being bitten by a conger eel,

my young friend Humphry roared out most lustily."

The anecdote of Davy's excising the bitten part with so much

promptitude and coolness, derives its interest from the age and

inexperience of the operator. In the course of his practice, every

physician must have met with similar cases of stern decision; but

I will venture to say that they have never occurred except in

instances of persons of acknowledged courage. Not many days since,

a veteran officer, distinguished for the intrepidity with which he

rescued the person of George the Third from the fury of a desperate

mob, in St. James's Park, informed me that he had formerly been

bitten at Vienna by a dog afterwards ascertained to have been

rabid; he immediately entered a blacksmith's shop, and by threats

compelled the person at the forge to heat an iron red-hot, and burn

his leg to the bone. The blacksmith, after first stipulating that

he should strap his eccentric customer to the anvil, reluctantly

complied; and my friend showed me a scar which sufficiently

testified the complete manner in which the son of Vulcan had

performed his engagement:--But to return from this digression.

At this time of day, no one can surely believe with Pope, that a

"Ruling Passion" is an innate and irresistible affection antecedent

to reason and observation: on the contrary, ample experience has

led us to the conclusion, that

----"men's judgments are

A parcel of their fortunes, and things outward

Do draw the inward quality after them."

The prevailing bias of great minds may thus be often traced to

some accidental, and apparently trivial, impression in early life;

and the acute biographer, in the course of his observations, will

continually discover traits of character that are readily referable

to such a source, even as in the magical colouring of Rembrandt's

works, the practised eye will recognize the _chiaro-oscuro_ of his

father's mill, in which the artist passed his hours of childhood.

In like manner, that marked aversion to arbitrary power, which

ever distinguished the actions and writings of Dr. Franklin, has

by himself been referred to the sense of injustice early imprinted

upon his mind by the severe and tyrannical conduct of his elder

brother; while, at the same time, he tells us that he was indebted

for his habit through life, of forming just estimates of the value

of things, to his having, at the age of seven years, "paid too much

for his whistle."

But circumstances, however disposed and happily combined, although

they may direct, can never create genius; it is possible that

Cowley might never have been enamoured of the Muses, nor Sir Joshua

Reynolds have courted the Graces, but for the casual circumstances

recorded by the biographer; and Ferguson might not have turned his

attention to mechanical inventions, had not an accident befallen

the roof of his father's cottage; and even Priestley, the founder

of a new and beautiful department in science, might very probably

never have been led to think of pneumatic chemistry, had he not

lived in the vicinity of a great brewery: still, however, such men

could not have shone dimly, if true genius be correctly defined

by Dr. Johnson as "a mind of large general powers accidentally

determined to some particular direction."[9]--So with Davy; his

mind was as vigorous as it was original, and no less logical and

precise than it was daring and comprehensive; nothing was too

mighty for its grasp, nothing too minute for its observation; like

the trunk of the elephant, it could tear up the oak of the forest,

or gently pluck the acorn from its branch.

[9] M. de Bourrienne, in his "Private Memoirs of Napoleon

Buonaparte," appears to have justly appreciated the influence

of circumstances upon the destinies of great men. In speaking

of Buonaparte at the Military College of Brienne, he says, "If

the monks, to whom the superintendence of the establishment was

confided, had engaged more able mathematical professors, or if

we had had any excitement to the study of Chemistry, or Natural

Philosophy, I am convinced that Buonaparte would have pursued

those sciences with all the genius and spirit of investigation,

which he displayed in a career more brilliant, it is true, but

far less useful to mankind."

That circumstances in early life should have directed such energies

to a science, which requires for its advancement all the aids of

novel and bold, and yet patient and accurate research, is one of

those fortunate events which every unprejudiced mind will view with

triumph.

It is surely not difficult to understand how it happened that a

mind endowed with the genius and sensibilities of Davy, should have

been directed to the study of Chemistry and Mineralogy, when we

consider the nature and scenery of the country in which accident

had placed him. Many of his friends and associates must have been

connected with mining speculations: "Shafts," "Cross Courses," and

"Lodes," were words familiarised to his ears; and his native love

of enquiry could not have long suffered them to remain strangers

to his understanding. Nor could he have wandered along the rocky

coast, or have reposed for a moment to contemplate its wild

scenery, without being invited to geological enquiry by the genius

of the place; for were we to personify the science, where could we

find a more appropriate spot for her "local habitation?" "How often

when a boy," said Davy to me, on my showing him a drawing of the

wild rock scenery of Botallack Mine, "have I wandered about those

rocks in search of new minerals, and, when fatigued, sat down upon

the turf, and exercised my fancy in anticipations of scientific

renown!"

Such scenery, also, in one who possessed a quick sensibility

to the sublime forms of Nature, was well calculated to kindle

that enthusiasm which is so essential to poetical genius; and we

accordingly learn, that he became enamoured of the Muses at a very

early age, and evinced his passion by several poetical productions.

I am assured by Dr. Batten that, at the age of twelve years, he

had finished an epic poem, which he entitled the "Tydidiad," from

its celebrating the adventures of Diomede on his return from the

Trojan war. It is much to be regretted that not even a fragment of

this poem should have been preserved; but Dr. Batten well remembers

that it was characterised by great freedom of invention, vigour of

description, and wildness of execution.

At the age of seventeen he became desperately enamoured of a

young French lady, at that time resident at Penzance, to whom

he addressed numerous sonnets; but these, like the passion that

produced them, have long since been extinct.

Several of his minor productions were printed in a work entitled

the "Annual Anthology," published in three volumes at Bristol,

in 1799; two of which were edited by Southey, and one by James

Tobin;--a work of some curiosity, independent of its merits, as the

first attempt in this country to establish an "Annual," a species

of literary composition which has lately been made very popular and

amusing.

These volumes have now become extremely scarce, for which, and

other reasons, I have thought it right to place Davy's productions

on record in these memoirs; for although they are marked by the

common faults of youthful poets, they still bear the stamp of lofty

genius. There is, besides, a vein of philosophical contemplation

running through their composition, which may be considered as

indicating the future character and pursuit of their author; an

ardent aspiration after fame seems, even at this early period, to

have been felt in all its force, and is expressed in many striking

and beautiful passages.

There is still a higher motive by which I am induced to introduce

these specimens into my memoir, that of showing the bias of his

genius at this early period, with a view to compare it with that

which displayed itself in the "last days of the philosopher." We

shall find that the bright and rosy hues of fancy which gilded the

morning of his life, and were subdued or chased away by the more

resplendent light of maturer age, again glowed forth in the evening

of his days, and illumined the setting, as they had the dawning of

his genius.

His first production bears the date of 1795, and is entitled

THE SONS OF GENIUS.

Bright bursting through the awful veil of night

The lunar beams upon the Ocean play,

The watery billows shine with trembling light,

Where the swift breezes skim along the sea.

The glimmering stars in yon ethereal plain

Grow pale, and fade before the lucid beams,

Save where fair Venus, shining o'er the main

Conspicuous, still with fainter radiance gleams.

Clear is the azure firmament above,

Save where the white cloud floats upon the breeze,

All tranquil is the bosom of the grove,

Save where the Zephyr warbles through the trees.

Now the poor shepherd wandering to his home

Surveys the darkening scene with fearful eye,

On every green sees little elfins roam,

And haggard sprites along the moonbeams fly.

While Superstition rules the vulgar soul,

Forbids the energies of man to rise,

Raised far above her low, her mean controul,

Aspiring Genius seeks her native skies.

She loves the silent solitary hours,

She loves the stillness of the starry night,

When o'er the brightening view Selene pours

The soft effulgence of her pensive light.

'Tis then disturb'd not by the glare of day;

To mild tranquillity alone resign'd,

Reason extends her animating sway

O'er the calm empire of the peaceful mind.

Before her lucid, all-enlightening ray,

The pallid spectres of the Night retire,

She drives the gloomy terrors far away,

And fills the bosom with celestial fire.

Inspired by her, the Sons of Genius rise

Above all earthly thoughts, all vulgar care;

Wealth, power, and grandeur they alike despise,

Enraptured by the good, the great, the fair.

A thousand varying joys to them belong--

The charms of Nature and her changeful scenes;

Their's is the music of the vernal song,

And their's the colours of the vernal plains.

Their's is the purple-tinged evening ray,

With all the radiance of the morning sky;

Their's is the splendour of the risen day,

Enshrined in glory by the sun's bright eye.

For them the Zephyr fans the odorous gale,

For them the warbling streamlet softly flows,

For them the Dryads shade the verdant vale,

To them sweet Philomel attunes her woes.

To them no wakeful moonbeam shines in vain

On the dark bosom of the trackless wood,

Sheds its mild radiance o'er the desert plain,

Or softly glides along the chrystal flood.

Yet not alone delight the soft and fair,

Alike the grander scenes of Nature move;

Yet not alone her beauties claim their care,

The great, sublime, and terrible, they love.

The Sons of Nature, they alike delight

In the rough precipice's broken steep,

In the black terrors of the stormy night,

And in the thunders of the threatening deep.

When the red lightnings through the ether fly,

And the white foaming billows lash the shores;

When to the rattling thunders of the sky

The angry Demon of the waters roars;

And when, untouch'd by Nature's living fires,

No native rapture fills the drowsy soul;

Then former ages, with their tuneful lyres,

Can bid the fury of the passions fall.

By the blue taper's melancholy light,

Whilst all around the midnight torrents pour,

And awful glooms beset the face of Night,

They wear the silent solitary hour.

Ah, then, how sweet to pass the night away

In silent converse with the Grecian page!

Whilst Homer tunes his ever-living lay,

Or reason listens to th' Athenian sage;

To scan the laws of Nature, to explore

The tranquil reign of mild Philosophy;

Or on Newtonian wings sublime to soar

Through the bright regions of the starry sky.

Ah! who can paint what raptures fill the soul

When Attic Freedom rises to the war,

Bids the loud thunders of the battle roll,

And drives the tyrant trembling from her shore!

From these pursuits the Sons of Genius scan

The end of their creation; hence they know

The fair, sublime, immortal hopes of man,

From whence alone undying pleasures glow.

By Science calm'd, over the peaceful soul,

Bright with eternal Wisdom's lucid ray,

Peace, meek of eye, extends her soft controul,

And drives the fury Passions far away.

Virtue, the daughter of the skies supreme,

Directs their life, informs their glowing lays--

A steady friend; her animating beam

Sheds its soft lustre o'er their latter days.

When life's warm fountains feel the frost of time;

When the cold dews of darkness close their eyes,

She shows the parting soul, upraised sublime,

The brighter glories of her kindred skies.

Thus the pale Moon, whose pure celestial light

Has chased the gloomy clouds of Heaven away,

Rests her white cheek, with silver radiance bright,

On the soft bosom of the Western sea.

Lost in the glowing wave, her radiance dies;

Yet, while she sinks, she points her ling'ring ray

To the bright azure of the orient skies--

To the fair dawning of the glorious day.

Like the tumultuous billows of the sea

Succeed the generations of mankind;

Some in oblivious silence pass away,

And leave no vestige of their lives behind.

Others, like those proud waves which beat the shore,

A loud and momentary murmur raise;

But soon their transient glories are no more,--

No future ages echo with their praise.

Like yon proud rocks amidst the sea of time,

Superior, scorning all the billows' rage,

The living Sons of Genius stand sublime,

Th' immortal children of another age.

For those exist whose pure ethereal minds,

Imbibing portions of celestial day,

Scorn all terrestrial cares, all mean designs,

As bright-eyed eagles scorn the lunar ray.

Their's is the glory of a lasting name,

The meed of Genius and her living fires,

Their's is the laurel of eternal fame,

And their's the sweetness of the Muse's lyres.

D.--1795.

THE SONG OF PLEASURE.

The genial influence of the day

Had chased the lingering cold away;

Borne upon the Zephyr's wing,

Sweetly smiled the radiant Spring:

Her mild re-animating breath

Wakes Nature from her wintry death;

Attended by the laughing Hours,

She rises clad in flowers,

And lightly as she trips along,

The vernal warblers raise the song.

Rich in a thousand radiant dyes,

Around her steps the flow'rets rise,

The Zephyr sports, the sunbeams sleep

On the blue bosom of the deep.

And now, within my throbbing breast

I feel the influence of the Spring,

To ecstasy I tune my string,

And garlanded with odorous flowers,

I hasted to the shady grove,

I hasted to the roseate bowers

Where Pleasure dwells with Love.

There Youth, and Love, and Beauty, bound

The glowing rose my harp around;

Then to the daughter of Desire,

To bright-eyed Pleasure gave the lyre:

She tuned the string,

And smiling softer than the rosy sea,

When the young Morning blushes on her breast,

She raised the raptured lay,

I heard her sing,

The song lull'd every care and every thought to rest.

Sons of Nature, hither haste,

The blessings of existence taste;

Listen to my friendly lay,

And your cares shall fly away,

Quick as fly the wintry snows

When the vernal Zephyr blows.

Let others, courting war's alarms,

Seek the bloody field of arms;

Let others, with undaunted soul,

Bid Bellona's thunders roll;

From the lightnings of their eye

Let the trembling squadrons fly;

Sons of Nature, you shall prove

A softer fight, the fight of love.

While you in soft repose are laid

Underneath the myrtle shade,

Amid the murky glooms of Death,

The sons of battle pant for breath.

Let the philosophic sage,

His silver tresses white with age,

Amid the chilling midnight damp,

Waste the solitary lamp,

To scan the laws of Nature o'er,

The paths of Science to explore;

Curb'd beneath his harsh controul

The blissful Passions fly the soul.

You, the gentler sons of joy,

Softer studies shall employ!

He to curb the Passions tries,

You shall bid them all arise;

His wants he wishes to destroy,

You shall all your wants enjoy.

Let the laurel, Virtue's meed,

Crown his age-besilver'd head,

The verdant laurel ever grows

Amid the sullen Winter's snows:

Let the rose, the flower of bliss,

The soft unwrinkled temples kiss;

Fann'd by the Zephyr's balmy wing,

The odorous rose adorns the Spring.

Let the Patriot die, to raise

A lasting monument of praise.

Ah, fool, to tear the glowing rose

From the mirth-encircled brows,

That around his dusky tomb

The ever-verdant bay may bloom!

Let Ambition's sons alone

Bow around the tottering throne,

Fly at Glory's splendid rays,

And, moth-like, die amidst a blaze;

You shall bow, and bow alone,

Before delicious Beauty's throne.

Lo! Theora treads the green,

All breathing grace and harmony she moves,

Fair as the mother of the Loves.

In graceful ringlets floats her golden hair;

From the bright azure of her eye

Expression's liquid lightnings fly.

Her cheek is fair,

Fair as the lily, when, at dawning day,

Tinged with the morning's bright and purple ray,

Yonder scented groves among

She will listen to your song.

In yonder bower where roses bloom,

Where the myrtle breathes perfume,

You shall at your ease recline,

And sip the soul-enlivening wine;

There the lyre, with melting lay,

Shall bid the soul dissolve away.

Soft as the Morning sheds her purple light

Through the dark azure of the Night,

So soft the God of slumber sheds

His roseate dews around your heads.

Such the blessings I bestow!

Haste, my sons, these blessings know!

Behold the flow'rets of the Spring,

They wanton in the Zephyr's wing,

They drink the matin ether blue,

They sip the fragrant evening dew.

Man is but a short-lived flower,

His bloom but for a changeful hour!

Pass a little time away,

The rosy cheek is turn'd to clay:

No living joys, no transports burn

In the dark sepulchral urn,

No _Laurels_ crown the fleshless brows,

They fade together with the _Rose_.

D.--1796.

ODE TO SAINT MICHAEL'S MOUNT, IN CORNWALL.

The sober eve with purple bright

Sheds o'er the hills her tranquil light

In many a lingering ray;

The radiance trembles on the deep,

Where rises rough thy rugged steep,

Old Michael, from the sea.

Around thy base, in azure pride,

Flows the silver-crested tide,

In gently winding waves;

The Zephyr creeps thy cliffs around,--

Thy cliffs, with whispering ivy crown'd,

And murmurs in thy caves.

Majestic steep! Ah, yet I love,

With many a lingering step, to rove

Thy ivied rocks among;

Thy ivied, wave-beat rocks recall

The former pleasures of my soul,

When life was gay and young.

Enthusiasm, Nature's child,

Here sung to me her wood-songs wild,

All warm with native fire;

I felt her soul-awakening flame,

It bade my bosom burn for fame,--

It bade me strike the lyre.

Soft as the Morning sheds her light

Through the dark azure of the Night

Along the tranquil sea;

So soft the bright-eyed Fancy shed

Her rapturing dreams around my head,

And drove my cares away.

When the white Moon with glory crown'd,

The azure of the sky around,

Her silver radiance shed;

When shone the waves with trembling light,

And slept the lustre palely bright

Upon thy tower-clad head;

Then BEAUTY bade my pleasure flow,--

Then BEAUTY bade my bosom glow,

With mild and gentle fire!

Then Mirth, and Cheerfulness, and Love,

Around my soul were wont to move,

And thrill'd upon my lyre.

But when the Demon of the deep

Howl'd around thy rocky steep,

And bade the tempests rise,--

Bade the white foaming billows roar,

And murmuring dash the rocky shore,

And mingle with the skies;

Ah, then my soul was raised on high,

And felt the glow of ecstasy,

With _great_ emotions fill'd;

Thus Joy and Terror reign'd by turns,

And now with LOVE the bosom burns,

And now by FEAR is chill'd.

Thus to the sweetest dreams resign'd,

The fairy FANCY ruled my mind,

And shone upon my youth;

But now, to awful Reason given,

I leave her dear ideal heaven

To hear the voice of TRUTH.

She claims my best, my loftiest song,

She leads a brighter maid along--

DIVINE PHILOSOPHY,

Who bids the mounting soul assume

Immortal Wisdom's eagle plume,

And penetrating eye,

Above Delusion's dusky maze,

Above deceitful Fancy's ways,

With roses clad to rise;

To view a gleam of purest light

Bursting through Nature's misty night,--

The radiance of the skies.

D.--1796.

THE TEMPEST.

The Tempest has darken'd the face of the skies,

The winds whistle wildly across the waste plain,

The Fiends of the whirlwind terrific arise,

And mingle the clouds with the white-foaming main.

All dark is the night, and all gloomy the shore,

Save when the red lightnings the ether divide,

Then follows the thunder with loud-sounding roar,

And echoes in concert the billowy tide.

But though now all is murky and shaded with gloom,

Hope, the soother, soft whispers the tempests shall cease;

Then Nature again in her beauty shall bloom,

And enamour'd embrace the fair sweet-smiling Peace;

For the bright-blushing morning, all rosy with light,

Shall convey on her wings the Creator of day;

He shall drive all the tempests and terrors of night,

And Nature enliven'd, again shall be gay.

Then the warblers of Spring shall attune the soft lay,

And again the bright flow'ret shall blush in the vale;

On the breast of the Ocean the Zephyr shall play,

And the sunbeam shall sleep on the hill and the dale.

If the tempests of Nature so soon sink to rest--

If her once-faded beauties so soon glow again,

Shall Man be for ever by tempests oppress'd,

By the tempests of passion, of sorrow, and pain?

Ah, no! for his passions and sorrow shall cease

When the troublesome fever of life shall be o'er;

In the night of the grave he shall slumber in peace,

And passion and sorrow shall vex him no more.

And shall not this night and its long dismal gloom,

Like the night of the tempest, again pass away?

Yes! the dust of the earth in bright beauty shall bloom,

And rise to the morning of heavenly day!

D.--1796.

EXTRACT FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM ON MOUNT'S BAY.

Mild blows the Zephyr o'er the Ocean dark,

The Zephyr wafting the grey twilight clouds

Across the waves, to drink the solar rays

And blush with purple.

By the orient gleam

Whitening the foam of the blue wave that breaks

Around his granite feet, but dimly seen,

Majestic Michael rises. He whose brow

Is crown'd with castles, and whose rocky sides

Are clad with dusky ivy: he whose base,

Beat by the storm of ages, stands unmoved

Amidst the wreck of things, the change of time.

That base encircled by the azure waves,

Was once with verdure clad: the tow'ring oaks

There waved their branches green,--the sacred oaks

Whose awful shades among, the Druids stray'd

To cut the hallow'd miseltoe, and hold

High converse with their Gods.

On yon rough crag,

Where the wild Tamarisk whistles to the sea blast,

The Druid's harp was heard, swept by the breeze

To softest music, or to grander tones

Awaken'd by the awful master's hand.

Those tones shall sound no more! the rushing waves,

Raised from the vast Atlantic, have o'erwhelm'd

The sacred groves. And deep the Druids lie

In the dark mist-clad sea of former time.

Ages had pass'd away, the stony altar

Was white with moss, when on its rugged base

Dire Superstition raised the gothic fane,

And monks and priests existed.

On the sea

The sunbeams tremble; and the purple light

Illumes the dark Bolerium,[10] seat of storms.

High are his granite rocks. His frowning brow

Hangs o'er the smiling Ocean. In his caves

Th' Atlantic breezes murmur. In his caves,

Where sleep the haggard Spirits of the storm,

Wild dreary are the _schistine_[11] rocks around

Encircled by the wave, where to the breeze

The haggard Cormorant shrieks. And far beyond

Are seen the cloud-like Islands, grey in mists.[12]

Thy awful height, Bolerium, is not loved

By busy Man, and no one wanders there

Save he who follows Nature,--he who seeks

Amidst thy crags and storm-beat rocks to find

The marks of changes teaching the great laws

That raised the globe from chaos; or he whose soul

Is warm with fire poetic,--he who feels

When Nature smiles in beauty, or sublime

Rises in majesty,--he who can stand

Unawed upon thy summit, clad in tempests,

And view with raptured mind the roaring deep

Rise o'er thy foam-clad base, while the black cloud

Bursts with the fire of Heaven--

He whose heart

Is warm with love and mercy,--he whose eye

Drops the bright tear when anxious Fancy paints

Upon his mind the image of the Maid,

The blue-eyed Maid who died beneath thy surge.

Where yon dark cliff[13] o'ershadows the blue main,

THEORA died amidst the stormy waves,

And on its feet the sea-dews wash'd her corpse,

And the wild breath of storms shook her black locks.

Young was THEORA; bluer was her eye

Than the bright azure of the moonlight night;

Fair was her cheek as is the ocean cloud

Red with the morning ray.

Amidst the groves,

And greens, and nodding rocks that overhang

The grey Killarney, pass'd her morning days

Bright with the beams of joy.

To solitude,

To Nature, and to God, she gave her youth;

Hence were her passions tuned to harmony.

Her azure eye oft glisten'd with the tear

Of sensibility, and her soft cheek

Glow'd with the blush of rapture. Hence, she loved

To wander 'midst the green-wood, silver'd o'er

By the bright moonbeam. Hence, she loved the rocks

Crown'd with the nodding ivy, and the lake

Fair with the purple morning, and the sea

Expansive mingling with the arched sky.

Kindled by Genius, in her bosom glow'd

The sacred fire of Freedom. Hence, she scorn'd

The narrow laws of custom that control

Her feeble sex. Great in her energies,

She roam'd the fields of Nature, scann'd the laws

That move the ruling atoms, changing still,

Still rising into life. Her eagle eye,

Piercing the blue immensity of space,

Held converse with the lucid sons of Heaven,

The day-stars of creation, or pursued

The dusky planets rolling round the Sun,

And drinking in his radiance light and life.

Such was the Maiden! Such was she who fled

Her native shores.

Dark in the midnight cloud,

When the wild blast upon its pinions bore

The dying shrieks of Erin's injured sons,[14]

She 'scaped the murderer's arm.

The British bark

Bore her across the ocean. From the West

The whirlwind rose, the fire-fraught clouds of Heaven

Were mingled with the wave. The shatter'd bark

Sunk at thy feet, Bolerium, and the white surge

Closed on green Erin's daughter.

[10] The Land's End in Cornwall.

[11] The granite of Cornwall is generally found incumbent on

primitive _schistus_. This is the case in many of the cliffs at

the Land's End. The upper stratum is composed of granite, the

lower with the surrounding rocks of _schistus_. D.

[12] The Islands of Scilly.

[13] A rock near the Land's End, called the 'Irish Lady.'

[14] The Irish Lady was shipwrecked at the Land's End, about the

time of the massacre of the Irish Protestants by the Catholics,

in the reign of Charles the First.

That the Genius who presided over the destinies of Davy should

have torn him from these flowery regions of Fancy, and condemned

him to labour in the dusky caverns of the mineral kingdom, has

furnished a fruitful theme of lamentation to the band of Poets,

and to those who prefer the amusements to the profits of life, and

who cherish the hallucinations of the imagination rather than the

truths of science. If, however, we regret that Davy's Muse, like

Proserpine, should have been thus violently seized, and carried off

to the lower regions, as she was weaving her native wild flowers

into a garland, we may console ourselves in knowing that, like the

daughter of Ceres, she also obtained the privilege of occasionally

revisiting her native bowers; for it will appear in the course of

these memoirs, that in the intervals of more abstruse studies, Davy

not unfrequently amused himself with poetical composition. But, in

sober truth, is it possible that any reasonable being can regret

the course in which he has been impelled? A great poetic Genius has

said, "If Davy had not been the first Chemist, he would have been

the first Poet of his age." Upon this question I do not feel myself

a competent judge: but where is the modern Esau who would exchange

his Bakerian Lecture for a poem, though it should equal in design

and execution the PARADISE LOST?

As far as can be ascertained, one of the first original experiments

in Chemistry performed by him at Penzance, was for the purpose of

discovering the quality of the air contained in the bladders of

sea-weed, in order to obtain results in support of a favourite

theory of light; and to ascertain whether, as land vegetables are

the renovators of the atmosphere of land-animals, sea-vegetables

might not be the preservers of the equilibrium of the atmosphere of

the ocean. From these experiments he concluded, that the different

orders of the marine _Cryptogamia_ were capable of decomposing

water, when assisted by the attraction of light for oxygen.

His instruments, however, were of the rudest description,

manufactured by himself out of the motley materials which chance

threw in his way; the pots and pans of the kitchen, and even the

more sacred vessels and professional instruments of the surgery,

were without the least hesitation or remorse put in requisition.

While upon this subject, I will relate an anecdote which was

communicated to me by my late venerable friend Mr. Thomas

Giddy.[15] A French vessel having been wrecked off the Land's

End, the surgeon escaped, and found his way to Penzance; accident

brought him acquainted with Humphry Davy, who showed him many

civilities, and in return received, as a present from the surgeon,

a case of instruments which had been saved from the ship. The

contents were eagerly turned out and examined by the young chemist,

not, however, with any professional view as to their utility,

but in order to ascertain how far they might be convertible to

experimental purposes. The old-fashioned and clumsy glyster

apparatus was viewed with exultation, and seized in triumph!--What

reverses may not be suddenly effected by a simple accident! so

says the moralist. Reader, behold an illustration:--in the brief

space of an hour, did this long-neglected and unobtrusive machine,

emerging from its obscurity and insignificance, figure away in all

the pomp and glory of a complicated piece of pneumatic apparatus:

nor did its fortunes end here; it was destined for greater things;

and we shall hereafter learn that it actually performed the duties

of an air-pump, in an original experiment on the nature and sources

of heat. The most humble means may certainly accomplish the highest

ends: the filament of a spider's web has been used to measure the

motions of the stars; and a kite, made with two cross sticks and

a silk handkerchief, enabled the chemical Prometheus to rob the

thunder-cloud of its lightnings; but that a worn-out instrument,

such as has been just described, should have furnished him who was

born to revolutionize the science of the age, with the only means

of enquiry at that time within his reach, affords, it must be

admitted, a very whimsical illustration of our maxim.

[15] I cannot allude to this name, without paying a tribute of

respect to the memory of one who, for more than half a century,

practised the profession of a surgeon in Penzance with as much

credit to himself, as advantage to his neighbourhood.

Nor can we pass over these circumstances, without observing how

materially they must have influenced the subsequent success of

Davy as an experimentalist. Had he, at the commencement of his

career, been furnished with all those appliances which he enjoyed

at a later period, it is more than probable that he might never

have acquired that wonderful tact of manipulation, that ability of

suggesting expedients, and of contriving apparatus so as to meet

and surmount the difficulties which must ever beset the philosopher

in the unbeaten tracks of Science. In this art, he certainly

stands unrivalled, and, like his prototype Scheele,[16] or that

pioneer of pneumatic experimentalists, Dr. Priestley,[17] he was

unquestionably indebted for his address to the circumstances above

related. There never, perhaps, was a more striking exemplification

of the adage, that "necessity is the parent of invention."

[16] Bergman, Professor of Upsal, was informed of a young man who

resided in the house of an apothecary, and who was reproached

for neglecting the duties of his profession, while he devoted

the whole of his time to Chemistry. Bergman's curiosity was

excited; he paid him a visit, and was astonished at the knowledge

he displayed, and at the profound researches in which he was

engaged, notwithstanding the poverty under which he laboured, and

the restraint under which his situation placed him. He encouraged

his ardour, and made him his friend. This young man was the

celebrated _Scheele_.

[17] No man ever entered upon an undertaking with less apparent

means of success, than did Priestley upon that of Chemistry.

He neither possessed apparatus, nor the money to procure it.

These circumstances, which at first sight seem so adverse, were

in reality those which contributed to his ultimate success.

The branch of Chemistry he selected was new; an apparatus had

to be invented before any important step could be taken; and

as simplicity is essential in every research, he was likely to

contrive the best whose circumstances obliged him to attend to

economy.

It would however appear that, imperfect as must have been his

apparatus, and limited as were his resources, his ambition very

early led him to the investigation of the most abstruse and

recondite phenomena. He was not more than seventeen when he formed

a strong opinion adverse to the general belief in the existence of

_caloric_, or the materiality of heat.

As I shall hereafter have occasion to draw a parallel between the

intellectual qualities of Davy, and those of the celebrated Dr.

Black, the father of modern chemistry, it may not be irrelevant to

state, in this place, that the subject of heat was also amongst

the first that attracted the attention of this latter philosopher;

indeed, he tells us himself, that he "can scarcely remember the

time, when he had not some idea of the disagreement of facts with

the commonly received doctrines upon this subject." The tendency

of his mind, however, was in direct opposition to that of Davy's,

for he insisted upon the materiality of heat, and was the first

to conceive the bold idea of its being capable, like any other

substance, of entering into chemical combination with various

bodies, and of thus losing its characteristic qualities.

Black's theory could not be more opposed to that of Davy than

was his conduct upon the occasion; for, although an experiment

suggested itself to his mind, by which, as he thought, he could

at once establish the truth of his favourite doctrine, he delayed

performing it, because there did not happen to be an ice-house

in the town in which he lived. With Davy, on the other hand, the

conception and execution of an experiment were nearly simultaneous:

no sooner, therefore, had he formed his opinion, than his eager

spirit urged him to put it to the test.

Having procured a piece of clock-work, so contrived as to be

set to work in an exhausted receiver, he added two horizontal

plates of brass; the upper one, carrying a small metallic cup

to be filled with ice, revolved in contact with the lower one.

The whole machine, resting on a plate of ice, was covered by a

glass receiver, and the air was exhausted by the very syringe,

ingeniously modified for the purpose, with which the reader has

already been made acquainted: for, as yet, he had no air-pump, and,

what is still more worthy of notice, had never even seen one! The

machine was now set in motion, when the ice in the small cup was

soon observed to melt; whence he inferred that this effect could

alone proceed from vibratory motion, since the whole apparatus was

insulated from all accession of material heat, by the frozen mass

below, and by the vacuum around it.

The experiment was afterwards repeated with greater care, and by

means of a more refined apparatus: it was modified in different

ways; and the results were ultimately published in an Essay, to be

hereafter noticed, "On Heat, Light, and the Combinations of Light,"

which appeared in a provincial collection of tracts, edited by Dr.

Beddoes, at Bristol.

Mr. Davies Gilbert, in describing the above experiment in his late

address to the Royal Society, very justly observed that it does

not at all decide the important matter in dispute, with respect to

an ethereal or transcendental fluid; but that few young men remote

from the society of persons conversant with science, will present

themselves, who are capable of devising any thing so ingenious.

Dr. Henry, in a paper published in the "Memoirs of the Manchester

Society," on entering into a review of this and similar

experiments, very truly states, that the mode of insulation is not

only imperfect, but that, according to Count Rumford, caloric will

even pass through a Torricellian vacuum.

The most prominent circumstance in the history of this period of

Davy's life, is his introduction to Mr. Davies Giddy, now Mr.

Gilbert, the late distinguished and popular President of the

Royal Society. The manner in which this happened is as curious as

its result was important; and it furnishes another very striking

illustration of the power of simple accident in directing our

destinies. Mr. Gilbert's attention was attracted to the future

philosopher, as he was carelessly swinging over the hatch, or half

gate, of Mr. Borlase's house, by the humorous contortions into

which he threw his features. Davy, it may be remarked, when a boy,

possessed a countenance which, even in its natural state, was very

far from comely, while his round shoulders, inharmonious voice, and

insignificant manner, were calculated to produce any thing rather

than a favourable impression: in riper years, he was what might be

called "good-looking," although, as a wit of the day observed, his

aspect was certainly of the "Bucolic" character. The change which

his person underwent, after his promotion to the Royal Institution,

was so rapid, that, in the days of Herodotus, it would have been

attributed to nothing less than the miraculous interposition of

the Priestesses of Helen. A person, who happened to be walking

with Mr. Gilbert upon the occasion alluded to, observed that

the extraordinary-looking boy in question was young Davy, the

Carver's son, who, he added, was said to be fond of making chemical

experiments. "Chemical experiments!" exclaimed Mr. Gilbert, with

much surprise: "if that be the case, I must have some conversation

with him." Mr. Gilbert, as we all know, possesses a strong

perception of character, and he therefore soon discovered ample

evidence of the boy's singular genius. After several interviews,

which confirmed him in the opinion he had formed, he offered

young Humphry the use of his library, or any other assistance that

he might require for the pursuit of his studies; and at the same

time gave him an invitation to his house at Tredrea, of which he

frequently availed himself.

During one of his visits, Mr. Gilbert accompanied him to Hayle

Copper-House, and introduced him to Dr. Edwards, a gentleman

afterwards known to the medical profession as the chemical

lecturer in the school of St. Bartholomew's Hospital; at the time,

however, alluded to, he resided at Copper-House with his father,

and possessed a well-appointed laboratory. The tumultuous delight

which Davy expressed on seeing, for the first time, a quantity

of chemical apparatus, hitherto only known to him through the

medium of engravings, is described by Mr. Gilbert as surpassing

all description. The air-pump more especially fixed his attention,

and he worked its piston, exhausted the receiver, and opened its

valves, with the simplicity and joy of a child engaged in the

examination of a new and favourite toy.

It is a curious circumstance, that the phenomena resulting from the

contact of iron and copper, in the investigation of which Davy was

destined to perform so prominent a part, were very early noticed

by Mr. Edwards in this place; who found that the flood-gates in

the Port of Hayle decayed with a rapidity wholly inexplicable,

but upon the supposition of some _chemical_ action between the

metals which had not yet been clearly explained. How little did Mr.

Edwards imagine that the fact, which had so powerfully excited his

curiosity, would become to the youth before him, a future source of

rich and honourable discovery!

During the following year, an event occurred which contributed,

in no small degree, to the advancement of Davy's prospects. Mr.

Gregory Watt, who had long been in a declining state of health,

was recommended by his physicians to reside for some time in the

West of England, and he accordingly proceeded at once to Penzance,

and took up his abode, as a lodger and boarder, in the house of

Mrs. Davy. It may be supposed that two kindred spirits would not

be long in contracting an acquaintance with each other; in fact,

an intimacy of the warmest nature did ultimately grow up between

them, and continue to the very moment of Mr. Watt's premature

dissolution: the origin and progress of their friendship, however,

are too curious to be passed over without some notice.

Mr. Gregory Watt possessed a warm and affectionate heart; but

there was a solemn, aristocratic coldness in his manner, which

repulsed every approach to familiarity. Davy, it has been already

stated, did not at that time possess any of those qualifications,

in person or manner, which are calculated to produce favourable

prepossessions. It may, therefore, be readily imagined how Mr.

Watt must have felt, on finding the son of his landlady familiarly

addressing him on subjects of metaphysics and poetry. By one of

those strange perversions which have so frequently led great men

to conceal the peculiarity of their talents, and to rest their

claims to notice and respect upon qualifications which they

possessed only in an inferior degree, Davy sought to ingratiate

himself with Mr. Watt by metaphysical discussions; but, instead

of the admiration, he excited the disgust of his hearer. It was

by mere accident that an allusion was first made to chemistry,

when Davy flippantly observed, that he would undertake to demolish

the French theory in half an hour. He had touched the chord: the

interest of Mr. Watt was excited,--he conversed with Davy upon his

chemical pursuits,--he was at once astonished and delighted at his

sagacity,--the barrier of ice was removed, and they became attached

friends.

Mr. Wedgwood, and his brother Thomas, also spent a winter at

Penzance; and I have reason to believe that their friendship was of

substantial benefit to Davy.

Before I attend the progress of our philosopher to the next

scene of life, or proceed to detail the circumstances connected

with his departure from Penzance, I must relate the following

anecdote.--Until the formation of the Geological Society of

London occasioned the introduction of more extended and sounder

views into the science, geologists were divided into two great

rival sects,--into Neptunists and Plutonists: the one affirming

that the globe was exclusively indebted for its present form and

arrangement to the agency of water; the other, admitting to a

certain extent the operation of water, but maintaining the utter

impossibility of explaining the consolidation of the strata without

the intervention of fire. Every geologist felt bound to side with

the one or the other of these contending parties, for neutrality

was held as disgraceful as though the law of Solon had been in

active operation. I shall not easily forget the din and fury of

this elemental war, as it raged in Edinburgh when I was a student

in that University; even the mineral dealers, who, like the

artisans of a neutral city, sold arms and ammunition to both sides,

still defended their own opinions with party fury. It was amusing

to observe the triumph and dismay which, by turns, animated and

depressed each side, as the discovery of a new fact, or a fresh

specimen, appeared to give a preponderance to the doctrine of fire

or water. The fact of so large a portion of the strata being found

in the state of a carbonate was advanced by the Neptunists as an

unanswerable argument against igneous agency: the dismay therefore

which this sect received upon the discovery of Sir James Hall,

that under the combined forces of heat and compression, carbonate

of lime might be fused, was only equalled by the excessive joy

excited in the contending party. We may form some notion of the

high importance attached to this discovery, when we learn that its

author applied to the Government for a flag of truce to convey

illustrative specimens to the Continental philosophers.

It so happened, that the Professors of Oxford and Cambridge ranged

themselves under opposite banners: Dr. Beddoes was a violent and

uncompromising Plutonist, while Professor Hailstone was as decided

a Neptunist. The rocks of Cornwall, and their granitic veins, had

been appealed to, as affording evidence upon the subject; and the

two Professors, who, although adverse in opinion, were united

in friendship, determined to proceed together to the field of

dispute, each hoping that he might thus convince the other of

his error, and cure him of his heresy. The belligerents arrived

at Penzance, and in company with their mutual friend, Mr. Davies

Gilbert, examined the coast, and procured specimens with pretty

much the same spirit of selection as a schoolboy consults his

Gradus, not for an epithet of any meaning, but for one which best

suits his measure; and having made drawings, disputed obvious

appearances, rendered that which was clear to the senses, confused

to the understanding, and what was already confused, ten times

more obscure, they returned, the opinion of each, as might easily

have been anticipated, having been strengthened by the ordeal:

the one protesting that the very aspect of the shivered slate was

sufficient to prove that the globe must have been roasted to rags;

the other, with equal plausibility, declaring that there was not a

tittle of evidence to show that the watery solvent had ever even

simmered. Such, in fact, must ever be the case, when philosophers

examine the same subject under such different impressions, and in

such opposite points of view; like the two knights who could not

agree respecting the colour of the shield, only because each saw a

different side of it.

Rocks, it is said, have flinty hearts, and certain it is that, upon

this occasion, Cornwall did not afford that assistance against the

Neptunists, which the Oxford Professor had sought with so much zeal

and confidence; but if deferred revenge had, as we are told is

generally the case, been put out at compound interest, and Beddoes

had exacted its dues with more than judaical rigour, it must be

allowed that Cornwall, by placing Davy at his disposal, would have

fully cancelled all demands.

Plutonian Beddoes, erst, in spiteful ire,

To see a _Hailstone_ mock his central fire,

A mighty spirit raised, by whose device

We now burn HAILSTONES, and set fire to Ice.

Before quitting this subject, it is but justice to advert to the

progress which Geology has made since the turbulence of this

contest has subsided; it has grown strong in facts, and is daily

increasing its stores. It has been wisely said by one of the

ancient Poets, that in vehement disputes, not only the persons

engaged, but every one who is at all interested, must suffer; not

only the combatants, but the spectators of the combat,--for it

is difficult to apprehend truth while it is the subject of angry

contest.

To return to the narrative.--Upon Beddoes establishing the

"Pneumatic Institution" at Bristol, he required an assistant who

might superintend the necessary experiments in the laboratory;

and Mr. Gilbert proposed Davy as a person fully competent to fill

the situation. The young candidate had already produced a very

favourable impression upon Dr. Beddoes, by his experiments upon

Heat and Light, which he had some time before transmitted to him

through the hands of his friend Mr. Gregory Watt. This fact may

be collected from a note appended by Dr. Beddoes to Davy's paper

subsequently published in the first volume of the West Country

Contributions, in which the Doctor says, "My first knowledge of

Mr. Davy arose from a letter written in April 1798, containing an

account of his researches on Heat and Light." The rest is told in

the letters which passed on this occasion between Dr. Beddoes and

Mr. Gilbert, and from which I shall make such extracts as may be

necessary to complete the history of a transaction of much interest

and importance.

In a letter dated July 4, 1798, Dr. Beddoes says, "I am glad that

Mr. Davy has impressed you as he has me. I have long wished to

write to you about him, for I think I can open a more fruitful

field of investigation than any body else. Is it not also his

most direct road to fortune? Should he not bring out a favourable

result, he may still exhibit talents for investigation, and entitle

himself to public confidence more effectually than by any other

mode. He must be maintained, but the fund will not furnish a salary

from which a man can lay up any thing. He must also devote his

time for two or three years to the investigation. I wish you would

converse with him upon the subject. No doubt he has received my two

last letters. I am sorry I cannot at this moment specify a yearly

sum, nor can I say with certainty whether all the subscribers will

accede to my plan; most of them will, I doubt not. I have written

to the principal ones, and will lose no time in sounding them all."

In a second letter of the 18th of July, we find the following

observations. "I have received a letter from Mr. Davy since I wrote

to you. He has oftener than once mentioned a _genteel maintenance_,

as a preliminary to his being employed to superintend the

Pneumatic Hospital. I fear the funds will not allow an ample

salary; he must, however, be maintained. I can attach no idea to

the epithet _genteel_, but perhaps all difficulties would vanish

in conversation; at least, I think your conversing with Mr. Davy

will be a more likely way of smoothing difficulties, than our

correspondence. It appears to me, that this appointment will bear

to be considered as a part of Mr. Davy's medical education, and

that it will be a great saving of expense to him. It may also be

the foundation of a lucrative reputation; and certainly nothing

on my part shall be wanting to secure to him the credit he may

deserve. He does not undertake to discover cures for this or that

disease; he may acquire just applause by bringing out clear, though

negative results. During my journeys into the country, I have

picked up a variety of important and curious facts from different

practitioners. This has suggested to me the idea of collecting and

publishing such facts as this part of the country will, from time

to time, afford. If I could procure chemical experiments, that bore

any relation to organised nature, I would insert them. If Mr. Davy

does not dislike this method of publishing his experiments, I would

gladly place them at the head of my first volume, but I wish not

that he should make any sacrifice of judgment or inclination."

It remains only to be stated, that Mr. Gilbert kindly undertook

the negotiation, and completed it to the satisfaction of all the

principal parties. Mrs. Davy yielded to her son's wishes, and

Mr. Borlase very generously surrendered his indenture, with an

endorsement to the following effect,--that he freely gave up the

indenture, on account of the singularly promising talents which Mr.

Davy had displayed.

His old and valued friend Mr. Tonkin, however, not only expressed

his disapprobation of this scheme, but was so vexed and irritated

at having his favourite plan of fixing Davy in his native town as

a Surgeon, thus thwarted, that he actually altered his will, and

revoked the legacy of his house which he had previously bequeathed

him. Mr. Tonkin died on the 24th of December 1801; so that,

although he lived long enough to witness Davy's appointment to the

Royal Institution, he could never have anticipated the elevation to

which his genius and talents ultimately raised him.

On the 2nd of October in the year 1798, Davy quitted Penzance,

before he had attained his twentieth year. Mr. Gilbert well

remembers meeting him upon his journey to Bristol, and breakfasting

with him at Okehampton, on the 4th of October. He was in the

highest spirits, and in that frame of mind in which a man of ardent

imagination identifies every successful occurrence with his own

fortunes; his exhilaration, therefore, was not a little heightened

by the arrival of the mail-coach from London, covered with laurels

and ribbons, and bringing the news, so cheering to every English

heart, of NELSON'S glorious victory of the NILE.