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"A virtuous household, though exceeding poor!

Pure livers were they all, austere and grave,

And fearing God; the very children taught

Stern self-respect, a reverence for God's word,

And an habitual piety."

Wordsworth.

Among those of our great men who, born in humble circumstances and unfurnished with the benefits of early education, have yet secured for themselves honourable positions in the history of the world's progress, Michael Faraday holds a remarkable place. Born the son of a journeyman blacksmith, Michael yet gained for himself a conspicuous position among the very first scientists of his day, and at the time of his death was acknowledged as one of the leading philosophers—electricians—chemists—of this nineteenth century.

Our interest in a great man makes us always interested also in his family—we become anxious to know who and what he was apart from that which has made him great. Who were his parents? from where did they come? what were they like? what did they do? and a number of similar questions are at once started as soon as we commence considering the lives of our "great and good." In the case of Faraday we have only scanty information as to his family, but thus much we have gleaned:—

During the whole of last century there was living in or near the village of Clapham, in Yorkshire, a family of the name of Faraday. Between the years 1708 and 1730 the Clapham parish register shows us that "Richard ffaraday, stonemason, tiler, and separatist," recorded the births of ten children, and it is probable that he had in his large family yet another son, Robert. Whether, however, Robert was his son or only his nephew is a matter of doubt, but it is known of him that he married Elizabeth Dean, the possessor of a small though comfortable house called Clapham Wood Hall, and that he was the father of ten children, one of whom, James, was born in 1761, and became the father of Michael Faraday.

Robert and Elizabeth Faraday's six sons were each of them brought up to some trade or craft, and were thus all of them fitted to go out into the world and fight the battle of life. One son became a grocer and (as his grandfather, "Richard ffaraday," had been) tiler; one a farmer; one a shoemaker, and so on. The third son, James, to us the most interesting member of this large family, although he appears to have been of somewhat weak constitution and unfitted for so laborious a vocation, became a blacksmith, served his apprenticeship, and exercised his craft for some time in the neighbourhood of his birthplace. When he was five-and-twenty years old (in 1786), James married; his wife being Margaret Hastwell, the daughter of a farmer living near Kirkby Stephen, a place some few miles away from Clapham, over the Westmoreland border. For two years or thereabouts did the young blacksmith and his wife remain in the neighbourhood of Clapham; but after that time had elapsed they determined to come up to London, and seek their fortunes in the great metropolis. To the young men and women of our rural places the very name of London has about it, even to-day, a ring as of genuine coin, that tempts them to leave in large numbers the homes of their childhood that they may plunge into the vortex of city life. A hundred years ago this strange attractive power of the metropolis was probably much greater, owing to the difficulty of reaching it and the vague stories that were told of its wealth. They who had "been to London" were looked upon in rural places as veritable travellers, and were to their "home-keeping" friends objects of greater curiosity than anyone who to-day returns from the farthest or wildest portion of the earth's surface. The old story of "the London streets being paved with gold"—the story that had buoyed up the spirits of the youthful Whittington—seems yet in the last century to have gained some credence. Whether they were induced to do so by promises of work, or merely attracted to London as a centre where work would probably be plentiful, we cannot say; but it is at any rate certain that the Faradays removed from the Yorkshire village to a London suburb some time before the autumn of 1791. For it was on the 22nd of September in that year that there was born to them at Newington Butts their third child, Michael, the future illustrious chemist and philosopher, upon the story of whose life we are now about to enter.

Of Michael's early years we have but a very meagre account. When he was about five years old his family removed from Newington Butts, and went to live in Jacob's Well Mews, Charles Street, Manchester Square, where they occupied rooms over a coach-house. James Faraday found employment at this time in Welbeck Street, while his young son passed his time, as children so circumstanced generally do, in playing in the streets; in after years, indeed, that son, become a prominent man, would point out where in Spanish Place he used to play at marbles, and where in Manchester Square he had at a later time been proud of having to take care of his younger sister, Margaret. It was from Jacob's Well Mews, too, that Michael went to school, and received such scant education as was to be his before it became necessary that he, as a youth of thirteen, should step into the ranks of the workers and begin the battle of life in earnest; such education as he received was of the "most ordinary description (to use his own words), consisting of little more than the rudiments of reading, writing, and arithmetic at a common day-school. My hours out of school were passed at home and in the streets."

When Faraday was a boy nine years of age, in the first year of the present century, there was a time of much distress, when the rate of wages was very low, and the price of food very high: corn, indeed, which is at the present time about forty shillings per quarter, cost then as much as £9 for the same quantity. The distress, was felt very generally throughout the country, and the Faraday family severely felt the hard times; Michael, we are told, was allowed one loaf each week, and, it is added (poor Michael!), that the loaf had to last him that time.

THE HOUSE IN JACOB'S WELL MEWS.

Near by where the Faraday family lived in Jacob's Well Mews there was, at No. 2, Blandford Street, a worthy bookseller named Riebau. In 1804, when Faraday was a boy of thirteen, he was employed as an errand boy by Mr. Riebau, "for one year on trial"—a trial that, as we shall shortly see, proved highly satisfactory. Michael's duty as errand boy, when he commenced, was to carry round the newspapers which were lent out by his master. He would get up very early each Sunday morning, and take the papers round, so that he might be able to call again for them while it was yet fairly early; frequently he would be told that he "must call again," as the paper was not done with. On such occasions he would beg to be allowed to have it at once, as the next place at which he had to call might be a mile off, and he would lose so much time going twice over his rounds that he would not be able to get home and make himself neat, so that he might go with his parents to their place of worship. Mr. Riebau's shop, it may be noted, has changed but little since the early part of this century, it is still a stationer's business, and on the front of the house is placed a plaque bearing the simple inscription "Michael Faraday, Man of Science," with the date of his apprenticeship there. This plaque has furnished the simple yet sufficient title for this volume.

His father, it may here be noted, had joined the Sandemanian Church, or the followers of Robert Sandeman, who, with his father-in-law, the Reverend John Glas, had seceded from the Scotch Presbyterian Church, and with him had started the sect which was named after Sandeman, or, as they are still called in Scotland, Glasites. In joining the Sandemanian Church, James Faraday was following the family tradition, for the large family of Clapham Faradays, to whom we have referred, were all members of the same body. Michael's mother, although she had not formally become a member of the Church, used regularly to attend as one of the congregation. Michael, as we shall learn, joined the Church later on, and continued a devout and sincere member of it up to the time of his death.

For about a year did young Faraday continue as Mr. Riebau's errand boy; for about a year, as Professor Tyndall puts it, "he slid along the London pavements, a bright-eyed errand boy, with a load of brown curls upon his head and a packet of newspapers under his arm." We learn from one of his nieces that in his later years he rarely saw a newsboy without making some kind remark about him; as he said on one such occasion, "I always feel a tenderness for those boys, because I once carried newspapers myself." He was reproached, he says, as a boy, with being a great questioner. "He that questioneth much," says Lord Bacon, "shall learn much;" but this truth is too often forgotten by their elders when children are "inquisitive," and, as in Faraday's case, what is but the natural questioning of an awakening mind is put down to idle curiosity, and the child is told (as we may often hear) "not to ask so many questions."

Although Faraday says he was thus "charged with being a great questioner," he could not recall what kind of questions he put; though he tells one story against himself which shows that all questioning, even that of a young philosopher, is not necessarily wise. He had called at a certain house to leave a newspaper, and whilst waiting for the door to be opened he put his head between the iron bars that separated the house from the next, and while in that position asked himself, somewhat strangely, which side of the railing he was on? No sooner had he started the question than the door behind him opened, he drew suddenly back, and, hitting himself so as to make his nose bleed, he forgot all about his question, which, without being answered, was yet it would seem somewhat definitely settled.

When his year as errand boy expired, Michael was apprenticed to Mr. Riebau to learn the trade of bookbinder and stationer. His indentures are dated October 7th, 1805, and contain in one line an excellent testimonial to his character: "In consideration of his faithful service no premium is given." Of the earlier part of his seven years' apprenticeship we know but little. His father wrote in 1809 to a brother at the old home at Clapham, "Michael is bookbinder and stationer, and is very active at learning his business. He has been most part of four years of his time out of seven. He has a very good master and mistress, and likes his place well. He had a hard time for some while at first going; but, as the old saying goes, he has rather got the head above water, as there are two boys under him."

"MICHAEL FARADAY, MAN OF SCIENCE, APPRENTICE HERE."

In that he was placed within reach of many and good books, which should go a great way towards deciding his scientific and speculative bent of mind, a position such as that in Mr. Riebau's shop was as good a one as he could have had. Not only were many scientific books, that had hitherto been unavailable, now placed ready to his hand, but he had in Riebau a kind and considerate master; he was allowed, and it was a valuable privilege, to be out occasionally of an evening that he might attend the lectures on natural philosophy which a Mr. Tatum was delivering at that time at his house in Dorset Street, Fleet Street. Michael saw bills announcing the lectures in shop windows, and became anxious to hear them, which he was enabled to do owing to the kindness of his master, Mr. Riebau, and the generosity of his elder brother Robert, who at the time was following their father's business, and made Michael a present on several occasions of the shilling which was charged for entrance to the lectures.

Towards the end of the year 1809 Faraday's family removed from Jacob's Well Mews, where their home had been for thirteen years, and went to live at 18, Weymouth Street, near Portland Place, and there, on October 30th of the following year, James Faraday died. He had been out of health for some years, and seems indeed to have been quite physically unfitted for so laborious an occupation as that of blacksmith. In 1807 he had written to a brother at Clapham, "I am sorry to say I have not had the pleasure of enjoying one day's health for a long time. Although I am very seldom off work for a whole day together, yet I am under the necessity (through pain) of being from work part of almost every day." He then concludes his letter in that spirit of simple yet earnest devotion that appears to have been characteristic of the whole family: "But we, perhaps, ought to leave these matters to the overruling hand of Him who has a sovereign right to do what seemeth good to Him, both in the armies of heaven and amongst the inhabitants of the earth."

Michael's strong affection for his parents became, as he grew older, one of the most marked features of his character; his great love for his mother is shown in many ways, notably in every letter which he wrote to her. The following story illustrates, as do many others that are told of him, Faraday's depth of feeling with regard to his family. After he had become recognised by the world as the great man that he was, and when sitting to Noble for his bust, it happened that the sculptor, in giving the finishing touches to the marble, made a clattering with his chisels: noticing that his sitter appeared moved, he said he feared the jingling of the tools had distressed him, and that he was weary. "No, my dear Mr. Noble," said Faraday, putting his hand upon his shoulder, "but the noise reminded me of my father's anvil, and took me back to my boyhood."

Gradually Faraday's interest widened in those matters which later on were to entirely engross his attention. His apprenticeship at first gave him many opportunities of reading philosophical and scientific works. "I loved," he afterwards wrote, referring to this time, "to read the scientific books which were under my hands, and, amongst them, delighted in Marcet's Conversations in Chemistry, and the electrical treatise in the Encyclopædia Britannica. I made," he adds, and the item is interesting as giving us a first glimpse at his experiments, "I made such simple experiments in chemistry as could be defrayed in their expense by a few pence per week, and also constructed an electrical machine, first with a glass phial, and afterwards with a real cylinder, as well as other electrical apparatus of a corresponding kind." Watts' On the Mind, was, he said, the first thing that made him really think; while his thoughts were directed towards science by an article on electricity, which he lighted upon in an encyclopædia entrusted to him to bind. Such glimpses into the early reading—showing us how the bent of his genius is decided—are always interesting in the life of one who, as Tennyson says, "Has made by force his merit known."

Into Faraday's early reading—or that part of his reading which bore upon the science with which his name is so intimately connected—we have indeed something more than a glimpse, for he compiled (during 1809–10) a note book in which he wrote down the names of such books and articles connected with the sciences as interested him. This note book he called, "The Philosophical Miscellany: being a collection of notices, occurrences, events, etc., relating to the arts and sciences, collected from the public papers, reviews, magazines, and other miscellaneous works; intended to promote both amusement and instruction, and also to corroborate or invalidate those theories which are continually starting into the world of science."

Thus ambitiously did Michael Faraday, a youth of not yet twenty years, start upon his career as an investigator; thus early did he evince a desire to "corroborate or invalidate those theories which are continually starting into the world of science." Among books and articles to which reference is made in the interesting Miscellany, there are papers by Dr. Darwin,[1] papers on a "Description of a Pyro-pneumatic Apparatus," and "Experiment on the Ocular Spectra of Light and Colours," frequent references to "lightning," "electric fish," and other electrical phenomena, showing his early leaning towards this particular branch of investigation. There is a reference to the short essay on the Formation of Snow, which forms the reading for December 5th, in that interesting, and at the present time neglected, work, Sturm's Reflections on the Works of God. This book has perhaps been supplanted in a great measure by the many popular treatises on science and natural history which recent years have produced, but which, nevertheless, have not taken the place of the Reflections, the simplicity and directness of which give to the volume a perennial charm such as but few books can maintain. Other papers, such as that on "How to Loosen Glass Stopples," included in the Miscellany, show us Faraday's interest in the science of everyday life, to which in his later years we owe those delightfully interesting lectures on "The Chemical History of a Candle," lectures to which fuller reference is made later on in this volume. One other reference in the Miscellany is at any rate worthy of passing note for obvious reasons, or for reasons which are obvious as soon as we learn how closely connected is the career of Faraday with that of his great benefactor and predecessor in the field of research, Sir Humphry Davy. The reference is from the Chemical Observer, to the effect that "Mr. Davy (he was knighted in 1812) has announced to the Royal Society a great discovery in chemistry—the fixed alkalies have been decomposed by the galvanic battery."

From the lectures at Mr. Tatum's house our young philosopher gained something more than a knowledge of the subjects discussed—he gained several friends, intercourse and exchange of ideas with whom were to form no inconsiderable part of his education; that he might illustrate the lectures, too, he set to study perspective, being kindly assisted in his work by Mr. Masquarier, a French refugee artist who was lodging at the time at Mr. Riebau's, and whose kindness to him Faraday never in after years forgot to acknowledge. About a dozen lectures at Mr. Tatum's were spread over rather more than eighteen months (February, 1810—September, 1811). At them, Faraday became acquainted with Benjamin Abbott, a confidential clerk in the City—an acquaintance that ripened into life-long friendship; here also he met Huxtable, a medical student, to whom he addressed the earliest note of his which is extant. Other kindred spirits with whom Faraday entered into friendly relations at the Dorset Street lectures, were Magrath, Newton, Nichol, and many more. There is a perverted and ridiculous story told of Faraday's first hearing Davy lecture, to the effect that "Magrath happening, many years ago, to enter the shop of Mr. Riebau, observed one of the bucks of the paper bonnet zealously studying a book which he ought to have been binding. He approached; it was a volume of the old Britannica, open at 'Electricity.' He entered into talk with the journeyman, and was astonished to find in him a self-taught chemist, of no slender pretensions. He presented him with a set of tickets for Davy's lectures at the Royal Institution; and daily thereafter might the nondescript be seen perched, pen in hand, and his eyes starting out of his head, just over the clock opposite the chair. At last the course terminated; but Faraday's spirit had received a new impulse, which nothing but dire necessity could have restrained." This circumstantial yet exaggerated story, couched as it is in the worst of tastes, is yet quoted with approval in a recent work supposed of some authority.

Magrath, as we have seen, Faraday had met earlier, and, as he tells us himself, the kindness of giving him tickets for Davy's lectures was done him by Mr. Dance.[2] The story quoted above says also that he might be seen daily, and that "at last" the course terminated. To show us how garbled is this account and in what it is true, we will turn to an account of this incident—this important incident—in his life, which Faraday himself wrote out later at the request of a correspondent. "During my apprenticeship," he says, "I had the good fortune, through the kindness of Mr. Dance, who was a customer of my master's shop, and also a member of the Royal Institution, to hear four of the last lectures of Sir H. Davy in that locality. The dates of these lectures were February 29th, March 14th, April 8th and 10th, 1812. Of these I made notes, and then wrote out the lectures in a fuller form, interspersing them with such drawings as I could make. The desire to be engaged in scientific occupation, even though of the lowest kind, induced me, whilst an apprentice, to write, in my ignorance of the world and simplicity of my mind, to Sir Joseph Banks, then President of the Royal Society. Naturally enough, 'no answer' was the reply left with the porter."

The four lectures which Faraday heard during the spring of 1812 were, as we shall see in the next chapter, to mark an epoch in his life. At each of these lectures, we are told, the delighted youth listened to Sir Humphry Davy, from a seat in the gallery immediately over the clock directly facing the illustrious lecturer;[3] both speaker and listener being unaware of the close inter-connection there was destined to be between their two careers. But of this in the next chapter, for between Faraday's hearing Davy's lectures and his correspondence with that great man, there are one or two other interesting facts in connection with the life of our bookbinder's apprentice and would-be philosopher. In July of this year it was that Michael commenced his long and interesting series of letters to Benjamin Abbott, letters that show us how keenly alive Faraday was to all things connected with the work with which he was anxious to become more intimately connected, and at the same time how anxious he was to make up for his deficiencies of education.

In all his letters we find a charm in the simple earnestness of the man, in his straightforward search for truth, in the unreserved openness which characterised him when corresponding with one whom he not only called a friend, but treated as such on all occasions. Simplicity, in its best and highest meaning, was, if we can in one word sum up the character of a man, the chief feature of Faraday in all his relations throughout life. Through all his letters to his intimate friends, too, there runs a vein of unaffected pleasantry which shows us at once that he was no "mere scientist," no "dry-as-dust" philosopher, which is a character too often given by thoughtless and careless persons to men who earn their laurels in any special field of research. We find that the great chemist or philosopher is not only a great scientist, but that he is also, as Faraday undoubtedly was, a man of a simple, earnest, reverent nature, a man whose married life was one series of years of love-making, who was a cheerful, pleasant friend and companion, and intense and earnest lover of children.

Perhaps I cannot better conclude this chapter than by giving a few passages from his early letters, passages that will fully bear out much of what is said in the preceding paragraph. It was in July, 1812, three months before the articles of his apprenticeship ran out, that Faraday began his letters to Abbott; he was not as yet twenty-one years of age, his early education, as we have seen, had been chiefly the three R's, yet we find these letters eminently remarkable for their correctness and fluency, not less than for their kindness, courtesy, and candour. His first letter to Abbott is, indeed, doubly interesting, for it gives us the earliest account we have of any of his experiments. After writing a good deal on what he considers to be the advantage of a correspondence, he continues: "I have lately made a few simple galvanic experiments, merely to illustrate to myself the first principles of the science. … I, sir, I my own self, cut out seven discs of the size of halfpennies each! I, sir, covered them with seven halfpence, and I interposed between seven, or rather six, pieces of paper soaked in a solution of muriate of soda!!! But laugh no longer, dear A.; rather wonder at the effects this trivial power produced. It was sufficient to produce the decomposition of sulphate of magnesia—an effect which extremely surprised me; for I did not, could not, have any idea that the agent was competent to the purpose."

Again, to the same friend, he writes: "What? affirm you have little to say, and yet a philosopher? What a contradiction! What a paradox! 'tis a circumstance I till now had no idea of, nor shall I at any time allow you to advance it as a plea for not writing. A philosopher cannot fail to abound in subjects, and a philosopher can scarcely fail to have a plentiful flow of words, ideas, opinions, etc., etc., when engaged on them; at least, I never had reason to suppose you deficient there. Query by Abbott: 'Then pray, Mike, why have you not answered my last before now since subjects are so plentiful?' 'Tis neither more nor less, dear A., than a want of time. Time, sir, is all I require, and for time will I cry out most heartily. Oh that I could purchase at a cheap rate some of our modern gents' spare hours, nay, days; I think it would be a good bargain both for them and me. As for subjects, there is no want of them. I could converse with you, I will not say for ever, but for any finite length of time. Philosophy would furnish us with matter; and even now, though I have said nothing, yet the best part of a page is covered."

A little later he writes, acknowledging a letter from his friend, a letter which found him paper-hanging—"but what a change of thought it occasioned; what a concussion, confusion, conglomeration; what a revolution of ideas it produced—oh! 'twas too much; away went cloths, shears, paper, paste, and brush, all—all was too little, all was too light to keep my thoughts from soaring high, connected close with thine."

This letter, after referring to his friend's electrical experiments, he finishes somewhat sadly, "You know I shall shortly enter on the life of a journeyman, and then I suppose time will be more scarce than it is even now." Little did he dream how great a change in his prospects one short half year would make.