tongues are going both at Tatum's and at the lecture in Bedford Street; but I fancy myself much better employed than I should have been at the lecture at either of those places. Indeed, I have heard one lecture already to-day, and had a finger in it (I can't say a hand, for I did very little). It was by Mr. Powell on mechanics, or rather, on rotatory motion, and was a pretty good lecture, but not very fully attended.
"As I know you will feel a pleasure in hearing in what I have been or shall be occupied, I will inform you that I have been employed to-day, in part, in extracting the sugar from a portion of beetroot, and also in making a compound of sulphur and carbon—a combination which has lately occupied in a considerable degree the attention of chemists."
About a month after writing the letter of which the above forms a part, Faraday again wrote to his friend Abbott, giving him an account of some experiments, in which he had been assisting Sir Humphry Davy, on "the detonating compound of chlorine and azote, and of four different and strong explosions of the substance, explosions from which neither he nor Davy had altogether escaped unhurt." "Of these," he says, "the most terrible was when I was holding between my thumb and finger a small tube containing 7–½ grains of the compound. My face was within twelve inches of the tube; but I fortunately had on a glass mask. It exploded by the slight heat of a small piece of cement that touched the glass above half-an-inch from the substance, and on the outside. The explosion was so rapid as to blow my hand open, bear off a part of one nail, and has made my fingers so sore that I cannot yet use them easily. The pieces of the tube were projected with such force as to cut the glass face of the mask I had on." In the other three experiments also they each of them got more or less cut about by the explosion of the "terrible compound," as Faraday calls it, Davy, indeed, in the last one, getting somewhat seriously cut.
He writes thus frequently to Abbott during the summer of 1813, giving him in the later letters some well thought-out ideas on lectures and lecturing, which we shall have occasion to glance at when we are considering Faraday himself in the capacity of a lecturer—one of the most popular and yet truly scientific lecturers of any time. In this year, his twenty-first, Faraday joined the City Philosophical Society, which had been founded about five years earlier by Mr. Tatum, at whose house the meetings were held. The Society consisted of some thirty or forty individuals, "perhaps all in the humble or moderate rank of life;" and certainly all of them anxious to improve themselves and add to their knowledge of scientific subjects. Once a week the members gathered together for mutual instruction; each member opening the discussion in his turn by reading a paper of a literary or philosophical nature, any member failing to do so at his proper time being fined half-a-guinea. In addition, the members had what they modestly called a "class book," but probably very like what we should now call a manuscript magazine; in this each member wrote essays, and the work was passed round from one to another.
Michael, it will be seen, was not neglecting any opportunity of educating himself; as he had said in starting his correspondence with Abbott, one of his objects was to improve himself in composition and to acquire a clear and simple method of expressing that which he had to say. Yet another method had he of furthering his self-education. In the scanty notes which he wrote about his own life he says, "During this spring (1813) Magrath and I established the mutual improvement plan, and met at my rooms up in the attics of the Royal Institution, or at Wood Street at his warehouse. It consisted, perhaps, of half-a-dozen persons, chiefly from the City Philosophical Society, who met of an evening to read together, and to criticise, correct, and improve each other's pronunciation and construction of language. The discipline was very sturdy, the remarks very plain and open, and the results most valuable. This continued for several years." It is a matter for wonder how Faraday, with all these attempts to improve his language and method, and to avoid even the slightest peculiarity, managed yet to retain in all his work a remarkable simplicity and naturalness of style.
On September 13, 1813, Faraday wrote to his uncle and aunt, giving them an account of himself because he had nothing else to say, and was asked by his mother to write the account:—"I was formerly a bookseller and binder, but am how turned philosopher, which happened thus: Whilst an apprentice, I, for amusement, learnt a little of chemistry and other parts of philosophy, and felt an eager desire to proceed in that way further. After being a journeyman for six months, under a disagreeable master, I gave up my business, and, by the interest of Sir Humphry Davy, filled the situation of chemical-assistant to the Royal Institution of Great Britain, in which office I now remain, and where I am constantly engaged in observing the works of nature and tracing the manner in which she directs the arrangement and order of the world. I have lately had proposals made to me by Sir Humphry Davy to accompany him, in his travels through Europe and into Asia, as philosophical assistant. If I go at all, I expect it will be in October next, about the end, and my absence from home will perhaps be as long as three years. But, as yet, all is uncertain, I have to repeat that, even though I may go, my path will not pass near any of my relations, or permit me to see those whom I so much long to see."
This Continental trip with Davy forms one of the chief episodes in Faraday's life. He had, though two-and-twenty years of age, never before been further than a few miles out of London. The country through which he passed, the sea, and the mountains, all came to him as a revelation. The letters which he wrote home from abroad, and the journals which he kept, all express his wonder at the strange sights, and all breathe the kindliness of nature and affection for home and those at home which all his life long were strongly marked characteristics. His letters to his mother are especially pleasing. He was away for but little over eighteen months, yet an account of his travels merits a chapter to itself. The commencement of 1813 marked an epoch in his life, the close of the same year marked another.
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