Famous Men of Science

Till the last years of his life Humboldt showed the same marvellous energy and industry. At eighty he said, "I am more than ever filled with a zest for work and literary distinction." When he wrote to friends for information in finishing "Cosmos," he asked for speedy answers, saying, "The dead ride fast." On the fortieth anniversary of his return to Europe, a fête was given in his honor, by the Berlin Academy. Later his bust was placed in the French Institute. The freedom of the city of Berlin was presented to him. America sent him in 1858, on his eighty-ninth birthday, an album of nine maps, showing the scores of towns, counties, rivers, bays, and mountains which had received his name. Letters came from all parts of the world, breathing love and admiration. Yet, with all this honor, he was often lonely, and spoke of the ennui of life. After the regency, Humboldt lived at Berlin, in an unostentatious home, with his attendant, Seifert.

On May 6, 1859, at half-past two in the afternoon, death came to Alexander von Humboldt, at the age of ninety. His mind was clear to the last.

All ranks gathered at the public funeral, for all, from king to peasant, had lost a friend. With uncovered head, the Prince Regent received the procession at the door of the cathedral, amid the tolling of the bells, and then they buried him at the summer home of his childhood, Tegel, by the side of William.

A new edition of his select works, including "Cosmos," was published in Stuttgart, in 1874, in thirty-six volumes.

Great in learning, great in achievement, great in will-power; unwise sometimes in utterance, as in the Varnhagen letters – how seldom is it safe or wise to express our inmost thoughts; – sarcastic sometimes in his language – a dangerous power, to be used sparingly, if indeed ever, – and yet withal a noble, unselfish, marvellous-minded man, who, as Agassiz says, "exerted upon science a personal influence which is incalculable."

SIR HUMPHREY DAVY

Coleridge said, "Had not Davy been the first chemist, he probably would have been the first poet of his age."

Said Professor Silliman's "American Journal of Science and Arts: " "His reputation is too intimately associated with the eternal laws of nature to suffer decay; and the name of Davy, like those of Archimedes, Galileo, and Newton, which grow greener by time, will descend to the latest posterity."

Davy was poor and self-taught, but he triumphed over obstacles, and died universally lamented.

The eldest son in a family of five children, Humphrey Davy was born at Penzance, Cornwall, England, December 17, 1778, the year in which Carl Linnæus died. He was a bright, active child, making rhymes when he was five years old, and reciting them at the Christmas gatherings. In consequence of his retentive memory, he could repeat a great part of "Pilgrim's Progress" before he could read it. This book and "Æsop's Fables" were his favorites.

When Humphrey was six, he was sent to a grammar school kept by Rev. Mr. Coryton, a man who had the vicious habit of punishing by pulling the pupils' ears. On one occasion, Humphrey came to school with a large plaster on each ear. Upon being asked what was the matter, he said, with a grave face, that he had "put the plasters on to prevent a mortification!"

As he grew older, he composed Latin and English verses easily, and was in great demand among the boys as a writer of valentines and love-letters. Though shy in manner, with his vivid imagination and flow of language, he told stories remarkably well, and might have been seen, often, in a cart at the Star Inn, addressing a most attentive audience.

Says his brother, Dr. John Davy, "Humphrey, when a boy, was fond of declaiming, and indulged in it in his solitary walks and rambles. On one occasion it is recorded of him, that, on his way to visit a poor patient in the country (during his apprenticeship), in the fever of declamation, he threw out of his hand a vial of medicine which he had to administer, and that when he arrived at the bedside of the poor woman he was surprised at the loss of it. The potion was found the next day in a hay-field adjoining the path."

When Humphrey was fourteen he attended the Truro Grammar School for a year, where he was greatly liked for his good-humor, affectionate disposition, and originality. Says Mr. Nicholls, a school friend, "I can never forget that as boys we knew and loved each other. I recollect a visit he paid in company with his aunt at my father's, who then resided at Lanarth. He was a great favorite; but there was even then an original mode of thinking and acting observable in him, – one instance of which I well remember; – it was on rather a hot day, when my father, mother, your aunt, Humphrey, and myself, were to walk to a place a mile or two distant, I forget for what purpose. Whilst others complained of the heat, and whilst I unbuttoned my waistcoat, Humphrey appeared with his great-coat close-buttoned up to his chin, for the purpose, as he declared, of keeping out the heat. This was laughed at at the time, but it struck me then, as it appears to me now, as evincing originality of thought and an indisposition to be led by the example of others."

At fifteen his school education was considered complete. The next year he studied French, gave a good deal of time to fishing, of which he was always fond, and apparently had little definite purpose. About this time his father died, and the straitened circumstances of the family now seemed to awaken all the energy and nobility of his nature. Seeing his mother in deep affliction, he begged her not to grieve, saying that "he would do all he could for his brothers and sisters." And he never forgot this promise.

The following year he was apprenticed to Mr. Bingham Borlase, practising surgeon and apothecary in Penzance. Young Davy now seemed destined to become a physician, but his note-books show that he intended to know other things besides medicine. He laid out a plan for study: theology, logic, astronomy, mathematics, Latin, Greek, Italian, Spanish, and Hebrew.

He said later, "Almost all great deeds arise from a plenitude of hope or desire. No man ever had genius who did not aim to execute more than he was able." And all his life he planned to do twice as much as he was ever able to do. And yet he knew that he must bind himself to a few things, if he would succeed. He said, "In minds of great power, there is usually a disposition to variety of pursuits, and they often attempt all branches of letters and science, and even the imitative arts; but if they become truly eminent, it is by devotion to one object at a time, or at most two objects. This sort of general power is like a profusion of blossoms on a fruit tree, a symptom of health and strength; but if all are suffered to become fruit, all are feeble and bad; if the greater portion is destroyed by accident or art, the remainder, being properly nourished, become healthy, large, and good." In these early note-books, he began to show an unusual and mature mind. He wrote essays: "On the Immortality and the Immateriality of the Soul," "On Governments," "On Moral Obligation," and the like. Of Friendship, he wrote at seventeen: "It is a composition of the noblest passions of the mind; a just taste and love of virtue, good-sense, a thorough candor and benignity of heart, and a generous sympathy of sentiment and affections, are the essential ingredients of this nobler passion. When it originates from love and esteem, is strengthened by habit, and mellowed by time, it yields infinite pleasure, ever new and ever growing. It is the best support amongst the numerous trials and vicissitudes of life, and gives a relish to most of our enjoyments. What can be imagined more comfortable than to have a friend to console us in afflictions, to advise with us in doubtful cases, and share our felicity?.. It exalts our nobler passions, and weakens our evil inclinations; it assists us to run the race of virtue with a steady and undeviating course. From loving, esteeming, and endeavoring to felicitate particular people, a more general passion will arise for the whole of mankind."

He finishes this essay with an allegory. God is described as deliberating with the angels on the propriety of creating woman. Justice, Peace, and Virtue plead against her creation, as through her Adam will be driven out of Paradise. Then Divine Love stands before Jehovah, her countenance covered with smiles. "Create her," she says, "for Paradise itself will afford no delight to man without woman. She will be the cause of his misery, but she will likewise be the cause of all his happiness. She will console him in affliction; she will comfort and harmonize his soul; she will wipe the tears from his eyes, and compose the fury of his passions. Her friendship shall make him virtuous, and her love shall make him happy; and, lastly, the tree of their transgression, and the plant of immortality, nourished by the blood of her son, shall flourish, and grow out of Paradise, and overspread the earth: man shall eat of their fruit, and be immortal and happy."

All through these early note-books are scattered his poems, showing a passion for the blue sea at Penzance, and an unbounded love of nature.

Just as he was entering his nineteenth year, young Davy began the study of chemistry, as a branch of his profession. He read "Lavoisier's Elements of Chemistry," and "Nicholson's Dictionary of Chemistry." Suddenly a new world seemed to open before him. He began to think for himself, and to make experiments. As his means were limited, his apparatus consisted of vials, wine-glasses, tea-cups, tobacco-pipes, and earthen crucibles.

His first experiments were the effects of acids and alkalies on vegetable colors, the kind of air in the vesicles of common seaweed, and the solution and precipitation of metals. These were made in his bedroom in Mr. Tonkin's house, or in the kitchen, when he required fire. This old gentleman had brought up his mother and her two orphan sisters, and now was like a father to Humphrey. He said, "This boy, Humphrey, is incorrigible. Was there ever so idle a dog! He will blow us all into the air." He was at this time probably making a detonating composition, which he called "thunder power," his sister Kitty being his assistant.

At this time, a young man came to board at the house of Mrs. Davy, Gregory Watt, the only child of James Watt, the inventor of the steam-engine. He was the idol of his parents; possessed of a mind so unusual in its passionate love for knowledge, and a nature so companionable, that everybody loved him. He was twenty-one, and Humphrey nineteen.

Between these two young men there grew a most ardent and lasting friendship; lasting because it had the only sure foundation, moral and mental worth. They were always together. They visited the neighboring mines and mountains, and came home with their pockets filled with minerals.

The brilliant Gregory died at twenty-eight, but Davy lived to show the fruits of one of the most beautiful things in life, the affinity of two noble and intellectual souls, with similar tastes and aspirations. This death was a great loss to Humphrey. He wrote to a friend: "Poor Watt! He ought not to have died. I could not persuade myself that he would die: and until the very moment when I was assured of his fate, I would not believe he was in any danger.

"His letters to me only three or four months ago were full of spirit, and spoke not of any infirmity of body, but of an increased strength of mind. Why is this in the order of nature, that there is such a difference in the duration and destruction of her works? If the mere stone decays, it is to produce a soil which is capable of nourishing the moss and the lichen; when the moss and the lichen die, and decompose, they produce a mould, which becomes the bed of life to grasses, and to more exalted species of vegetables. Vegetables are the food of animals; the less perfect animals of the more perfect; but in man the faculties and intellect are perfected. He rises, exists for a little while in disease and misery; and then would seem to disappear, without an end, and without producing any effect.

"We are deceived, my dear Clayfield, if we suppose that the human being, who has formed himself for action, but who has been unable to act, is lost in the mass of being; there is some arrangement of things which we can never comprehend, but in which his faculties will be applied… Gregory was a noble fellow, and would have been a great man. Oh! there was no reason for his dying – he ought not to have died."

This death broke the spirit of James Watt, the father, who ever after kept beside him, in the attic at Heathfield, the little, old-fashioned hair trunk of his beloved Gregory, full of his school-books, letters, and childish toys. It stands to-day, where it did eighty years ago, beside the mouldering beams of the sculpture machine. That life is not short, however few the years, which leaves such an undying influence and such beautiful memories.

Humphrey was now twenty-six, and much had come into his young life. He had applied himself with zeal to his professional studies, had read Locke, and Rollin, and Gibbon, and Shakspeare, and at twenty had been appointed to take charge of the Pneumatic Institution at Clifton, established by Dr. Beddoes. It had been founded to give an opportunity of trying the medicinal effects of various gases, and was supported by liberal men of science. So distressed was his old friend, Mr. Tonkin, that he should give up the idea of being a surgeon in Penzance, that he revoked a legacy he had made him in his will!

Davy's life was now an extremely busy one. He published, when he was twenty-one, his "Essays on Heat and Light," beginning his work, like Sir Isaac Newton, when but a youth. He discovered silica in the epidermis of the stems of weeds, corn, and grasses. He found the intoxicating effects of breathing nitrous oxide, April 9, 1799, and his experiments on this subject were published the following year. He spent ten months of incessant labor in them, often endangering and once nearly losing his life from breathing carburetted hydrogen. He made experiments on galvanic electricity, increasing the powers of the Galvanic Pile of Volta. He also planned and partly wrote an epic poem on the deliverance of the Israelites from Egypt.

Worn with overwork, he returned to see his widowed mother at Penzance. He had been absent a year. How glad were all to greet the rising young scientist! Not least glad was Davy's water spaniel, Chloe. When very small, and about to be drowned, he begged her as a gift, and with great care reared her to be his hunting and fishing companion. At first she did not know him, but when, with his peculiarly musical voice, he called her by name, "she was in a transport of joy."

Davy never forgot his early life at Penzance. In his will he left a sum of money to be paid annually to the master of the grammar school, "on condition that the boys may have a holiday on his birthday."

One secret of Davy's early success was, no doubt, his ambition. He used to say that he had been kept largely from the temptations of youth by "an active mind, a deep ideal feeling of good, and a look towards future greatness." The young man or woman who definitely plans to be somebody seldom finds any obstacles along the road too great to be overcome.

He wrote in his note-book: "I have neither riches, nor power, nor birth to recommend me; yet, if I live, I trust I shall not be of less service to mankind, and to my friends, than if I had been born with these advantages."

At the Pneumatic Institution he found in Mrs. Beddoes "the best and most amiable woman in the world," a helper in the development of his genius. Like the wife of William Humboldt, and like any other woman who combines heart and intellect, Mrs. Beddoes gathered about her, in her home, Coleridge and Southey, and other bright minds of Clifton. Here Davy, scarcely more than a boy, with his soft brown curling hair, his beautiful smile, and his "wonderfully bright eyes, which seemed almost to emit a soft light, when animated," in the midst of congenial friends, was stimulated to do his best.

Years after this, Wordsworth gave Dr. John Davy a letter to Coleridge, on the back of which he had written: "This from Davy, the great chemist. It is an affectionate letter."

"My dear Coleridge, – My mind is disturbed, and my body harassed by many labors; yet I cannot suffer you to depart, without endeavoring to express to you some of the unbroken and higher feelings of my spirit, which have you at once for their cause and object.

"Years have passed away since we first met; and your presence, and recollections with regard to you, have afforded me continued sources of enjoyment. Some of the better feelings of my nature have been elevated by your converse, and thoughts which you have nursed have been to me an eternal source of consolation.

"In whatever part of the world you are, you will often live with me, not as a fleeting idea, but as a recollection possessed of creative energy, – as an imagination winged with fire, inspiring and rejoicing…

"May blessings attend you, my dear friend! Do not forget me: we live for different ends, and with different habits and pursuits; but our feelings with regard to each other have, I believe, never altered. They must continue; they can have no natural death; and I trust they can never be destroyed by fortune, chance, or accident."

Thus his sweet, kindly nature was an inspiration to others. He believed in amiability. He said, later, of temper in the marriage state: "Upon points of affection it is only for the parties themselves to form just opinions of what is really necessary to ensure the felicity of the marriage state. Riches appear to me not at all necessary; but competence, I think, is; and after this more depends upon the temper of the individual than upon personal or even intellectual circumstances. The finest spirits, the most exquisite wines, the nectars and ambrosias of modern tables, will be all spoilt by a few drops of bitter extract; and a bad temper has the same effect in life, which is made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things, in which smiles and kindness, and small obligations given habitually, are what win and preserve the heart and secure comfort."

When Davy was twenty-three, a brilliant opening came to him; came as it did to Cuvier, Newton, and others, through the influence of a friend. Count Rumford had been instrumental in founding the Royal Philosophical Institution for the diffusion of a knowledge of science. Through his works on heat, nitrous oxide, and galvanic electricity, Davy had made the acquaintance of Dr. Hope, the distinguished professor of chemistry in the University of Edinburgh. He recommended Davy to Count Rumford, as fitted for the professorship of chemistry in the Royal Institution, an appointment, Davy wrote to his mother, "as honorable as any scientific appointment in the kingdom, with an income of at least five hundred pounds a year." He had evidently kept the "look towards future greatness" in his heart.

Six weeks after his arrival in London, in the spring of 1801, Davy gave his first lecture, upon the history of galvanism, and the different modes of accumulating galvanic influence. "The sensation created by his first course of lectures at the Institution," says the Philosophical Magazine, "and the enthusiastic admiration which they obtained, is at this period hardly to be imagined. Men of the first rank and talent, – the literary and the scientific, the practical and the theoretical, – blue-stockings and women of fashion, the old and the young, all crowded, eagerly crowded, the lecture-room. His youth, his simplicity, his natural eloquence, his chemical knowledge, his happy illustrations and well conducted experiments, excited universal attention and unbounded applause. Compliments, invitations, and presents were showered upon him in abundance from all quarters; his society was courted by all, and all appeared proud of his acquaintance." He usually wrote his lecture the day before he delivered it, on this day dining in his own room, generally on fish. His manner in speaking was very animated, but natural. He believed in enthusiasm. He said, "Great powers have never been exerted independent of strong feelings. The rapid arrangement of ideas from their various analogies to the equally rapid comparisons of these analogies, with facts uniformly occurring during the progress of discovery, have existed only in those minds where the agency of strong and various motives is perceived – of motives modifying each other, mingling with each other, and producing that fever of emotion which is the joy of existence and the consciousness of life."

Coleridge used to say, "I attend Davy's lectures to increase my stock of metaphors."

In the spacious and well supplied laboratory of the Institution, in making his experiments, says his brother, "his zeal amounted to enthusiasm, which he more or less imparted to those around him. With cheerful voice and countenance, and a hand as ready to manipulate as his mind was quick to contrive, he was indefatigable in his exertions. He was delighted with success, but not discouraged by failure; and he bore failures and accidents in experiments with a patience and forbearance, even when owing to the awkwardness of assistants, which could hardly have been expected from a person of his ardent temperament."

He was very happy in these years of work. Says his brother: "In going to bed, and rising, and sometimes in the dead of night, I used to hear him, in a loud voice, reciting favorite passages in prose or verse, or declaiming some composition of his own, or humming some angler's song."

He spent his evenings often in society, but wrote to a friend concerning himself: "Be not alarmed, my dear friend, as to the effect of worldly society on my mind… There are in the intellectual being of all men paramount elements, – certain habits and passions that cannot change. I am a lover of nature with an ungratified imagination. I shall continue to search for untasted charms, for hidden beauties. My real, my waking existence is amongst the objects of scientific research. Common amusements and enjoyments are necessary to me only as dreams to interrupt the flow of thoughts too nearly analogous to enlighten and vivify."

During his vacations he explored most parts of Great Britain, the Hebrides, and Ireland, studying the geological structure, collecting agricultural knowledge, and making sketches. He never hesitated to ask questions, and often the miners and farmers thought they had never seen a person so inquisitive.

In his early years at the Institution he was asked to investigate astringent vegetables in connection with tanning. He entered the work with his usual ardor; visited tan-yards, and made the acquaintance of practical farmers. In 1802 he began to deliver, at the request of the Board of Agriculture, a course of lectures, "On the Connection of Chemistry with Vegetable Physiology." He had made himself acquainted with the different kinds of soil and the various methods of agriculture. For ten years he delivered these lectures at the meetings of the Board. They were published in book form, and translated into almost every European language.

"We feel grateful," said the Edinburgh Review, "for his having thus suspended for a time the labors of original investigation, in order to apply the principles and discoveries of his favorite science to the illustration and improvement of an art which, above all others, ministers to the wants and comforts of man."

He now continued his work with the voltaic pile or battery. If water could be decomposed by it, why not some substances heretofore regarded as simple or elementary bodies?