My Dear Sir,—

I inscribe your name on one of the fly-leaves of this little book, with the same devotion as youths are wont to carve upon the trunk of some forest tree the name of those whom they admire most in the world; and I do so for many reasons.

First of all, because Davy was, as it were, the foster-father of your great genius; and, secondly, because it allows me to tell the lads for whom this book has been written the graceful story of the way in which the hero of it first befriended you—the young “bookseller’s apprentice, very fond of experiment, and very averse to trade”—in your own dignified language; and, moreover, because I know your zeal in the cause of education, and that you are, like all generous minds when fired with the beauty of fine truths and discoveries, unable to rest, as it were, till you have imparted them to others, and so made them as happy as yourself with the wondrous knowledge. Indeed, it is the glorious privilege of intellectual pursuits that they are not marked by that “selfishness,” which made you as a boy “desirous of escaping from trade;” for wisdom, happily, can share its riches with the world, and yet be all the richer for the sharing. None know better than yourself that every science is built up of an infinity of such contributions; and that, had the human mind been impressed with a desire to hoard its intellectual gains—to keep them locked in the coffers of the brain—how little even you—who have added, by your many profound discoveries, more to the knowledge-fund of the world than any other single philosopher—could yourself have known. There is no finer instance, perhaps, of human magnanimity than the chemist working unseen in his laboratory—watching alone for hours the action of different kinds of so-called dead matter upon each other, in the hope of being able to add his little mite of truth to that store of mental riches, which is to benefit not only his own generation, but all those to come for ages after. Nor can we detract from the natural greatness of the act by ascribing it to any lower principle of our soul—such as that petty craving for praise which we call “vanity” in women, and a desire for fame among poets and philosophers; for every true scientific mind knows that there is sufficient reward in the intense beauty of a new discovery—the first flash across the brain of some deep insight into the mysteries of Nature—to repay him, over and over again, for all the long puzzling of his thoughts; and that, were he even alone in the world, without a voice to cheer him on, he must still continue spelling out passage after passage of the Great Poem of Creation, from the mere love of the Poem itself.

I can readily understand that it was some such generous purpose that first rendered you anxious “to enter the service of science, which,” as you say, you “imagined made its pursuers amiable and liberal,” for this is impressed in every line of the following letter, which becomes peculiarly interesting as a record of the circumstances which brought together two of the greatest chemical geniuses that the world has yet seen.

“To J. A. PARIS, M.D.

“Royal Institution, Dec. 23, 1829.

“My dear Sir,—You asked me to give you an account of my first introduction to Sir H. Davy, which I am very happy to do, as I think the circumstance will bear testimony to his goodness of heart.

“When I was a bookseller’s apprentice, I was very fond of experiment, and very averse to trade. It happened that a gentleman, a member of the Royal Institution, took me to hear some of Sir H. Davy’s last lectures in Albemarle Street. I took notes, and afterwards wrote them out more fairly in a quarto volume.

“My desire to escape from trade, which I thought vicious and selfish, and to enter into the service of Science, which I imagined made its pursuers amiable and liberal, induced me at last to take the bold and simple step of writing to Sir H. Davy, expressing my wishes, and a hope that, if an opportunity came in his way, he would favour my views; at the same time, I sent the notes I had taken at his lectures.

“The answer, which makes all the point of my communication, I send you in the original, requesting you to take great care of it, and to let me have it back, for you may imagine how much I value it.

“You will observe that this took place at the end of the year 1812, and early in 1813 he requested to see me, and told me of the situation of Assistant in the Laboratory of the Royal Institution, then just vacant.

“At the same time that he thus gratified my desires as to scientific employment, he still advised me not to give up the prospects I had before me, telling me that Science was a harsh mistress; and, in a pecuniary point of view, but poorly rewarding those who devoted themselves to her service. He smiled at my notion of the superior moral feelings of philosophic men, and said he would leave me to the experience of a few years to set me right on the matter.

“Finally, through his good efforts, I went to the Royal Institution early in March of 1813, as Assistant in the Laboratory; and in October of the same year went with him abroad, as his assistant in experiments and in writing. I returned with him in April, 1815, resumed my station in the Royal Institution, and have, as you know, ever since remained there.

“I am, dear Sir, very truly yours,

“M. Faraday.”

The following is the note of Sir H. Davy, alluded to in Mr. Faraday’s letter:

“To Mr. Faraday.

“December 24, 1812.

“Sir,—I am far from displeased with the proof you have given me of your confidence, and which displays great zeal, power of memory, and attention. I am obliged to go out of town, and shall not be settled in town till the end of January: I will then see you at any time you wish.

“It would gratify me to be of any service to you. I wish it may be in my power.

“I am, Sir, your obedient, humble servant,

“H. Davy.”⁠[1]

And now let me add, by way of excuse for the many short-comings of the present volume, that I have found some little difficulty in developing my object, which was to show youths how one of the greatest natural philosophers had, when a lad, like themselves, made himself acquainted with the principles of science, and thus to induce them to “go and do likewise;” for, assuredly, there is no education like that self-education which is sure to follow directly a fervent taste is created for any particular branch of knowledge. To create such a taste was my sole motive for writing this book. Nevertheless, when I came to deal with the subject, I discovered that it was impossible to follow literally the scientific history of Davy’s mind, since he had begun by adopting the most flighty theories. To have evolved all his visionary notions when a lad, in a work that was meant to have an educational tendency, would have been merely to have taught error. I have, however, in adapting the book to the present state of science, deviated as little as possible from the biographical facts, and I have, moreover, in all things striven to be true to the character of my hero, which after all is the great truth required in “story-books.” Again, by a pardonable license, I believe I have made the boy foreshadow some of his after-discoveries—such as the safety-lamp—and for all these deviations I can only plead a desire to show youths that they have it in their own power to do as the Cornish apothecary’s boy did, if they will but set about the work quickened with the same determination to succeed. It is my belief that our present system of education begets in the minds of youths too great a sense of dependence, and too little reliance on their own powers, so that it is thought by a lad on leaving school to be impossible to learn any thing without the help of a master to teach it. Now my object in such books as the present is to show boys that some of the greatest minds the world has yet seen have been self-taught; and by letting the young note how the great men, when they were young too, set about the task of informing themselves, thus to breed in youthful minds not only a faith in their own capabilities, but a taste for the beauties of knowledge, as well as a strong purpose to number themselves, if possible, among the future teachers of mankind.

And now, my dear Sir, let me, in conclusion, thank you for your generous encouragement of my labours when I was engaged in inquiring into the condition of the “London Poor.” Many know your wisdom, but none are better acquainted with your goodness than

Yours, very truly,

Henry Mayhew.

Bonn, Nov. 25th, 1854.