have been most happy in your kindness, and in the fostering care which the Royal Institution has bestowed upon me. Thank God, first, for all His gifts. I have next to thank you and your predecessors for the unswerving encouragement and support which you have given me during that period. My life has been a happy one, and all I desired. During its progress I have tried to make a fitting return for it to the Royal Institution, and through it to science. But the progress of years (now amounting in number to threescore and ten) having brought forth first the period of development, and then that of maturity, have ultimately produced for me that of gentle decay. This has taken place in such a manner as to make the evening of life a blessing; for whilst increasing physical weakness occurs, a full share of health free from pain is granted with it; and whilst memory and certain other faculties of the mind diminish, my good spirits and cheerfulness do not diminish with them."

When he could no longer discharge effectually his duties at the Trinity House, the Corporation quietly made their arrangements for transferring them, and, with the concurrence of the Board of Trade, determined that his salary of 200l. per annum should continue as long as he lived. Sir Frederick Arrow called upon him at Albemarle Street, and explained how the matter stood, but he found it hard to persuade the Professor that there was no injustice in his continuing to receive the money; then, taking hold of Sir Frederick by one hand and Dr. Tyndall by the other, Faraday, with swimming eyes, passed over his office to his successor.

Gradually but surely the end approached. The loss of memory was followed by other symptoms of declining power. The fastenings of his earthly tabernacle were removed one by one, and he looked forward to "the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." This was no new anticipation. Calling on the friend who had long directed with him the affairs of the Institution, but who was then half paralysed, he had said, " Barlow, you and I are waiting; that is what we have to do now; and we must try to do it patiently." He had written to his niece, Mrs. Deacon: “I cannot think that death has to the Christian anything in it that should make it a rare, or other than a constant, thought; out of the view of death comes the view of the life beyond the grave, as out of the view of sin (that true and real view which the Holy Spirit alone can give to a man) comes the glorious hope. My worldly faculties are slipping away day by day. Happy is it for all of us that the true good lies not in them. As they ebb, may they leave us as little children trusting in the Father of Mercies, and accepting His unspeakable gift." And when the dark shadow was creeping over him, he wrote to the Comte de Paris: "I bow before Him who is Lord of all, and hope to be kept waiting patiently for His time and mode of releasing me according to His Divine Word, and the great and precious promises whereby His people are made partakers of the Divine nature." His niece, Miss Jane Barnard, who tended him with most devoted care, thus wrote from Hampton Court on the 27th June:"The kind feelings shown on every side towards my dear uncle, and the ready offers of help, are most soothing. I am thankful to say that we are going on very quietly; he

keeps his bed and sleeps much, and we think that the paralysis gains on him, but between whiles he speaks most pleasant words, showing his comfort and trust in the finished work of our Lord. The other day he repeated some verses of the 46th Psalm, and yesterday a great part of the 23rd. We can only trust that it may be given us to say truly, 'Thy will be done;' indeed, the belief that all things work together for good to them that believe, is an anchor of hope, sure and steadfast, to the soul. We are surrounded by most kind and affectionate friends, and it is indeed touching to see what warm feelings my dear uncle has raised on all sides."

When his faculties were fading fast, he would sit long at the western window, watching the glories of the sunset; and one day when his wife drew his attention to a beautiful rainbow that then spanned the sky, he looked beyond the falling shower and the many-coloured arch, and observed, "He hath set his testimony in the heavens." On August 25, 1867, quietly, almost imperceptibly, came the release. There was a philosopher less on earth, and a saint more in heaven.

.

The funeral, at his own request, was of the simplest character. His remains were conveyed to Highgate Cemetery by his relations, and deposited in the grave, according to the practice of his Church, in perfect silence. Few of his scientific friends were in London that bright summer-time, but Professor Graham and one or two others came out from the shrubbery, and joining the group of family mourners, took their last look at the coffin.

But when this sun had set below our earthly horizon,

there seemed to spring up in the minds of men a great desire to catch some of the rays of the fading brightness and reflect them to posterity. A "Faraday Memorial” was soon talked of, and the work is now in the sculptor's hands; the Chemical Society has founded a "Faraday Lectureship;" one of the new streets in Paris has been called "Rue Faraday;" biographical sketches have appeared in many of the British and Continental journals; successive books have told the story of his life and work; and in a thousand hearts there is embalmed the memory of this Christian gentleman and philosopher.

SECTION II.

STUDY OF HIS CHARACTER.

In the previous section we have traced the leading events of a life which was quietly and uniformly successful. We have watched the passage of the errand-boy into the philosopher, and we have seen how at first he begged for the meanest place in a scientific workshop, and at last declined the highest honour which British Science was capable of granting. His success did not lie in the amassing of money-he deliberately turned aside from the path of proffered wealth; nor did it lie in the attainment of social position and titles ;-he did not care for the weight of these. But if success consists in a life full of agreeable occupation, with the knowledge that its labours are adding to the happiness and wealth of the world, leading on to an old age full of honour, and the prospect of a blissful immortality, then the highest success crowned the life of Faraday.

How did he obtain it? Not by inheritance, and not by the force of circumstances. The wealth or the reputation of fathers is often an invaluable starting-point for sons: a liberal education and the contact of superior minds in