of verbal elegance) that he (Faraday) never reinenbered to have performed a mathematical calculation but once in his life. He once turned the hands of Babbage's calculating machine, thus furnishing the solitary occasion. Perhaps not a little of the charm which attaches to the lectures and writings of this philosopher is attributable to the fact that he, and he almost alone, has shown the ability to afford glimpses of interesting though abstruse laws, without the aid of mathematical reasoning, and those cross-grained formulæ which, the very condensation of learning as they are, prove to the brain, like many sorts of highly-condensed food to the stomach, wonderfully hard of digestion. of Sir H. Davy, a recital is given of the circum- | be precise in a case of this kind, even at the expense stances necessarily an authentic recital, inasmuch as it was furnished by Professor Faraday himself, and from which we gather the following particulars. In the year 1812, whilst Sir H. Davy was yet in the zenith of his fame, Mr. Faraday, then a bookseller's apprentice, was taken by a friend to hear Davy lecture at the Royal Institution. What he heard made 10 profound an impression upon him, that he determined, if possible, to relinquish bookselling, and every other commercial pursuit, in favour of philosophy. How to carry out the resolve was not so pparent. Difficulties in the way of an aspirant after a scientific career were great then, as they are now; but perseverance, aided by a lucky chance, enabled Faraday to surmount them. The bookseller's apprentice made abstracts of the leading points of Sir Humphrey's discourse, fair-copied the notes into a book, which he bound, and forwarded it to the baronet, accompanied by an explanation. He stated his position and his desires; expressing his love of science, his dislike of trade, and his belief in the superior liberality of scientific men; concluding his letter by a solicitation that Sir Humphrey would aid him in finding some scientific appointment, if possible. Davy replied courteously and promptly, telling the young aspirant that he would aid him if possible; and, as to the impression that scientific men had greater liberality of sentiment than men of business, Sir Humphrey merely remarked, "Further acquaintance with them will perhaps undeceive you." The result of this correspondence was that, in 1813, Mr. Faraday had a place found for him in the Royal Institution as assistant; and, connected with that institution, in one way or another, he has ever since remained. It would be impossible here to summarize the whole of the discoveries Professor Faraday has made during his long and arduous career. We must be content with noticing a few, leaving it to the reader to extend the list should he feel disposed, by exercising his own research. One of his greatest discoveries, or rather series of discoveries, was that of the condensability of several gases. Up to the time of Faraday, it was believed that gases were permanently elastic bodies; whereas steam and vapours were only elastic under conditions of ele vated temperature, and therefore condensable by cold. Faraday, very early in his career, proved this notion to be untenable. He began by condensing carbonic acid, or soda water gas, and sulphurous acid, or the gas of burning brimstone, each into a liquid. Following out the idea which these discoveries shadowed forth, he, and other philosophers, have since succeeded in condensing a large number of gases, not merely into liquids, but into solids. We ourselves have scen solid soda water gas made into a sort of snowball, in the lecture theatre of the Royal Institution, and handed about amongst the audience for their amusement. In electrical science, one great discovery made by Faraday was, that the From the time when Mr. Faraday first joined the Royal Institution to the present, his rise has been uniformly steady. Few British philosophers, perhaps, have created for themselves a less amount of inimical feeling than the subject of our memoir-so-called " poles" of a galvanic battery are really no a circumstance which, though the result of many causes, we are inclined in great measure to attribute to the repugnance he has always manifested to accept the position of mere chemical advocate. For a long time past he has uniformly declined to be aixed up in any judicial questions-a resolve determined by conscientious feelings, the force of which may be approximately estimated, when the enormous fees professional men receive for their judicial evidence are taken into consideration. From the beginning of his career, Professor Faraday has evinced a partiality for the study of the mysterious entities commonly known as the imponderable agents. To him there is an ineffable charm in the study of the universal laws by which the Almighty has seen fit to regulate the operation of his might. And here let us pause to notice a curious circumstance. The field which Professor Faraday has made his own by adoption, is one which had been almost universally held to involve a deep knowledge of mathematical lore. Faraday is no mathematician, though there must be some quality in his mind congenial to the apprehension of the higher branches of mathematics. A mathematical professor told us, that Faraday told him (it is necessary to poles at all; that is to say, they are not attractive. Independently of his fame as a scientific man, Professor Faraday has other claims to our appreciation. The remark has often been made, that scientific men are prone, owing to the character of their pursuits, to grow over-arrogant in the exercise of their faculties, subjecting to the dominion of reason those great mysteries of revelation which should be approached reverently with christian faith. Arrogance of this sort, when it does occur, is the re sult not of depth of scientific learning, but of shallowness. Professor Faraday furnishes a prominent illustration of this. Give him a scientific proposi tion to grapple with, he sweeps his ground free from all mysticism at once, and goes straight to his mark, under full confidence in the guiding power of reason; but few better than he know how to draw the line which human reason should not attempt to cross. Some time ago there was a mysticism afloat which threatened to damage the interests of science. There was a tendency in the minds of many to accept on faith propositions which ought from their very nature to be accepted or rejected on the ground of observation and reasoning. The so-called tableturning may be cited as affording a prominent illustration. No one protested more strenuously against this sort of mysticism than Professor Faraday, whose facility of experiment and induction contributed in no small degree to disabuse the British public of this absurd delusion. He proved, by an ingeniously constructed machine, that a table merely turned because the operators made it turn, though unknown to themselves, of course. He proved that when the mind and belief are concentrated on any given result, the muscular system unconsciously aids towards its accomplishment. When Christmas time arrives, a course of juvenile lectures has for many years past been delivered at the Royal Institution. It has been understood for a long time past, that Professor Faraday shall deliver this course; and, assuredly, we know of no one who could perform that task as well. Last year the lecturer expressed his apprehension that it might be the last occasion when he should be able to address his young friends. We hope not: though, remembering Mr. Faraday's age, (now more than sixty-seven,) one cannot forget, and Mr. Faraday himself, we are sure, would not desire to forget -that he draws nigh to the three-score and ten years of existence, normally allotted to man. BERTHA; OR, SMILES AND TEARS. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN, BY MARY HOWITT. CHAPTER VII. ROBERT'S apprenticeship was ended, and as a clever blacksmith he went out into the world to find a path in life for himscif. He could hardly speak when he took leave of Bertha and her father. "If ever I do any good in the world, I shall have you to thank for it," he said; "and if our Lord would give me a real pleasure, it would be by enabling me sometime to return your kindness." A light was extinguished in Bertha's quiet life by the departure of this fresh young spirit; but she thought much more of the loss it was to her father, and exerted herself to fill the blank. | It was still "Miss Bertha" who closed, at length, the weary eyes of her father, in the blessed consciousness that he had returned, as the prodigal son, to the arms of his Father; but "Miss Bertha" was a name which sounded lovely to many a forlorn and sorrowing heart, to which she continually administered the consolation and peace which ever accompanied her quiet course. But Bertha was as forlorn and solitary as an orphan. The little property left by the grandmother had been expended during the latter years of her father's life, when he was totally incapable of work; her future maintenance, therefore, entirely depended upon herself. What was she now to do? She could not alone support herself by fine needlework, more especially as her eyes had of late began to fail her. Should she become a governess? She would have been willing enough; but then, how much soever she had during the latter years striven for an increased acquisition of knowledge, still her mental cultivation was very one-sided, and there seemed little probability of her obtaining a situation when so many highly educated young women sought for situations in vain. A housekeeper? but then, again, her domestic experience and knowledge were very circumscribed; she had learned, it is true, to keep house upon very little, but not with a large income, and she was afraid of undertaking this duty. She was by no means so friendless as in former years; but of her few friends, none were themselves in a position to offer her a permanent situation, and knew not how to advise her for the future. The wife of the controversial bookseller, who had become a kind friend of Bertha, was in the end the means of helping her. "Now, Bertha, I have found you a good situation, one which seems made for you-the post of headmilliner at Madame Nivert's; there you will have nothing but light work to do; your eyesight will not be strained; you will have a certain income, and will not be any longer so solitary. It is a very respectable business, and, besides, it has been established some years." Bertha smiled with a melancholy expression. The good lady could not conceive why Bertha hesitated to accept the offer of such an advantageous situation; nor was it easy for Bertha to explain upon what grounds she based her internal repugnance; she therefore acceded to the proposal. She was now no longer solitary, but was the dwell-superintendent of a large room, crowded with gay young workwomen. It was her business to interest herself in the attire of fashionable ladies, and her thoughts were occupied by clouds of gauze, by silk and satin dresses, and torrents of streaming ribbons. Ah! and in this fairy region, among these fountains of female vanity and splendour, our poor night-blooming violet drooped her head, and was obliged to call forth all the powers of her soul to prevent herself relapsing into her old melancholy, or again asking the hitherto silenced question, What is the good of my being in the world ?" All the life and conversation of this place, all this business of fashion, had no interest for her; none of these young girls attracted her; she could find no response in the hearts of any of them for that The father surprised her by taking a new ing-small, it is true, and also in a back street, but much more comfortable and pleasantly situated in a garden. Here it was that they really began to live; here they had light, air, sunshine, and the cheerful song of birds. And now one day after another went on, and yet she closed each day, as it passed, with a prayer of thanksgiving as earnest and as heartfelt as those with which the old laundress sanctified each evening. Thus wore away year after year; and no uncle came from America with a chest full of treasure; no powerful patron placed the father in ease and prosperity; no noble husband discovered the precious value of the unassuming night-blooming violet, and regarded her virtues as richer treasures than gold or beauty. 66 which was the necessity of her soul. She endea- | iron-master to his own country; that there he had voured to maintain her place in the higher peaceful regions of faith, but her heart at times failed her, and she seemed in danger of falling into her mother's state of stolid resignation. Sunday alone was her comfort and salvation; never had the full significance of a day of rest been so dear to her as now. The word of God, as she listened to it in church, was then like a fountain in a thirsty land; she lulled her dissatisfied heart to repose in the quietness of her own chamber, and heard without, the murmur of cheerful people passing by in the sunshine; nevertheless, she endeavoured to take courage from remembering old Catherine, and earnestly prayed the Lord to find another place in his vast household, if he saw it good for her. One fine holiday afternoon, the good bookseller's wife would take no refusal, but insisted that Bertha should go out with them a little excursion by railway; "for you are getting quite melancholy," she said. Bertha went with them, and felt great pleasure in the sunshine, in the beautiful green trees, and the streams of people who were out holiday-making like themselves. On the opposite side of the same carriage with them, sate a well-dressed man, who, however, had rather the stamp of an intelligent, educated man of the working class, than of a gentleman, and who seemed as if he could scarcely take his eyes from Bertha. Mrs. Müller, the bookseller's wife, began to smile to herself, and when Bertha turned towards her, she began to joke her about the well-to-do admirer whom she had evidently attracted: just then the stranger spoke. "I beg your pardon; but are you not Miss Bertha Sprösser ?" "Yes, indeed I am!" returned she, now closely observing him; "and you are you not Robert ?" "I am Robert," said he, "and thank God that I have found you! Where can we have a little quiet talk together?" The bookseller's family, who naturally thought of nothing less than of a respectable marriage offer for their friend, invited him to join their party, and adjourn with them to the garden of the country public-house whither they were bound. He most willingly accepted their offer, and very soon all were sitting merrily together in the open air, Robert relating his adventures. 66 "And as you now see me," said he, "I am still nothing more and nothing less than a blacksmith, but an honest one; and I must say, yet once more, that, after God, I owe everything to you. I have a good wife and dear children," (the bookseller and his wife made long faces at these words,) a handsome business and a good income, and above all, a contented heart; but if it had not been for you, I might perhaps have been only an unsuccessful journeyman smith.” He then went on to tell them that the skill in his trade, for which he had to thank his master, and the knowledge of languages, the foundation of which was laid with Bertha, had opened a path for him in many ways; how he had taken every means of increasing his knowledge; and, finally, that he had accompanied an English worked under him, and been able to save a handsome sum, which he was come home to enjoy. “I have now," said he, "a fixed appointment in the great iron-works of N―, and am at the same time an independent man. My wife was the daughter of a rich peasant-farmer in the country— a clever, kind wife she is. She has long known how much I have to thank you for, and she would never let me have any rest till I came here, as you now see, on purpose to seek you out and find what you are doing. Our eldest girl is called Bertha.” Bertha rejoiced from the bottom of her heart to learn the success of her former teacher and pupil. It was not without some little embarrassment that she made him acquainted with her present position. Robert seemed somewhat shy of venturing his request; at length he took courage and said: "Dear Miss Bertha, don't take it ill of me, but I do not think it is quite the proper situation for you. There is a pretty room in our new house, quite elegantly furnished; it is my library, but I have very little time to spend in it. My wife often says in joke, 'You can some day take your Miss Bertha in there: she would be like a princess in that room.' If you would only come sometimes on a visit, I fancy you would have much rosier cheeks, and perhaps afterwards I know very well that for my own children alone it would not be worth your while; but the whole valley swarms with children, among whom are the director's. Now it certainly would be a blessing if you would come and take charge of them." Bertha promised to think of it, and inquired after his brothers and sisters. "All happily settled," said he; "two sisters married; one brother a clergyman, with whom the youngest sister lives; one brother a notary, another a book-binder, a fourth a cabinet-maker, the fifth a stone-mason, and the youngest dead; I, however,” said he, "am the best off of all." After fourteen days, he returned with his wife, to fetch away Bertha. The wife, a blooming village beauty, with bright black eyes and a most cordial laugh, was for a considerable time somewhat shy; Bertha also felt the same; but Robert's skilful, warm-hearted management, acting like a link be tween the two, drew them by degrees together. Madame Nivert was not at all unwilling to part with a head-milliner, who, to use her own expression, "looked like hard times." I know a beautiful green valley among the mountains, lying like a clear emerald between brown pine woods. The fairies, it is true, are driven thence, for there, all day long, sounds the heavy forge hammer, and columns of black smoke ascend; but poetry is by no means extinct there, for there may still be found many a lovely spot, and pleasant wood paths wind up the hills. Shaded by beauti ful trees, yet open to the south, and at a little distance from the great works, stands the dwelling of the smith, and the cheerful sound of the steam hammer is heard unceasingly from early morning to night. It is a bright and happy dwelling, and rosy children are merrily running in and out. On the upper story, however, behind the window with the white muslin curtains, exists a peculiar little world, a joyous sanctuary for children; for that is "Aunt Bertha's room." The most glorious flowers diffuse a delicious fragrance from the window; the pleasantest pictures ornament the walls; everything which peculiarly belongs to a comfortable and beautiful room is here to be found. It might, perhaps, appear somewhat crowded with ornamental and elegant objects, if everything were not arranged with the purest taste. The window, which commands the lovely valley and the green hills, presents one of the most beautiful and peaceful prospects for a wearied eye and a heart which longs for repose. This is Bertha's asylum. But the possessor of all this comfort and beauty does not by any means lead an indolent life. All the children of the valley, from the little daughters of the director to the children of the poor workpeople, are her scholars, and come every morning with their books, and in the afternoon with their work-baskets, to the great hall, which the director had devoted to the purposes of education, near one cf the large factories. Never was a teacher more beloved and respected. The gratitude of the parents provides abundantly for Bertha's modest require ments, and she knows of a certainty that she will never experience want. Marie, Robert's wife, who can conceive no one superior to Bertha, takes a delight in keeping her room in the most beautiful order, and even in showing it to strangers, "as the lady's room," when Bertha is absent. But it is not alone the children who rush forward to meet Bertha; all the poor and the sick of the valley know her light step and her soft, skilful hand, and many a sad countenance grows bright as her form bends over the sick couch. Love and gratitude, in a vocation which should satisfy all the longings of her heart, were Bertha's fervent wish in her youthful days; and she enjoyed these in the evening of her life. It is true that she may have gone on her way alone towards the object of her desire; but her heart never now asks, “For what purpose am I in the world ?" She had only one motto: "Lord, I am unworthy of all the love and the kindness which thou hast shown to me!" LLOYD'S. EVERYBODY has heard of "Lloyd's." Everybody has seen the word a thousand times in the newspapers, and of all the familiar names known to us in connection with commerce, whether at home or abroad, none is more familiar than this. Yet few people, comparatively, have any definite idea of what is comprised under this significant monosyllable, or of the real nature of the establishment to which it gives a name, and which is almost as well known among the merchants of every commercial country in the world as it is in London. Near the eastern gate of the Royal Exchange, there is a rather confined area, from which a spacious winding flight of steps leads up to a sort of ante chamber of no great dimensions. Up and down these stairs, between the hours of eleven or so in the forenoon, to five in the afternoon, there is a constant ebb and flow of business faces-not particularly jolly or merry faces at any time, but faces with a responsible expression about them, and of the reflective and calculating character. They are always going up and down, one current meeting the other, and passing, with few words of greeting and no delays. Arrived at the top of the stairs, we are in the presence of Gibson's grand marble statue of Huskisson, the effect of which is more than half lost, from the disadvantageous position it occupies. Then there is a statue of the Prince Consort, by Lough, much better seen, but, as a work of art, not so well worth seeing; besides which, there is Lyddehker's memorial, and that handsome tablet in the wall, placed there as a testimonial to the "Times" newspaper, in commemoration of the exposure by that journal of a gigantic commercial conspiracy, which threatened the ruin of the whole of the trade of London. From this ante-chamber are the entrances, guarded by liveried functionaries, to the subscriptionrooms-for the chambers of Lloyd's are only open to the subscribers, or to those who have business with them. We are suffered to pass on, however, and the next minute are in the under-writers' room. This is a lofty apartment, about a hundred feet in length, and some fifty wide. There is nothing particularly striking in its appearance. A number of large tables and seats, ranged down each side and along the centre, with books, papers, and writing materials, present nothing extraordinary; and yet if you reflect for a moment, that here millions of money are literally at stake every hour that not a breeze can blow in any latitude, not a storm can burst, not a fog can rise, in any part of the wide ocean that girdles the world, without recording its history here, in such characters as tell of loss, discredit, perhaps utter ruin-you may well hold your breath, and acknowledge that, commonplace and inatter-of-fact as are the details of the spot, it is yet a centre of veritable and profound interest. For it is here that the business of marine insurance is transacted-a business the ramifications of which reach all round the world, and whose operations are so essential to the maintenance of the world's commerce, that were it to come suddenly to a stand-still, one half of the existing traffic of the nations would be paralyzed. Insurance is continually the basis of credit, even on shore. If you could not insure your life, you would hardly raise a loan on your personal security; and if you could not insure your house, the mortgagee would not lend you nearly the amount upon it which he now does. But at sea the risks are beyond all comparison greater, and the necessity of insuring against them, of course, correspondingly so. Every prudent man, therefore, who has capital thus endangered (unless it be such an amount as he can afford to lose, and he is inclined to speculate) insures it against loss: if the vessel which is, or which contains, his venture be lost, he recovers his capital because he has insured it; if it escape the perils of the sea and make a prosperous voyage, ho |