I fear, shall have to
learn the magnitude of the resources we are now neglecting amid the
pangs of actual war.' [Footnote: The 'science' has since been applied,
with astonishing effect, by those who had studied it far more
thoroughly than the Emperor of the French. We also, I am happy to
think, have improved the time since the above words were written
[1878].]

One turns with renewed pleasure to Faraday's letters to his wife,
published in the second volume. Here surely the loving essence of the
man appears more distinctly than anywhere else. From the house of Dr.
Percy, in Birmingham, he writes thus:

'Here--even here the moment I leave the table, I wish I were with you
IN QUIET. Oh, what happiness is ours! My runs into the world in this
way only serve to make me esteem that happiness the more.'

And again:

'We have been to a grand conversazione in the town-hall, and I have
now returned to my room to talk with you, as the pleasantest and
happiest thing that I can do. Nothing rests me so much as communion
with you. I feel it even now as I write, and catch myself saying the
words aloud as I write them.'

Take this, moreover, as indicative of his love for Nature:

'After writing, I walk out in the evening hand in hand with my dear
wife to enjoy the sunset; for to me who love scenery, of all that I
have seen or can see, there is none surpasses that of heaven. A
glorious sunset brings with it a thousand thoughts that delight me.'

Of the numberless lights thrown upon him by the Life and Letters,'
some fall upon his religion. In a letter to Lady Lovelace, he
describes himself as belonging to 'a very small and despised sect of
Christians, known, if known at all, as _Sandemanians_, and our hope is
founded on the faith that is in Christ.' He adds: 'I do not think it
at all necessary to tie the study of the natural sciences and religion
together, and in my intercourse with my fellow-creatures, that which
is religious, and that which is philosophical, have ever been two
distinct things.' He saw clearly the danger of quitting his moorings,
and his science acted indirectly as the safeguard of his faith. For
his investigations so filled his mind as to leave no room for
sceptical questionings, thus shielding from the assaults of
philosophy, the creed of his youth. His religion was constitutional
and hereditary. It was implied in the eddies of his blood and in the
tremors of his brain; and, however its outward and