atedly broke down. His wife alone
witnessed the extent of his prostration, and to her loving care we, and
the world, are indebted for the enjoyment of his presence here so long.
He found occasional relief in a theatre. He frequently quitted London
and went to Brighton and elsewhere, always choosing a situation which
commanded a view of the sea, or of some other pleasant horizon, where he
could sit and gaze and feel the gradual revival of the faith that

'Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her.'

But very often for some days after his removal to the country, he would
be unable to do more than sit at a window and look out upon the sea and
sky.

In 1841, his state became more serious than it had ever been before. A
published letter to Mr. Richard Taylor, dated March 11, 1843, contains
an allusion to his previous condition. 'You are aware,' he says, 'that
considerations regarding health have prevented me from working or
reading on science for the last two years.' This, at one period
or another of their lives, seems to be the fate of most great
investigators. They do not know the limits of their constitutional
strength until they have transgressed them. It is, perhaps, right that
they should transgress them, in order to ascertain where they lie.
Faraday, however, though he went far towards it, did not push his
transgression beyond his power of restitution. In 1841 Mrs. Faraday and
he went to Switzerland, under the affectionate charge of her brother,
Mr. George Barnard, the artist. This time of suffering throws fresh
light upon his character. I have said that sweetness and gentleness were
not its only constituents; that he was also fiery and strong. At the
time now referred to, his fire was low and his strength distilled away;
but the residue of his life was neither irritability nor discontent. He
was unfit to mingle in society, for conversation was a pain to him; but
let us observe the great Man-child when alone. He is at the village of
Interlaken, enjoying Jungfrau sunsets, and at times watching the Swiss
nailers making their nails. He keeps a little journal, in which he
describes the process of nailmaking, and incidentally throws a luminous
beam upon himself.

'August 2, 1841.--Clout nailmaking goes on here rather considerably, and
is a very neat and pretty operation to observe. I love a smith's shop
and anything relating to smithery. My father was a smith.'

From Interlaken he went to