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But to return to the "Diary" of Sir Humphrey
Davy. This pamphlet was not designed for the public eye, even upon the decease
of the writer, as any person at all conversant with authorship may satisfy
himself at once by the slightest inspection of the style. At page 13, for
example, near the middle, we read, in reference to his researches about the
protoxide of azote: "In less than half a minute the respiration being
continued, diminished gradually and were succeeded by analogous to gentle
pressure on all the muscles." That the respiration was not
"diminished," is not only clear by the subsequent context, but by the
use of the plural, "were." The sentence, no doubt, was thus intended:
"In less than half a minute, the respiration being continued, [these
feelings] diminished gradually, and were succeeded by [a sensation] analogous to
gentle pressure on all the muscles." A hundred similar instances go to show
that the MS. so inconsiderately published, was merely a rough note-book, meant
only for the writer's own eye, but an inspection of the pamphlet will convince
almost any thinking person of the truth of my suggestion. The fact is, Sir
Humphrey Davy was about the last man in the world to commit himself on
scientific topics. Not only had he a more than ordinary dislike to quackery, but
he was morbidly afraid of appearing empirical; so that, however fully he might
have been convinced that he was on the right track in the matter now in
question, he would never have spoken out, until he had every thing ready for the
most practical demonstration. I verily believe that his last moments would have
been rendered wretched, could he have suspected that his wishes in regard to
burning this "Diary" (full of crude speculations) would have been
unattended to; as, it seems, they were. I say "his wishes," for that
he meant to include this note-book among the miscellaneous papers directed
"to be burnt," I think there can be no manner of doubt. Whether it
escaped the flames by good fortune or by bad, yet remains to be seen. That the
passages quoted above, with the other similar ones referred to, gave Von
Kempelen the hint, I do not in the slightest degree question; but I repeat, it
yet remains to be seen whether this momentous discovery itself (momentous under
any circumstances) will be of service or disservice to mankind at large. That
Von Kempelen and his immediate friends will reap a rich harvest, it would be
folly to doubt for a moment. They will scarcely be so weak as not to
"realize," in time, by large purchases of houses and land, with other
property of intrinsic value.
In the brief account of Von Kempelen which appeared in the Home Journal, and has since been extensively copied, several misapprehensions of the German original seem to have been made by the translator, who professes to have taken the passage from a late number of the Presburg "Schnellpost." "Viele" has evidently been misconceived (as it often is), and what the translator renders by "sorrows," is probably "lieden," which, in its true version, "sufferings," would give a totally different complexion to the whole account; but, of course, much of this is merely guess, on my part. Von Kempelen, however, is by no means "a misanthrope," in appearance, at least, whatever he may be in fact. My acquaintance with him was casual altogether; and I am scarcely warranted in saying that I know him at all; but to have seen and conversed with a man of so prodigious a notoriety as he has attained, or will attain in a few days, is not a small matter, as times go. "The Literary World" speaks of him, confidently, as a native of Presburg (misled, perhaps, by the account in The Home Journal) but I am pleased in being able to state positively, since I have it from his own lips, that he was born in Utica, in the State of New York, although both his parents, I believe, are of Presburg descent. The family is connected, in some way, with Maelzel, of Automaton-chess-player memory. In person, he is short and stout, with large, fat, blue eyes, sandy hair and whiskers, a wide but pleasing mouth, fine teeth, and I think a Roman nose. There is some defect in one of his feet. His address is frank, and his whole manner noticeable for bonhomie. Altogether, he looks, speaks, and acts as little like "a misanthrope" as any man I ever saw. We were fellow-sojourners for a week about six years ago, at Earl's Hotel, in Providence, Rhode Island; and I presume that I conversed with him, at various times, for some three or four hours altogether. His principal topics were those of the day, and nothing that fell from him led me to suspect his scientific attainments. He left the hotel before me, intending to go to New York, and thence to Bremen; it was in the latter city that his great discovery was first made public; or, rather, it was there that he was first suspected of having made it. This is about all that I personally know of the now immortal Von Kempelen; but I have thought that even these few details would have interest for the public. There can be little question that most of the marvellous rumors afloat about this affair are pure inventions, entitled to about as much credit as the story of Aladdin's lamp; and yet, in a case of this kind, as in the case of the discoveries in California, it is clear that the truth may be stranger than fiction. The following anecdote, at least, is so well authenticated, that we may receive it implicitly.
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