118 EULOGY ON AMPERE. 



Chesselden's history of the man blind from his birth and suddenly restored 

 to sight by the removal of a cataract. Ampere was extremely near-sight- 

 ed; objectsonly slightly distant seemed to him but confused and undefined 

 masses. He could form no idea of the pleasure manifested in his pres- 

 ence by the hundreds of people at various times descending the river 

 Saoue between Laueuville and Lyons. One day there chanced to be on 

 the boat a traveler as near-sighted as himself, and with glasses which 

 proved tobeof anumbertosuithiseyes. He tried them, and as if by magic 

 all nature assumed a different aspect, the smiling woods, picturesque 

 couutr3', graceful, gently undulating hills, rich, warm, harmoniously 

 blended tints, spoke for the first time to his imagination, and a torrent 

 of tears proclaimed his deep emotion. 



Our associate was then but eighteen, and from that time was 

 keenly alive to all the beauties of nature, I have been told that, in 

 1812, while traveling along the Mediterranean shore of Italy, a view 

 from certain points of the celebrated Corniche on the coast of Genoa 

 threw our Iriend into such an ecstacy of admiration that instant death 

 in the presence of that sublime picture was all he desired. 



Were it needful to show how profound were these impressions, and 

 to what extent Ampere could make them available in coloring the 

 most common-place scenery he desired to embellish, a striking proof may 

 be found in a letter dated January 24, 1819. 



At this time our friend was living in a modest house he had piu'- 

 chased at the corner of the streets Foss(5s-Saint- Victor and Boulangers. 

 The garden, more unpretending still, contained not more than ten super- 

 ficial meters of unproductive laud, recently spaded. Several terraces 

 were succeeded by a steep and tortuous trench, crossed by two or three 

 jiarrow planks over the deepest parts, the whole surrounded by a very 

 high wall. But, you exclaim, you are describing the damp, gloomy yard 

 of a prison. No, gentlemen ; I am describing the plan and ai^pearance 

 of a garden where Ampere, in the middle of January, in the street des 

 Boulangers, was already dreaming of — I had almost said was absolutely 

 seeing — green grass, trees in full leaf, and beautiful flowers, filling the 

 air with their delicious perfumes ; and clumps of shrubbery beneath 

 whose shade he could revel in the delightful task of reading letters from 

 his Lyonuese friends, where a bridge thrown over the vaUey formed 

 a picturesque object. 



Pardon me, gentlemen, for having anticipated the order of time — for 

 having selected from the life of our friend the only circumstance, per- 

 haps, where his imagination has not been a source of sorrow to him. 



It was not only the emotions of beauty, grandeur, and sublimity with 

 which the hearts of most men are inspired by the view of rural and 

 mountainous scenery to which Ampere had been suddenly awakened. 

 The musical sense was also of sudden birth. In his youth Ampere 

 had given very serious attention to acoustics. He had taken great 

 delight in studying the manner in which waves of air are created 



