Davy's _début_ as a lecturer at the Royal Institution appears to have been highly successful; 'the sparkling intelligence of his eye,[107] his animated manner,' according to one critic, and 'his youth, his natural eloquence, his chemical knowledge, his happy illustrations, and well-conducted experiments, excited universal attention and unbounded applause.' It has been well said that 'under his touch the coldest realities blossomed into poetry.' But the real secret of his success was this--that he was master of his subject; and that his whole heart was in his work. His mode of life, his brother tells us, was at this time extremely simple, his fare frugal, his rooms slightly furnished, and the only 'thing of beauty' which they contained was an exquisite little porcelain Venus, the gift of his early friend Wedgwood, with whom he was associated in some of the very first attempts made in this country in the art of photography. In 1806 and 1807 he was selected to deliver the Bakerian Lecture (the subject chosen being the 'Chemical Agencies of Electricity')--an honourable distinction--leading, as it probably did, to his promotion in the latter year to the posts of Secretary to the Royal Society, and Member of the Council. Of this paper Dr. Whewell said, 'It was a great event--perhaps the most important event of the epoch under review,' and as such 'it was recognised at once all over Europe.' Probably no man's life was happier than Davy's at this period; his income was ample, his work was his pleasure, and his disposition was happy and sanguine. Whilst holding constant and friendly intercourse with his brother philosophers at home and abroad,[108] he had also plenty of time for relaxation; and made several pleasant excursions to Scotland[109] and Ireland; everywhere sketching, making notes, fishing, or pursuing his inquiries amongst the natives with a vivid pertinacity and good-nature which at once astonished and delighted them. His brother (who used occasionally to occupy an adjoining bedroom at the Royal Institution) tells how Humphry might frequently have been heard during the night addressing in fervid tones some imaginary audience, or humming aloud an angler's song. Indeed, it might almost be said that during this period one cloud only darkened his horizon. He was seized with typhus fever, caught during an inspection of Newgate Prison, which he visited with a view to arranging for its disinfection; but, as Dr. Dibdin remarked in his introductory lecture to the Institution: '---- Death his dart Shook, but delayed to strike.'