We could not conclude our notice of this remarkable family without some
further allusion to its not least remarkable member--Caroline Lucretia
Herschel.
To her varied accomplishments, her astronomical researches, and, above
all, to her unwearied and unselfish devotion to her brother William, we
have already made frequent allusion. She seemed to live for him and in
him, to live for his fame and prosperity; and she poured out at his feet
the treasures of an inexhaustible affection. To assist him in his
labours, at whatever sacrifice, was her sole object in life; and she was
certainly more careful for his reputation than was he himself. During
his declining years she was his principal stay and support, and she was
in daily attendance to note down or to calculate the results of his
observations. His death was a severe blow to her; but, with
characteristic courage, she retired to Hanover, gave herself up to
scientific pursuits, and in comparative solitude spent her later years.
Her biographer writes:--
"When all was over, her only desire seems to have been to hurry
away. Hardly was her brother laid in his grave than she
collected the few things she cared to keep, and left for ever
the country where she had spent fifty years of her life, living
and toiling for him and him only. 'If I should leave off making
memorandums of such events as affect or are interesting to me,
I should feel like what I am,--namely, a person that has
nothing more to do in this world.' Mournful words! doubly
mournful, when we know that the writer had nearly half an
ordinary lifetime still between her and that grave which she
made haste to prepare, in the hope that her course was nearly
run. Who can think of her, at the age of seventy-two,
heart-broken and desolate, going back to the home of her youth
in the fond expectation of finding consolation, without a pang
of sympathetic pity? She found everything changed."
_That_, indeed, is to all of us the greatest grief, when we return to
the home of our youth. It is as if, during the years of our absence, we
had expected everything to stand as still as in the palace of the
Sleeping Beauty while the charm rested upon it. We are fain to see the
trees in their young greenness as when they sheltered our childhood, to
find the hedgerows blooming with the same violets, to hear the
mill-stream murmuring with the same music. Time furrows our brows with
wrinkles, and streaks our hair with silver; our hearts grow colder; our
minds lose their elasticity and freshness; our friends pass away from
our side. But still we think to ourselves that in the old scenes all
things are as they were. We say to ourselves: The bird sings as of old
in the elm-trees at the garden-foot; the rose-bush blossoms as of old
against our favourite window.
"The varying year with blade and sheaf
Clothes and re-clothes the happy plains;
Here rests the sap within the leaf,
Here stays the blood along the veins.
Faint shadows, vapours lightly curled,
Faint murmurs from the meadows come,
Like hints and echoes of the world
To spirits folded in the womb."
* * * * *
But we regain the old familiar places, and, alas! we find that change
has been as busy with them as with us. The signs of decay are upon the
trees; the brook has ceased to flow; the rose-bush has withered to the
ground. There are trees as green and streams as musical and flowers as
sweet as in our youth; but they are not the streams or flowers or trees
which delighted us, and to us they can never be as dear. But a worse
alteration has taken place than any visible in the face of nature. We
discover that we have lost the old habits, the old capacity of
enjoyment; and we soon discover that it was the sympathies, the hopes,
the aspirations of youth which, after all, lent to these early scenes
their rare and irrecoverable attraction.
And thus it was that Miss Herschel found everything changed. A life of
fifty years spent in a certain routine and upon certain objects, had
unfitted her to tread in the old paths. It soon became clear to her that
all her ideas and feelings had been shaped and influenced in a totally
different path. More bitter still, we are told, she came to know that in
her great sorrow and inextinguishable love she was all alone. And
bitterest of all was the feeling that, in losing her brother she had
lost the glory of her life, the source of her intellectual enjoyment.
"You don't know," she wrote to a friend, "the blank of life after
having lived within the radiance of genius." Yet to live in this
blankness, and to do the best she could with it, became the work of
Caroline Lucretia Herschel at the age of threescore years and ten,--an
age when most of us have already put off our cares and anxieties, but
when she began to enter on a new life, with new habits, new duties, and
new associations.
Her interest in astronomical pursuits never slackened, and she watched
with eagerness the labours and successes of her nephew. The respect paid
to her in society as a "woman of science" was not unwelcome, though she
affected to make light of it. "You must give me leave," she wrote to Sir
John, "to send you any publications you can think of, without mentioning
anything about paying for them. For it is necessary I should every now
and then lay out a little of my spare cash in that, for the sake of
supporting the reputation of being a learned lady; (there is for you!)
for I am not only looked at for such a one, but even stared at here in
Hanover!" It was with unaffected modesty she deprecated the honorary
membership of the Irish Academy, conferred on one who, she said, had
not for many years discovered even a comet; yet she was by no means
insensible to the distinction. Every man of scientific eminence who
visited Hanover visited this aged lady; and her presence in the theatre,
even in her latest years, was a constant source of attraction. Such was
the simple frugality of her habits, that she experienced an actual
difficulty in disposing of her income. She affirmed that the largest sum
she could spend upon herself was £50 a year; and the annual pension of
£100, left by her brother, she refused, or else devoted the quarterly or
half-yearly payment to the purchase of some handsome present for her
nephew or niece.
Such was Caroline Lucretia Herschel; and as such she was a remarkable
proof that the rarest womanly gifts of affectionate forethought and
loving devotion may exist in combination with intellectual strength and
scientific enthusiasm.
Of the force, keenness, and permanency of her sisterly love, an
illustration of a pathetic character occurs in a letter which she
addressed to her nephew, February 27, 1823:--
"I am grown much thinner than I was six months ago: when I look
at my hands, they put me so in mind of what your dear father's
were, when I saw them tremble under my eyes, as we latterly
played at backgammon together."
It has long been the reproach of England that she treats, or rather that
her Government treats, her men of science, her artists, and her
litterateurs with a disgraceful parsimony. It would appear from the
following letter that Sir William Herschel was inadequately rewarded,
and that his sister felt this keenly:--
"There can be no harm," she says, "in telling my own dear
nephew that I never felt satisfied with the support your father
received towards his undertakings, and far less with the
ungracious manner in which it was granted. For the last sum
came with a message that more must never be asked for. (Oh! how
degraded I felt, even for myself, whenever I thought of it!)
And after all it came too late, and was not sufficient; for if
expenses had been out of question, there would not have been so
much time, and labour, and expense, for twenty-four men were at
times by turns, day and night, at work, wasted on the first
mirror, which had come out too light in the casting (Alex more
than once would have destroyed it secretly, if I had not
persuaded him against it); and without two mirrors, you know,
such an instrument cannot be always ready for observing.
"But what grieved me most was that to the last your poor father
was struggling above his strength against difficulties which he
well knew might have been removed if it had not been attended
with too much expense. The last time the mirror was obliged to
be taken from the polisher on account of some obstacle, I heard
him say (in his usual manner of thinking aloud on such
occasions), 'It is impossible to make the machine act as
required without a room three times as large as this.'
"I must say a few words of apology for the good King (George
III.), and ascribe the close bargains which were made between
him and my brother to the _shabby, mean-spirited advisers_ who
were undoubtedly consulted on such occasions; but they are dead
and gone, and no more of them."
In February 1828, the great services which this high-souled woman had
rendered to astronomical science were fitly rewarded by the presentation
to her of the Royal Astronomical Society's gold medal,--the greatest
honour which an astronomer can receive.
Mr. South, himself an astronomer of deserved repute, was charged with
the duty of presenting the medal; and in the course of his address he
dwelt on the labours of her brother, and the share she had had in them.
Sir William's first catalogue of new nebulae and clusters of stars, he
said, amounting in number to one thousand, was compiled with
observations made from a twenty-foot reflector in the years 1783, 1784,
and 1785. By the same instrument he was enabled to discover the
positions of a second thousand of these distant worlds in 1785 to 1788;
while the places of five hundred others were registered on the celestial
map between 1788 and 1802. What, we may ask, were the discoveries of
Columbus compared with these? He revealed to Europe the existence of
only a single continent; Herschel unfolded to man the mysteries of the
depths of the heavens.
But, continued Mr. South, when we have thus enumerated the results
obtained in the course of "sweeps" with this instrument, and taken into
consideration the extent and variety of the other observations which
were at the same time in progress, a most important part yet remains
untold. Who participated in his toils? Who braved with him all the
experiences of inclement weather? Who shared, and consoled him in, his
privations? A woman. And who was she? His sister. Miss Herschel it was
who by night acted as his amanuensis; she it was whose pen conveyed to
paper his observations as they issued from his lips; she it was who
noted the various aspects and phenomena of the objects observed; she it
was who, after spending the still night beside the wonder-exhibiting
instrument, carried the rough, blurred manuscripts to her cottage at
daybreak, and by the morning produced a clean copy and register of the
night's achievements; she it was who planned the labour of each
succeeding night; she it was who reduced into exact form every
calculation; she it was who arranged the whole in systematic order; and
she it was who largely assisted her illustrious brother to obtain his
imperishable renown.
Miss Herschel's claims to the gratitude of men of science, and to the
admiration of all who can appreciate the beauty of self-sacrifice, did
not end here. She was herself an astronomer, and an original observer.
At times her brother was enabled to dispense with her attendance. You
would suppose that such leisure nights she would gladly give up to rest.
Not she. Her brother might, at some unforeseen moment, require her aid,
and consequently she preferred to be close at hand. A seven-foot
telescope planted on the lawn helped to while away the hours of waiting;
and it was to the occupation of these hours that science owed the
discovery of the comet of 1786, of the comet of 1788, of the comet of
1791, of the comet of 1793, and of that of 1795, now connected with the
name of Encke. Many, also, of the nebulae contained in Sir William
Herschel's catalogues were detected by her keen and accurate gaze during
these nights of lonely observation. Indeed, as South remarked, when
looking at the joint-labours of these two enthusiasts, we scarcely know
whether the warmer praise should be given to the intellectual might of
the brother or the ardent industry of the sister.
In 1797, continued her eulogist, she presented to the Royal Society a
catalogue of 560 stars, taken from Flamsteed's observations, the exact
positions of which had not been previously defined.
Soon after the death of him to whom she had given up so much of her
life, her best energies, and her ripest faculties, she returned to
Hanover,--unwilling, however, to relinquish the astronomical researches
which had been so pure and permanent a source of pleasure. She undertook
and completed the laborious "reduction" or registration of the places of
2500 nebulae, down to the 1st of January 1800; thus presenting in one
view the results of all the observations Sir William Herschel had made
upon those wonderful bodies, and triumphantly bringing to a close half a
century of scientific toil.
* * * * *
We return to Miss Herschel's biography, in order to gather up a few
particulars of her last years, and to exhibit some of the tenderer
features of her character.
On the occasion of her nephew's marriage, in 1829, she wrote to him in
the following terms:--
"MY DEAREST NEPHEW,--I have spent four days in vain endeavours
to gain composure enough to give you an idea of the joyful
sensation your letter of February 5th has caused me. But I can
at this present moment find no words which would better express
my happiness than those which escaped in exclamation from my
lips, according to Simeon (see St. Luke ii. 29), 'Lord, now
lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.'
"I have now some hopes of passing the few remainder of my days
in as much comfort as the separation from the land where I
spent the greatest portion of my life, and from all those which
are most dear to me, can admit. For, from the description given
me of the dear young lady of your choice, I am confident my
dear nephew's future happiness is now established.
"I beg you will give my love to your dear lady, and best
regards to all your new connections where they are due, in the
best terms you can think of, for I am at present too unwell for
writing all I could wish to say.
"I have suffered much during this severe winter, and have not
been able to leave my habitation above three or four times for
the last three months; and feel, moreover, much fatigued by
sitting eight times within the last ten days to Professor
Tiedemann for having my picture taken--which he did at my
apartment, and now he has taken it home to finish. I must
conclude, for I wish to say a few words to your dear mother. It
is now between eleven and twelve, and perhaps you are at this
very moment receiving the blessing of Dr. Jennings; in which I
most fervently join by saying, 'God bless you both!'"
Though eighty-three years old, Miss Herschel retained all her old powers
of memory; and in a letter to her new niece, Lady Herschel, written in
1833, she narrated some amusing reminiscences of her nephew's early
childhood.
He was only in his sixth year, she said, when she was separated for a
while from the family circle. But this did not hinder "John" and her
from remaining the most affectionate friends, and many a half or whole
holiday he spent with her, devoting it to chemical experiments, in which
all kinds of boxes, tops of tea-canisters, pepper-cruets, tea-cups, and
the like, served for the necessary vessels, and the sand-tub furnished
the matter to be analysed. Miss Herschel's task was to prevent the
introduction of water, which would have produced havoc on her carpet.
For his first notion of building, "John" was indebted to the affection
of his aunt, who, on his second or third birthday, lifted him in the
trenches to lay the south corner-stone of the building which was added
to Sir William's original house at Slough. On further reflection, she
felt convinced that this incident occurred in the second year of her
nephew's age, for she remembered being obliged to use "a deal of
coaxing" to make him part with the money he was to lay on the
comer-stone.
About the same time, when she was sitting near him one day, listening to
his prattle, her attention was drawn to his repeated and formidable
hammering. On investigating into its object, she found that it was the
continuation of the labour of many days, during which he had undermined
the ground about the corner of the house, had entirely removed the
corner-stone, and was zealously toiling to overthrow the next! His aunt
gave the alarm, and old John Wiltshire, a favourite carpenter, ran to
the spot, exclaiming, "Heaven bless the boy! if he is not going to pull
the house down!"
* * * * *
In 1834, Sir John, as already stated, made a voyage to the Cape of Good
Hope, in order to undertake a series of observations of the southern
heavens. His aunt had now reached the ripe old age of eighty-four, an
age attained by few,--and when attained, bringing with it in almost
every case a painful diminution of physical energy, and a corresponding
decline in mental force. But such was not the case with this remarkable
woman. She still continued an active correspondence with her nephew, and
manifested the liveliest interest in all his movements. It is
astonishing to mark the vivacity and clearness of the letters she wrote
at this advanced period of her life. Thus, on the 1st of May 1834, she
writes to Sir John:--
"Both yourself and my dear niece urged me to write often, and
to write always twice; but, alas! I could not overcome the
reluctance I felt of [at] telling you that it is over with me
for getting up at eight or nine o'clock, dressing myself,
eating my dinner alone without an appetite, falling asleep over
a novel (I am obliged to lay down to recover the fatigue of the
morning's exertions), awaking with nothing but the prospect of
the trouble of getting into bed, where very seldom I get above
two hours' sleep. It is enough to make a parson swear! To this
I must add, I found full employment for the few moments, when I
could rouse myself from a melancholy lethargy, to spend in
looking over my store of astronomical and other memorandums of
upwards of fifty years' collecting."
Later in the year she writes:--
"I know not how to thank you sufficiently for the cheering
account you give of the climate agreeing so well with you and
all who are so dear to me, and that you find all about you so
agreeable and comfortable;... so that I have nothing left to
wish for but a continuation of the same, and that I may only
live to see the handwriting of your dear Caroline, though I
have my doubts about lasting till then, for the thermometer
standing 80° and 90° for upwards of two mouths, day and night,
in nay rooms (to which I am mostly confined), has made great
havoc in my brittle constitution. I beg you will look to it
that she learns to make her figures as you find them in your
father's MSS., such as he taught me to make. The daughter of a
mathematician must write plain figures.
"My little grand-nephew making alliance with your workmen shows
that he is taking after his papa. I see you now in idea,
running about in petticoats among your father's carpenters,
working with little tools of your own; and John Wiltshire (one
of Pitt's men, whom you may perhaps remember) crying out, 'Dang
the boy, if he can't drive in a nail as well as I can!'
"I thank you for the astronomical portion of your letter, and
for your promise of future accounts of uncommon objects. It is
not _clusters of stars_ I want you to discover in the body of
the Scorpion [the astronomical sign, so called], or thereabout,
for that does not answer my expectation, remembering having
once heard your father, after a long, awful silence, exclaim,
'Hier ist wahrhaftig ein loch ein Himmel!' [Here, indeed, is a
great gap in Heaven!], and, as I said before, stopping
afterwards at the same spot, but leaving it unsatisfied."
These extracts may seem trivial to some of our readers, but they are not
so, rightly considered. They illustrate the wonderful mental vivacity of
their venerable writer, and in this respect are useful; but still more
useful in showing how cheerfully she bore the burden of her years, and
with what intellectual serenity she looked forward to her end.
We own that the lives of the Herschels are what the world would call
uneventful. The discovery of a new planet, or of the orbit of a star,
seems less romantic to the vulgar taste than the slaughter of ten
thousand men on a field of battle. It will seem to the unthinking that
the victorious general or the daring seaman, the leader of a forlorn
hope, or the captain who goes down with his sinking ship, affords an
example worthier of imitation than the patient, watchful, enthusiastic
astronomer or his devoted sister. _His_, they will say, was a noble
life. Be it so; but every life is noble which is spent in the path of
duty. Do what comes to your hand to do with all honesty and
completeness, and you will make _your_ life noble. Subdue your passions,
master your evil thoughts, observe the laws of temperance and purity, be
truthful, be firm, be honest, and keep ever before you the law of Christ
as the law of your daily work, and you will make _your_ life noble. We
cannot all be great commanders or daring captains, we cannot all be
distinguished men of science; but we can all be righteously-living men,
endeavouring to raise others by our example, and it is a higher aim to
live purely than to live successfully. We cannot all command the
success, just as we do not all enjoy the intellectual powers, of a
Herschel; but we can emulate the industry and perseverance of the
astronomer, we can copy the devoted affection and self-denial of his
sister. The sorriest mistake of which men can be guilty,--yet it is a
mistake which has clouded many lives,--is to suppose that duty is less
imperative in its claims on the humble and unknown than on men raised or
born to eminent position. Let it be understood and remembered that each
one of us can rise to a standard of true heroism, by cultivating the
graces of the Christian character, and doing the work which God has
appointed.
* * * * *
Sir John Herschel returned to England in 1838, and in July of the same
year he and his little son paid a visit to Miss Herschel. It is
characteristic that her intense anxiety as to the proper treatment of
her little grand-nephew--his sleep, his food, his playthings--greatly
disturbed her peace. "I rather suffered him," she writes, "to hunger,
than would let him eat anything hurtful; indeed, I would not let him eat
anything at all unless his papa was present." Her biographer remarks,
that great as was her joy to see once more almost the only living being
upon whom she poured some of that wealth of affection with which her
heart never ceased to overflow, yet it was on the disappointments and
shortcomings of those few days, those precious days, that she chiefly
dwelt; and the abrupt termination of her nephew's visit filled her with
the deepest sorrow. With the generous, but, as it proved, mistaken
intention of sparing her feelings, her nephew left without informing her
beforehand of the exact time of his departure, simply bidding her
good-night prior to his return to his inn. Great was her distress when
she found that he and his son had quitted Hanover at four o'clock on the
following morning.
Her introduction to her grand-nephew, as described by his father, Sir
John, was exceedingly quaint:--
"Now, let me tell you how tilings fell out. Dr. Groskopff took
Willie with him to Aunty, but without saying who he was. Says
she, 'What little boy is that?' Says he, 'The son of a friend
of mine. Ask him his name.' However, Willie would not tell his
name. 'Where do you come from, little fellow?' 'From the Cape
of Good Hope,' says Willie. 'What is that he says?' 'He says he
comes from the Cape of Good Hope.' 'Ay! and who is he? What is
his name?' 'His name is Herschel.' 'Yes,'says Willie. 'What is
that he says?' 'He says he comes from the Cape of Good Hope.'
'Ay! and who is he? What is his name?' 'His name is Herschel.'
'Yes,' says Willie, 'William James Herschel.' 'Ach, mem Gott!
das nicht möglich; ist dieser kleines neffeu's sohn?' And so it
all came out; and when I came to her all was understood, and we
sat down and talked as quietly as if we had parted but
yesterday."
* * * * *
In a letter which she wrote to Lady Herschel in 1838, we find some
reminiscences of her early years. She says that when, at the age of
twenty-two, she first visited England, there was no kind of ornamental
needle-work, knitting, plaiting hair, stringing beads and bugles, and
the like, of which she did not make samples by way of mastering the art.
As she was the only girl, and consequently the Cinderella, of the
family, she could not find time, however, for much self-improvement. She
was not, for instance, a skilled musician, but she was able to play the
second violin part of an overture or easy quartette. And it is worth
notice that the Herschels were something more than astronomers only.
Both Sir William and his son, great as they were in their special
department of science, took care to cultivate their minds generally;
were mathematicians, chemists, geologists, and men of letters. And here
is a lesson for our younger readers. The mind should always be diverted
towards one particular object; it should be the aim of everybody to
attain towards supreme excellence, if possible, in some one pursuit. On
the other hand, he should gather knowledge, more or less, in every
field, so as to avoid narrowness of view and poverty of idea.
Versatility does not necessarily mean superficiality; we may know much
of many things, and more of one thing. A man who is only a botanist,
shuts himself out from all the truest and deepest pleasures of
knowledge. It may be very clever for a violinist to play on a single
string; but he must play on _all_, if he would bring out the full
harmonies of his instrument, and do justice to its extraordinary powers.
* * * * *
Miss Herschel's enjoyment of life, which, when not carried to an excess,
is a Christian duty, continued to the very last. When she was in her
ninetieth year, she rose as usual every day, dressed, ate, drank, rested
on her sofa, read and conversed with her numerous visitors; still
taking an interest in science and literature, even in public affairs,
and still occupying herself with all that concerned the evergrowing
reputation of her nephew. Of course, she could not escape the
infirmities of old age, but by cheerfulness and patience she did her
best to alleviate them. In recalling incidents of her early life, she
frequently gave evidence of her good-humoured contentment. In 1840,
writing to her niece, she refers to an incident which occurred in the
early part of the forty-foot telescope's existence, when "God save the
King" was sung in it by her brother and his guests, who rose from the
dinner-table for the purpose, and entered the tube in procession. She
adds that among the company were two Misses Stows, one of whom was a
famous pianoforte player; some of the Griesbachs (well-known musicians),
who accompanied on the oboe, or any instrument they could get hold of;
and herself, who was one of the nimblest and foremost to get in and out
of the tube. "But now," she adds, "lack-a-day! I can hardly cross the
room without help. But what of that? Dorcas, in the _Beggar's Opera_,
says, 'One cannot eat one's cake and have it too!'"
She relates, in the same letter, a curious anecdote of the old and
celebrated tube. Before the optical apparatus was finished, many
visitors took a pleasure in walking through it,--among the rest, on one
occasion, King George III. and the Archbishop of Canterbury. The latter
following the king, and finding it difficult to proceed, his majesty
turned and gave him his hand, saying, "Come, my Lord Bishop; I will show
you the way to heaven!"
Then, with that astonishing memory of hers, which kept its greenness
until the very last, she notes that this occurred on August 17, 1787,
when the King and Queen, the Duke of York, and some of the princesses
were of the company.
* * * * *
From another letter we take a lively little picture of a Christmas in
Hanover:--
She had been told that keeping Christmas in the German sense was coming
to be very general in England; but her shrewd, practical turn of mind
induced her to hope that the English would never go "such lengths in
foolery." At Hanover, she wrote, the tradespeople had been for many
weeks in full employ, framing and mounting the embroideries of the
ladies and girls of all classes; of _all_ classes, for not a folly or
extravagancy existed among the great but it was imitated by the little.
The shops were beautifully lighted up by gas, and the last three days
before Christmas all that could tempt or attract was exhibited in the
market-places in booths lighted up in the evening, whither everybody
hastened to gaze and to spend their money. Cooks and housemaids
presented one another with knitted bags and purses; the cobbler's
daughter embroidered "neck-cushions" for her friend the butcher's
daughter. These were made up by the upholsterer at great expense, lined
with white satin; the upper part, on which the back rested, being
wrought with gold, silver, and pearls.
* * * * *
But we must no longer delay the reader by our gossip. Enough has been
said to illustrate the character of a remarkable woman, and of those
features of it--her cheerfulness, her patience, her industry, her
devoted affection, her unselfishness--which all of us may be the better
for studying and imitating. Our limits compel us to draw our simple
narrative to a close, and we must pass over the delight with which she
received and read Sir John Herschel's great work, "Cape
Observations,"--a noble monument of the perseverance and strenuous
labour of genius; but of twofold interest to her, because it not only
testified to the eminent qualities of her nephew, but brought to a noble
conclusion the vast undertaking of that nephew's father and her own
beloved brother--the survey of the nebulous heavens.
A letter written by her friend Miss Becksdorff, on the 6th of January
1848, describes Caroline Herschel's last days:--
"Her decided objection to having her bed placed in a warmer
room had brought on a cold and cough; and so firm was her
determination to preserve her old customs, and not to yield to
increasing infirmities, that when, upon her doctor's positive
orders, I had a bed made up in her room, before she came to sit
in it one day, it was not till two o'clock in the night that
Betty could persuade her to lie down in it. Upon going to her
the next morning, I had the satisfaction, however, of finding
her perfectly reconciled to the arrangement; she now felt the
comfort of being undisturbed, and she has kept to her bed ever
since. Her mental and bodily strength is gradually declining.
But a few days ago she was ready for a joke. When Mrs. Clarke
told her that General Halkett sent his love, and 'hoped she
would soon be so well again that he might come and give her a
kiss, as he had done on her birthday,' she looked only archly
at her, and said, 'Tell the general that I have not tasted
anything since I liked so well.' I have just left her, and upon
my asking her to give me a message for her nephew, she said,
'Tell them I am good for nothing,' and went to sleep again."
On the 9th of January 1848 she breathed her last, passing away with a
Christian's tranquillity.[1]
[Footnote 1: The particulars recorded in the foregoing pages are chiefly
taken from Mrs. John Herschel's very interesting "Memoir and
Correspondence of Caroline Herschel."]
* * * * *
Her body was followed to the grave by many of her relatives and friends,
the royal carriages forming part of the funeral procession. The coffin
was adorned with garlands of laurel and cypress and palm branches, sent
by the Crown-Princess from Herrnhausen; and the service was conducted in
that same garrison-church in which, nearly a century before, she had
been christened, and afterwards confirmed. And, as proving her love and
fidelity to the last, in her coffin were placed, by her express desire,
"a lock of her beloved brother's hair, and an old, almost obliterated
almanac that had been used by her father."
* * * * *
May our readers be induced, by their perusal of these pages, to emulate
the Herschels--brother, sister, nephew--in all the bright and lovely
qualities that ennoble life; in their fixity of purpose, their elevation
of thought, their purity of character, their self-denial, their
industry, their hopefulness, and their faith!
[The following inscription is engraved on Miss Herschel's tomb.
It begins: "Hier ruhet die irdische Hülle von CAROLINA
HERSCHEL, Geboren zu Hannover den 16ten Marz 1750, Gestorben,
den 9ten Januar 1848." But, for the convenience of our young
readers, we give it in English:--
HERE RESTS THE EARTHLY CASE OF
C A R O L I N E H E R S C H E L.
BORN AT HANOVER, MARCH 10, 1750.
DIED JANUARY 9, 1848.
"The eyes of her now glorified were, while here below, directed
towards the starry heavens. Her own discoveries of comets, and
her share in the immortal labours of her brother, William
Herschel, bear witness of this to succeeding ages.
"The Royal Irish Academy of Dublin, and the Royal Astronomical
Society of London, enrolled her name among their members.
"At the age of 97 years 10 months, she fell asleep in calm
rest, and in the full possession of her faculties; following
into a better life her father, Isaac Herschel, who lived to the
age of 60 years, 2 months, 17 days, and has lain buried not far
off since the 29th of March 1767."
This epitaph was mainly written by Miss Herschel herself, and
the allusion to her brother is characteristic.]