True Stories From History and Biography (26 page)

He might easily have made the miniature figure of a man; but then it would
not have been able to move about, and perform the duties of a miller. As
Captain Lemuel Gulliver had not yet discovered the island of Lilliput,
Isaac did not know that there were little men in the world, whose size was
just suited to his windmill. It so happened, however, that a mouse had
just been caught in the trap; and, as no other miller could be found, Mr.
Mouse was appointed to that important office. The new miller made a very
respectable appearance in his dark gray coat. To be sure, he had not a
very good character for honesty, and was suspected of sometimes stealing a
portion of the grain which was given him to grind. But perhaps some
two-legged millers are quite as dishonest as this small quadruped.

As Isaac grew older, it was found that he had far more important matters
in his mind than the manufacture of toys, like the little windmill. All
day long, if left to himself, he was either absorbed in thought, or
engaged in some book of mathematics, or natural philosophy. At night, I
think it probable, he looked up with reverential curiosity to the stars,
and wondered whether they were worlds, like our own,—and how great was
their distance from the earth,—and what was the power that kept them in
their courses. Perhaps, even so early in life, Isaac Newton felt a
presentiment that he should be able, hereafter, to answer all these
questions.

When Isaac was fourteen years old, his mother's second husband being now
dead, she wished her son to leave school, and assist her in managing the
farm at Woolsthorpe. For a year or two, therefore, he tried to turn his
attention to farming. But his mind was so bent on becoming a scholar, that
his mother sent him back to school, and afterwards to the University of
Cambridge.

I have now finished my anecdotes of Isaac Newton's boyhood. My story would
be far too long, were I to mention all the splendid discoveries which he
made, after he came to be a man. He was the first that found out the
nature of Light; for, before his day, nobody could tell what the sunshine
was composed of. You remember, I suppose, the story of an apple's falling
on his head, and thus leading him to discover the force of gravitation,
which keeps the heavenly bodies in their courses. When he had once got
hold of this idea, he never permitted his mind to rest, until he had
searched out all the laws, by which the planets are guided through the
sky. This he did as thoroughly as if he had gone up among the stars, and
tracked them in their orbits. The boy had found out the mechanism of a
windmill; the man explained to his fellow-men the mechanism of the
universe.

While making these researches he was accustomed to spend night after night
in a lofty tower, gazing at the heavenly bodies through a telescope. His
mind was lifted far above the things of this world. He may be said,
indeed, to have spent the greater part of his life in worlds that lie
thousands and millions of miles away; for where the thoughts and the heart
are, there is our true existence.

Did you never hear the story of Newton and his little dog Diamond? One
day, when he was fifty years old, and had been hard at work more than
twenty years, studying the theory of Light, he went out of his chamber,
leaving his little dog asleep before the fire. On the table lay a heap of
manuscript papers, containing all the discoveries which Newton had made
during those twenty years. When his master was gone, up rose little
Diamond, jumped upon the table, and overthrew the lighted candle. The
papers immediately caught fire.

Just as the destruction was completed, Newton opened the chamber-door, and
perceived that the labors of twenty years were reduced to a heap of ashes.
There stood little Diamond, the author of all the mischief. Almost any
other man would have sentenced the dog to immediate death. But Newton
patted him on the head with his usual kindness, although grief was at his
heart.

"Oh, Diamond, Diamond," exclaimed he, "thou little knowest the mischief
thou hast done."

This incident affected his health and spirits for some time afterwards;
but, from his conduct towards the little dog, you may judge what was the
sweetness of his temper.

Newton lived to be a very old man, and acquired great renown, and was made
a Member of Parliament, and received the honor of knighthood from the
king. But he cared little for earthly fame and honors, and felt no pride
in the vastness of his knowledge. All that he had learned only made him
feel how little he knew in comparison to what remained to be known.

"I seem to myself like a child," observed he, "playing on the sea-shore,
and picking up here and there a curious shell or a pretty pebble, while
the boundless ocean of Truth lies undiscovered before me."

At last, in 1727, when he was fourscore and five years old, Sir Isaac
Newton died,—or rather he ceased to live on earth. We may be permitted to
believe that he is still searching out the infinite wisdom and goodness of
the Creator, as earnestly, and with even more success, than while his
spirit animated a mortal body. He has left a fame behind him, which will
be as endurable as if his name were written in letters of light, formed by
the stars upon the midnight sky.

"I love to hear about mechanical contrivances—such as the water-clock and
the little windmill," remarked George. "I suppose if Sir Isaac Newton had
only thought of it, he might have found out the steam-engine, and
railroads, and all the other famous inventions that have come into use
since his day."

"Very possibly he might," replied Mr. Temple; "and, no doubt, a great many
people would think it more useful to manufacture steam-engines, than to
search out the system of the universe. Other great astronomers, besides
Newton, have been endowed with mechanical genius. There was David
Rittenhouse, an American,—he made a perfect little water-mill, when he was
only seven or eight years old. But this sort of ingenuity is but a mere
trifle in comparison with the other talents of such men."

"It must have been beautiful," said Edward, "to spend whole nights in a
high tower, as Newton did, gazing at the stars, and the comets, and the
meteors. But what would Newton have done, had he been blind? or if his
eyes had been no better than mine?"

"Why, even then, my dear child," observed Mrs. Temple, "he would have
found out some way of enlightening his mind, and of elevating his soul.
But, come! little Emily is waiting to bid you good night. You must go to
sleep, and dream of seeing all our faces."

"But how sad it will be, when I awake!" murmured Edward.

In the course of the next day, the harmony of our little family was
disturbed by something like a quarrel between George and Edward.

The former, though he loved his brother dearly, had found it quite too
great a sacrifice of his own enjoyments, to spend all his playtime in a
darkened chamber. Edward, on the other hand, was inclined to be despotic.
He felt as if his bandaged eyes entitled him to demand that everybody, who
enjoyed the blessing of sight, should contribute to his comfort and
amusement. He therefore insisted that George, instead of going out to play
at foot-ball, should join with himself and Emily in a game of questions
and answers.

George resolutely refused, and ran out of the house. He did not revisit
Edward's chamber till the evening, when he stole in, looking confused, yet
somewhat sullen, and sat down beside his father's chair. It was evident,
by a motion of Edward's head and a slight trembling of his lips, that he
was aware of George's entrance, though his footsteps had been almost
inaudible. Emily, with her serious and earnest little face, looked from
one to the other, as if she longed to be a messenger of peace between
them.

Mr. Temple, without seeming to notice any of these circumstances, began a
story.

"Sam," said Mr. Michael Johnson of Lichfield, one morning, "I am very
feeble and ailing to-day. You must go to Uttoxeter in my stead, and tend
the bookstall in the market-place there."

This was spoken, above a hundred years ago, by an elderly man, who had
once been a thriving bookseller at Lichfield, in England. Being now in
reduced circumstances, he was forced to go, every market-day, and sell
books at a stall, in the neighboring village of Uttoxeter.

His son, to whom Mr. Johnson spoke, was a great boy of very singular
aspect. He had an intelligent face; but it was seamed and distorted by a
scrofulous humor, which affected his eyes so badly, that sometimes he was
almost blind. Owing to the same cause, his head would often shake with a
tremulous motion, as if he were afflicted with the palsy. When Sam was an
infant, the famous Queen Anne had tried to cure him of this disease, by
laying her royal hands upon his head. But though the touch of a king or
Queen was supposed to be a certain remedy for scrofula, it produced no
good effect upon Sam Johnson.

At the time which we speak of, the poor lad was not very well dressed, and
wore shoes from which his toes peeped out; for his old father had barely
the means of supporting his wife and children. But, poor as the family
were, young Sam Johnson had as much pride as any nobleman's son in
England. The fact was, he felt conscious of uncommon sense and ability,
which, in his own opinion, entitled him to great respect from the world.
Perhaps he would have been glad, if grown people had treated him as
reverentially as his school-fellows did. Three of them were accustomed to
come for him, every morning; and while he sat upon the back of one, the
two others supported him on each side, and thus he rode to school in
triumph!

Being a personage of so much importance, Sam could not bear the idea of
standing all day in Uttoxeter market, offering books to the rude and
ignorant country-people. Doubtless he felt the more reluctant on account
of his shabby clothes, and the disorder of his eyes, and the tremulous
motion of his head.

When Mr. Michael Johnson spoke, Sam pouted, and made an indistinct
grumbling in his throat; then he looked his old father in the face, and
answered him loudly and deliberately.

"Sir," said he, "I will not go to Uttoxeter market!"

Mr. Johnson had seen a great deal of the lad's obstinacy ever since his
birth; and while Sam was younger, the old gentleman had probably used the
rod, whenever occasion seemed to require. But he was now too feeble, and
too much out of spirits, to contend with this stubborn and
violent-tempered boy. He therefore gave up the point at once, and prepared
to go to Uttoxeter himself.

"Well Sam," said Mr. Johnson, as he took his hat and staff, "If, for the
sake of your foolish pride, you can suffer your poor sick father to stand
all day in the noise and confusion of the market, when he ought to be in
his bed, I have no more to say. But you will think of this, Sam, when I am
dead and gone!"

So the poor old man (perhaps with a tear in his eye, but certainly with
sorrow in his heart) set forth towards Uttoxeter. The gray-haired, feeble,
melancholy Michael Johnson! How sad a thing it was, that he should be
forced to go, in his sickness, and toil for the support of an ungrateful
son, who was too proud to do any thing for his father, or his mother, or
himself! Sam looked after Mr. Johnson, with a sullen countenance, till he
was out of sight.

But when the old man's figure, as he went stooping along the street, was
no more to be seen, the boy's heart began to smite him. He had a vivid
imagination, and it tormented him with the image of his father, standing
in the market-place of Uttoxeter and offering his books to the noisy crowd
around him, Sam seemed to behold him, arranging his literary merchandise
upon the stall in such a way as was best calculated to attract notice.
Here was Addison's Spectator, a long row of little volumes; here was
Pope's translation of the Iliad and Odyssey; here were Dryden's poems, or
those of Prior. Here, likewise, were Gulliver's Travels, and a variety of
little gilt-covered children's books, such as Tom Thumb, Jack the
Giant-queller, Mother Goose's Melodies, and others which our
great-grandparents used to read in their childhood. And here were sermons
for the pious, and pamphlets for the politicians, and ballads, some merry
and some dismal ones, for the country people to sing.

Sam, in imagination, saw his father offer these books, pamphlets, and
ballads, now to the rude yeomen, who perhaps could not read a word,—now to
the country squires, who cared for nothing but to hunt hares and
foxes,—now to the children, who chose to spend their coppers for
sugar-plums or gingerbread, rather than for picture-books. And if Mr.
Johnson should sell a book to man, woman, or child, it would cost him an
hour's talk to get a profit of only sixpence.

"My poor father!" thought Sam to himself. "How his head will ache, and how
heavy his heart will be! I am almost sorry that I did not do as he bade
me!"

Then the boy went to his mother, who was busy about the house. She did not
know of what had passed between Mr. Johnson and Sam.

"Mother," said he, "did you think father seemed very ill to-day?"

"Yes, Sam," answered his mother, turning with a flushed face from the
fire, where she was cooking their scanty dinner. "Your father did look
very ill; and it is a pity he did not send you to Uttoxeter in his stead.
You are a great boy now, and would rejoice, I am sure, to do something for
your poor father, who has done so much for you."

The lad made no reply. But again his imagination set to work, and conjured
up another picture of poor Michael Johnson. He was standing in the hot
sunshine of the market-place, and looking so weary, sick, and
disconsolate, that the eyes of all the crowd were drawn to him. "Had this
old man no son," the people would say among themselves, "who might have
taken his place at the bookstall, while the father kept his bed?" And
perhaps—but this was a terrible thought for Sam!—perhaps his father would
faint away, and fall down in the market-place, with his gray hair in the
dust, and his venerable face as deathlike as that of a corpse. And there
would be the bystanders gazing earnestly at Mr. Johnson, and whispering,
"Is he dead? Is he dead?"