His home was singular, and
singularly calculated to nurture into greatness any child born as
John Herschel was with natural gifts, capable of wide development. At
the head of the house there was the aged, observant, reticent
philosopher, and rarely far away his devoted sister, Caroline
Herschel, whose labours and whose fame are still cognisable as a
beneficent satellite to the brighter light of her illustrious
brother. It was in the companionship of these remarkable persons,
and under the shadow of his father's wonderful telescope, that John
Herschel passed his boyish years. He saw them, in silent but
ceaseless industry, busied about things which had no apparent concern
with the world outside the walls of that well-known house, but which,
at a later period of his life, he, with an unrivalled eloquence,
taught his countrymen to appreciate as foremost among those living
influences which but satisfy and elevate the noblest instincts of our
nature. What sort of intercourse passed between the father and the
boy may be gathered from an incident or two which he narrated as
having impressed themselves permanently on the memory of his youth.
He once asked his father what he thought was the oldest of all
things. The father replied, after the Socratic method, by putting
another question: 'And what do you yourself suppose is the oldest of
all things?' The boy was not successful in his answers, thereon the
old astronomer took up a small stone from the garden walk: 'There, my
child, there is the oldest of all the things that I certainly know.
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