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ANOTHER SIDE OF THE PICTURE.
There was not a cloud in the sky on that December night, and the "host of heaven" shone with extra-ordinary brilliancy. The moon, at her full, was shedding her pure silvery light upon the terraces and crescents of the fair city of the West, and there were yet many people passing to and fro in the streets. The link-boys had but scant custom that night, and the chair-men found waiting for the ladies at Wiltshire's Rooms less irksome than when, as so often happened, they had to stand in bitter cold and darkness long after the hour appointed for them to take up their burdens and carry them to their respective homes.
In a room in Rivers Street a woman sat busily at work, with a mass of papers before her--musical scores and printed matter, from which she was making swift copy with her firm, decided hand. She was so absorbed in the business in hand, that she did not feel the weariness of the task before her. Copying catalogues and tables could not be said to be an interesting task; but Caroline Herschel never weighed in the balance the nature of her work, whether it was pleasant or the reverse. It was her work, and she must do it; and it was service for one she loved best in the world, and therefore no thought of her own likes or dislikes was allowed to enter into the matter. Presently a voice was heard calling her name:
"Caroline--quick!"
The pen was laid down at once, and Miss Herschel ran upstairs to the upper story to her brother.
"Help me to carry the telescope into the street. The moon is just in front of the houses. Carry the stand and the instrument. Be careful! I will follow with the rest."
"In the street?" Caroline asked. "Will you not be disturbed by passers-by?"
"Nothing disturbs me," was the reply. "I answer no questions, so folks tire of putting them. It is such a glorious night--there may not be another like it for months; and the moon is clearer than I have seen her since I had the seven-foot reflector."
As William Herschel spoke, he was preparing to carry the precious reflector downstairs--that outcome of many a night-watch, and many a weary hour of purely manual labour. Turning the lathe and polishing mirrors was, however, but a small part of his unflagging perseverance. This perseverance had evolved the larger instrument from a small telescope, bought for a trifle from an optician at Bath. That telescope had first kindled the desire in William Herschel's mind to produce one which should surpass all its predecessors, and help him to scan more perfectly those "star-strewn skies," and discover in them treasures to make known to future ages, and be linked for ever with his name. Caroline Herschel was his right hand. She was his apprentice in the workshop--his reader when the polishing went on; and often, when William had not even a moment to spare for food, she would stand over him, and feed him as he worked with morsels of some dish prepared by her own hand.
"You have copied the score for Ronzini, Caroline?"
"I have nearly finished it."
"And you have practised that quick passage in the song in 'Judas Maccabaeus'?"
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