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master, for his music lessons were but poorly paid. Everything was very expensive in Leeds, and then he wore out so many pairs of shoes; and, high though his four-storied rooms were, the rent seemedstrange to say-even higher; indeed, the laughing rosy faces of his pupils were the brightest episodes in the foreigner's life. Day after day, from early morning until late at night, he worked and walked in the one gray coat; in summer's heat, in winter's cold. When it blew very hard, he took off his hat, and carried it carefully under his arm, and went without hat or umbrella. But he was pleasant and kind with his pupils, and always looked a gentleman. The cold only made his cheeks glow brighter, and the hottest sun improved his good looks.

'The young girls are very much interested in that young man who is never seen at the tavern, and who always pays his tailor's bills. What can prevent the musicmaster, according to his wont, from sauntering by the river's bank, and meeting friendly glances and winning smiles?

Opposite Herschel's window was another tall, narrow house, with just such another window as his own. Every after noon an old man, conducted by a girl, was led to this window, and placed in a chair by it; then the girl placed herself opposite the old man, and began to read from a large book. The man's head was generally bent down on his chest, but sometimes he raised it, as if struck by something the girl read; then the music-master could see his clear-cut profile and the strong lines around his mouth.

The girl sat near the window, on a high chair; her figure seemed deformed-one shoulder higher than the other. You saw that she was young, by her brow and softlyrounded cheeks; but Herschel had never yet seen a girl's face so pale, so grave.

Her beautiful brown hair was braided in heavy plaits, but not with the care with which maidens usually arrange their tresses; she had no dear eyes to see it, no dear lips to say to her: "How pretty you are with your hair so beautifully arranged!" Sundays and week-days she wore black, relieved by no collar, no cuffs; no fresh flower ever brightened her sombre toilette. Herschel felt his heart ache for this girl, and when she opened her window, longed to be able to do so for her, for he saw what hard work it was for her poor deli

cate hands. When his own window was open he could hear her weak sad voice, reading; and though he could not understand a word of what she said, yet at once he began to think of an old forgotten song which he used to hear his grandmother sing long ago. Then the music-master used to seat himself before his spinet and commence playing the old tune; but he soon forgot his old tune, and commenced merry lively airs, which used to bring his childhood vividly before him; he struck up some quadrilles and other dances, and very soon he found himself once more with his young sisters, their childish figures draped in scarlet cloaks, amongst a group of lively young friends assembled at his father's house-he the happiest and brightest of all. Then Herschel came back to his present life, closed the spinet, went to the window, and there perceived that the girl had been listening to him; her white hands lay folded on the large book, and her eyes were full of sadness.

"I am sure that poor girl has never had a dance; and Herschel, for very pity's sake, would have played all night long for her, if by so doing, he could have given her any pleasure.

"Indeed, the prison-life of the little pale girl opposite became every day more and more a matter of surprise. She never went out; no one ever came to see her; no flower stood in her window; no singing-bird made her lonely life brighter. Still she did not look melancholy or morose-only grave; but so grave. Once he saw that she could smile and blush like other maidens, for she had done so one day, that he had dared to give her a neighborly salute. How happy he would have been, if he had only been permitted to give her one of his flowers! But he dared not do this.

Herschel's landlady had told him many curious things about his opposite neighbors. They were father and daughter. The man-George Thornton--had been teacher of arithmetic and mathematics in a boy's school; but Thornton had taken it into his foolish head to meddle with things with which he had nothing to dosuch as the stars; always looking up at them, until he forgot looking at the things around him. He neglected wife, child, and school, from which he had had a good salary. He had to be dismissed from his duties there with a small pension, on

which with some tuitions in mathematics --which were his hobby-he had to manage as best he might. Thornton spent half the day making calculations; the other half he slept. During the night, he watched the stars from his miserable little garret, which he dignified with the name of "Observatory."

"Thornton," the good woman went on to say, "had allowed his only child to fall from a table, at a time when his wife lay ill, and the maid had gone out for milk, leaving the little Georgina in her father's care. He was making some calculations.' as he calls them, so he seated her on his table, at which he was working; he gave her a book to look at, but from the book fell a slip of paper with some calculations.' Alas! at once he became so abstracted that he remembered nothing, until he heard the child crying, and saw her lying on the floor, to which she had fallen. She has been deformed from that day, poor child! It is also told of the foolish creature that, when his poor wife was dying, they went up to his garret to tell him to come down, and that he cried out : 'Oh, can she not wait a moment, for Venus is just coming out?' But the poor woman could not wait; so when he did come down, instead of his loving, faithful wife, he only found a lifeless corpse, and a half-fainting, deformed child, tightly clasped in the dead woman's arms.

For eight days and nights he lived without his beloved calculations, but on the ninth he was at them again, staring at his

stars.

Georgina and the maid shared the housekeeping, the child worked at her needle, and tried to be as clever at it as she had seen her mother. The good Martha tried to be a mother to the girl, and watched and tended her, as if she were her own child, so the days glided calmly away for this pair, without sunshine but without storm.

But dark clouds now came to Georgina: her father's eyes had been very weak, and after another year he became quite blind, and as George Thornton was anything but a patient blind man, Georgina had very much to bear.

After the first months of despair, Thornton fell into a hopeless dejection; it was then that poor Georgina thought of reading to her father. She took Newton's works, from which she had so often seen

her father read, and with a trembling voice commenced her task. She had her reward; for the first time since his terrible affliction, she saw a ray of happiness pass over that clouded face; and when she had finished she saw that her poor father was weeping-his heart was touched. From this day Georgina read every day from four o'clock until seven in the evening; the morning, she always sat with her work in the little room adjoining her father's bedroom; this was his time for sleep, and she sat there to be within calling, if he required anything.

During the nights the blind man still haunted his observatory; he paced up and down that poor little garret, and groped with trembling hands amongst his instruments, and then the hot tears flowed over them; it was very, very hard to be patient. Sometimes Thornton expressed a wish to breathe the fresh air, and then Georgina guided his steps; and this was her life until she reached seventeen.

But since the young music-master had come to live opposite, all kinds of strange fancies had come into her head, and she used to laugh with Martha over them. For instance, she wished for some flowerpots, and then she longed for a spinet, and to have supple fingers to glide over the keys; she wished for- -Well! she did not care to tell all she wished for.

One day as Herschel was entering his door, old Martha rushed out of hers, nearly upsetting him in her haste; she looked at him with a terrified face, and cried, "Oh! are you a doctor?"

"No, but I can go for one."

“Then run, run, our little one is ill; it is the reading, the reading. I always said it would be so--she has broken a bloodvessel."

The young man dashed off for Dr. Churchill, as fast as feet could carry him ; the handsome Miss Churchill was one of his pupils; the young lady saw the "handsome music-master" rush in like one frenzied to her father's house; she went to the glass, arranged her hair, and then crept down to listen at her father's door to the wild prayers of this love-stricken Herschel. "Oh, it is poor little Georgina Thornton, she has burst a blood-vessel, she cannot live long, she is fast going to her mother."

"And it was for this that he was so excited, and in such a hurry," she mur

mured; "and all for the sake of a hunchback!" And Miss Churchill resolved to take no more lessons from her "handsome music-master."

But even if all his pupils had followed Miss Churchill's example, Herschel would not have grieved; a complete change had come over his life; every day, Sunday and holiday, late and early, found him with the blind man, filling the daughter's place.

How did it all come about? It was as a dream for him. How had he ever gained courage to offer any kindnesses to that blind man, he did not know; he could only remember, that he found himself one day before the man, and that Georgina's father had pressed his hand and asked him to return.

The reading at first did not go on very smoothly; English was a strange language for Herschel, and he could not even understand what he read for Thornton; but things began to look better and grow brighter, and light streamed into Herschel's soul, and shone out through his eyes; it was like sunshine in spring. Herschel read to Thornton from Newton, and he himself seemed to enter a new world. The music-master had never heard of these things before, he longed to hear, to know more of this wonderful science; he never tired now of talking the starry system over with Thornton. Was the young German going to be bewitched too? He sat as it were at the feet of the master, and drank in deep draughts of this new, this delightful knowledge; everything else was tame in comparison with it. Busy restless life he could not endure, these calm still nights were his hours of true happiness.

He felt it all, he knew it all, he was no longer a music-master, he was an astronomer, he felt drawn towards the heavens, as it were, by golden links, ever higher and higher. Nothing in creation has such a power to charm as these heavenly bodies. Friedrich Herschel had found out his work on earth, or rather in heaven. Every star in the firmament seemed to speak to our young astronomer in a language which poets and inspired astronomers alone can understand. They also spoke of peace, and hope, and future glory. The star of Herschel was rising. Who could then have predicted its coming light and grandeur ?

The old saying, "that nobody can serve two masters," was very soon verified in the case of the "handsome music-master," for he very quickly began to neglect his pupils; he was no longer satisfied with the reading hours which he devoted to the blind man, but he spent days and parts of nights over the works of Ferguson, Brahe, of Johann Kepler, the then modern authority on astronomy. Thornton had given him Kepler's "De Motibus Stellæ Martis;" this book Herschel always carried about with him, and on cloudy nights, when he could take no observations, he placed it under his pillow and slept on it. The young German did not at all care, if he lost his pupils; with Kepler he forgot everything. How grateful he felt to the poor schoolmaster, who had pointed to him the way upward! How punctual he always was at Thornton's, and how he prolonged his readings there!

Poor little Georgina was down-stairs again, and sat by the window in her chair, propped up with pillows. The day began now when they heard the young musicmaster knock at their door, and all the sunshine disappeared as his step descended the stairs. By degrees he had brought over all his flower-pots to the sick girl, and she tenderly cherished and tended them. He had also, with much trouble, procured a bird for her, but he had no money to procure a cage. Georgina's delight was great, when her lively companion grew friendly enough to perch on her finger. She, looking very pretty, as she thus sat nestling in the great chair, which partially concealed her deformed figure, her bright little head thrown out in relief.

Georgina was indeed a sweet-looking maiden of seventeen summers, a lovely flower; a transparent rosy tinge colored her cheeks, large tender blue eyes gleamed out, and delicate lips smiled gratefully. Of late, her beautiful hair had been more carefully arranged, and she commenced wearing snowy collars and cuffs. Herschel was indeed surprised to see how nice the girl sometimes looked. She did not look the same girl, who used to sit in that window long ago, but still it was only a passing thought he could afford to give Georgina; all his thoughts, all his glances were towards the heavens, he had none for those on earth.

So the time passed quickly for those three who sat together there; outwardly they were the same, inwardly great changes had passed in their hearts. As weeks passed, the blind man seemed to grow happier and calmer; his sorrow seemed to be passing away. He gave his telescope to the young man to use. More and more confidential grew the conversation between these two, he even confided to the young foreigner, how he had himself been inventing an instrument, by which to take extended observations, when his work was put an end to, by this terrible affliction of blindness. And poor Thornton went on to say, what honors, what fame would have been his, if he could only have perfected his invention. Then he sent Martha up-stairs for this wonderful invention; she brought a mere skeleton plan in her hand, this she gave to Thornton, who passed his hand over it lovingly, and then, with a sigh, pushed it to Herschel, saying, in a sneering tone, "Here, I give it you, perhaps you will be able to produce what I once dreamt of doing.

"I will!" exclaimed the young man in an ecstasy of delight, and he carried the machine away with him, holding it with the tenderest care.

From this time forth Herschel ever secretly meditated on the possibility of constructing such an instrument, or, rather, of completing the one which the schoolmaster had commenced. But his heart wanted to pour itself out to some sympathizing heart, and at last he decided to write and tell all his hopes to his dear little sister of fourteen years old-Caroline. A load fell from his heart, when he had posted his letter to Hanover.

Four weeks elapsed before any answer arrived to Herschel's letter. In those days maidens had not so much time for letter-writing as the "young ladies" of the present day, and Caroline had taken a long time to write the following letter:

MY DEAR BROTHER:-You have written a wonderful letter to me, I can scarcely understand it. But our father must not hear of it. He would be so grieved to hear that you had given up music; he is heart and soul in music; and cannot understand how any one, after having touched a key or a string of any musical instrument, can ever cease being a musician. I, too, can understand this, for I think that there is nothing so beautiful as good music; nothing but

purity can abide in our hearts, when listening to melodious strains; still I can feel with you-feel how noble it would be to ascend that ladder which the blind man has given you-who could refrain from desiring to climb the heavens-the beautiful heavens -when the way has been pointed out to us? I wish I could climb with you, or at least hold the ladder for you. However, dear brother, you must listen to me, and take advice, and that is, do not be in a hurry climbing your ladder, take plenty of time. And give you anything if you send all your pupils then you must eat and drink, and who will away?

My own dear brother, you know we cannot help you; if I had any money, or could earn any, you should have it to the last farthing, but, alas! no, I have it not. I feel that hunger may be suffered in a good cause in Lieben Vaterlande, but it must be very hard to be hungry in a strange land; I fear that, even for the sake of the beautiful stars, I could not starve; I advise you not to do so either; if you do, then do not write to me, I could not bear to hear it.

Be sure to read very much, study those clever astronomical works of which you tell me so much; this will help you to climb the ladder. If you do become an astronomer, for when a music-master ceases from his then I know you will become a great one, profession, then it must be to become something great in another way, is it not so?

We are all very well, and think much of you. Who knows, but that some day one of I hear an us may go over to help you. astronomer has many calculations to make. the cleverest in arithmetic? I wish that it Do you remember that at school I was did not cost so much to go to England.

The pretty Elizabeth, who was so fond of dancing with you, is to be married next week to the grocer at the corner of our street. Your poor starling, who used to whistle so beautifully, died last Christmas night. We have erected a beautiful black cross, at our good mother's grave, and planted evergreens around it.

Farewell, dear brother, take care of yourself, and the good God will watch over you. Write again, and very soon, to

Your truly loving sister

CAROLINE.

If Georgina had seen the delight with which Herschel read this letter, and how he pressed it to his heart, she would most assuredly have tasted the bitterness of jealousy, for her lonely heart clung to the young German with passionate tenderness —a smile, a word, a pressure of his hand, In his absence, she gave her new life. dreamed away the hours, thinking of him, caressing his bird, tending his flowers, and

wide awake; I think in two months that it will be finished; but most decidedly, I must go to London; I must see more, and learn more, even if I have to starve. I will become something great; you must not be ashamed of your pupil."

so occupied herself until his return again next day. And did not every one love him? Her father, who never liked any one, liked the young German; and had he not won even old prudish Martha's heart, by running so quickly for Dr. Churchill, that day she herself was taken "You deceive yourself and me," murso ill. Ever since that time, Martha had mured the old man in an excited way, faithfully dusted and arranged his room," to perfect such an instrument would resaying, "He deserves that, at least, he has been so kind to my child." Martha was very fond of talking of Herschel, and found a very ready listener in Georgina, who, however, very often blushed at words which Martha let drop; and her tender heart throbbed at the hope, which the old servant at last began to inspire her with that the bright day would yet come, when the young music-master would bring her the wreath of orange-blossoms.

For Martha, no one was so beautiful or so good as her child, and even the first duke in the land might have been proud of winning her little hand.

The spinet lay untouched, young Herschel's cheeks were no longer bright, a strange earnestness overshadowed his brow. He had very few pupils now, for his pupils, incited by Miss Churchill's report of his "being in love with a curious, deformed little thing, whom nobody ever saw," one by one dismissed him. Days came when he experienced the bitterness of suffering hunger, in a foreign land; but Herschel tried to console himself with the knowledge that Kepler, too, had undergone like privations, and no complaint had passed over his lips; why could he not bear too? However, when making his observations on starlight nights, or engaged in deep calculations, or perhaps absorbed with Ferguson, Brahe, or Kepler, he found his dry crust and glass of cold water ambrosia and nectar.

One day the German came with beaming eyes, to tell the blind man that he had every hope of finishing the instrument, of which he had laid the foundation.

"Your castle will be there," he cried, "and perhaps a greater one than you dreamt of. What a pity it is that you cannot live with me in it."

The blind man, at these words, raised his head, as if he had received a sudden shock; a strange look passed over his face, as with a forced smile, and stammering lips, he said, "you are dreaming."

"No, no," replied Herschel, "I am

quire as many years as you have taken months. Consider, my young friend, that it took me many, many years, to lay the basis of that plan, and do you think that your young hands, and your young head, is superior to the old one?"

"If you will only come with me and share my work," replied the young man, "every piece shall pass through your hands, then it will be your work and my work."

"Very well, I will go; I will go at once, take me with you at once, immediately."

They had left the house some time before Martha thought of going up to see Georgina, but when she did, she found the girl lying senseless on the floor, by the side of the bed.

The old servant lifted her darling up, laid her on the bed, and after a time succeeded in restoring her. When she recovered consciousness, the poor child threw her arms round the faithful old Martha's neck, crying, "He must not go; he must not go to London; I shall die if he does."

Weeks passed; day after day Thornton was to be found in Herschel's room, asking thousands of restless questions, ever excited, ever on the qui vive. He even learned to find his way to the music master's by himself, and Herschel often found him in his room, on returning home, his landlady always allowing the poor blind man free ingress and egress.

He

Absorbed and gloomy, Thornton sat for hours daily with Herschel, heaving every now and then heavy sighs, and from time to time wringing his poor hands; the old bitter feelings had come back to his heart, that feeling of rebellion against the affliction which had been sent to him. could not be patient with this everlasting night on him. Then he wandered from room to room; and for whole nights he passed up and down his little room, moaning and wailing for his lost star,-it was very hard.

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