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.”