“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.

Chapter IV

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.

SAMUEL JOHNSON

BORN 1709.  DIED 1784.

“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.