Memoir and Correspondence of Caroline HerschelHerschel, John, Mrs.
History
Memoir and Correspondence of Caroline Herschel
Herschel, John, Mrs.
Herschel, Caroline Lucretia, 1750-1848
My dear niece has promised me your article[45] on the writings of Mrs.
Somerville. I hope she will not forget it, nor you the Catalogue of
double stars. Such things make me very happy, but of any expensive
publications I would not wish you to throw away upon me _now_; it makes
me only grudge to think of having to leave them in the hands of
blockheads. But if you have anything for Göttingen, Encke, or Bessel, it
amuses me to forward it. Olbers has been dangerously ill for some time;
they tell me he is too fat, and lives too well.
I only write this by way of announcing the parcel, that you may inquire
for it should it not come to hand in due time, else I am very tired, and
must yet make up the parcel, and I want to show myself once more
to-morrow evening at the Oratorio, as it is for the poor, and will be
the last performance this season....
[Sidenote: 1832. _Letter from Hanover._]
EXTRACT FROM A LETTER OF SIR JOHN HERSCHEL.
HANOVER, _June 19, 1832_.
... I found my aunt wonderfully well and very nicely and comfortably
lodged, and we have since been on the full trot. She runs about the town
with me and skips up her two flights of stairs as light and fresh at
least as _some folks_ I could name who are not a fourth part of her
age.... In the morning till eleven or twelve she is dull and weary, but
as the day advances she gains life, and is quite “fresh and funny” at
ten or eleven, p.m., and sings old rhymes, nay, even dances! to the
great delight of all who see her.... It was only this evening that,
escaping from a party at Mrs. Beckedorff’s, I was able to indulge in
what my soul has been yearning for ever since I came here—a solitary
ramble out of town, among the meadows which border the Leine-strom, from
which the old, tall, sombre-looking Markt-thurm and the three beautiful
lanthorn-steeples of Hanover are seen as in the little picture I have
often looked at with a sort of mysterious wonder when a boy as that
strange place in foreign parts that my father and uncle used to talk so
much about, and so familiarly. The _likeness_ is correct, and I soon
found the point of view.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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