"But this I immediately discovered in him," adds Pemberton, still further, "which at once both surprised and charmed me. Neither his extreme great age, nor his universal reputation had rendered him stiff in opinion, or in any degree elated. Of this I had occasion to have almost daily experience. The remarks I continually sent him by letters on his Principia, were received with the utmost goodness. These were so far from being anyways displeasing to him, that, on the contrary, it occasioned him to speak many kind things of me to my friends, and to honour me with a public testimony of his good opinion." A modesty, openness, and generosity, peculiar to the noble and comprehensive spirit of Newton. "Full of wisdom and perfect in beauty," yet not lifted up by pride nor corrupted by ambition. None, however, knew so well as himself the stupendousness of his discoveries in comparison with all that had been previously achieved; and none realized so thoroughly as himself the littleness thereof in comparison with the vast region still unexplored. A short time before his death he uttered this memorable sentiment:—"I do not know what I may appear to the world; but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, while the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me." How few ever reach the shore even, much less find "a smoother pebble or a prettier shell!" Newton had now resided about two years at Kensington; and[Pg 59] the air which he enjoyed there, and the state of absolute rest, proved of great benefit to him. Nevertheless he would occasionally go to town. And on Tuesday, the 28th of February, 1727, he proceeded to London, for the purpose of presiding at a meeting of the Royal Society. At this time his health was considered, by Mr. Conduit, better than it had been for many years. But the unusual fatigue he was obliged to suffer, in attending the meeting, and in paying and receiving visits, speedily produced a violent return of the affection in the bladder. He returned to Kensington on Saturday, the 4th of March. Dr. Mead and Dr. Cheselden attended him; they pronounced his disease to be the stone, and held out no hopes of recovery. On Wednesday, the 15th of March, he seemed a little better; and slight, though groundless, encouragement was felt that he might survive the attack. From the very first of it, his sufferings had been intense. Paroxysm followed paroxysm, in quick succession: large drops of sweat rolled down his face; but not a groan, not a complaint, not the least mark of peevishness or impatience escaped him: and during the short intervals of relief, he even smiled and conversed with his usual composure and cheerfulness. The flesh quivered, but the heart quaked not; the impenetrable gloom was settling down: the Destroyer near; the portals of the tomb opening, still, amid