Harassing as such a controversy must have been to a philosopher like Newton, yet it did not touch those deep-seated feelings which characterize the noble and generous mind. No rival jealousy yet pointed the arguments of his opponents;—no charges of plagiarism were yet directed against his personal character. These aggravations of scientific controversy, however, he was destined to endure; and in the dispute which he was called to maintain both against Hooke and Huygens, the agreeable consciousness of grappling with men of kindred powers was painfully imbittered by the personality and jealousy with which it was conducted. Dr. Robert Hooke was about seven years older than Newton, and was one of the ninety-eight original or unelected members of the Royal Society. He possessed great versatility of talent, yet, though his genius was of the most original cast, and his acquirements extensive, he had not devoted himself with fixed purpose to any particular branch of knowledge. His numerous and ingenious inventions, of which it is impossible to speak too highly, gave to his studies a practical turn which unfitted him for that continuous labour which physical researches so imperiously demand. The subjects of light, however, and of gravitation seem to have deeply occupied his thoughts before Newton appeared in the same field, and there can be no doubt that he had made considerable progress in both of these inquiries. With a mind less divergent in its pursuits, and more endowed with patience of thought, he might have unveiled the mysteries in which both these subjects were enveloped, and preoccupied the intellectual throne which was destined for his rival; but the infirm state of his health, the peevishness of temper which this occasioned, the number of unfinished inventions from which he looked both for fortune and fame, and, above all, his inordinate love of reputation, distracted and broke down the energies of his powerful intellect. In the more matured inquiries of his rivals he recognised, and often truly, his own incompleted speculations; and when he saw others reaping the harvest for which he had prepared the ground, and of which he had sown the seeds, it was not easy to suppress the mortification which their success inspired. In the history of science, it has always been a difficult task to adjust the rival claims of competitors, when the one was allowed to have completed what the other was acknowledged to have begun. He who commences an inquiry, and publishes his results, often goes much farther than he has announced to the world, and, pushing his speculations into the very heart of the subject, frequently submits them to the ear of friendship. From the pedestal of his published labours his rival begins his researches, and brings them to a successful issue; while he has in reality done nothing more than complete and demonstrate the imperfect speculations of his predecessor. To the world, and to himself, he is no doubt in the