Such was Caroline Lucretia Herschel; and as such she was a remarkable
proof that the rarest womanly gifts of affectionate forethought and
loving devotion may exist in combination with intellectual strength and
scientific enthusiasm.
Of the force, keenness, and permanency of her sisterly love, an
illustration of a pathetic character occurs in a letter which she
addressed to her nephew, February 27, 1823:--
"I am grown much thinner than I was six months ago: when I look
at my hands, they put me so in mind of what your dear father's
were, when I saw them tremble under my eyes, as we latterly
played at backgammon together."
It has long been the reproach of England that she treats, or rather that
her Government treats, her men of science, her artists, and her
litterateurs with a disgraceful parsimony. It would appear from the
following letter that Sir William Herschel was inadequately rewarded,
and that his sister felt this keenly:--
"There can be no harm," she says, "in telling my own dear
nephew that I never felt satisfied with the support your father
received towards his undertakings, and far less with the
ungracious manner in which it was granted.
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