It was under such circumstances that his uncle, who was rector of the adjoining parish, found him one day seated under a hedge with a book, which so completely absorbed his attention that he was totally unaware of any one having approached the spot. The reverend gentleman was, in no small degree, astonished to find that the cause of his nephew's abstraction was his being deeply engaged in the solution of a mathematical problem, and had no hesitation in determining that nature had not intended him for rural honours. He therefore employed his influence with Newton's mother to allow the young philosopher to betake himself to those fields where his genius beckoned him; and there appearing no prospect of his making himself very useful otherwise, he was restored to the school at Grantham. After remaining there for a few months, and refreshing his learning, he was sent rejoicing to Cambridge, and entered at Trinity College.

Of his studies less is known than could be wished, considering the results to which they led; but Newton, after he had done more than any man to extend human knowledge, was in the habit of speaking of himself as having been all his life as "a child gathering pebbles on the sea-shore;" thus intimating that, for great ends, he had ever been ready to collect and make use of such facts as came in his way, no matter how insignificant they might at first sight appear. It is thus only that extensive information is acquired, memorable discoveries, made, and high deeds accomplished. Small matters lead to and make up great, just as the boy grows to be a man; and fractions of true knowledge should never be despised, disregarded, nor lost sight of,—

"For he that sees his wine-filled vessell drop (Although a drop in value he hut small), Should thence occasion take the leake to stop, Lest many dropings draine him dry of all. Moreover, they that will to greatness rise, A course not much unlike to this must keepe: They ought not small Beginnings to despise, Nor strive to runne before they learne to creepe.

By many single eares together brought The hand is filled: by handfulls we may gaine A sheafe: with many sheaves a barne is fraught: Thus oft by little we doe much obtaine."

So says an old writer; and so seems to have thought this mighty philosopher, whose name is exalted high above all eulogy. On this principle he appears to have acted from the first; and it was because he did so that he had made many of his grand discoveries, and laid the foundation of them all before he had arrived in his sixth lustre. But it was not exclusively in such pursuits that his leisure time was employed: he was fond of his pencil, and attained no inconsiderable proficiency in drawing. As he grew older he varied his amusements by writing verses; but whether they displayed any glimmering of high poetic talent is somewhat more than doubtful He mentions in his note-book the interesting fact that in 1004 he purchased a prism, by means of which he investigated the properties of light; and after much careful observation, and deep study, and mature reflection, established the great and important truth, that it consists of rays differing in colour and refrangibility.

"During the year 1666," says Sir David Brew-ster, "he applied himself to the grinding of optic glasses of other figures than spherical; and having, no doubt, experienced the impracticability of exerating such lenses, the idea of examining the phenomena of colour was one of those sagacious and fortunate impulses which more than once led him to discovery." By his knowledge acquired of glass lenses, and the properties of light, he constructed several telescopes, the most perfect and powerful of which was sent to the Royal Society, in whose possession it is still carefully preserved, as it deserves to he. But the breaking out of the plague compelled him to leave Cambridge, and to spend the next two years in the calm retirement of Wools-thorpe. This interruption of his academical studies, which may, at first sight, appear inopportune, was, perhaps, calculated to refresh the spirit and invigorate the faculties of this wonderful man. In his reflections on what he had already achieved for science, he would find the seeds of wonders yet to be performed, and acquire that rare strength of mind which prevented him giving the results of his meditations in an imperfect state to the world. At all events, it is certain that at this period occurred to him the idea that terminated in his discovering the system of the universe, which forms the chief subject of his immortal "Principia." Sitting one day in his shady orchard he observed an apple fall from a tree. Reflecting on the power of that principle of gravitation by which it was brought to the ground, this simple incident formed part of the great thought* that were then occupying and chasing each other through his capacious mind; and it led him gradually to his perception of the grand law of universal gravitation; which, sixteen years later, he was happily enabled advantageously to disclose, and clearly to demonstrate.

Meantime, returning to Cambridge he had taken his degree of Master of Arts; and, in 1668, been appointed to a senior fellowship. Shortly after this he became Lucasian Professor of Mathematics. In 1694, one of his college friends, Charles Montague, afterwards Earl of Halifax, becoming Chancellor of the Exchequer, Newton was, by his influence, appointed Warden of the Mint. This rendered it necessary for him to remove to London, where he devoted himself to the duties of his office, with honour to himself and advantage to the country. In two years he was promoted to the Mastership of the Mint, and forthwith honours flowed upon him in abundance. He was elected a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris, instituted in 1666. In 1701 he was returned as member of Parliament for his University; and, in 1705, took knighthood from the hand of Queen Anne, on the occasion of her visit to Cambridge. He had completed the publication of his "Principia" in 1687; but, in 1726, was induced to bring out a third and much enlarged edition.

The habits of this illustrious man were of the simplest kind, and he retained his powerful faculties unimpaired to the last days of his existence. Though delighting in the calm society of a few congenial friends, to whom he would unfold the priceless treasures of his great mind, he latterly declined mixing much in general company. He had still, it would seem, something of that preference for studious retirement which had prompted him when a little boy to withdraw to a corner of the school playground. Throughout life he was sincerely and significantly religious, and in his writings ever held it his highest duty to assert the omnipotent majesty of his Creator.

On the 20th of March, 1727, he expired, in the eighty-fifth year of his life, and was laid at rest in Westminster Abbey, among the dust of those who for centuries had adorned their country. In the garden at "Woolsthorpe, which has, as it were, been consecrated by the recollections of his genius, an arm-chair, formed from the wood of the tree from which he marked the fall of the apple, presents an interesting memorial of his boyhood and youth. A brief inscription, on the statue erected in his own college at Cambridge, declares him to have surpassed all men in genius. In the old and glorious Abbey where his dust reposes, a costly monument proclaims him humani generis decus. This is high, but not too high, praise; for of all the statesmen, heroes, kings, whose ashes repose within those hallowed precincts, not one has left a name at once so stainless and imperishable as that of this high-priest of nature.