borders of our Solar System.  In every way this was a discovery of signal importance.  It broke up the traditional conservatism of astronomers, which had almost refused to regard as possible the existence of any planets beyond the orbit of Saturn, because for so many years none had revealed themselves to the watchful gaze.  Men’s minds were widened, so to speak, at a bound; their conceptions strengthened and enlarged; for the discovery of Georgium Sidus—­as the new planet was designated by its discoverer, in honour of George III.—­rendered possible and probable the discovery of other planets, and thus extended immeasurably the limits of the Solar System.  Herschel, whose reputation as a musician had hitherto been local, now sprang into world-wide fame as an astronomer.  George III., who was a true lover of science, and not disinclined to bestow his patronage on men and things of Hanoverian origin, summoned him to his presence; and was so much pleased with his modest and interesting account of the long labours which had led to the great result, that, after a brief interval, he bestowed upon him an annual pension of three hundred guineas, and a residence, first at Clay Hall, and then at Slough.

But before this well-deserved good fortune fell to him, Herschel continued his industrious career as both musician and astronomer.  During the concert season, which lasted five or six months, he had never a night disengaged, but was conducting oratorios at Bath or Bristol, arranging for public concerts, attending rehearsals, and superintending the performances of his choir.  As soon as a lull came, the indomitable man, assisted by his faithful sister, returned to his astronomical pursuits.  To gain a fuller and clearer knowledge of the starry worlds scattered over the vast fields of space, Herschel from the first had seen that instruments of much greater power were necessary than any hitherto used by astronomers.  He set to work, therefore, on the construction of a thirty-foot telescope; the metallic mirror of which must, of course, be of proportionate dimensions.  This huge mirror was to be cast in a mould of loam prepared from horse-dung, of which an immense quantity was to be pounded in a mortar, and sifted through a fine sieve; an arduous and almost endless task, undertaken by Caroline Herschel and her brother Alex.  Then a furnace was erected in a back-room on the ground-floor; and every preparation having been made, a day was set apart for the casting.  The day came, and Herschel and his collaborateurs looked forward to the consummation of their hopes.  The metal was placed in the furnace; but, unfortunately, just when it was ready for pouring in a molten stream into the mould, it began to leak, and both the Herschels, and the caster with his men, were compelled to fly from the apartment, the stone flooring exploding, and flying about in all directions, as high as the ceiling.  The astronomer, exhausted with heat and exertion, fell on a heap of brickbats; exhausted, but not dismayed.  The work was renewed; and a second casting being attempted, it proved entirely successful, and a very perfect metal was formed in the mould.