The Reminiscences of an Astronomer

by Simon Newcomb

Strike out the last word, and insert "Muscle." The reader will please not misinterpret this remark. I admire the physically perfect man, loving everything out of doors, and animated by the spirit that takes him through polar snows and over mountain tops. But I do not feel that mere muscular practice during a few years of college life really fosters this spirit.

Among the former institutions of Washington of which the memory is worth preserving, was the Scientific Club. This was one of those small groups, more common in other cities than in Washington, of men interested in some field of thought, who meet at brief intervals at one another's houses, perhaps listen to a paper, and wind up with a supper. When or how the Washington Club originated, I do not know, but it was probably sometime during the fifties. Its membership seems to have been rather ill defined, for, although I have always been regarded as a member, and am mentioned in McCulloch's book as such, [1] I do not think I ever received any formal notice of election. The club was not exclusively scientific, but included in its list the leading men who were supposed to be interested in scientific matters, and whose company was pleasant to the others. Mr. McCulloch himself, General Sherman, and Chief Justice Chase are examples of the members of the club who were of this class.

It was at the club meetings that I made the acquaintance of General Sherman. His strong characteristics were as clearly seen at these evening gatherings as in a military campaign. His restlessness was such that he found it hard to sit still, especially in his own house, two minutes at a time. His terse sentences, leaving no doubt in the mind of the hearer as to what he meant, always had the same snap. One of his military letters is worth reviving. When he was carrying on his campaign in Georgia against Hood, the latter was anxious that the war should damage general commercial interests as little as possible; so he sent General Sherman a letter setting forth the terms and conditions on which he, Hood, would refrain from burning the cotton in his line of march, but leave it behind,—at as great length and with as much detail as if it were a treaty of peace between two nations. Sherman's reply was couched in a single sentence: "I hope you will burn all the cotton you can, for all you don't burn I will." When he introduced two people, he did not simply mention their names, but told who each one was. In introducing the adjutant-general to another officer who had just come into Washington, he added, "You know his signature."

Mr. McCulloch, who succeeded Mr. Chase as Secretary of the Treasury, was my beau idéal of an administrator. In his personal make-up, he was as completely the opposite of General Sherman as a man well could be. Deliberate, impassive, heavy of build, slow in physical movement, he would have been supposed, at first sight, a man who would take life easy, and concern himself as little as possible about public affairs. But, after all, there is a quality in the head of a great department which is quite distinct from sprightliness, and that is wisdom. This he possessed in the highest degree. The impress which he made on our fiscal system was not the product of what looked like energetic personal action, but of a careful study of the prevailing conditions of public opinion, and of the means at his disposal for keeping the movement of things in the right direction. His policy was what is sometimes claimed, and correctly, I believe, to embody the highest administrative wisdom: that of doing nothing himself that he could get others to do for him. In this way all his energies could be devoted to his proper work, that of getting the best men in office, and of devising measures from time to time calculated to carry the government along the lines which he judged to be best for the public interests.

The name of another attendant at the meetings of the club has from time to time excited interest because of its connection with a fundamental principle of evolutionary astronomy. This principle, which looks paradoxical enough, is that up to a certain stage, as a star loses heat by radiation into space, its temperature becomes higher. It is now known as Lane's Law. Some curiosity as to its origin, as well as the personality of its author, has sometimes been expressed. As the story has never been printed, I ask leave to tell it.

Among the attendants at the meetings of the Scientific Club was an odd-looking and odd-mannered little man, rather intellectual in appearance, who listened attentively to what others said, but who, so far as I noticed, never said a word himself. Up to the time of which I am speaking, I did not even know his name, as there was nothing but his oddity to excite any interest in him.

One evening about the year 1867, the club met, as it not infrequently did, at the home of Mr. McCulloch. After the meeting Mr. W. B. Taylor, afterward connected with the Smithsonian Institution in an editorial capacity, accompanied by the little man, set out to walk to his home, which I believe was somewhere near the Smithsonian grounds. At any rate, I joined them in their walk, which led through these grounds. A few days previous there had appeared in the "Reader," an English weekly periodical having a scientific character, an article describing a new theory of the sun. The view maintained was that the sun was not a molten liquid, as had generally been supposed up to that time, but a mass of incandescent gas, perhaps condensed at its outer surface, so as to form a sort of immense bubble. I had never before heard of the theory, but it was so plausible that there could be no difficulty in accepting it. So, as we wended our way through the Smithsonian grounds, I explained the theory to my companions in that ex cathedra style which one is apt to assume in setting forth a new idea to people who know little or nothing of the subject. My talk was mainly designed for Mr. Taylor, because I did not suppose the little man would take any interest in it. I was, therefore, much astonished when, at a certain point, he challenged, in quite a decisive tone, the correctness of one of my propositions. In a rather more modest way, I tried to maintain my ground, but was quite silenced by the little man informing us that he had investigated the whole subject, and found so and so—different from what I had been laying down.

I immediately stepped down from the pontifical chair, and asked the little man to occupy it and tell us more about the matter, which he did. Whether the theorem to which I have alluded was included in his statement, I do not recall. If it was not, he told me about it subsequently, and spoke of a paper he had published, or was about to publish, in the "American Journal of Science." I find that this paper appeared in Volume L. in 1870.

Naturally I cultivated the acquaintance of such a man. His name was J. Homer Lane. He was quite alone in the world, having neither family nor near relative, so far as any one knew. He had formerly been an examiner or something similar in the Patent Office, but under the system which prevailed in those days, a man with no more political influence than he had was very liable to lose his position, as he actually did. He lived in a good deal such a habitation and surroundings as men like Johnson and Goldsmith lived in in their time. If his home was not exactly a garret, it came as near it as a lodging of the present day ever does.

After the paper in question appeared, I called Mr. Lane's attention to the fact that I did not find any statement of the theorem which he had mentioned to me to be contained in it. He admitted that it was contained in it only impliedly, and proceeded to give me a very brief and simple demonstration.