Presents her fruits to them, and is not thanked;
The harvest sun is constant, and they scarce
Return his smile; their flocks and herds increase,
And they look on as men who count a loss;
They hear of thriving children born to them,
And never shake the teller by the hand;

While those they have, they see grow up and flourish,
And think as little of caressing them,

As they were things a deadly plague had smit.
There's not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them,
The thought of thee doth wither to a curse,
As something they must lose, and richer were
To lack.

but

Ges. That's right! I'd have them like their hills, That never smile, though wanton summer tempt Them e'er so much.

Tell. But they do sometimes smile.

Ges. Ay!—when is that?

Tell. When they do talk of vengeance.
Ges. Vengeance? Dare

They talk of that?

Tell. Ay, and expect it, too.

Ges. From whence?

Grandeur of Astronomical Science.-N. A. REVIEW.

ASTRONOMY is certainly the boldest and most comprehensive of all our speculations. It is the science of the material universe considered as a whole. Though employed upon objects apparently withdrawn from the sphere of human action and pursuit, it teaches us, nevertheless, that these

objects materially affect, nay, constitute our physical condition. The wide-spreading firmament, while it lifts itself above all mortal things, exhibits to us that luminary, which is the light, and life, and glory of our world; and, when this retires from our view, it is lighted up with a thousand lesser fires, that never cease to burn, that never fail to take their accustomed places, and never rest from their slow, solemn, and noiseless march. Among the objects more immediately about us, all is vicissitude and change. It is the destiny of terrestrial things to perpetuate themselves by succession. Plants arise out of the earth, flourish awhile, and decay, and their place is filled by others. Animals, also, have their periods of growth and decline. Even man is not exempt from the general law His exquisite frame, with all its fine organs, is soon reduced to its original elements, to be moulded again into new and humbler forms. Nations are, like individuals, privileged only with a more protracted existence. The firm earth itself, the theatre of all this change, partakes, in a degree, of the common lot of its inhabitants; and the sea once heaved its waves, where now rolls a tide of wealth and population.

Situated, as we are, in this fleeting, fluctuating state, it is consoling to be able to dwell upon an enduring scene; to contemplate laws that are immutable, an order that has never been interrupted; to fix, not the thoughts only, but the eye, upon objects that, after the lapse of so many ages, and the fall of so many states, cities, human institutions, and monuments of art, continue to occupy the same places, to move with the same regularity, and to shine with the same pure, fresh, undiminished lustre.

As the heavens are the most striking spectacle, that presents itself to our contemplation, so there is no subject of philosophical inquiry, which has more engaged the attention of mankind. The history of astronomy carries us back to the earliest times, and introduces us to the languages and customs, the religion and poetry, the sciences and arts, the tastes, talents and peculiar genius, of the different nations of the earth. The ancient Atlantides and Ethiopians, the Egyptian priests, the magi of Persia, the shepherds of Chaldea, the Bramins of India, the mandarins of China, the Fhoenician navigators, the philosophers of Greece, and the

wandering Arabs, have contributed to the general mass of knowledge and speculation upon this subject; have added more or less to this vast structure, the common monument of the industry, invention, and intellectual resources of mankind.

They, whose imaginations have wandered up to the sphere of the stars, like those who have visited unfrequented regions on the earth, have left there, as in a sort of album, some memorial of themselves, and of the times in which they lived. The constellations are a faithful picture of the ruder stages of civilization. They ascend to times of which no other record exists, and are destined to remain when all others are lost. Fragments of history, curious dates and documents relating to chronology, geography and languages, are here preserved in imperishable characters. The adventures of the gods and the inventions of men, the exploits of heroes and the fancies of poets, are here perpetually celebrated before all nations. The seven stars and Orion present themselves to us, as they appeared to Amos and Homer. Here are consecrated the lyre of Orpheus and the ship of the Argonauts, and, in the same firmament, the mariner's compass and the telescope of Herschel.

We remark, farther, that astronomy is the most improved of all the branches of human knowledge, and that which does the greatest credit to the human understanding. We have in this obtained the object of our researches. We have solved the great problem proposed to us in the celestial motions; and our solution is as simple and as grand as the spectacle itself, and is in every respect worthy of so exalted a subject. It is not the astronomer only, who is thus satisfied; but the proof is of a nature to carry conviction to the most illiterate and skeptical. Our knowledge, extending to the principles and laws which the Author of nature has chosen to impress upon his work, comprehends the future; it resembles that which has been regarded as the exclusive attribute of supreme intelligence. We are thus enabled, not only to explain those unusual appearances in the heavens, which were formerly the occasion of such unworthy fears, but to forewarn men of their occurrence; and, by predicting the time, place and circumstances of the phenomenon, to disarm it of its terror.

There is, however, nothing, perhaps, so surprising in this science, as that it makes us acquainted with methods, by which we can survey those bright fields on which it is employed, and apply our own familiar measures to the paths which are there traced, and to the bodies that trace them; that we can estimate the form, and dimensions, and inequalities, of objects so immense, and so far removed from the little scene of our labors.

What would be the astonishment of an inhabitant of one of those bodies, of Jupiter, for instance, to find that, by means of instruments of a few feet in length, and certain figures and characters, still smaller, all of our own invention, we had succeeded in determining the magnitude and weight of this great planet, the length of its days and nights, and the variety of its seasons,-that we had watched the motions of its moons, calculated their eclipses, and applied them to important domestic purposes? What would be our astonishment to learn that an insect, one of those, for instance, which serve sometimes to illuminate the waters of the ocean, though confined by the exercise of its proper organs, and locomotive powers, to the sphere of a few inches, had, by artificial aids of its own contriving, been able to extend its sphere of observation to the huge monsters that move about it; that it had even attempted, not altogether without success, to fathom the depth of the abyss, in which it occupies so insignificant a place, and to number the beings it contains?

LESSON CLXX.

Escape from a Panther.-COOPER.

ELIZABETH TEMPLE and LOUISA had gained the summit of the mountain, where they left the highway, and pursued their course, under the shade of the stately trees that crowned the eminence. The day was becoming warm; and the girls plunged more deeply into the forest, as they found its invigorating coolness agreeably contrasted to the excessive heat they had experienced in their ascent. The conversation,

as if by mutual consent, was entirely changed to the little incidents and scenes of their walk; and every tall pine, and every shrub or flower, called forth some simple expression of admiration.

In this manner they proceeded along the margin of the precipice, catching occasional glimpses of the placid Otsego, or pausing to listen to the rattling of wheels and the sounds of hammers, that rose from the valley, to mingle the signs of men with the scenes of nature, when Elizabeth suddenly startled, and exclaimed-" Listen! there are the cries of a child on this mountain! Is there a clearing near us? or can some little one have strayed from its parents ?”

"Such things frequently happen," returned Louisa. "Let us follow the sounds; it may be a wanderer, starving on the hill."

Urged by this consideration, the females pursued the low, mournful sounds, that proceeded from the forest, with quick and impatient steps. More than once the ardent Elizabeth was on the point of announcing that she saw the sufferer, when Louisa caught her by the arm, and, pointing behind them, cried-" Look at the dog!"

The advanced age of Brave had long before deprived him of his activity; and when his companions stopped to view the scenery, or to add to their bouquets, the mastiff would lay his huge frame on the ground, and await their movements, with his eyes closed, and a listlessness in his air that ill accorded with the character of a protector. But when, aroused by this cry from Louisa, Miss Temple turned, she saw the dog with his eyes keenly set on some distant object, his head bent near the ground, and his hair actually rising on his body, either through fright or anger. It was most probably the latter; for he was growling in a low key, and occasionally showing his teeth, in a manner that would have terrified his mistress, had she not so well known his good qualities.

"Brave!" she said, "be quiet, Brave! what do you see, fellow?"

At the sounds of her voice, the rage of the mastiff, instead of being at all diminished, was very sensibly increased. He stalked in front of the ladies, and seated himself at the feet of his mistress, growling louder than before, and occasionally