practical use. The figure of the speculum is well known to have been so defective, that the images of the celestial bodies which it produced were distorted, and although very high magnifying powers were tried upon it, yet the Rev. W. Pearson, a member of the Royal Society, does not hesitate to state, in his "Practical Astronomy," (4to. London, 1829,) that owing to this defect the magnifying powers used upon it seldom exceeded 200. The belief in its limited usefulness is still farther, and very strongly confirmed, by the fact that this telescope was taken down, some years since, and laid aside, for no other avowed reason except that the frame work had become decayed!

All, then, which is known with certainty respecting the attendants of Uranus, is that it has two satellites; but these present phenomena wholly unknown in any other portion of the celestial mechanism. • Contrary to the unbroken analogy of the whole planetary systemwhether of primaries or secondaries-the planes of their orbits are nearly perpendicular to the ecliptic, being inclined no less than 78° 58' to that plane, and in these orbits their motions are retrograde; that is to say, their positions, when projected on the ecliptic, instead of advancing from west to east, round the centre of their primary, as is the case with every other planet and satellite, move in the opposite direction.'

For these peculiarities no satisfactory cause has been assigned; and they leave us no less strikingly impressed with the peculiarity of the appendages of the most distant planet now, than we were with those of Saturn, when that was supposed to move upon the utmost border of the solar system. But of the limits of that system, whatever may once have been thought, we can now form no settled opinion. The space beyond the orbit of Uranus, within which the attraction of our sun surpasses that of the sun of any other system, is shown, by the orbits of some comets, to be almost beyond our conception; nor have we any evidence that these bodies, in their 'protracted journeys of a thousand years,' do or do not reach the confines of that space. Certain it is, that space enough is there to allow of a farther augmentation of the number of our primary planets; but whether we shall ever recognise them, if such there are, cannot now be known.

The remarkable, yet wholly empirical law of Bode, touching the distances of the planetary orbits from the sun a law which is also found applicable to the distances of satellites from their primaries — if continued beyond Uranus, would give the next planet a distance three hundred and eighty-eight times greater from the sun than the earth, and a siderial revolution of about two hundred and forty-three years. As no fixed proportion between the size and the distances from the sun, is found to prevail among the planets, a body, so far as we know, may hereafter become known to us, even at that prodigious elongation, by reason of great size, aided by improved telescopes, and perhaps, also, by some happy fortuity, such as that which first fixed attention upon Uranus, and one or more of the telescopic planets.

Indeed we cannot aver, with any certainty, that the first observations are not already made and recorded, that are to eventuate in perfecting the discovery of one or more such bodies. Mr. Wartman,

of Geneva, observed, in September, 1831, a small star which had an appreciable motion, both in right ascension and in declination; and in May, 1835, Mr. Cacciatore, of Palermo, observed another (for their positions showed them not the same) distinguished for like motions. In the case of the latter body, calculations, based upon the imperfect observations obtained, render it probable that its orbit, if this be a planet, is at near the same distance from the sun as that of Vesta; but of the star observed by Mr. Wartman, no such approximate determination was obtained. Neither of these bodies, we believe, has ever been seen since the year in which it was discovered; and what they are, or where arranged, in the celestial economy, if ever made known to us, is still to be disclosed by the future.

Buffalo, June, 1838.

R. W. H.

By the deep forest's yet unwaken'd green,
To tread on wither'd leaves, and herbage new,
And trace the first young buddings' tender sheen;
The downy liverwort's sweet eye of blue,
And pale anemoné, on amber stem,
Faint-blushing delicate the woods first gem.

Where the fresh fountain bubbles into light,
Amidst the ferns that fringe her mossy brink,
Inlaid with scarlet berry, gleaming bright,
Invites the wanderer to stoop and drink:
O! give me one sweet day amidst the woods,
The vernal, stirring breeze, and rous'd-up floods!

The fitful spirit of the wilderness

Raiseth the heart, and the adoring eye,
TO HIM who doth with early beauty, bless

The slender service-tree that waves so high,
Her snow-white wreathes amidst the unclad wild;
And owns the sparrow for His mercy's child.

I love all blossoms of the early spring;

All living things the winter-storm hath left:
The red-cup moss, the myrtle-fragrant thing!
Each tinge of life within the rock's dark cleft:
And when the blue-bird warbles sweet and clear,
To rest in some charm'd spot, the hymn to hear.

Where the sweet water-fall is chiming low,

Amidst the shrub-roots, and the old gray stone;
Catching the sunbeams in her sparkling flow,
And shadows of the forest branches, lone,
Yet leafless, rustling tuneful over head,
With thwarted twigs beneath the blue sky spread.

There flow to HIм my soul! my joyful soul,
Upward with the elastic air, and scent

Of early buds; and gentle sounds that roll
Amidst the boughs; and song of waters, blent
With hum of new-waked insect, on the wing,
And all the breathing harmonies of spring.

He who hath form'd us for devotion, He

Hath worn our nature; and hath lov'd to pray
Where the wild woods, his temple's canopy,
Gave a religious color to the day;

Here let us gather strength, e'er we depart

Where the world calls. God keeps the pure in heart.

W.

THE AMBITIOUS MAN.

'Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps its self,
And falls on the other side.'

MACBETH.

WERE all the crowns, and columns, and arches, in time past awarded to successful ambition, to be multiplied one hundred fold, they would hardly equal the hopes which have been blasted, and hearts broken in the winning of them. Disease has withered, and accident and self-destruction have found their victims, and men have seen the destroying messenger. But all the while ambition has been decoying us, and stimulating our lower energies, and its only records are here and there a wrinkled and care-laden brow, or an inscription on a tombstone. It goes abroad flaunting and dazzling; its solitary strivings, its heart-burnings, and its down-trampling arts are unobserved within the inner sanctuary.

My friend, Charles Egerton, was a lawyer who misused his profession; he degraded it into a means of political preferment. At college he was one of the mildest fellows in the world-winning respect by mental superiority, and retaining it by a thousand natural kindnesses. I used to admire his love for his mother, who was a widow, and had met with such a series of domestic losses, that 'the balance of her thoughts' already inclined to another world.'

In conformity with her wishes, he was at first disposed to the ministry. By degrees, however, he proposed to himself a wider fielda place among the names that never die! He might fail, but he must strive to influence the world. During all these changes, his filial affection never cooled. If my parent were not a widow,' he used to say, and her love to me her last tie to earth, I would act for myself, and the time should arrive when she might be proud indeed of her son!'

Egerton had one more inducement to humble and patient exertion. Months and years of intercourse had attached him to one of the most lovely spirits I have ever known. Anna Carlton- a gentle creature, who had never seen the dazzling flatteries of what is termed fashionable life was at first pleased with his boyish preference; as youth changed to womanhood, she found her regard rather increased. For a while, she believed her interest in his struggle, and her triumphs in his success, to be no more than friendly; and he said he was no gladder to meet her bright eyes and modest bow, than he should have been that of any other pretty damsel. Both were mistaken, and both at last perceived their mistake. If their attachment was not formally acknowledged, it was nevertheless warm, and apparently indestructible.

Anna was an humble being; unambitious to attract but by her lovely temper; always engaged, and always postponing herself to her friends. She had that thorough self-devotion, that cheerful forgiveness, which mark woman only. In warmer days I used to fancy, that her character was in no single point deficient; I suppose she had failings, but only because she was human. Her mother died when she was in her third year, and Anna had been a kind of soothing

spirit to a capricious father; at length her gentle influence failed, he commended her to the care of friends and gave himself to temptation. She lived at times with the Egertons, and then the widow's home was bright and gladsome.

Anna Carlton was nearly eighteen when Egerton resolved to relinquish theology for a more ambitious calling. I often wish every thing could be as it was in those days; ambition came, and in its train strugglings, art, coldness. But I have no desire to detail more of my old friend's life - nor have I need. He is dead, and by his wish, expressed in his closing hours, several мs. records have been put into my hands; parts of which I have thought it no breach of confidence to extract. I have forborne to make alterations in them, leaving the circumstances given above, to explain a rather abrupt narrative, and apologize for the tone of disappointment and repining occasionally perceptible. These desultory passages shall be called

SCRAPS FROM A GREEN BAG.

'A dark eye made me a politician. I blush to confess it. It carries me back to years and feelings from which I seldom draw the curtain. Professional eminence, which I used to covet, now that I am leaving the scene, crumbles to dust in the grasp. I recollect my first case; events, coincidences connected with it cannot be forgotten.

'My mother, who was a widow, wished me to prepare for the church. I suppose that wish was deeper in her heart than any other but she was too mild a being to restrain by ambitious aspirations. I told her that a wider field would afford me eminence, and her, and a young friend whom she loved, pecuniary independence.

When she consented to my relinquishing her favorite profession, a tear was on her cheek. My son, always recollect,' said she, taking my hand more affectionately than it has ever been grasped since, 'that seventy years are short enough for God's service; fame is exacting, and if you are its devotee, death may overtake you unprepared. Never forget the claims of another, in the struggles and honors of this world; be, for my sake, a good man.'

'I would relinquish every attainment to hear that mild counsel again. I thought at the time I would not forget the scene, were temptations never so many.

Anna Carlton was standing by, and looking steadily in my face; I assured them that no professional allurements should trample upon conscientiousness, inasmuch as I would never engage in a cause, unless truth were on my side. The widow smiled, and my last evening at home flew away speedily and pleasantly. Anna read to us from one of the English poets, and I remember thinking how public honors fell into shadow, beside her lovely temper; and her exquisitely refined mind. 'Your profession,' said she, will strengthen and sharpen your powers, let it not circumscribe them. They should be farther reaching than this world.' The next morning I hurried to town, to commence my reading.

Reverencing, as all involuntarily do, great intellectual effort, for a time I was enraptured with the minds who had elevated my profession. I revelled in the stores of knowledge to which I had access.

But I did not forget those whom I loved, and my visits at home were frequent and delightful. As the science opened before me, I began to rejoice that I was not bound to a single parish, and pictured to myself the honors and the influence for which I was a candidate. Those were boyish days; I never realized my anticipations.

'Young men learn bitterly their lessons of humility; and to one ridiculously fancying, as I did, that his services could be really an acquisition to the legal profession, the weeks and months of idleness and unfulfilled expectation which followed the hanging out of my name, were unspeakably provoking. I went regularly to my office to do little nothings. Never was a fire so faithfully replenished, never were books so often put in order, and chairs and tables so scrupulously arranged; and never was a poor fellow more disappointed. I adhered, however, to my resolution of not compromising with high principle for the sake of emolument; and several petty cases, which I might have obtained, fell into the hands of an old college acquaintance, and to tell the truth, a rival withal. I had hoped our proximity was to have ended at the university, but I soon found him my neighbor now, as in old times. He was a man of more cunning address, more affability, as people are pleased to term it.

These are slight matters in themselves, but they bring back forcibly those days, and account for feelings and conduct of later life. In half a year, not above six charges stood on my book; these were written very legibly and elegantly, but I was ashamed to put so few into a collector's hands, and so let them pass. Were I to live those years again, I should not take such neglect to heart; but then 1 was vexed, and for many weeks did not visit my mother, who wore, kind soul! the same refreshing smile, whether darkness or sunshine were abroad.

One Saturday morning I was sitting with several old friends in my office, cursing in my heart a profession which I lauded to them, when a stout, middle-aged gentleman, with a bundle of papers under his arm, desired to speak with me. I asked him to be seated, and as coolly as I could, remarked that there was a prospect of a storm.

'We are strangers, Sir,' said he, but, although the affair will come to a public trial, for delicate reasons I shall prefer your services to those of my usual barrister.'

'I know my eyes brightened, despite my attempts to take this as a matter of course. The bundle was soon opened, and the stranger, turning over paper after paper, stated to me the principles of the proceeding. I am the lawful executor,' he remarked, and then added, with a singular sternness in his glance, and she, ungrateful for a thousand favors, would extort my own just inheritance.'

'We conned over the documents a while longer in silence. There was a will, and a codicil, a report of an old trial, several grants of real estate, and eight or ten private letters. After I had gained a general knowledge of the grounds of the suit - which I foresaw would be of some moment the middle-aged man bade me good morning. 'I trust that all exertions will be made, Sir,' said he, 'and all the fidelity used on your part, which are to be expected from a man of honor. Of your ability, allow me to say, I do not doubt.' I bowed to the compliment, and we parted.