were about, and this for many days together, without giving them the least disturbance. Thus I could discover their economy, their passions, and their enjoyments.

The microscope, on this occasion, had given what nature seemed to have denied to the objects of contemplation. The base of the flower extended itself under its influence, to a vast plain; the slender stems of the leaves became trunks of so many stately cedars; the threads in the middle seemed columns of massy structure, supporting at the top their several ornaments; and the narrow spaces between were enlarged into walks, °parterres, and terraces.

On the polished bottoms of these, brighter than °Parian marble, walked in pairs, alone, or in larger companies, the winged inhabitants; these, from little dusky flies, for such only the naked eye would have shown them, were raised to glorious glittering animals, stained with living purple, and with a glossy gold that would have made all the labors of the loom contemptible in the comparison.

I could at leisure, as they walked together, admire their elegant limbs, their velvet shoulders, and their silken wings; their backs °vying with the empyre'an in its blue; and their eyes, each formed of a thousand others, out glittering the little planes on a brilliant ; above description, and too great almost for admiration.

I could observe them here singling out their gentle favorites, courting them with the music of their buzzing wings, with little songs formed for their little organs, leading them from walk to walk among the perfumed shades, and pointing out to their taste the drop of liquid nectar just bursting from some vein within the living trunk; here were the perfumed groves, the more than myrtle shades of the poet's fancy, realized. Here the happy lovers spent their days in joyful dalliance, or, in the triumph of their little hearts skipped after one another, from stem to stem among the painted trees; or winged their short flight to the close shadow of some broader leaf, to revel undisturbed in the heights of all felicity.

SIR JOHN HILL.

IV. THE CORAL GROVE.

DEEP in the wave is a coral grove,
Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove;
Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue,
That never are wet with falling dew,
But in bright and changeful beauty shine,
Far down in the green and glassy brine.

The floor is of sand like the mountain-drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
From coral rocks the sea plants lift

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow;
The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and waves are absent there,
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow
In the motionless fields of upper air:

There with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
And the crimson leaf of the 'dulse is seen

To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter:
There, with a slight and easy motion,

The fan coral sweeps through the clear deep sea;
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean
Are bending like corn on the upland olea.

And life, in rare and beautiful forms,

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms
Has made the top of the waves his own:
And when the ship from his fury flies,
Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies,
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore;
Then far below in the peaceful sea,

The purple mullet and gold-fish rove,

Where the waters murmur tranquilly

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove.

DR. JAMES G. °PERCIVAL.

V.-INFLUENCE OF ASTRONOMICAL STUDIES.

BUT astronomy seems more specially adapted to employ and strengthen the imagination. Its objects are scattered over, as yet unbounded fields. Man has surveyed the ground for millions of miles, yet his survey has only proved that untrodden millions lie beyond. He has measured the Solar System, computed its weight, and determined its motions; but these problems only suggest to him the economy of ten thousand other systems, and send him out on the same errand, among the uncounted suns of the universe.

He has proved that the evening gem, which twinkles over his path, is a world larger than that on which he lives. His busy fancy

inquires: "Is yon world a mere formless mass-a material chaos? Are there no beauties, no harmonies, no varieties there?" His telescope shows that some of the planets have axēs inclined, like the earth's, to their orbits. "And have these planets," his curiosity asks, "no seasons-no spring-breath, and flowers, and freshness--no autumn clusters, and joys, and gratitude? Are, then," he continues, "those starry planets worlds, like the earth, rolling about the same light and heat-giving sun, charmed with the same rich varieties and beauties, and yet destitute of occupants? Lives no one on Venus, to see from its wheeling course the rapid day-sun and the swift-circling heavens? No one on Jupiter, to rejoice under its changeful skies, to admire its beautiful moons, and circle its magnificent raceground? None on Saturn, to look with the eye of science on those wonderful heaven-spanning bolts, or enjoy its mellow evenings? Has no one on Herschel traveled around this solar universe, to lose sight of its littleness in view of the more imposing greatness beyond and

around?"

Again, the astronomer has defined that power that binds the planets to the sun- the satellites to their central planets. "And what," he is forced to ask, "is the bond of union between those numerous suns that lie along in immensity?" He has found that force that keeps the planets from the sun, the moons from their planets. "What," he asks in astonishment, "is yon sun's 'centrifugal force? Can it be that yon thronging systems of starry worlds are in motion? Are they sweeping on, age after age, towards some distant point they can never reach; or are they all in regular, yet unperceived, harmony, revolving about some common center? And is that central orb a world so large as to hold and regulate the motions of all the heavenly systems?"

Thus do the facts of astronomy interest the curiosity and employ the imagination of the learner. Imposing, themselves, in their greatness, they furnish the elements of structures still more imposing; instinct with life, or glowing everywhere with intelligence, they lead our inquiries to an Omnipotent Energy, vitalizing the wide realms of being, and shedding upon all the creations of limitless space the spirit of order, intelligence, and life.

REV. ELIJAH B. HUNTINGTON.

VI.-YOUTH AND AGE.

VERSE, a breeze, 'mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding like a bee;
Both were mine-life went a-maying,

With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,

When I was young.

When I was young? ah! woful when!
Ah! for the change "twixt now and then:
This breathing house, not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands
How lightly then it flashed along,
Like those trim skiffs unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,

That fear no spite of wind or tide!

Naught cared this body for wind or weather,
When Youth and I lived in't together.

Flowers are lovely; love is flower-like:
Friendship is a sheltering tree.

Oh! the joys that came down shower-like—
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty

Ere I was old.

Ere I was old? ah! woful êre,

Which tells me Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
'Tis known that thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit;
It cannot be that thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled-
And thou wert Paye a master bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on?
To make believe that thou art gone;
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought; so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,

When we are old.

That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking leave,
Like some poor, nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismissed,

Yet hath outstayed his welcomed while,
And tells the jest without the smile.

SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE.

VII.-INDIAN SPEECH.

BROTHER: We have heard you talk as from the lips of our father, the great White Chief at Washington, and my people have called upon me to speak to you. The red man has no books, and when he wishes to make known his views, like his fathers before him, he speaks from his mouth. He is afraid of writing. When he speaks he knows what he says; the Great Spirit hears him. Writing is the invention of the pale faces; it gives birth to error and to °feuds. The Great Spirit talks-we hear him in the thunder-in the rushing winds, and the mighty waters-but he never writes.

Brother: When you were young we were strong; we fought by your side; but our arms are now broken. You have grown large. My people have become small.

Brother: My voice is weak; you can scarcely hear me; it is not the shout of a warrior, but the wail of an infant. I have lost it in mourning over the misfortunes of my people. These are their graves, and in those aged pines you hear the ghosts of the departed. Their ashes are here, and we have been left to protect them. Our warriors are nearly all gone to the far country west; but here are our dead. Shall we go too, and give their bones to the wolves?

Brother: Two sleeps have passed since we heard you talk. We have slept upon it. You ask us to leave our country, and tell us it is our father's wish. We would not desire to displease our father. We respect him, and you his child. But the Choctaw always thinks. We want time to answer.

Brother: Our hearts are full. Twelve winters ago our chiefs sold our country. Every warrior that you see here was opposed to the treaty. If the dead could have been counted, it could never have been made; but alas! though they stood round they could not be seen or heard. Their tears came in the rain-drops, and their voices in the wailing wind, but the pale faces knew it not and our land was taken away.

Brother: We do not complain. The Choctaw suffers, but he never weeps. You have the strong arm, and we cannot resist. But the pale face worships the Great Spirit. So does the red man. The Great Spirit loves truth. When you took our country you promised us land. There is your promise in the book. Twelve times have the