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separate bright rings. Others, though possessing large instruments not only questioned the division of the outer ring, but doubted the existence of any mark whatever. During this time several very fine lithographic prints of Saturn have been published by the respective observerssome with and others without, the controverted division. Among those showing a black division were two very excellent ones-by Captain Jacob, of the East India Company's Madras Observatory, and Mr. De la Rue, of Londo:1. In the carly part of last year, while the matter stood thus, a paper, by Mr. John Watson, of Washington Chemical Works, was read before the Royal Astronomical Society,
in which the author reported having several times, with | his large telescope, not only seen the mark in question, but
that he was able to speak positively as to its real nature, viz., that it is not a division, but a mere belt, or streak similar in appearance to the belts which so conspicuously cover the balls of Jupiter and Saturn. Yet, Mr. Watson's evidence was to be weighed against a bulky mass on the other side, and was hardly considered conclusive. Capt. Jacob now writes from Madras, that, with the large telescope of that observatory, and in a fine atmosphere, 'He can fully coufirm the opinion expressed by Mr. Watson as to the nature of the mark on the vuter ring, viz., that it is not a division, but a mark or strcak; it is not at all difficult to see here; indeed, I cannot (he continued) look at Saturn, when the atmosphere is at all fit for observing, without seeing it. But, further, it is my opinion that the principal division, so called, is of the same nature, viz., at belt, or mark, and not a clear space or division ; for I not only see it of a brown hue, but can distinctly make out the shadow of the planet across it.' This is startling inform::tion for astroncmers."
WRITTEN BY A DEAF MUTE. LITTLE George is the youngest of our Sunday-school boys, but he never fails; he never comes too late ; his lesson is always committed well, and his books are kept in good order. When he rises on Sunday morning, nothing else occupies his mind but to get dressed and ready to go to the Sunday School. Some time since he fell sick, and looked very ill on Sunday morning, so that his mother wished to keep him at home; but he said, “I must go to school ; pray, mamma, let me go." At last he succeeded in getting permission to go.
That same morning he began to read, and when he returned home he did not look sick any more, but his eyes gleamed for joy because he had learned, “I cannot see God, but God can see me;" and immediately when he saw his mother he read to her, and showed her his lesson for the next Sunday. George has so rapidly advanced, that now he can read almost every word in his class-book. He has left all his former class-mates behind, and is now seated among boys who are much older than himself; and it is amusing to every body to see the little boy with his curly hair and clean dress, seated among those much bigger than himself.
“I WANT TO BE AN ANGEL."
And with the angels stand,
A harp within my hand;
So glorious and so bright,
And praise him day and night.
I never would be weary,
Nor ever shed a tear,
Nor ever feel a fear;
I'd dwell in Jesus' sight,
Praise him both day and night.
But Jesus will forgive,
Have gone to heaven to live ;
And lay me down to die,
And bear me to the sky.
BE YE ALSO READY. How many voices, on every side of us, speak these words! They float in the air, and ring out from the solid earth. The friend falling at our side, the neighbour across the street, the wayfarer on his journey, the pleasure-hunter in mid pursuit-these all say, "be ye also ready.” Were there ever such frequent, such terrible warnings as we have recently had ? Surely, Death has been a harvesting, and he has gathered fruit—and where ? it is not the feeble infant, whose flickering light expires in the vapour of some pestilential den, or before the epidemic blast ; nor the tired invalid whose thread of life is threaded and parted a blessed release-by his tossing long upon the weary bed ; nor the aged watcher at the grave's mouth, looking for the end of life's long exile from home--not these are they with whom Death has garlanded his brow. Nor has his gathering been a gleaning-one here and another there ; but he has put his sickle in among the thickest of the blades, and with one swing, filled his bosom with the fullest ears.
Yon boat bas steamed along that track a hundred times, and has borne a host of human beings safely over the waters. Why should there be danger ? No calamity has ever yet befallen her. Her officers are tried and true men, her appointments all complete. Her complement of passengers is full, and as various are their faces, so are the objects they pursue. One is in quest of gain-yonder is a family seeking a new dwelling place-some are travelling to see the world — others are returning to their homes from a distant journey-others, and of these there is a merry group and large, compose a bridal party, who are going to Fashion's favorite seat to spend the sultry months. How happy all seem ! One thinks of the hearts beating for his coming-another, anticipating his gains, builds his castles in the air-the emigrant, escaped from many a danger, and near his destination, feels buoyant now-the laugh, and jest, and gay repartee pass round among the happy pleasure-seekers, and there is no voice whispering at any heart, “ be ye also ready.” But, hark! the cry, “fire ! fire !" and a thick volume of smoke rolls up amidships, and the forked flame shoots out, darting its balefal light over that calm sea, beneath whose bosom many are, to sleep to.night.-0! what praying, what wailing, what' pressing to the life-boat, what haste to find something upon which to float away from instant death! Hear the splash, as one after another, driven before the fire, takes refuge in the water ! Wife and husband, father and son, in this battle for dear life, are parted forever; the child is at orphan now—the bride a widow-all the rescued, mourgers. Wife and children wait in vain for the returning father, the emigrant has found his last home, the worshipper of mammon and the seekers of pleasure now read their history in the light of eternity, and those saved have heard the voice, “be ye also ready.” Death has gathered. a rich harvest from among the gladdest, strongest, and most confident of living.
See the crowds pressing towards yon depot ! It is a gala day, and that long train of cars carries a rich freight of human hopes. If it go not safely thousands may mours
to-day. It speeds onward, and the children laugh, while mothers look on fondly, and the father's eye beams with pleasure, and the young friends speak of their hopes, and the silent old revolve a thousand thoughts that carry them even yet into a long future of happy life-when, hark ! the shrill whistle—and, in an instant, a crash, a shriek, the strong timbers are rent, the living mass is crushed to
gether as though an earthquake had taken them into its , vast jaws, or the mountains were grinding them, and the child and the mother, the strong man and the maiden lie disfigured, bleeding, mangled in the arms of death. The girl's gay laugh, the young man's jest, the child's prattle yet float in the air, and the oath of the profane has just reached the hearer, when, lo! there they all now lie, uttering in a voice louder than that laugh, or jest, or prattle, or oath,“ be ye also ready." Death is yet a harvesting. ! On that sea-girt isle, scarce elevated above the ocean
tides, many are congregated, fled to the fresh sea air for health or pleasure, or both, from the festering miasma of the city, or the unquenched heat of their inland homes. The time is passed in floating over or sporting among the gentle waves, or in pursuits aimless, except to pass the heavy hours, as in dance and song. There is no dream of death in all that throng, when, upon the eve of Sabbath they part from their pleasures to seek repose. But the moon rises heavily upon the earth. Yon clouds look ominous. The wind moans over & vast expanse of water, and the waves, with sullen roar, beat heavily in white surf along the sandy beach. The waters rise, and the wind, now a hurricane, wrenches the weakest houses from their frail foundations. The startled inmates flee to others, where each blast makes all tremble lest they be left roofless, or buried in the ruins. Whither shall they flee? On, on come the advancing waters. No boat can live in that tempest. Unless God stay the tide, the houses will be lifted by the flood. On, on the waters rise, The floors are bursting up. The houses sway and careen. Another blast strikes them, and they are broken like a toy. Thus one after another goes down, and the frightened few left,