had done, and formed another stratum, creeping along the bottom and coming again to the surface. Each color made a distinct circulation during the half hour that the experiment was under observation. Now this is an experiment that can be repeated in our parlors without going down to the Equator or up to the North pole; an additional proof that we often have the the very thing at our doors that we travel thousands of miles to find. Until the last four or five years the opinion prevailed that the ocean was barren of life at great depths. Continued researches, however, find that many forms and great profusion of life exists at a depth of two and three miles. This deep water life seems to be adapted to the low temperature near the freezing point of fresh water—and the forms are usually very small, requiring thousands to weigh a grain. There is an exuberance of that small animal known as globagerina-the little animal that secretes carbonate of lime for a covering, and makes pretty much all onr chalk beds. The well known "White Cliffs of England" were made by this little animal, and in the deeper portions of the Atlantic it is still at work. Some day when the ocean's bed is raised a few thousand feet these beds of chalk will appear and be exactly like the chalk of the cretacious period, so much talked of and written about by geologists. Again, there are other animals dredged lately in larger quantities at a great depth, 3,000 and 4,000 feet, belonging to the sponges. These are busy in making flints--or such material as flints are composed of. So we find in this large aquarium, the great sea, the same processes going on-the same material manufactured that took place in what is termed the older geological formation. Can we say that creation is complete? That the earth is finished, and, like a ship we read about the other day, to be disposed of for the old iron it contains? Not long since I visited a marble quarry, from which very curious and beautiful marble, resembling the onyx, was being taken. There were thick strata cropping out; and the air, and rain, and frost had disintegrated the exposed parts, so they looked as old as the earth. But just beneath, and in various places, were little springs of warm water, and as these bubbled out of the earth they deposited on cooling and exposure to the air, the same kind of marble--and there I saw going on the process of marble making that had continued doubtless for thousands of years. On the shores, in the tide, pools and lagoons of Monterey bay we often gather little plants classed with the Alga, or seamoss, which we call diatoms. They are exceedingly smallsome of them--so that we have to magnify them with the microscope several hundred diameters, in order to see how they are formed. Some kinds grow on the larger sea weeds, some on the rocks, and some appear to be free in the water, coming ashore in large quantities with the foam of the surf, and giving a greenish brown color to the sand of the shore. These diatoms are composed mainly of silex-flint. If we examine the rocks of our highest ridges and mountains and the cliffs of our shores in places, with the microscope, we shall find them largely composed of fragments of diatoms and spiculæ of sponges. And these are chifly of the same species that we find alive to-day. Thus while the "chalk rocks" on our shores, the sand stones and harder rocks are melting away under the pounding waves of the sea, and being carried to the lower bottoms, fresh supples of diatoms and sponges are mixed therewith, and we have a continuation, under our eyes, of what was begun thousands of years ago. Let us for a moment consider this fluid we call water, especially sea water. Chemically speaking, pure water is one of the rarest things-that is, water absolutely free from all foreign matter, divested of everything save hydrogen and oxygen in the combining proportions, by weight one part ot hydrogen to eight of oxygen; by volume, two of hydrogen to one of oxygen, we have pure water-an oxide of hydrogen. But absolutely pure r must be prepared in a vacuum, and it must never have con e tact with air of any kind. Pure water would be instantly fatal to any animal that had to breathe it with gills, as a fish, simply because it contains no oxygen in solution, which the animat can use to oxydize the blood in the gills. We in breathing air get oxygen by decomposing the air, but animals that breathe in water do not decompose the water, but take from it the free oxygen that is found mechanically mixed with the water. Pure water, being the standard of measurement of liquors and solids, is taken as one or one thousand. Sea water is 1,020, or near, whilst the water of the Dead Sea, or of lakes and seas with no outlet go as high as 1,225, or even to a point where they are saturated, or can not dissolve any more. Such is the case with the Great Salt Lake of Utah, and Mono Lake, of California. Water of this kind is not usually inhabited by any kind of gill breathing animals. How did the sea become salt? By ths washings out of the land, and the disintegration of the rocks by the elements, such as ice, wind, heat, rain, etc. The sun causes evaporation; so that the sea is being constantly lifted into the air and carried in the shape of clouds to the land, where it is drawn down and flows again into the sea. The solid matter carried down to the sea does not return. It remains in solution, or is deposited on the bottom. The clouds contain almost pure water. They distribute the visible ocean throughout the invisible air. The rocks and the trees, the animals and the air all receive their respective shares of water; and in the course of time it is returned to the sea. Were evaporation to continue at the present rate, it would require about 1,600 years before the ocean beds would become dry land. But in one way and another there is just as much water returned to the sea each year as is taken out. Not one drop is lost. The seas may change their beds they may flow where the forest now stands, and their waters may cover our highest mountains, and their bottoms may rise many hundred feet above their present level, and still there will not be one drop more or less of the great body of water that now covers more than two-thirds of the earth's surface. The sea will still claim its own. The water that floats to-day in the clouds may to-morrow course through some giant tree of the forest, or be taken up in forming a beautiful crystal, or aid in the bloom and fragrance of a flower, or be taken into the lungs of some animal and deprived of the oxygen that it holds in solution, or it may be converted into steam and propel a ship or a railroad train, or it may be buried under the earth in a bed of coal and only be set free some thousands of years hence. But like a wayward child it will return again to its mother-the sea. "Tho' the mills of God grind slowly, The deliberation, the minuteness, the exactness, the patience and the waiting of the grinding sea, and yet the magnificent, sublime result, are most beautifully exemplified to those who have "entered into the springs of the sea," or have "walked in search of the depth." The upper currents of the sea are comparatively shallow. Whilst the depth is often eight or nine miles, these currents in the deepest places do not extend more than 2,000 or 3,000 feet, and usually only a few fathoms. They move, however, when deep, with considerable velocity, say at the rate of four miles an hour, The great body of water lies below, totally undisturbed by any atmospheric agencies, yet moving slowly, invisibly, but sufficient to keep the equilibrium and level of the waters. So quietly does this great mass of the ocean pass over the bottom surface, that the smallest particle of microscopic matter that has fallen down, is not disturbed, and would remain there forever, but for the giant tread of the earthquake, or the volcanic explosion. The dust ground and deposited by the 'mills of God," makes the foundations of islands and continents. Although demonstrated that life organisms extend to the bottom at the deepest places, yet in the rapidly flowing current the busy activities of life are to be seen. There are plains and meadows, forests and deserts, hills, mountains and plateaus, in the sea. At some places the bottom teems with life. Take, for instance, what are called the “banks "—the fishing grounds of Norway, Ireland, Newfoundland, etc.; they are submarine plains unquestionably, and must have a high degree of fertility in order to supply food for the billions of fish of a voracious kind—as codfish, halibut, etc. These large fish feed on mollusca and crustacea, and these feed on smaller animals -but principally on Algæ or sea-weed. Feeding on pastures of this kind we sometimes find the most enormous animals. Steller's sea-cow is an instance. They are described as found by him in 1742, on Behring's Island, covered with a hide resembling the bark of an old oak tree. They grew to be thirty-five or forty feet long, and to weigh 50,000 pounds. They fed on the abundant Algæ along the coast. They yielded milk in abundance, which with their flesh were said by Steller to be superior to those of the cow, But if the sea map be considered as an aquarium, (that is, a body of water supporting animal and vegetable life), better expressed by the term aquavivarium-so may it be considered a cemetery, an aquamortuum. The life, so profuse, that takes into itself bodies of endless forms and sizes, finally yields them up to the sea, and they are buried in the bottom. There is no land where the sea has not been, and where "vestiges of creation" may not be found. If we ascend to the highest mountain, or descend to the lowest valley, behold there are diatoms, shells of mollusks, débris of corals, and bones of whales. Whence came they? Science can answer no better than Scripture: "The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; the world and they that dwell therein. For He hath founded it upon the seas and established it upon the floods." Beside the natural course of life and death, there are various ways by which the inhabitants of the sea may be suddenly destroyed. As, for instance: by the influx of fresh water; by volcanic agency; by earthquake waves; by storms; by suffocation when crowded into shoals, weeds, sand, etc.; being driven ashore by fishes of prey; too much or too little heat; diseases and parasites; poisons; lightning; and many other agencies. Although the sea is immense, it has bounds and limits; thus far and no farther, is the command of Him that made it. I am overpowered with the immensity of the subject. In trying to comprehend the whole it is impossible to see the minutia; or to compass within our limits one fairly developed idea. I think, however, we have arrived at a point of knowledge where we may answer an oft repeated question: "Why the Almighty has created so many insects, covering the earth, swarming in the air, or teeming in the waters?" They doubtless have many purposes, that in our dim knowledge we do not see, but they serve at least one important end; they are carbon makers, and without carbon no plant can grow, and without the plant what would become of the animal? So, to a certain extent our lives depend on the things which ofttimes only seem to annoy us. We are so ground in the mills of God, so built, linked and woven, so dependent and so cared for by the power that is in us, that the microscope can see nothing too small, that does not concern us in its use and sphere of action; and the telescope can behold no world so grand but it, too, may be considered only an aggregated expression of what we find in the miniature object. No organism that lives and dies in the sea is lost or wasted, and like the drops of water that are scattered and spread abroad over the universe, and are gathered again to the sea, so do all these forms of life that inhabit the deep serve an important purpose while living, and when the life has departed from their forms they leave their good works behind them in the shape of iron, lime, silica, and carbon, for the use and the convenience of other lives that succeed them. MY YEARS. By ADA IDDINGS GALE. O happy years! that pass and will not stay, I scarce can choose one out from all the rest, EIGHT CENTURIES WITH WALTER SCOTT. By WALLACE BRUCE. "The Monastery," "The Abbott," and " Kenilworth," are related to the most interesting period of Britain's history. The characters of Queen Elizabeth and Mary, Queen of Scots, stand out in bold relief. Representing, as they do, the Protestant and Catholic religions fiercely struggling for supremacy in Britain, it is not a matter of wonder or surprise that each has been painted, at different times, and by different historians, as angel and as fiend. After reading a score of histories and essays, the general reader, like the world at large, is undecided, unless he is fortunate, or unfortunate enough to have prejudices. According to one writer, the policy of Elizabeth, alike toward foreign nations and toward her own subjects, was one vast system of chicane and wrong; her life one of mischief and misery; her character below the standard of even the closing years of the sixteenth century. On the other hand she is the incarnation of all that is noble and heroic; she is hailed as the "Gloriana" of Spenser, and as Fair Vestal throned in the West," by Shak spere. ་་ In like manner Mary, her queenly cousin, with a French education calculated to prejudice her in the minds of her countrymen, appears in some histories as a second Lady Hamlet, forgetful of her son, with undue haste marrying the alleged murderer of her husband. Again, she appears entirely ignorant of the conspiracy against her husband; nay more, actually compelled by the Nobles of Scotland to take the hand of Bothwell; while the religious feeling was so bitter that her opponents circulated falsehood and forgery in order to poison the minds of her subjects. Probably no character in history has been the theme of more controversy; and while the English speaking world for the most part glories in the triumph of the Reformation, under the bold leadership of John Knox, in Scotland, and the resolute founders of the Established Church in England, it still turns with sympathy and compassion to the fate of the unfortunate queen, made interesting alike by her wit, her beauty and the mystery which always overhung her history. As Scott says: 'Her face, her form, have been so deeply impressed upon the imagination, that, even at the distance of nearly three centuries, it is unnecessary to remind the most ignorant and uninformed reader of the striking traits which characterize that remarkable countenance, which seems at once to combine our ideas of the majestic, the pleasing, and the brilliant, leaving us to doubt whether they express most happily the queen, the beauty, or the accomplished woman. Even those who feel themselves compelled to believe all, or much, of what her ene mies laid to her charge, can not think without a sigh, upon a countenance expressive of anything rather than the foul crimes with which she was charged when living, and which still continue to shade, if not to blacken her memory. That brow, so truly open and regal-those eyebrows, so regularly graceful, which yet were saved from the charge of regular insipidity by the beautiful effect of the hazel eyes which they overarched, and which seem to utter a thousand histories-the nose, with all its Grecian precision of outline--the mouth, so well proportioned, so sweetly formed, as if designed to speak nothing but what was delightful to hear-the dimpled chin, the stately swan-like neck form a countenance, the like of which we know not to have existed in any other character moving in that class of life where the actresses as well as the actors command general and undivided attention; and no small instance it is of the power of beauty, that her charms should have remained the subject not merely of admiration, but of warm and chivalrous interest, after the lapse of such a length of time." "The Monastery," which comes first in historic order, serves merely as a threshold to The Abbot." The general plan of the story was to closely associate two characters in that contentious age holding different views of the Reformation, both sincere, and both dedicated to the support of their own separate beliefs. The scene is laid in the valley of the Tweed, in the neighborhood of Melrose Abbey, which enjoyed for many years, even in the midst of border and national warfare, the immunities of peace. In the portrait of Julian Avenal we recall the fierce Laird of Black Ormiston, the friend and confidant of Bothwell, and his associate in Darnley's murder. The White Lady of Avenal-a sort of astral spirit, neither fairy nor Brownie, but made up of many elements more Persian than Gothic-can only be excused as part and parcel of the superstition of the times; and the portrayal of Sir Percy Shafton is in no way edifying, save as a satire upon that dudish portion of humanity, the excrescence of that school of Euphuists which took its rise with Sir John Lilly in the age of Elizabeth, and blossomed out again but yesterday in the full blown sunflower of modern estheticism. It is remarkable how history repeats itself, not only in noble deeds and high daring, but also in the social expression of dress and language. In "The Abbot" we find the government of Scotland almost entirely in the hands of the Protestant party; the queen a captive in Lochleven Castle; the regent Murray, half brother of the queen, at once governor and dictator. The monasteries are demolished, in some cases through religious zeal, in other cases as an act of jealousy and policy; the bold spirit of Knox, which dared to raise its voice in behalf of individual rights and conscience, permeates Scotland. The pulpit becomes a powerful engine for affecting the masses. The Catholics look to France and to Spain for help, and the Protestants to Holland. The prophecy is literally iulfilled: "Nation divided against nation, brother against brother;" the outgrowth of that uncompromising religion of Right, which came not to "bring peace, but a sword." The first pages of "The Abbott" portray life in the feudal castle of Julian Avenal, a retainer of the Protestant regent. In the strict character of Minister Warden we have a sketch of the preacher of the period, thoroughly in earnest, exceedingly austere, who seldom jested, believing that "life was not lent to us to be expended in idle mirth, which resembles the crackling of thorns under the pot." We see the ruins of costly shrines and sainted springs, and, in the midst of desolation, hear the eloquent lamentations of mourners pouring out their sorrow like the prophets and poets of old over their lost Jerusalem. We come upon a party of mummers, headed by the "Abbot of Unreason," desecrating the high altar of St. Mary, turning the ritual of the church into ridicule, emphasizing a custom which was not wholly discouraged at stated intervals by the clergy in their day of power; a custom inherited perhaps from the Roman carnival, tolerated alike by the Greek and Romish churches. We are conveyed to Edinburgh, then as now, the most picturesque city of Europe; we see the intrigues of the court; we witness a melée in the streets between the Leslies and the Seytons, and it is not until we are half through the volume that we are introduced to Queen Mary, the Captive, about whom the whole interest of the story gathers. We see her in an island fortress of the Douglas, confronting with haughty eloquence the stern Melville, Ruthven and Lindsey, sent by the regent to obtain her signature to renounce all right to the throne of Scotland. We hear the plea of both sides distinctly stated, and transcribe a passage which throws light upon the question at issue: "Madam," said Ruthven, "I will deal plainly with you. Your reign, from the dismal field of Pinkiecleuch, when you were a babe in the cradle, till now that you stand a grown dame before us, hath been such a tragedy of losses, disasters, civil dissensions and foreign wars, that the like is not to be found in our chronicles. The French and English have, with one consent, made Scotland the battle-field on which to fight out their own ancient quarrel. For ourselves, every man's hand hath been against his brother, nor hath a year passed over without rebellion and slaughter, exile of nobles, and oppressing of the commons. We may endure it no longer, and, therefore, as a prince to whom God hath refused the gift of hearkening to wise counsel, and on whose dealings and projects no blessing hath ever descended, we pray you to give way to other rule and governance of the land, that a remnant may yet be saved to this distracted realm." “My Lord,” said Mary, "It seems to me that you fling on my unhappy and devoted head those evils, which, with far more justice, I may impute to your own turbulent, wild, and untamable dispositions—the frantic violence with which you, the magnates of Scotland, enter into feuds against each other, sticking at no cruelty to gratify your wrath, taking deep revenge for the slightest offenses, and setting at defiance those wise laws which your ancestors made for stanching of such cruelty, rebelling against the lawful authority, and bearing yourselves as if there were no king in the land; or rather as if each were king in his own premises. And now you throw the blame on me-on me, whose life has been embittered—whose sleep has been broken—whose happiness has been wrecked by your dissensions. Have I not myself been obliged to traverse wilds and mountains, at the head of a few faithful followers, to maintain peace and to put down oppression? Have I not worn harness on my person, and carried pistols in my saddle, fain to lay aside the softness of a woman, and the dignity of a queen, that I might show an example to my followers?'' We see the queen at last, under compulsion, and with hasty indifference, subscribe the roll of parchment; the boat containing the three envoys turns its bow toward Edinburgh, and the square tower of Lochleven holds a desolate heart, and a queen without a throne. The winter months go by, a long monotony, now and then relieved by sharp encounters of wit and sarcasm between Queen Mary and her keeper, the Lady Douglas, proprietress of the castle. We hear among her attendants whisperings of escape from the hated prison; we see George Douglas, moved by her beauty and gracious art, no longer her jailer, but a friend aiding in the attempt; we see in Scott's graphic description the most minute and accurate account presented in any narrative or history, of the successful adventure after the first failure. We see her in that disastrous battle at Langside, where her followers were driven back by the regent's forces, and hear the queen's sad words, more sad because so literally true, as she pronounced them over the dead body of the young Douglas: 'Look-look at him well," said the queen, "thus has it been with all who loved Mary Stuart !—The royalty of Francis, the wit of Chastelar, the power and gallantry of the gay Gordon, the melody of Rizzio, the portly form and youthful grace of Darnley, the bold address and courtly manners of Bothwell-and now the deep-devoted passion of the noble Douglas-naught could save them-they looked on the wretched Mary, and to have loved her was crime enough to deserve early death! No sooner had the victims formed a kind thought of me, than the poisoned cup, the ax and block, the dagger, the mine, were ready to punish them for casting away affection on such a wretch as I am!" Defeated at every point the crownless queen turns for deliverance to Queen Elizabeth. In her great extremity it did not occur to her that she might risk her liberty and perhaps imperil her life by asking the hospitality of England. Ere she took the fatal step her friends and counselors kneeled at her feet and entreated her to go anywhere but there; but their entreaties were in vain; she crossed the Solway, gave herself up to the English deputy warden, and was lodged for the time in Carlisle Castle. Elizabeth, as Scott says in his "Tales of a Grandfather," had two courses in her power, alike just and lawful; to afford her the succor petitioned for, or the liberty to depart from her dominions as she had entered them, voluntarily. But great as she was upon other occasions of her reign, she acted on the present from mean and envious motives. She saw in the fugitive a princess who possessed a right of succession to the crown of England. She remembered that Mary had been her rival in accomplishments; and certainly she did not forget that she was her superior in youth and beauty. Elizabeth treated her not as a sister and friend in distress, but as an enemy over whom circumstances had given her power. She determined upon reducing her to the condition of a captive. It is a question whether Elizabeth had a right to take cognizance of the charges against Mary. As a matter of fact her guilt was not proven when she demanded her first trial, and Elizabeth so states it over her own signature; but Mary was transported from castle to castle until the ax and the block at Fotherengay concluded the tragedy of her life. As in "The Abbot," so in Kenilworth" the principal personage of the story-Queen Elizabeth-is not introduced until the story is well under way. In fact, we are introduced to the characters in the inverse ratio of their prominence. The curtain rises on a swaggering soldier of fortune in a country inn -a fit accomplice and lackey of Sir Richard Varney, perhaps the most despised villain in the pages of fiction. Anthony Foster comes next, a snivelling hypocrite, willing to coin soul and body for money. The stately Earl of Leicester, and his noble rival, the Earl of Essex, with gorgeous retinue pass along the stage before us; and the palace doors open at last upon Queen Elizabeth and her court. In the meantime we have caught glimpses, through the prison doors, of Anthony Foster's dilapidated mansion, of the poor deluded Amy Robsart-the wedded but not acknowledged wife of the Earl of Leicester; we note the grief and manhood of her former lover, Tressilian, vainly entreating her to return to her home, where her brokenhearted father sits by his lonely fireside, too wretched and broken in spirit to find relief in tears. The story of "Amy Robsart," as here presented, is almost literally true to fact, although Scott has introduced dramatic incidents not found in the history. In the introduction Scott quotes at length the foundation of the story, as given in Ashmole's "Antiquities of Berkshire: " "Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, a very goodly personage, and singularly well featured, being a great favorite to Queen Elizabeth, it was thought and commonly reported, that had he been a bachelor or widower, the queen would have made him her husband; to this end to free himself of all obstacles, he commands his wife to repose herself at Anthony Foster's house; and also prescribed to Sir Richard Varney, that he should first attempt to poison her, and if that did not take effect, then by any other way whatsoever to despatch her. The same accusation has been adopted and circulated by the author of Leicester's Commonwealth, and alluded to in the Yorkshire Tragedy." Scott also quotes an old ballad, written by Mickle, called Cumnor Hall," in which the fair Amy bewails her fate: The dew of summer night did fall; Now naught was heard beneath the skies, That issued from that lonely pile. "Leicester," she cried, "is this thy love The village maidens of the plain Nor think a Countess can have woe. The simple nymphs! they little know We are introduced to Queen Elizabeth at the palace gate as she takes her royal barge for a morning's trip upon the Thames and it is here that Scott introduces with grace the well-known incident of Sir Walter Raleigh placing his mantle upon the ground before the queen to save Her Majesty's slippers. We see her attempting to reconcile the difference between Leicester and Essex, who bow for the time before her haughty will; and we wonder that her proud spirit, which brooked no opposition, could stop in the midst of state affairs to receive as flattery an allusion to tresses of gold braided in a metaphor of sunbeams; while Leicester, tottering upon the precipice of infamy, by false eloquence brings a blush to her cheek, and conjures her to strip him of all his power, but to leave him the name of her servant. "Take from the poor Dudley," he exclaimed, "all that your bounty has made him, and bid him be the poor gentleman he was when your grace first shone on him; leave him no more than his cloak and his sword, but led him still boast he has-what in word and deed he never forfeited-the regard of his adored Queen and mistress!" But it is in the Halls of Kenilworth, where we trace in Scott's picture at once the greatness and weakness of the woman and the queen. We are introduced to the stately castle which Scott describes with the love of an antiquarian-a lordly structure composed of a huge pile of magnificent castellated buildings, apparently of different ages, revealing in its armorial bearings "the emblems of mighty chiefs who had long passed away and, whose history, could Ambition have lent ear to it, might have read a lesson to the haughty favorite, who had now acquired and was augmenting the fair domain." Amid these princely halls, where the clocks for seven days point to the hour of noon as if to indicate one continual banquet, we trace the misery of those who hang on princes' favors. The picture is a revelation of the frailty of all human aspirations; and we close the volume recalling the words of Burns: "It's no, in titles or in rank, It's no, in wealth like London bank To purchase peace or rest. If happiness has not her seat We may be wise or rich or great, IS THERE not an evening to every day? Comes not the morning back again after the most terrific night? Sometimes I have thought-the sun can never rise again; and yet it came back again with its early dawn. The time passes cold and indifferent over us-it knows nothing of our sorrows-it knows nothing of our joys; it leads us with ice-cold hand deeper and deeper into the labyrinth; at last allows us to stand still-we look around and can not guess where we are.-Tieck. ASTRONOMY OF THE HEAVENS FOR MARCH. BY PROF. M. R. GOFF. THE SUN. This month, on the 1st, we can obtain mean or clock time by making our clocks indicate 12:12 p. m. when the sun crosses our meridian; on the 15th, by making our time pieces 12:09 p. m.; and on the 31st, by making them show 12:04 p. m. On the 1st, 15th, and 31st, the sun rises at 6:33, 6:11, and 5:44 a. m., and sets at 5:52, 6:07, and 6:24 p. m., respectively. And on the same dates, daybreak occurs at 4:58, 4:35, and 4:04 a. m., and end of evening twilight at 7:27, 7:43, and 8:03 p. m., res pectively. On the 19th, at 361⁄2 minutes after 11:00 p. m. the sun "crosses the line" (that is, on its journey northward, crosses the equator), and we are accustomed to say that it enters the sign Aries, and spring commences. During this month we have also one of the five eclipses of this year. This one occurs on the 27th, and on such a portion of the earth's surface as to render it invisible to most of our readers, being confined to a region within 42° of the North Pole, and embracing the North Pole, North Sea, Baltic Sea, Gulf of Bothnia, and the Scandinavian Peninsula. In Washington mean time, it begins on the 27th at 10:20.4 a. m., in longitude 9° 28.2′ east, latitude 54° 11.5' north; greatest eclipse occurs at 11:10.5 a. m., in longitude 7° 50.1′ west, latitude 72° 5′ north; and eclipse ends at six minutes after 12:00 p. m., in longitude 103° 54.3′ west, latitude 87° 12.8′ north. This eclipse will excite little or no interest among astronomers, since the shadow cast by the moon hides only a small portion (about 1-7) of the sun's disc, and will not afford any opportunity for observing the sun's corona and the colored prominences (seen till lately only in total eclipses) which have been a source of so much interest and speculation to the scientific world. It may, indeed, not be saying too much to assert that hereafter eclipses of the sun may be looked upon as something to exercise the mathematical ability of students, and not as a means of obtaining a knowledge of the physical properties of that body. For it has already been demonstrated that the colored prominences may be examined at any time when the sun can be seen; and it is believed that Mr. Huggins has accomplished the difficult feat of photographing the corona, so that it too may be scrutinized at leisure. The importance of this discovery can be approximately estimated when we remember that, as Mr. Proctor asserts, "adding together all the minutes of total solar eclipse during an entire century, we obtain a period of about eight days during which the corona can be observed." THE MOON Offers nothing special this month, except as noted, its interference with the sun's light. Her phases will occur in the following order: 1st quarter, on the 4th, at 8:25 a. m.; full moon on 11th, at 2:32 p. m.; last quarter on 19th, at 6:05 p. m., and new moon on 27th, at 12:39 p. m. In case we have failed to set our clock by the sun, we may do so by the moon, which will cross the meridian on the 1st, at 3:36 p. m.; on the 15th, at 2:37 a. m., and on the 31st, at 4:20 p. m. On the 16th, at 11:18 p. m., she will be furthest from the earth; on the 28th, at 8:18 p. m., nearest the earth; and on the 4th, farthest from the horizon; that is in latitude 41° 30′, the elevation is 67° 19′. Inferior Planets. Inferior planets are those whose orbits are inside that of the earth. The first, whose mean distance from the sun may be put down as thirty-five millions of miles, is called MERCURY. It has one peculiarity; it twinkles like a star. In this respect it differs from all the other planets. Its nearness to the sun has led some astronomers to believe that the temperature is very uneven, that "every six weeks on an average there is a change of temperature nearly equal to the difference between frozen quicksilver and melted lead." But later discoveries indicate that temperature dependent on the sun's rays is influenced much more by the media through which the rays pass, or by which they are absorbed, than the proximity of the sun; and hence Professor Langley argues that Mercury might be a giobe on which people like ourselves could have the proper degree of heat to sustain life. Our calendar for Mercury for this month is as follows: On the 1st, it rises at 5:50 a. m.; on 15th, at 5:54 a. m.; and on 31st, at 5:57 a. m. On the same dates it sets as follows: 3:52, 4:52 and 6:25 p. m. On the 30th it will be in superior conjunction with the sun, that is, in a line with the sun and earth, but having the sun between it and the earth. Up to this last date it will be morning star; after that, evening star. On the The 26th, at 9:11 p. m., it will be 3° 25′ south of the moon. only other inferior planet with which we are acquainted is called Venus. VENUS Will increase in brilliancy every day this month; but will not shine its brightest till about the third of June. Its time for setting will be as follows: On the 1st, 8:58 p. m.; on the 15th, at 9:28 p. m.; and on the 31st, at 10:03 p. m. Its motion will be direct, and amount to 34° 34′ 37.35′′. Its diameter will increase from 14.6" at the beginning of the month to 17.8" on the 31st. On the 27th, at 9 p. m., it will be in conjunction with and 3° 34′ north of Neptune. Superior Planets. Superior planets are those whose orbits are outside that of the earth, and which are as a consequence, farther from the sun than the earth is. So far as we now know, all the planets except Mercury and Venus, are in the class "superior." The first of these going outwardly from the sun is called MARS, Whose bright ruddy face, growing smaller every day, as it gradually moves away from us and the sun, is still distinctly visible, being above the horizon from 2:19 p. m., on the 1st, to 5:11 a. m., on the 2nd; from 1:21 p. m. on the 15th, to 4:11 a. m., on the 16th; and from 12:30 p. m. on the 31st, to 3:12 a. m. on April 1st. During the month its diameter decreases from 13.2' to Io. Up to the 12th, its motion is retrograde 56′ 36.6." From that date to the end of the month, its motion is 1° 59′ 6.3′′ direct. On the 12th it is stationary; or, at least, appears so. On the 22nd, it reaches its farthest point from the sun. It had often been surmised that Mars had a satellite; but it was not until after the 11th of August, 1877, that this supposition gave place to certainty. On the night of the date mentioned, Professor Asaph Hall discovered, a little east of the planet, a small object, which proved on further investigation to be a small body making a revolution in about twenty-nine hours, or as afterward appeared, in thirty hours eighteen minutes. Soon after was seen still closer to Mars an object which proved to be another satellite making a revolution about its primary in seven hours and thirty-nine minutes. These satellites not only make their revolutions in the shortest time, but are the least known heavenly bodies; the diameter of the outer one being estimated by Professor Newcomb at from five to twenty miles, and that of the inner at from ten to forty miles, the entire surface being little if any larger than the "ranches" of some of our western "farmer," or "cattle kings." Between Mars and Jupiter, there was in 1801 discovered a small planet to which was given the name Ceres; in 1802, another named Pallas; in 1804 another named Juno, and in 1807, another named Vesta. From 1807 to 1845, discovery in that region seemed to cease; but since 1845 not less than two hundred and twenty of these bodies have been found and named, and are now called by the general name |