WERE a city in the heart of Africa bombarded by an enemy employing the deadly projectiles of modern warfare, it would be possible for the besieged, though they had never before seen such objects, to discover, when picking them up, a unity of purpose. The Armstrong bolt and the Minié bullet, however different in appearance, would be found to be essentially the same in structure and design. Both are alike constructed to pass through the air with the least resistance. The marks of the rifling would tell the inquirer that this contrivance served the same purpose as the feathering of his own arrow steadiness of flight. Were he to examine the Moorsom and the Armstrong shells, he would find a corresponding similarity, with the same object to be served-the bursting of the shell at the moment of striking. Amidst the diversity he would discover unity of plan. It is this synthesis of diverse elements that communicates such a charm to the study of the works both of God and man. The child takes a delight in tracing fanciful resemblances. The matured mind finds its enjoy. ment in discovering latent but real analogies; and to the devout mind, these analogies are so many steps of the pyramid, leading to the apex-the divine unity that synthetizes all diversity in nature.

We have already examined the structure of the sun. We have pried into the central furnace, and seen how curiously complicated its structure is. We have seen its surging flames, and the edges of its concentric strata, appearing like the bars of a mighty furnace. Our object is now to show that the sun and planets belong to the same family, however diverse they appear to be. We speak of the sun as if separated from the planets by a wide gulf, and as if belonging to a totally distinct class of bodies; but we shall find more points of resemblance than of difference.

The central position of the sun may seem to claim for it a distinctive character, but it is really only the last of a series. The link that terminates a chain, is nothing more than a link. The innermost case of a mummy is only a mummy case, though painted with brighter hieroglyphics. The last of a nest of boxes enclosing a jewel, though immediately enveloping the precious object, is only one of the set. The centre of the solar system is the jewel, and the sun revolves around it just as the planets do. The only difference is, that its circle is the narrowest.

It may be urged that the structure and constitution of the sun completely separate it from the planets, but there is evidence to show that there is a type to which the planets and the sun equally belong. The sun, no doubt, is an intense furnace, while the planets are in themselves dark bodies, but the structure may be still alike. If you saw only one furnace in action at an iron-work, you would not conclude that the others, which have been put out, belong to a quite different class of buildings. The hot-blast apparatus, the tuyeres, the furnace-bars, the well, and the slag before the furnace, would at once show the purpose of the erection, and prove that it had been used as a furnace. Though the sun is now the only body of the system in active operation as a furnace, there are evident indications that the planets were at one time incandescent bodies. Geology gives abundant proof of igneous action in our globe at a former period, and we have reason to believe that we now stand on a crust floating on a molten sea. When we look to the moon, we find innumerable extinct volcanoes, like so many furnaces in an iron district, put out by a general strike. The other planets do not allow us to see their minuter features, but analogy fairly leads to the conclusion they were all at one time active furnaces.

The concentric envelopes of the sun is by no means a distinctive feature, or one that should separate it from the family of planets. The rings of Saturn are only a special case of this concentricity, the ring being merely a flattened sphere. The envelopes of the sun are somewhat flattened, and Saturn's rings are only an extreme case. The spherical mop, when twirled, becomes a flat ring, so that the mere circumstance of motion explains the difference. The sun has indeed a ring similar to one of Saturn's. The zodiacal light is believed to be a zone of matter encircling the sun, just as the new nebulous ring encircles Saturn. The earth also affords an example of the concentric structure. In an eclipse of the moon, an inhabitant of that body would behold a spectacle similar to what is presented in a solar eclipse. He would see a faint corona, and, along the margin of the earth, he would see a copper-coloured stratum, with prominences like the rose-coloured shell of the sun, this stratum being the lower regions of the air loaded with moisture and clouds; and were he to see down through the crust of the earth, he would in all probability discover a concentric arrangement of the interior.

In the case of Jupiter and Saturn, it is obvious that we see only the outer shell, within which the bodies of the planets are concealed. The disk of Jupiter presents very singular phenomena. There are indications of constant commotion, and the markings of the belts often present very perplexing forms, of which no account can be given. We only know that the visible disk is not a fixed and solid crust. It is like the visible envelope of the sun, which conceals the solid nucleus in its interior. There is no evidence that we have ever as yet seen the kernel within the outer shell of Jupiter. The usual explanation of the dark belts of Jupiter is, that they are the more transparent parts of Jupiter's atmosphere, while the brighter parts are the region of clouds which reflect the light more abundantly. In this hypothesis we see the body of the planet down through the transparent region of dark belts ; but it is more probable, that in the dark belts we see only a part of an interior shell, and that the real body may lie far beneath. The dark belts would, in this way, correspond to the penumbra of the spots in the sun, which is only an uncovered part of the stratum immediately under the luminous envelope. Jupiter is by far the largest of the planets, and yet it may have only a small solid nucleus. Though taken as a whole, Jupiter is not heavier than a sphere of water of the same size, we can readily suppose the real body of the planet to be of much heavier matter. It may be compared to a bullet of lead forming the core of a sphere of cork. Dr. Whewell's argument then is of no force, when he holds that Jupiter can only be the abode of molluscs, and other lower forms of life suited to a watery abode. Even though the body of Jupiter had only the density of water, it would not at all be necessary to assume that it must necessarily be fluid, for we know of many solid substances as light as water; but there is no necessity for holding that its density is only that of water. The Jovial ball may be as dense as that of the earth, and may afford to the teeming inhabitants as sure a footing as our roads and streets.

How astonishing must the sight of Saturn have been to Galileo when he first descried its strange form! It was, however, long before the character of the monstrosity was understood. As small a power as that which Galileo used, is sufficient to convince any one at the present day that there is a ring round the body of the planet, yet Galileo did not see a ring. He called the parts of the ring projecting on each side of the planet ansæ, as they appeared like the two handles of an ancient vase. We may see nothing more at the present day, and yet every schoolboy would at once know that they are only the ends of a ring seen obliquely, and would maintain that he was indebted only to his sight. This is only one illustration of a thou sand that, for what we see around us, we are as much indebted to the intellect as to the eye. The organ of sense gives only skeleton forms, which the intellect and imagination fill up. When showing objects through a microscope to one unaccustomed to the use of it, you are sometimes astonished that he does not see what is so obvious to yourself; but the mere objective nucleus is unmeaning unless the previously trained mind can clothe it with significance. It is sometimes matter of surprise that men, living amongst the beautiful and interesting scenes of nature, should be totally uninfluenced by them; but the truth is, the objects that interest us may not be really seen by them. For thousands of years the spots on the sun, and the zodiacal light, must have impressed an image on the human retina, and yet we have no evidence that they were ever really seen till modern times. Another case, still more in point, is the obscure and innermost ring of Saturn. It must have been often pictured on the retina of observers, and yet it was not really seen till a few years ago. Some, indeed, suppose that it must have been developed in recent times, but the ordinary laws of observation furnish us with a much more natural explanation. When the rings of Saturn were fairly descried, the structure of the planet must have appeared still more marvellous. How contrary to all preconceived notions of the stars! But no sooner is the human mind struck with astonishment, than it seeks to divest the object of wonder, of its singularity. There is an instinct that makes us seek for points of similarity. The idea of one presiding intelli gence leads us to the conviction, that however strange the phenomenon may be, it must be in har mony with the other works of God, and this not merely in reference to adaptation but to style. Every architect must conform to certain structural rules, without which he cannot erect any edifice. And we shall find design and adaptation in every building; but, over and above this, there is the undefinable idea of style, and we expect amidst all diversity to detect the manner of the man of genius. Genius confers a unity on works of the most diverse structure and design. We expect to find this unity in the style of God's works apart from mere adap tation. But is it possible to detect a unity of structure in the solar system when we have the singular and startling exception of Saturn? Is it really in gear with the other parts of the solar sys tem, as far as style is concerned? It is to this interesting point we would now address ourselves.

Laplace attempted to establish a unity and a

type by means of the nebular hypothesis. He conceived a mode by which the planets were manufactured, as the potter fashions artistic vases from the shapeless mass of clay. But our design is not to imagine a unity of process or development, but to detect a unity of result. We can detect the predominating style of Wren, though we are quite ignorant as to the precise mode of operation adopted by him in rearing St. Paul's and other edifices. So in the architecture of the solar system we can discover a typal plan altogether independent of any theory of evolution. In like manner, we are not obliged to adopt the theories of Lamarck and Darwin in order to accept the fact of archetypes in natural history. Owen's results are altogether | independent of all such theories.

Is there, then, apart from all theories of development, a general style of architecture in the solar system to which the structure of Saturn conforms? We think there is, and that there is a traceable gradation of distinctive characters through all the planets. The fish is the lowest form of the vertebrate type of animals, and the scale upwards to man is marked by the differentiation of limbs. They are undeveloped in the fish, and they rise to perfection, through innumerable steps, up to the human species. Comparing the solar with the vertebrate system, the moon, with its naked ball may represent the undeveloped form of the fish, and Saturn the highest form of vertebrate animals. When we speak of the typical perfection of a planet, we do not at all refer to its adaptation to life. We mean merely the degree in which the distinguishing characteristics of a general style is exhibited. The grand characteristic is the concentricity of structure, which we before traced in the sun. In the sun, we have seen that there are successive envelopes or shells around the core. Three of these were detected before the last eclipse, and the phenomena of the eclipse have clearly established another envelope of rose-coloured matter; and, extending beyond this stratum, there is the corona, which is, most probably, the atmosphere in which all the others are suspended, like strata of clouds at different heights in our atmosphere. We have reason to believe that Saturn, as well as Jupiter, is constructed on a similar plan, and that his belts are indications of an internal envelope. But does the similarity between the sun and Saturn cease here? By no means: the grand peculiarity of Saturn has its analogue in the sun. Saturn has a series of concentric rings, but so has the sun. Where are they? it will be asked: we have no hesitation in answering that the zone of asteroids between Mars and Jupiter, as well as the zodiacal light, are fairly analagous. Take the bright rings of Saturn, and let us compare it with the zone of asteroids. These rings have all the appearance of being solid rigid bodies, when you take only a cursory glance, but on more minute inspection, proofs leading to an opposite conclusion will be found. There is only one large dark division, but a smaller one at both ends of the ansa, dividing the outer ring into two, is sometimes seen. The views, however, are so capricious, that the observer is naturally led to the conclusion, that there are changes going on in the constitution of the rings. Again, some have observed a structure in the

whole breadth of the rings, similar in appearance to a flat coil of rope, or the ribbed texture of corduroy, rendering it probable that the rings are composed of small bodies closely packed and arranged like concentric strings of beads laid flat on a table. The bodies, on this hypothesis, have no rigid connexion, and move in independent orbits. They are, however, so closely packed together, that they appear as one body. The zone of the asteroids quite corresponds to this. Fiftyfive have already been discovered, and it is probable, from the rate of discovery, that there are thousands upon thousands within the circumscribed zone. To an eye properly situated, and at a sufficient distance, this zone would appear as a faint ring. If more compressed,. they would be bright like the rings of Saturn. These asteroids are probably of every size. Some are large as a kingdom or a county, others are miniature worlds, of the size of Arthur's Seat; and some may dwindle down to the magnitude of a cannon-ball. We may suppose them so arranged as to leave gaps corresponding to the divisions of Saturn's rings.

It

Again, the obscure ring of Saturn may be compared to the zodiacal light. It will be seen from the cut at the head of our article, that the recently discovered ring is transparent, as the limb of the disk is seen through it. It is most probably composed of some discrete substance like dust, as it does not comport itself like a gaseous body. This is probably also the constitution of the zodiacal light. This is another ring or zone nearer the sun, the boundaries of which are not well defined. is shaped somewhat like a quoit. The sun being in the middle of the central hole, we see only the edge of it when it appears to rise at sunset as a long cone from the horizon. The generally received opinion is, that it is composed of meteoric bodies, or bodies that become incandescent when they come in contact with our atmosphere, and, as we pass through this zone twice every year, there are two annual periods known as very productive of meteoric displays. To an eye at a great distance, the sun would appear as surrounded with two faint rings, with a wide, dark space between, while the outer ring, or that of the asteroids, would likely be subdivided by smaller black lines.

The calculations of Leverrier, and the discovery of Lescorbault, render it very probable that there is a zone of planets or asteroids near the sun, so as to form a third faint ring encircling the sun.

The next marked example of the concentric structure, is furnished by comets. In a former paper we showed that this was one of their most striking features. In this case we see the very formation of the strata or envelopes. They grow before our eyes, and afford a type of the structure of the more solid bodies of the solar system.

refined, and idiomatic, it bears upon it no local, no sectarian trace, and of those who have attained to it we can only say "These men are Galileans, and their speech agreeth thereto."

"There is a principle which is pure, placed in the human mind, which in different places and ages hath had different names; it is however pure, and proceeds from God. It is deep and inward, confined to no forms of religion nor excluded from any, when the heart stands in perfect sincerity. whomsoever this takes root and grows they become brethren."

In

John Woolman, the writer of these words, was born in Northampton, Barlington County, West Jersey, U.S., in the year 1720. He was one of the people called Quakers, one of those Friends who have so often and so perseveringly shown themselves friendly to suffering, oppressed humanity. He opens his journal of his life and ministry very simply.

He

"Before I was seven years old," he says, "I began to be acquainted with the working of Divine love. Through the care of my parents I was taught to read nearly as soon as I was capable of it, and as I went from school one day, I remember that while my companions were playing by the way I went forward out of sight, and sitting down, I read the 22d chapter of the Revelation, showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.' In reading it my mind was drawn to seek after that pure habitation which I then believed God had prepared for his servants. The place where I sat, and the sweetness that attended my mind, remain fresh in my memory. This, and the like gracious visitations, had such an effect on me that when boys used ill language it troubled me, and through the continued mercies of God I was preserved from that evil.

"About the twelfth year of my age, my father being abroad, my mother reproved me for some misconduct to which I made an undutiful reply. The next First-day, as I was returning with my father from meeting, he told me that he understood I had behaved amiss to my mother, and advised me to be more careful in future. I knew myself blameable, and in shame and confusion remained silent. Being thus awakened to a sense of my wickedness, I felt remorse in my mind, and on getting home I retired and prayed to the Lord to forgive me, and I do not remember that I ever afterwards spoke unhandsomely to either of my parents, however foolish in some other things."

"Sweet is the holiness of youth." Yet one other anecdote of his childhood, interesting as showing the native tenderness of the heart in which in after days compassion was to spring up as a well whose waters fail not.

"On going to a neighbour's house, I saw, on the way, a robin sitting on her nest, and as I came near she went off, but having young ones she flew about and with many cries expressed her concern for them. I stood and threw stones at her, and one striking her she fell down dead. At first I was pleased with the exploit, but after a few minutes was seized with horror at having in a sportive way killed an innocent creature while she was careful for her young. I beheld her lying dead, and thought

those young ones for whom she was so careful must now perish for want of their dam to nour ish them. After some painful considerations, I climbed up the tree, took all the young birds and killed them, supposing that better than to leave them to pine away and die miserably. I then went on my errand, and for some hours could think of little else but the cruelties I had committed."

"Heaven lies about us in our infancy," but the passing out of childhood into youth is a transition ever full of danger. John Woolman speaks of this time as of a season in which, "while he was preserved from profane language or scandalous conduct, he yet perceived within himself a plant that produced many wild grapes." He speaks of youthful vanities and diversions making serious reflections uneasy to him; of the Word of God "which is as a fire and a hammer, melting and breaking in pieces a rebellious heart; of deep contrition, of renewed engagements with heaven,-yet of repeated declension, "vanity being added to vanity, and repentance to repentance," so that he tells us, writing in his thirty-sixth year, "While I meditate on the gulf towards which I then travelled, and reflect on my youthful disobedience, for these things I weep, mine eye runneth down with water."

Yet the conflict, if a keen one, was soon over. “About the age of eighteen years,” he says, “I felt the judgments of God in my soul like a consuming fire. I was often sad and longed to be delivered from these vanities. I resolved totally to leave off some of them, but for the more refined part of them there was a secret reserve in my heart; my will was unsubjected, which rendered my labours fruitless, and for many months I had great troubles. At length, through the merciful continuance of heavenly visitations, I was made to bow down in spirit before the Lord. One evening I had spent some time in reading a pious author and walking out alone; I humbly prayed to the Lord for His help that I might be delivered from the vanities which so ensnared me. Thus being brought low He helped me, and as I learned to bear the cross I felt refreshment to come from His presence. Yet though I had been thus strengthened, I still found myself in great danger, having many weaknesses attending me and strong temptations to wrestle with, the sense of which greatly affecting me, I sought deserts and lonely places, and there with tears did confess my sins to God and humbly craved his help. And I may say with reverence He was near me in my troubles, and in those times of humiliation opened my ear to discipline."

"I was now led to look seriously at the way by which I was drawn from the pure truth, and learned that if I would live such a life as the faithful servants of God lived, I must not go into company as heretofore in my own will, but all the cravings of sense must be governed by a divine principle. In times of sorrow and abasement these instructions were sealed upon me, and I felt the power of Christ prevail over selfish desires, so that I was now preserved in a good degree of steadiness."

And never surely was that great transfer of allegiance-"the exchange of the will of man for a better one," the passing out of self into Christ, the setting of the feet in a large room-more fitly,