tion, and not an entirely unpractical one. It satellite, and carry us with it into the very is pretty certain that Lexell's comet went so uncomfortable extremes of heat and cold near to Jupiter, in 1779, as either to be absorbed into his system, or to have been projected into a very new and unanticipated path by his influence. It is satisfactory to find that, as far as we can see, the unpleasant consequences, so far as there were any, appear to have been borne by the comet and not by the planet, as it gives us a faint hope that we might come off with equal success from such an encounter if it should ever take place. There would be a moral satisfaction in either absorbing or putting to flight a comet which would afford a new 66 ence" that even Goethe might envy. The interest with which we should receive our astronomers' reports of the approach, the emphasis with which the American papers would circulate the latest intelligence as to the details of a crisis which might end in a clean sweep of the globe, can be readily realized. It might be, indeed, that the astronomers would be altogether unable to report progress, for the theory has been advanced by eminent men that the universal fogs of 1783 and 1831, which occasioned so much alarm, were the result of entering the edge of the hazy tail of a comet, which might have suffocated us had we been completely immersed. "The fog of 1783 lasted a month: It began almost on the same day in places very remote from each other. It extended from the North of Africa to Sweden; it occupied, too, a large part of North America, but it did not extend over the sea. It rose above the loftiest mountains. It did not appear to be carried by the wind, and the most abundant rains, the strongest winds, were unable to dissipate it. It gave out a disagreeable odor; was very dry, did not at all affect the hygrometer, and possessed the property of phosphorescence." Here was a clear case for cometary conjecture; and if entrance into the tail of a comet could produce such results, it is quite possible we might be annihilated without the horrors of anticipating our fate, as a blinding fog would disarm the telescopic explorers.

which these wandering bodies visit. Newton calculated our fate if the comet of 1680 had fetched us away with it towards the sun. He held in that case, on the 8th December, 1680, we should be sustaining a heat two thousand times greater than that of red-hot iron; and that if we could have been acclimatized, like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, to this warm temperature, then, by the time we had reached the aphelion of the comet, we should be at the temperature of empty space, that is, one hundred and twenexperi- ty-two degrees below the zero of Fahrenheit, as it is computed. M. Arago, however, entering with zeal into the controversy, rebukes Newton. Doubtless, he says, it would grow very hot on approaching the sun, but "soon all the liquid masses that cover the earth being converted into vapor, will produce thick layers of clouds that will diminish the action of the sun in a proportion impossible to assign numerically." Again, as to the cold and dark period of aphelion, "experience proves that man can sustain degrees of cold from fifty-six to fifty-eight degrees below the zero of Fahrenheit, and a heat of two hundred and sixty-six degrees if he is placed in certain hygrometric conditions. There is nothing, therefore, to prove that in the hypothesis that the earth should become the satellite of a comet, the human race must necessarily perish from thermometric changes."

A still more exciting suggestion, however, has been gravely discussed-whether an approaching comet may not some day come so near us as to catch away the earth as its

There is a true grandeur in this steady facing of such a destiny. To pass, first, through the very blaze of the sun's fire, and then for a couple of centuries to be losing light and heat till not a ray of either could reach us from it, might not, the astronomers maintain, be fatal to human civilization. It is a magnificent dream; and whatever we may think of the disadvantages of so dreary a journey into a world where our coal and gas would certainly not last us very long unless the supply were replenished during the fiery section of it, the sense that such an event is even one of the possibilities, must continue to lend a good deal of zest to our astronomy, and flavor our comet-gazing with something of practical interest that no mere fireworks could give.

542. Signs of Poisons, 545. Book Sale, 545. The Comet, 558. Not exactly Rosewater, 571.

NEW BOOKS.

REBELLION RECORD, No. 16,—and Illustrations of Nos. 1-12. Containing a map of the U. S., and portraits of Generals Scott, Fremont, Anderson, Butler, and of Jefferson Davis. G. P. Putnam, New York.

RECREATIONS OF A COUNTRY PARSON; Second Series. Ticknor and Fields, Boston.

TOM BROWN AT OXFORD: a Sequel to School Days at Rugby. Part Second. Ticknor and Fields, Boston.

THE UPRISING OF A GREAT PEOPLE. The United States in 1861. From the French of Count Agenor de Gasparin. By Mary L. Booth. Third Edition. New York: Charles Scribner.

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY

LITTELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON.

For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded free of postage.

Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume.

ANY VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers.

ANY NUMBER may be had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value.

MRS. BROWNING'S LAST POEM.

A VIEW ACROSS THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA.

1861.

I.

OVER the dumb campagna-sea,

Out in the offing through mist and rain, St. Peter's Church heaves silently

Like a mighty ship in pain,

Facing the tempest with struggle and strain.

II.

Motionless waifs of ruined towers,

Soundless breakers of desolate land!
The sullen surf of the mist devours

That mountain-range upon either hand,
Eaten away from its outline grand.

III.

And over the dumb campagna-sea

THE CRISIS.

OUR country's fate! for good or ill, on us the burden lies;

God's balance, watched by angels, is hung across the skies.

Shall Justice, Truth, and Freedom turn the poised and trembling scale?

Or shall Evil triumph, and robber Wrong prevail ?

Shall the broad land, o'er which our flag in starry splendor waves,

Forego through us its freedom, and bear the tread of slaves?

The Crisis presses on us; face to face with us it stands,

With solemn lips of question, like the Sphinx in Egypt's sands:

This day we fashion Destiny! our web of Fate we spin;

This day, for all hereafter, choose we holiness or sin;

Where the ship of the Church heaves on to Even now, from starry Gerizim, or Ebal's cloudy

wreck,

Alone and silent as God must be

The Christ walks!-Ay, but Peter's neck
Is stiff to turn on the foundering deck.

crown,

We call the dews of blessing, or the bolts of cursing down!

By all for which the martyrs bore their agony

and shame;

By all the warning words of truth with which the prophets came;

By the Future which awaits us; by all the hopes

which cast

Their faint and trembling beams across the black

ness of the past;

And by the blessed thought of Him who for
Earth's freedom died,

O my people! O my brothers! let us choose the
the righteous side!

JOHN G. WHITTIER.

DEPENDENCE ON GOD.

IN the mid silence of the voiceless night,
When, chased by airy dreams, the slumbers flee,
Whom in the darkness doth my spirit seek,
O God! but thee?

And if there be a weight upon my breast,
Some vague impression of the day foregone,
Scarce knowing what it is, I fly to thee,
And lay it down.

Or if it be the heaviness that comes
In token of anticipated ill,
My bosom takes no heed of what it is,
Since 'tis thy will.

For, oh! in spite of past and present care,
Or any thing beside, how joyfully
Passes that silent, solitary hour,

My God, with thee!

More tranquil than the silence of the night,
More peaceful than the silence of that hour,
More blest than any thing, my spirit lies
Within thy power.

For what is there on earth that I desire,
Of all that it can give or take from me?
Or whom in heaven doth my spirit seek,
O God! but thee?

From The New Englander. PRIVATE CHARACTER OF THOMAS JEF

FERSON.

The Life of Thomas Jefferson. By Henry S.
Randall, LL.D. New York; Derby and
Jackson. 1858. 3 vols. 8vo.
North American Review, No. 188, July, 1860.
THE North American Review, following the
partisan biography of Dr. Randall, has under-
taken to defend the private character of
Thomas Jefferson. It is one of the few in-
stances in which that able quarterly has left
the discussion of grave questions in history to
give a like importance to family affairs and
trivial details, at the risk of doing some dam-
age to its fame for affording only "solid arti-
cles." Its thrifty laurels in the logical de-
partment seem not to have been cared for any
more than its usual conservatism when cer-
tain topics of Christian faith and duty claim
its attention. Over-confident in hasty con-
clusions, and disposed to cast "theological
odium" upon the religion of New England
fifty years ago, it has stepped forth with the
alacrity of an accepted champion to vindicate
the private character of a man, who, whatever
may be said of his intellectual eminence or
distinguished public services, has certainly
never been esteemed for moral purity or prac-
tical piety.

In some old pamphlets before us relating to Jefferson's personal history, though particular instances of disgraceful conduct or impious speech are affirmed or denied, his reputation for free thinking and loose morality is admitted.

The wonder seems to be that the good people of the country should make such an ado about the private failings of a public man exposed to peculiar temptations. What contemporaneous writers and speakers affirmed, posterity has believed. Rumor has been very communicative on the subject. The offensive tales afloat now, particularly in the region of Monticello, concerning the practices of the great statesman during his repose from official duties and after his final retirement to private life, would fill two or three volumes as bulky as Dr. Randall's. Many of these anecdotes are probably false or exaggerated statements of facts generally credited. It will require, however, more than one short article, even though indorsed by so respectable a review as the North American, and founded on a granddaughter's recollections of her "dear

grandfather," wholly to relieve the public mind of its settled convictions.

Jefferson has now been dead about six and thirty years, and before the prescribed time, before his half century of posthumous fame the course of human events it becomes neceshas run out, his canonization is called for. "In sary," if not to install him outright in saint ship, to take the steps of initiation, to begin the ceremony by examining his credentials, extolling his virtues, concealing his faults, exposing his remains, and by pointing his adorers to the beatified object of their worship. Before, however, he is admitted to full celestial honors, we have something so say in disparagement of his claims to such exaltation.

“The characters of her great men," says the Review, by way of introduction, "are a part of the nation's wealth. For a time, while party conflict rages, the people may seem indifferent to this portion of their possessions; nay, one half of them may appear to take pride in destroying it. But the lapse of a generation or two removes much that is extraneous and accidental from the history of the conspicuous agents in public events; charges that were based not on facts but on inferences pass into oblivion; and acts that were viewed with abhorrence when recent, are seen in retrospect to have been excusable, innocent, and even praiseworthy. Such has been the case with regard to Mr. Jefferson." This paragraph, with the exception of the last sentence, is certainly true, and we have to add only, what is equally clear, that in estimating the nation's wealth in great men much will depend upon the genuineness of the article. Spurious greatness, or greatness reckoned by figures of speech without exact calculations, or at its appraisement in market, or on a sliding scale to meet the demand of "progressive history," will not, materially, add to that species of property of which the Review speaks. "This portion of their possessions," too, to which at times the people may seem indifferent, admits of valuation according to kind as well as quality. Intellectual power, lasting achievements in state policy, diplomacy, or letters, moral excellence in public or private life, are worth more than physical force, transient, political, or literary honors, or the most polished deportment without the charm of virtue. If in our haste to multiply our treasures, we mis