The dimensions of the larger ring, according to Herschel,

Those of the smaller, or outer ring, are as follows:

It is remarked, that Saturn, like all the other planets, is an oblate spheroid; whose equatorial is to that of his polar diameter in the proportion of eleven to ten.

PHILIP GARRETT.

BRIEF ASTRONOMICAL NOTICES.

FOR OCTOBER, 1830.

THE SUN rises on the 1st at twelve minutes past six, and sets at forty-eight minutes after five; on the tenth at thirty minutes past six, and sets at thirty minutes after five. The Sun rises on the 20th at fifty minutes past six, and sets at ten minutes past five: on the 23d he enters the sign Scorpio.

"Autumnal fruits in clusters bend

The ever-fruitful bough,

While Scorpio's beams so freely send
Their influence below."

The MOON sets on the 2d at twenty minutes before five in the morning. The Moon is full on the 2d at three minutes before eight in the morning; she rises on the 4th at twenty-two minutes past seven, and on the 9th at half past eleven o'clock at night; she rises on the 12th at a quarter before two, and on the 14th at seven minutes before four in the morning. The Moon changes on the 16th at thirty-one minutes after seven in the evening; she sets on the 20th at twenty-three minutes past seven, and on the 25th at ten minutes before midnight. The Moon is full on the 31st at eighteen minutes past five in the evening, and passes the meridian at twenty-two minutes after twelve at night. The Moon eclipses Gamma Tauri on the 5th: the star immerges at the Moon's bright limb at sixteen minutes past ten, and emerges from behind the dark limb near the Moon's vertex at eight minutes before eleven at night. The Moon makes a very near appulse to Aldebaran on the 6th, at two minutes before seven in the morning. On the 15th, in the morning, the planet Venus is occulted by the

Moon.

Venus immerges at the Moon's bright edge, in the horizon, at three minutes after five; and emerges at the dark limb at forty-six minutes after five o'clock, apparent time.

MERCURY is visible in the mornings towards the end of the month; on the 22d he rises at a quarter past five, and on the 30th at twenty minutes after five o'clock.

VENUS is seen in the east before sun-rise; on the 21st she is in conjunction with Mercury.

MARS appears very beautiful every clear evening in the south: he passes the meridian on the 3d at eleven o'clock, on the 14th at a quarter past ten, and on the 26th at half past nine.

JUPITER is an interesting object in the evenings, and may be known from Mars in consequence of his colour being white, while that of the latter is red. Jupiter is due south on the 1st at ten minutes past six, and on the 14th at half past five.

SATURN appears in the south-east before sun-rise: on the 7th he rises at two o'clock in the morning; on the 27th he passes the meridian about eight in the morning.

Greenwich..

WILLIAM ROGERSON.

JUVENILE OBITUARY.

DIED, at Dewsbury, February 22d, 1829, MARY FEARN SIDE, aged twenty-three years. Her pious parents marked with interest the operations of divine grace on her mind long before she made a public profession of religion. When very young, she frequently retired for private prayer; and so fully did she enter into the spirit of that duty, that her mother has repeatedly entered her room, witnessed her importunate pleadings with the Lord, and retired, unobserved.

In November, 1821, she joined the Methodist society, with five other young females; four of whom have died happy in the Lord. Mary was not satisfied with a mere profession of religion, but surrendered her heart to God; and the fruit of her conversion was apparent in her conduct. Her life affords but few incidents until she arrived at that period which puts religion to the test.

Her health began to decline in July, 1828. For some time, hope was entertained that her affliction would yield to the force of medicine and change of air; but a pulmonary consumption soon removed the glow of youthful bloom, and apprized her friends of her approaching dissolution.

During her protracted illness, she was generally happy, always cheerful, and often raised far above all earthly things. The first time I spoke to her concerning the dangerous nature of her affliction, she said, with a smile, "I am not anxious how it may terminate; I am happy." It was evident that the nearer she approached the decisive period, her mind became more completely absorbed with heavenly and divine things. One day, when I was conversing with her, she said, "I have heaven always before me. O tell the world

what a Saviour I have found!" So fully were her affections set on those things which are above, that she said, "If it were put to my choice, I would not be restored to health again for a thousand worlds." A few days before her departure, it was thought she was dying; and all the family were called into the room. On recovering a little, she said, "I am going to heaven; be sure that you meet me there. Heaven is a prize worth running for, a treasure worth living for. There is a crown for every one of you,-for every one that will seek it. Be sure you all meet me there.' At different times she said, "O mother, if I had strength I would praise the Lord!" On being asked what she would sing, she said, "O for a thousand tongues to sing," &c.

At another time,

"The glorious crown of righteousness
To me reach'd out I view," &c.

And at another time,

"Away with our sorrow and fear,

We soon shall recover our home," &c.

After telling her mother how she should wish her funeral to be conducted, she told her not to make herself at all uneasy if she should not be able to say any thing of her state at the last; "for," said she, "I know I shall be happy for ever." Thus she continued praising the Lord, and conversing with her friends, till, without a sigh or groan, she calmly entered upon an eternal Sabbath. J. B, HOLROYD.

POETRY.

THE HOME OF MY YOUTH.
HOME of my youth! with fond delight
On thee doth recollection dwell.
Home of my youth! how gaily bright
The scenes that childhood loved so well!

Cot of my father! well I know

The spot that saw my infant dawn;
Near the green lane, the old elm-row,
The village spire, the grassy lawn.

O sweet to me the laughing hours,

When earth seem'd gay, and heaven was fair!
When fancy cull'd her thornless flowers,
And pleasure reign'd, devoid of care.
Home of my youth! my heart, away,
Recalls those moments dear to me:
Often in dreams will memory stray,
Home of my youth! to weep o'er thee.

MENTORIA.

LINES,

Inscribed on a Monument, to the memory of William Powell, Esq., in Bristol Cathedral.

BRISTOL! to worth and genius ever just,
To thee our Powell's dear remains we trust:
Soft as the streams thy sacred springs impart,
The milk of human kindness warm'd his heart;
That heart which every tender feeling knew,
The soil where pity, love, and friendship grew.
O let a faithful friend, with grief sincere,
Inscribe his tomb, and drop the heartfelt tear,
Here rest his praise, here found his noblest fame,
All else a bubble, or an empty name!

LINES

Inscribed to the Memory of Catherine Benstead,

Who sought the Lord in secret, and found pardon and peace in Him. She died, October 9, 1814, aged eleven years.

(From "The Village Observer.")

As some fair flower, that, hid in leafy green,
Imbibes the dew of heaven, and blooms unseen,
Till fragrance strange unto the passer-by
Reveals the secret of its birth-place nigh;
So Catherine lived, and sought the Lord alone,——
Her griefs peculiar, and her joys unknown.
A change divine soon met the wondering eye,
And told the' employment of her privacy.
Fain would we long have gazed; but God removed,
To holier, happier scenes, the child he loved,

TO MY MOTHER.

BY LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON.
Written in her Sixteenth Year.

O THOU whose care sustain'd my infant years,
And taught my prattling lip each note of love;
Whose soothing voice breathed comfort to my fears,
And round my brow hope's brightest garland wove!

To thee my lay is due, my simple song,

Which nature gave me at life's opening day;
To thee these rude, these untaught, strains belong,
Whose heart indulgent will not spurn my lay.

O say, amid this wilderness of life,

What bosom would have throbb'd like thine for me? Who would have smiled responsive ?-who in grief Would e'er have felt, and, feeling, grieved like thee?

Who would have guarded, with a falcon eye,

Each trembling footstep, or each sport of fear?
Who would have mark'd my bosom bounding high,
And clasp'd me to her heart with love's bright tear?
Who would have hung around my sleepless couch,
And fann'd, with anxious hand, my burning brow?
Who would have fondly press'd my fever'd lip,
In all the agony of love and woe?

None but a mother,-none but one like thee,
Whose bloom has faded in the midnight watch;
Whose eye, for me, has lost its witchery,

"Whose form has felt disease's mildew touch.
Yes, thou hast lighted me to health and life,
By the bright lustre of thy youthful bloom;
Yes, thou hast wept too oft o'er every grief,

That woe hath traced thy brow with marks of gloom. O then, to thee, this rude and simple song, Which breathes of thankfulness and love for thee, To thee, my mother, shall this lay belong,

Whose life is spent in toil and care for me!

THE FEAR OF MADNESS.

BY THE SAME.

Written during her last Illness.
THERE is a something which I dread,
It is a dark, a fearful thing;
It steals along with withering tread,
Or sweeps on wild destruction's wing.
That thought comes o'er me in the hour
Of grief, of sickness, or of sadness;
'Tis not the dread of death,-'tis more,
It is the dread of madness.

O may these throbbing pulses pause,
Forgetful of their feverish course;
May this hot brain which, burning, glows
With all a fiery whirlpool's force,

Be cold, and motionless, and still,
A tenant of its lowly bed;
But let not dark delirium steal

* * *

[Unfinished.]

This was the last piece she ever wrote.

James Nichols, Printer, 2, Warwick Square, London.