3. When this great physical truth was established beyond the possibility of doubt, the next subject of investigation was the point of center round which the sun performed this marvelous revolution; and after a series of elaborate observations and most ingenious calculations, this intricate problem was also satisfactorily solved-one of the greatest triumphs of human genius.

4. Mädler, of Dorpat, found that Alcyo'ne, the brightest star of the Pleiades, is the centre of gravity of our vast solar system—the luminous hinge in the heavens round which our sun and his attendant planets are moving through space.

5. Vast as is the distance which separates our sun from this central group-a distance thirty-four millions of times greater than the distance between the sun and our earthyet so tremendous is the force exerted by Alcyo'ne, that it draws our system irresistibly around it at the rate of four hundred and twenty-two thousand miles a day, in an orbit which it will take many thousands of years to complete.

6. What a lofty significance does the question of the Almighty receive from this interpretation! "Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades?" Canst thou arrest, or in any degree modify, that attractive influence which it exerts upon our sun and all its planetary worlds, whirling them around its pivot in an orbit of such inconceivable dimensions, and with a velocity so utterly bewildering?

7. Silence the most profound can be the only answer to such a question. Man can but stand afar off, and in awful astonishment and profound humility exclaim with the Psalmist, "O Lord my God, Thou art very great!"

REV. H. MCMILLAN.

CXXVI.—EXILE OF THE ACADIANS.

PART FIRST.

I.

PLE

LEASANTLY rose one morn the sun on the village of
Grand-Pré.

Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor.

Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning.

II.

Now from the country around, from the farms and the neighboring hamlets,

Come in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants.

Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward,

Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway.

III.

Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors

Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossipped together. Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted; For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together, All things were held in common, and what one had was another's.

IV.

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard,
Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal.
There in the shade of the porch were, the priest and the notary

seated;

There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith.

V.

Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the bee

hives,

Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats.

Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white

Hair, as it waved in the wind; and the jolly face of the fiddler Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers.

yi.

Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle,
And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music.
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows;
Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them.

II.

So passed the morning away. And lo! with a summons sonorous Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum

beat.

Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard,

Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the head-stones

Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest.

VIII.

Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them

Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and case

ment,

Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers.
Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the

altar,

Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission.

IX.

“You are convened this day," he said, “by his Majesty's orders. Clement and kind has he been; but how you have answered his

kindness,

Let your own hearts reply! To my natural make and my temper Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch; Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from this province

Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people! Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty's pleasure!"

X.

As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer,
Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones
Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows,
Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the
house-roofs,

Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their inclosures;
So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker,

XI.

Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger,

And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the doorway. Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the others

Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows.

XII.

Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he shouted.

"Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance!

Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!"

More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pave

ment.

XIII.

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention,
Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar.
Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence
All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people;
Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents measured and
mournful

Spake, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes.

XIV.

"What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you?

Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another!

Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations?

Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred?"

XV.

Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that passionate outbreak;

And they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them!"

CXXVII.—EXILE OF THE ACADIANS.

PART SECOND.

I.

FOU

OUR times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth day

Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farmhouse. Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian

Women,