he wing of
Pegasus, the flying horse at 6 h. 26 m. _Alpheratz_ and _Mirach_, the
former in the head, and the latter in the girdle, of Andromeda at 7 h.
31 m. and 8 h. 31 m. _Menkar_ in the jaw of _Cetus_ the whale at 10 h.
24 m.; the four preceding are of the second magnitude. The _Pleiades_
south at 11 h. 8m., and _Aldebaran_ in Taurus, generally called the
Bull's Eye, a brilliant star of the first magnitude at 11 h. 56 m.; the
upper or northern portion of the constellation _Orion_ at 12-1/2 h., and
the lower or southern part at 1 h. morning.

These remarks cannot be better concluded, than by calling the attention
of the readers of the MIRROR to the unerring regularity of the motion of
the heavenly bodies. Though their magnitude is so immense, the certainty
and correctness of their movements during thousands of years, is far
more exact than that of the best chronometer ever made, even during a
single year: how great, then, must be the ignorance of him who does not
behold in them the Almighty ruler of all things; and how great the folly
of him, who says in his heart, and evinces by his conduct that he
believes there is no God. And let him who denies what he cannot
comprehend, be addressed in the impressive language of holy writ, "Canst
thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades, or loose the bands of
Orion? Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season? or canst thou
guide Arcturus with his Sons?" 14_th November_, 1827. PASCHE.

* * * * *

COLD WINTER IS COMING.

(_For the Mirror._)

Cold Winter is coming--take care of your toes--
Gay Zephyr has folded his fan;
His lances are couch'd in the ice-wind that blows,
So mail up as warm as you can.

Cold Winter is coming--he's ready to start
From his home on the mountains afar;
He is shrunken and pale--he looks froze to the heart,
And snow-wreaths embellish his car.

Cold Winter is coming--Hark! did ye not hear
The blast which his herald has blown?
The children of Nature all trembled in fear,
For to them is his power made known.

Cold Winter is coming--there breathes not a flower,
Though sometimes the day may pass fair!
The soft lute is removed from the lady's lorn bower,
Lest it coldly be touched by the air.

Cold Winter is coming--all stript are the groves,
The passage-bird hastens away;
To the lovely blue South, like the tourist, he roves,
And returns like the