_Sonnet 2._ In looking from my eastern window a few evenings since (Dec. 12th,) I was struck with the magnificent appearance of the heavens,――the moon just rising in full effulgence, preceded a few degrees by the splendid planet Jupiter, while still higher and more at the south was the unequalled constellation Orion, with an uncounted multitude of stars planted thick in the sky. Jupiter is 1400 times larger than the earth, being 90,000 miles in diameter: he revolves on his axis in ten hours, so that a body on his surface flies around at the rate of 27,000 miles per hour, or 27 times faster than a body on the earth. It has four satellites. Can it be imagined, that this huge planet is not furnished with rational inhabitants, like this diminutive earth? And what reason can be assigned why all the planets and all the stars should not be inhabited by rational beings? Who can fix the limits to God's creation? As light flies 192,000 miles every second, who can say, that the light from the most distant star has yet reached the earth since the star was created? With what reverence and awe, with what love and trust and spirit of obedience should Almighty God, the Creator of the universe, be regarded? _Sonnet 3._ Wm. H. Prescott, the distinguished historian, died at Boston of the paralysis after a few hours' illness Jan. 28, 1859, aged 62 years. Knowing that he was about to die, it was his remarkable request, that in his coffin he might lie for a time with his face uncovered in his library, surrounded by his cherished Books. From his library he was carried to his grave Jan. 31st. The next evening the Historical Society of Massachusetts held a meeting in honor of his memory. Mr. Winthrop, the president, Mr. Ticknor who introduced some resolutions, and others made speeches on the occasion, which were published. As a humble associate member of the society I would not neglect to mention the following apposite and interesting fact, that _Petrarch_, the inventor of the Italian _sonetto_, was found dead in his library with his head _resting on a book_. He died of apoplexy July 18, 1374, aged 74.――Milton's memorable words in relation to books ought never to be forgotten:――"Many a man lives a burden to the earth; but _a good book_ is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, imbalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life."――But the book of books is God's Book, which infinitely transcends all others in value, except as they borrow truth from its pages, for it reveals to man his pathway to a blessed immortality. Never should the words of Mr. Chillingworth be forgotten: "The BIBLE, I say, the BIBLE only is the Religion of Protestants."