“See the sage RITTENHOUSE, with ardent eye, Lift the long tube and pierce the starry sky; Clear in his view the circling systems roll, And broader splendours gild the central pole. He marks what laws th’ eccentric wand’rers bind, Copies Creation in his forming mind, And bids, beneath his hand, in semblance rise, With mimic orbs, the labours of the skies. There wond’ring crouds with raptur’d eye behold The spangled Heav’ns their mystic maze unfold; While each glad sage his splendid Hall shall grace, With all the spheres that cleave th’ ethereal space.” Footnote 160: In a letter from Dr. Smith to Mr. Barton, dated March 23, 1771, is this paragraph:— “I have been so busy these two months past, that I could not find a moment’s leisure to write. A good deal of time was to be given to the public lectures, the Orrery, and the getting our dear friend Rittenhouse brought into as advantageous a light as possible, on his first entrance into this town as an inhabitant; all which has succeeded to our utmost wishes; and the notice taken of him by the province, is equally to his honour and theirs. The loss of his wife has greatly disconcerted him; but we try to keep up his spirits, under it.” ----- The _italicised_ words, in the foregoing paragraph, have reference to a great domestic calamity Mr. Rittenhouse had experienced, only a very few months before,—the death of an affectionate wife, whom he tenderly loved. This afflicting event appears to have overspread, for some time, the highly sensible and delicate mind of our Philosopher, with a considerable degree of gloominess. In this mood, then, he thus commenced the letter just quoted: “_You_ are not unacquainted with the dismal apprehensions of losing what is most dear to you” (alluding, here, to a dangerous fit of illness from which Mrs. Barton, the writer’s sister, had recently recovered;) “and therefore you can better judge, than I can describe, what I feel at present. I do, indeed, endeavour to bear my loss in the manner you recommend: but how irksome does every thing seem! Nothing interesting, nothing entertaining! except my two little girls; and yet my reflecting on their loss sinks me the deeper in affliction. What adds to my misfortune, is the hurry of business I am engaged in, and know not how to get rid of. My design, at present, is to keep the children with me, until I can conveniently take a ramble to Europe.” And, in the same strain of melancholy reflections, he concluded this letter to his friend and brother-in-law: “I suppose,” said he, “you have been informed, that the Assembly have made me a donation of three hundred pounds. This would have been very agreeable to me, if my poor Eleanor had lived: but now, neither money—nor reputation—has any charms; though I must still think them valuable, because absolutely necessary in this unhappy life.”