force from the Sun’s glowing bulk; and its brief period of splendor is over. Away from the Sun, it falls back through the corona, across the orbits of Mercury, Venus, and the Earth, with ever-slackening speed, and fading as it goes, it recedes toward outer unknown space. Never again in all eternity will it approach our Sun, never again will it know the fierce throbbings of that four hours’ sojourn in the home of the prominences; never, too, will it revisit those places where it was wandering in the outer darkness when it first heard the imperious summons which it had thus obeyed. Slower, ever slower will it travel, out in the fathomless night, the solar system left far behind. Once and once only has it entered it, once and once only could it enter. The Earth, with its attendant Moon, has revolved for millions of years, enjoying without cease spring, summer, autumn, and winter. But this strange body, whose winter was from creation, whose summer lasted but a few short hours, and whose second winter, so far at all events as it derives heat and light from our Sun, shall last till heaven and earth depart like a vesture that is rolled together, whose movements are so unlike our evenly moving earth, is no mere lawless wanderer—is no intruder on the happy family of the solar system; it is ruled in its every movement by the self-same law that guides our earth. Without it, or bodies like it, gravitation would be but imperfectly illustrated, and but part of the homage due would be paid to our Sun. How great a change has taken place in our views since the time when men looked upon comets as miracles and portents, as special acts of creation, obedient to none of the ordinary laws of nature! And since Newton’s day, changes as great as that which he effected in astronomy have been effected in other sciences; and the unity of law, and the universality of its reign, are acknowledged on every side. The idea of special acts of creation, or that God interferes with the regular working of his laws, is discredited, and creation itself is pushed far back into the unfathomed past. But this view opens out a most serious question. If God’s only work was to make the world at the beginning, and give it wholesome laws, leaving it then to itself, what room is there for religion and prayer—for faith and hope? And indeed, arguing in this very manner, there are men of science who tell us expressly that the only good which prayer can do is to make the petitioner feel more at ease in his mind; that Elijah praying for rain was no whit wiser than a Kaffir or Ashanti conjuror.