'tected the true orbit by the method he followed ;'-'it is extra'ordinary that a supposition made for such a reason should have 'the luck to be the right one;'-if the laws of the planetary 'orbits had chanced to have been any other than those which 'cause them to describe ellipses, this last singular confirma'tion of an erroneous theory would not have taken place.' Whether Kepler would have discovered the laws of the planetary motions had they been different from what they are, is a question of extremely little importance. It is sufficient for his glory, and was sufficient for the wants of Astronomy, that he discovered the actually existing laws;—and although the liveliness of his imagination-some prepossessions in favour of occult qualities and mystical properties, together with a want of method and system in his investigations-led him to give expression to many conjectures which would never have occurred to a mind otherwise constituted, or at least would have been suppressed when found to be erroneous-his laws of the planets were discovered, according to our apprehension, in the only way by which such discoveries could be made; namely, by deducing them (after his own fashion, indeed) from the observations which were at his command, and proving, by laborious calculations, that they accurately represented those observations. Sir David Brewster has placed this matter in its proper light:

What

Kepler,' he observes, has fortunately left behind him a full account of the methods by which he arrived at his great discoveries. other philosophers have studiously concealed, Kepler has openly avowed and minutely detailed; and we have no hesitation in considering these details as the most valuable present that has ever been given to science, and as deserving the careful study of all who seek to emulate his immortal achievements. It has been asserted that Newton made his discoveries by following a different method; but this is a mere assumption, as Newton has never favoured the world with any account of the erroneous speculations, and the frequent failures, which must have preceded his ultimate success. Had Kepler done the same, by recording only the final steps of his enquiries, his method of investigation would have obtained the highest celebrity, and would have been held up to future ages as a pattern for their imitation. But such was the candour of his mind, and such his inordinate love of truth, that he not only recorded his wildest fancies, but emblazoned even his greatest errors. If Newton had indulged us with the same insight into his physical enqui ries, we should have witnessed the same processes which were employed by Kepler, modified only by the different characters and intensities of their imaginative powers.'-(P. 264.)

The personal character of Kepler has been very fully developed by himself, in his various works and epistolary correspon

dence; and the incidents of his life, collected chiefly from the same sources, have been succinctly narrated in the Memoirs prefixed to the Collection of Letters published by Hansch. History presents to our consideration few more remarkable characters. His struggles with the world excite our sympathy; his ardour and enthusiasm our admiration. It is, no doubt, an afflicting consideration, that a man whose genius and indomitable energy have done so much for the advancement of human knowledge, should have encountered so unpropitious a fate; yet if we dispassionately consider the circumstances, we may see reason to doubt whether science was in any respect the cause of his misfortunes. If his salary was irregularly paid, the irregularity was owing to political causes, and the unfavourable circumstances of the times. Religious controversies, domestic misfortunes, war, and the plague, are calamities to which the learned and the illiterate are subject indiscriminately. No doubt all his misfortunes were aggravated by the narrowness of his circumstances; but it is by no means certain that his circumstances would have been more prosperous had he followed any other pursuit, though it is probable that in that case the world would never have heard of them. His condition, hard as it was, was not without its shades of light. His lofty title of Imperial Mathematician gave him official consequence among those with whom he lived; and to an enthusiast like Kepler, the consciousness that his discoveries would occupy a prominent place in the future history of science, was a compensation for many evils. Of the importance he attached to his successful labours, he gives us a proof in his declaration, that he would not exchange his discovery of the analogy of the planetary orbits with the five regular solids for the whole Electorate of Saxony. We see no just ground for imputing a disregard of science to Rudolph and his successors, who certainly were in no condition to appreciate Kepler's merits, and whose favour was conferred on him in his character of Astrologer. It is, indeed, remarkable how little Kepler's merits were understood in his own age. Galileo had no conception of the importance of his discoveries: they were little considered by Gassendi-they ' were undervalued by Riccioli-they were never mentioned by Descartes. It was an honour reserved for Newton to estimate 'them at their true value.' Such are the words of the late Professor Playfair; yet it is satisfactory to observe, that even before the time of Newtor their merit was perceived and acknowledged by one Astronomer at least in our own country. Horrox describes them as not only valuable, but as more valuable than those of all other Astronomers put together- Pergo igitur ad As

tronomiæ principem, J. Keplerum; cujus unius viri inventis, ' non est harum artium peritus qui neget plus debere astronomiam quam ceteris in universum.'

The misfortunes of Galileo, Tycho, and Kepler, arose from peculiar and accidental circumstances; and the sovereigns under whom they lived deserve the praise of having been munificent patrons of science. The following incident in the life of Kepler, gives Sir David Brewster an opportunity of glancing at the encouragement held out to scientific pursuits in our own country. Kepler, it seems, upon one occasion received a visit from Sir Henry Wotton, Ambassador from England to the States of Venice, and was invited by him to take up his residence in England. Sir David thinks it probable that the invitation proceeded from the Sovereign, who made Kepler a distinct offer through his Ambassador; and upon this supposition he thus expresses himself: If the imperial mathematician had no other assu'rance of a comfortable home in England than that of Sir Henry Wotton, he acted a wise part in distrusting it; and we rejoice 'that the sacred name of Kepler was thus withheld from the long list of distinguished characters whom England has starved ' and dishonoured.'-(P. 343.)

It would far exceed the limits we have now left, and it is not by any means within the scope of our intention, to enter upon a discussion of the question pointed at in this startling allegation. In the long list of distinguished characters whose names have shed a lustre on British science during the last two or three centuries, there are, indeed, many whose success in the world has fallen far short of their merits; but to represent them as having been dishonoured in not being the recipients of pecuniary supplies from the public treasury, is to make use of a strong, if not a perverse figure of speech. Science in England, has not, it is true, been fostered by state provisions: yet if we look to results, our system (if it may be so called) cannot be pronounced to have been unsuccessful; for on reference to the history of the great and fundamental discoveries by which the various sciences have been advanced to their present state, it will not assuredly be found that England has any reason to blush for her share of them. That science has derived some important benefits from the pensioned Academies which have been instituted and maintained by some of the Continental governments, is a proposition which it would be idle to dispute: but such establishments are little in harmony with our political institutions; and in proportion as wealth and intelligence are more generally diffused, they become more and more unnecessary. A British Institute, maintained at the public

expense, while it might perhaps provide for a few meritorious individuals, would, it is to be feared, give rise to much jobbing and jealousy; and would neither accelerate the progress of science, nor lessen the number of its martyrs.

We must now take leave of this publication. Considering the eminent station its author has long occupied among European philosophers, and the number and importance of his contributions to some of the highest and most difficult branches of physical enquiry, it cannot add to his reputation. It was probably undertaken as a relaxation from more severe labour, and regarded by him as of no great importance. We confess, however, that we look upon it in a different light. Next to labours which tend to enlarge the existing boundaries of knowledge, the most useful service, perhaps, which can now be rendered to science, is the faithful exposition of the discoveries and claims of its great benefactors; for, after all, the hope of receiving the approbation and applause of future ages is the best and most honourable incentive to scientific enterprise. It is also of no small importance to the student, that the methods of the original discoveries should be reviewed from time to time by those who, starting from a higher vantage-ground, have succeeded, like the present author, in going far beyond them in the same paths of enquiry; for it is thus that the connexion between the different states of a science, and the continuity of the chain of discovery, are best preserved and made evident. For these reasons, we look upon the work, moderate as it is in extent, as calculated to do good service to the cause to which its author has so successfully consecrated his life and his labours.

ART. VII.-Ellen Middleton. A Tale. By Lady GEORGIANA FULLERTON. 3 vols. 8vo. London: 1844.

THIS HIS Tale has excited great interest among an influential class of readers in the metropolis, and its reputation is, we are told, spreading widely. The writer is just the kind of writer who may do harm by her influence or example, and to whom criticism may do good. It struck us, therefore, that the very limited space we had left, on the appearance of her Tale, could not be employed better than in pointing out her merits and demerits as a novelist-her fine spirit of observation and analysis, with the veins of thought and feeling, that ought to be worked assiduously-and her fondness for overstrained sentiment, and melodramatic situation, that must be suppressed.

The plot is soon told. Ellen Middleton has been bred up by a high-principled, cold-mannered uncle, and an indulgent, imaginative aunt. They are people of fortune, residing at a country house situate on the bank of a river. When the story opens, Ellen is between fifteen and sixteen. Their only child, Julia, a cross, unamiable girl, is eight. Edward Middleton, a nephew of the uncle, and Henry Lovell, a younger brother of the auntyoung men of two or three and twenty-are staying with them. Julia takes every opportunity of quarrelling with her cousin ; and at length Ellen overhears her aunt discussing the propriety of separating them, by sending her (Ellen) to school. Hurrying to a veranda overlooking the river, she gives vent to a paroxysm of grief and mortification.

'No voice could then have been welcome to me, (for the voice I loved best, the voice that had ever spoken peace and joy to my heart, I had just heard utter words that had destroyed at one blow the fabric of bliss which my heart had so long framed for itself;) no voice, I say, could have been welcome to me; but when I heard the sharp and querulous tones of Julia, God in mercy forgive me for what I felt. She was again standing at the head of the stone steps that I have described as forming one of the extremities of the veranda; and, as she placed her foot on one of the moss-covered slippery steps, she called out, "I'm going down -I'll have my own way now. I seized her hand, and drawing her back, exclaimed—" Don't, Julia ;" on which she said-" You had better not tease me; you are to be sent away if you tease me." I felt as if a viper had stung me, the blood rushed to my head, and I struck her; -she reeled under the blow, her foot slipped, and she fell headlong down the stone steps. A voice near me said " She has killed her!" There was a plunge in the water below; her white frock rose to the surface-sank-rose again—and sank to rise no more. Two men rushed