at seventeen minutes after eleven, at night: she is full on the 24th, at twenty-five minutes after two; and rises on the 26th at seven o'clock in the evening. This lovely luminary rises on the 28th at a quarter past eight, and on the 30th at ten, at night.

"The Moon," as Hervey beautifully says, "is incessantly varying, either in her aspect or her stages. Sometimes she looks full upon us, and her visage is all lustre; sometimes she appears in profile, and shows us only half her enlightened face. Anon a radiant crescent but just adorns her brow; soon it dwindles into a slender streak; till at length all her beauty vanishes, and she becomes a beamless orb. Sometimes she rises with the descending day, and begins her procession amidst admiring multitudes. Ere long she defers her progress till the midnight watches, and steals unobserved upon the sleeping world. Sometimes she just enters the edges of the western horizon, and drops us a ceremonious visit. Within a while she sets out on her nightly tour, from the opposite regions of the east, traverses the whole hemisphere, and never offers to withdraw till the more refulgent partner of her sway renders her presence unnecessary. In a word, she is, while conversant among us, still waxing or waning, and never continueth in one stay."

MERCURY, at the commencement of the month, may be perceived near the eastern horizon about an hour before sunrise.

VENUS is too much in the solar rays to be perceived by the naked eye during this month.

MARS is now a very conspicuous object from the time of his rising until the appearance of the morning twilight: he exhibits his ruddy orb in the eastern horizon at the beginning of the month about nine at night, and at the end soon after seven in the evening on the 27th he is in the neighbourhood of the Moon.

JUPITER is very brilliant in the east early in the morning he rises on the 3d at midnight, and on the 30th at half-past ten. This bright planet is in the vicinity of the Moon on the 4th and 5th, the latter being at those times a beautiful crescent.

SATURN is to be seen every clear evening in the south-east: he is due south on the 6th at a quarter before twelve, and on the 24th at half-past ten at night: on the 22d and 23d he is not far from the Moon.

URANUS, or the GEORGIUM SIDUS, may be seen through a telescope about midnight: his right ascension is about one hour and five minutes, and his declination about six degrees north.

NEPTUNE, the telescopic planet discovered in 1846, is now to be seen some particulars of it I will give in the Notices for October, as well as some account of the great visible eclipse of the Sun which will happen in that month.

JUVENILE OBITUARY.

DIED, at Dover, January 16th, 1843, Sarah Jane, eldest daughter of the Rev. Thomas Robinson, in her nineteenth year. Her natural

disposition was ardent and somewhat impetuous; but this was carefully controlled and guided in the course of her education, moral, intellectual, and religious; and when brought under the influence of divine grace, rendered her cheerful, affectionate, and decided. The principles which it was sought to implant in her mind were, by God's blessing, fully received, and took deep root, bearing much fruit even in her brief space of life. When about eleven years of age, the impressions she had experienced from infancy, influenced her so powerfully, that she resolved for herself to seek the blessings of that covenant of mercy into which she had been baptized, and she requested that she might be admitted as a member of the church under whose ministerial instructions she had always sat. Young as she was, she saw that she was much indebted to it, and also that it would afford her the advantages, the need of which she then particularly felt. Having joined the Wesleyan society, she continued a consistent, and, as far as her strength allowed, an active and useful, member of it to the end of her life. She sought and found peace with God; though her feelings were not unfrequently influenced by her high views of Christian obligation, as well as the tendency to depression which incipient and advancing, though unmarked, disease produced. She was very thoughtful, and loved to spend much time alone. The word of God she read regularly and carefully, meditating on the law of the Lord. To religious reading she was strongly attached; and though she diligently pursued general mental improvement, she loved best the writings which brought before her the great truths of redemption. She experienced much pleasure and profit from the attentive perusal of the Wesleyan Hymn-Book, and from the sermons of Mr. Wesley and Mr. Watson. Was she thus secretly directed to the admiring study of that truth on the full brightness of which she was so soon to enter ?

Though evidently not strong, and occasionally unwell, no immediate apprehensions of death were entertained. She modestly pursued her course, and was a pattern of Christian diligence, only trusting in Christ, and only living for eternity. On the morning of her last day on earth,-it was the Sabbath,—she was too unwell to attend public worship as usual; but she was cheerful and even animated. When the family returned, she asked what the text had been; and being told, replied, "O, that would just have suited me! The idea of that far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory' is indeed delightful." In the evening she was advised to retire early; but she would not go till she had joined with the family in their accustomed religious exercises, and this she did with much emotion. As her father was absent, it was arranged that she should sleep with her mother. After spending some time in private prayer, she lay down, put her hand into her mother's, and soon appeared to have fallen into a quiet sleep. In half an hour it was ascertained that the sleep was that of death. Unconsciously she had passed the valley. She had no opportunity of saying farewell, or of delivering the testimony of the dying saint to the

faithfulness and love of God. But her friends, amidst their sorrow, had the joy of knowing that for some years she had been one of those for whom to be "absent from the body" is to be "present with the Lord." To them she had slept the sleep from which there is no earthly waking. But almost ere they knew their loss, she had entered paradise, and joined the family of God in heaven.

O reader, how serious the thought! Scarcely nineteen years of age, she retires to rest, sleeps, and dies. How pleasing to see the last evidences of character! Fatigued, she must yet join in family prayer; and the closing act of life,-except affectionately taking her mother's hand, to fall asleep with it joined to her own,-was devoutly, on her knees, to commend herself to Him who had already sent his angels to convey her to eternal rest. Solemnly pleasing was all this. But death may thus come to the unprepared. You may be hesitating. Your friends may have kindly entreated you, and conscience may have uttered the impressive voice, TURN NOW! But you say, "To-morrow, to-morrow. I think I will to-morrow!" You lie down; you fall asleep; you die! where will be your to-morrow? You have often heard the expression,-O seek that it may be applicable to yourself!" Sudden death, sudden glory." You may die suddenly, and then the advantage is great beyond conception; but could your days be protracted to the age of Methuselah, to be always ready for dying will be found to be the happiest, as well as safest, method of living. JOHN GEDEN.

Then

POETRY.

LITTLE THINGS.

(From "The Lake, and Poetic Musings.")

A LITTLE leak admits the surge
That may the ship in ruin merge :
The foliage by vast woods disclosed,
Of single leaves is all composed;
The mighty deep by drops is fed,
The world itself of atoms bred.

And in our human scene of things
How much from seeming trifles springs!
A turn, a tone, nay, e'en a look,
A casual passage in a book,
Awakes in minds of certain mood

A world of evil, or of good.

If anything, or said, or writ,
Would wound thy neighbour, that omit:
If anything would joy create,

Fail not to do it ere too late :

To spare another's heart a groan,

Will fill with purest peace thine own.

A little sum on others spent,

A word of kind encouragement,

What bliss 'twill give! or one harsh word,
What bitter misery hath stirr❜d!

Then let us think, more than we know,
We wield each other's joy or woe.

SPRING FLOWERS.

(From "Household Verses," by Bernard Barton.)

THE flowers of spring, the flowers of spring,
They bloom as heretofore;

But can they to my fancy bring

The spell which charm'd of yore?

Ah, no! that spell, once deem'd their own,
But gladden'd childhood's span ;
And thoughts and cares of sterner tone
Have "made and marr'd the man."

Yet with no vain repining thought
Would I the change upbraid;

With beauty and with fragrance fraught,
They blossom but to fade.

But flowers there are, though not of earth,

More lovely far than they;

Which boast a more enduring worth,

And need not fear decay.

Truth, peace, and joy, faith, hope, and love,

Bear, worthy Eden's bowers,

Blossoms of beauty from above,

The mind's perennial flowers.

These, amaranth-like, each change defy

That time and chance can bring ;

Secure to bloom unfadingly,

In heaven's eternal spring.

Roche, Printer, 25, Hoxton-square, London.