this is the work of intelligence and design, for a benevolent purpose; the work of a controlling and regulating Power, from whom all the powers of material nature emanate.'

The SUN rises at Greenwich, or London, on the 1st day at eight minutes past eight, and sets at one minute before four on the same day he rises at Edinburgh at thirty-six minutes past eight, and sets at thirty-two minutes after three. The Sun rises on the 16th at Greenwich at one minute past eight, and sets at twenty minutes after four on the same day he rises at Edinburgh at twenty-five minutes past eight, and sets at fifty-six minutes after three.

:

Note.-The Sun, owing to the elliptical form of the Earth's orbit, is more than three millions of miles nearer us on New Year's day than he is on the 1st of July.

The MOON presents her fine crescent in the evening of the 1st day, and sets about five o'clock: she sets on the 3d at twenty minutes past seven, and on the 6th at a quarter before eleven at night she is half-full on the 8th, and is due south at a quarter before six, and on the 10th is south at a quarter past seven. The Moon is full on the 16th, at twenty-seven minutes after eight in the morning; and rises resplendently on the 17th at a quarter past six : she rises on the 19th at nine minutes past nine, and on the 21st at midnight. The Moon enters on her last quarter on the 23d, at one minute past one in the morning, and rises twenty minutes afterwards she rises on the 26th at five in the morning; and changes on the 30th, at noon: she exhibits her fine crescent in the west on the 31st, and descends below our horizon at thirteen minutes past six. MERCURY is visible at the end of the month, setting about an hour and a half after the Sun: on the 31st he is near the Moon.

VENUS appears very splendid in the south-east at daybreak: on the 26th she is in the neighbourhood of the Moon. This planet appears a beautiful crescent during this month through a good telescope.

MARS rises on the 1st at a quarter past two in the morning, and on the 27th at fifty minutes past one o'clock: on the 24th he is in conjunction with the Moon.

JUPITER is visible in the evenings of the first week: he is near the Moon on the 2d, and sets at half-past five.

SATURN is in conjunction with the Sun on the 7th, consequently invisible during the whole of January.

JUVENILE OBITUARY.

DIED, April 29th, 1840, at Morice-Town, in the Devonport Circuit, John Rendle, aged twenty-one. He was favoured with pious parents, whose efforts to train up their children in the pursuit and practice of piety have not been "in vain in the Lord." He experienced very gracious impressions, even when but a child; and would often amuse himself in the domestic circle by imitating,

in the most devout manner, the various services of public worship in which he was accustomed to join at the chapel. He was always thoughtful, even above his years; and gave certain indications that he was powerfully impressed with a conviction of the value of true religion. It was while he was residing at St. Austle, in the year 1836, that he was more deeply awakened to a sense of his own state, as a guilty, helpless sinner before God, under a sermon, preached to the young, by the Rev. Henry Williams. This led to his immediate union with the Methodist society. About this time, also, the Circuit was favoured with an outpouring of the Spirit of God, and among them John earnestly sought the enjoyment of conscious pardon, which, before long, he happily experienced, and continued to enjoy till the close of his life. In the latter end of the year 1838 he removed to Devonport. This change was peculiarly grateful to his feelings, as it contributed largely to his spiritual advantage. He was naturally diffident and modest; but his uniform uprightness commanded the esteem of all who knew him. He was truly a good young man; and was careful, not only to maintain the power of godliness within, but to manifest his possession of it outwardly. He sought religious improvement in the use of the proper means; and was not slothful in business, but was industriously careful of his employers' interests. His end was sudden: he had for some weeks complained of heaviness and pain in his head, and was at length compelled to retire to the quiet of his father's house. The best medical advice was obtained, but the disease under which he was prostrate, baffled all endeavours; and, under the influence of brain-fever, he sunk into the arms of death. During the short period of his illness, he gave the most satisfactory evidence that he had a good hope of heaven. On one occasion, his mother inquired of him if he felt that he possessed an interest in Christ. He answered cheerfully, "Yes." At another time, his father said to him, "Dear John, it is in such circumstances as these that religion proves itself valuable." He answered, with deep feeling, "Yes indeed, father: what should I do without it now?" The day before he died, suffering severe pain in his head, his mother reminded him that "there is no pain among the blessed:" he immediately replied, "O no; it is all joy, all glory there." Thus blissfully he passed away to eternal rest. THOMAS W. SMITH.

POETRY.

THE CORALS.

(From Richardson's "Geology for Beginners.")
BENEATH the realm which the waves o'erwhelm,
In the seas of the torrid zone,

Our ancient race have a dwelling-place,
In a world that is all our own.

Earth boasts no spots like the fairy grots
Where we build our sparry cell;

Nor can its bowers produce such flowers
As in depths of ocean dwell.

And our forms so strange, we ever change,
As over the deep we roam;
And our varied hue is ever new,

As we vary our ocean-home.

In tranquil calms, we wave like palms,
Or bend like drooping willows;

Or we climb to the verge of the foaming surge,
And dash to the winds its billows.

In peaceful haunts, like tender plants,
We twine our fragile forms;

Or we build a rock to the tempest's shock,
That mocks its fiercest storms.

And we rear the walls of those marble halls,
As a precipice high and steep,

Till a new-found isle is seen to smile,
Like a beacon o'er the deep.

By reaveless hands, those new-born lands
Are strewn with blessings rife ;

Till man appears, and claims the spheres,
To being raised, and life.

And we join the piles of those fossil isles,
Till they spread from shore to shore;

And we build from the caves of the ocean-waves
A world unknown before.

Then say, proud man, how poor the plan
Of thy pyramids, castles, towers;
How vain the boasts of thy mightiest hosts,
Or their labours, compared with ours!

Though such our lot, yet we are-what?
In the scale of being vast,

The meanest germs of life's poor worms,
The lowest and the last.

Yet, though obscure, and low, and poor,
And lost in distance dim;

We still can raise our Maker's praise,
And pour our thanks to Him.

HUMAN LIFE.

BY THE REV. R. MONTGOMERY.

A DEATH-CLOUD rises with the star of life;
And ere upon the world our hearts expand,
Like flower-buds opening to the kiss of morn,
With gay and guiltless love, the voice of doom
Awakes; a sermon from the grave is preach'd;
We live to die, and die again to live

A spirit's life in unimagined worlds.

First, Infancy, whose days are prattling dreams:
Next, Childhood, crown'd with beauty, health, and joy;
Those wizard three, that make the mind like spring,
The breath, the bloom, and sunshine of the soul:
Then Manhood, most majestic! through the heavens
Piercing with haughty eye, and printing earth
With kingly steps; ambition, love, and care,
And energy, in wild and restless play,
For ever heaving like a wave of fire:
And then comes passionless and feeble Age,
That droops and drops into the silent grave;
Here ends the scene of life,-one moment wept,
The next forgotten. Let the curtain fall:
Oblivion has our tale;-we lived and died!

*Death.

THE MUSIC OF MILTON'S VERSE.

BY THE REV. R. MONTGOMERY.*

WITH what a melody divine

The river of each noble line

Flows onward! faint, or loud, or deep,

Accordant to the numbers' sweep.

Go, enter some majestic fane,

And listen to the organ's strain,

When melting clouds of music float

Down the dim aisles with blending note;

Now, with wild melodious thunder,
The vaulted pavement echoes under;
Then, aloft in flights of sound,
The winged harmonies abound,
Evanishing like birds that stray,

And skyward wing their boundless way!
For thus can Milton's numbers roll
Their cadence o'er the tranced soul.

*Woman. Canto II.

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