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"O for a harp of golden strings,

A glowing, thrilling, rapturous heart,
Full of hope's gay imaginings,

A faith that bids all fears depart!
A grateful sense of sin forgiven;
An antepast of joy and heaven!"

VISITOR.

The sedge-bird, the grasshopper-warbler, the wheatear, the whitethroat, the flusher, the night-jar, golden plover, &c., take their departure for the south, some in flocks, and others separately, some in the day, but the greatest number in the night, particularly by moonlight. The fieldfare, gannet, snipe, curlew, and bean-goose, arrive from their northern summer haunts.

The larva of the privet hawk-moth may now be found on the privet-shrub, and its elegant appearance affords a contrast to the uninviting form of many of the caterpillar tribe. Also the larva of the glowworm may at this time be met with on heaths, old banks grown over with moss, &c., in quest of small snails, on which it feeds, shining beautifully during the fine nights at this time.

The following is a list of some of the garden-plants in flower :banded lily, (amaryllis vittata,) orpine, (sedum telephium,) harvestbells, (campanula rotundifolia,) also golden-rod, horn-of-plenty, golden star-lily, autumnal snowflake, dingy groundsel, tall sunflower, coreopsis, Italian pimpernel, and several other interesting plants. The berries of the deadly night-shade (atropa belladonna) are now ripe this plant should not be introduced into gardens, as it is in every part poisonous, and, from its beautiful appearance, and the sweet taste of the berries, often allures children, and even grown persons, to eat them; from which fatal consequences have often occurred.

BRIEF ASTRONOMICAL NOTICES,

FOR SEPTEMBER, 1843.

BY MR. WILLIAM ROGERSON, of the Royal Observatory, Greenwich.

"THE universe thy greatness shows,
And endless space thy presence knows,

O wondrous, glorious God!

Thy finger marks the comet's sphere,
And countless orbs, in full career,
Pursue their various road."

THE SUN rises at Greenwich on the 1st at fourteen minutes past five, and sets at forty-six minutes after six: on the 19th he rises at forty-two minutes past five, and sets at six minutes after six on the 23d he enters the equinoctial sign Libra, when the autumn quarter begins.

Should God again,

As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race

Of the undeviating and punctual sun,

How would the world admire! But speaks it less

An agency divine, to make him know

His moment when to sink, and when to rise,

Age after age, than to arrest his course?"

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The MooN is half-full on the 1st, at twenty-two minutes past five in the morning; and passes the meridian on the 2d at a quarter after seven in the evening: she is due south on the 4th at nine o'clock, and on the 7th at a quarter past eleven, at night. The Moon is full on the 8th, at three minutes before seven in the evening; and rises on the 9th at a quarter after six: she rises on the 12th at eight minutes past seven, and on the 15th at a quarter before nine: she enters her last quarter on the 16th, at thirteen minutes after eleven at night; and rises on the 17th at half an hour past ten she exhibits her waning crescent in the eastern horizon on the 18th about midnight, and on the 21st at twenty-one minutes past two in the morning. The Moon changes on the 23d, a few minutes before eleven at night; and sets on the 28th at eight o'clock in the evening: she enters on her first quarter on the 30th, about two in the afternoon; and is due south in the evening of the same day at three minutes after six.

MERCURY is invisible to the naked eye, during the revolution of this month.

VENUS is yet a morning star: she rises on the 1st at nineteen minutes after four, and on the 6th about a quarter of an hour later; afterwards she becomes invisible to the naked eye, being obscured in the blaze of the sun.

MARS is to be seen every clear evening: he is on the meridian, or due south, on the 1st at forty-two minutes after six, and on the 26th at seven minutes past six: on the 1st and 2d, and also on the 30th, he is in the neighbourhood of the Moon.

JUPITER appears very brilliant in the evenings in the eastern skies; and, with his satellites and belts, is a fine telescopic object: on the 6th he is in conjunction with the Moon.

SATURN is seen between Mars and Jupiter: he is due south on the 1st at a quarter before nine, and on the 27th at seven o'clock, in the evening: on the 3d and 4th he appears not far from the Moon.

The late great Comet.-This wonderful body has now been invisible for some months to the inhabitants of our world: it is moving further and further from us and the Sun. Observations show that it passed its perihelion, or nearest distance from the Sun, on the 27th of February last, when it must have been very close indeed to the body of that luminary. From an account received from America it appears that this interesting object was first noticed on the 28th of February, when it appeared of unusual size and brilliancy, and distinctly visible to the naked eye at noonday, about five or six degrees in length, and little more than one degree in width, and seemed like a very small white cloud, with its densest part towards the sun, and its luminous train in opposition to it. The same account adds, "On viewing it through a common telescope of moderate power, it presented a distinct and beautiful appearance, exhibiting a very white and bright nucleus, and a tail divided near the nucleus into two separate branches, with the outer sides of each branch convex, and of nearly equal length,

apparently eight or ten degrees, and a space between their extremities of five or six degrees. Though viewed several minutes. under these favourable circumstances, no coruscations were perceived."

JUVENILE OBITUARY.

JANE HUNTER, the subject of the following brief notice, was born at Celbridge, near Dublin, November 19th, 1830, and, along with her parents, removed to England, in July, 1835. Her disposition was affectionate, and being combined with great natural cheerfulness, secured the warm attachment of her brothers and sisters. She gave early indications of a reflective mind: reading was an exercise of which she appeared never to be weary; and she had learnt the happy art of making what she read her own, and on closing the book could converse with much propriety on its subjects. The seeds of disease began to develope themselves in the spring of 1837; and the progress, though gradual, was perceptible, until nature sank beneath the pressure. It was, however, an occasion of rejoicing to her parents, that as disease was preying on her delicate frame, they beheld an increasing seriousness of disposition; and her pleasure in the means of grace, with her riveted attention to the public ministry of God's word, afforded pleasing hope that the grace of God was influencing her heart. Her father invited her to meet in his class; a proposal to which she cheerfully responded, and continued to meet until unable to leave the house. She was occasionally conveyed in the arms of her father, whom she affectionately thanked for his invitation to share the privileges of church-fellowship, assuring him that nothing but extreme diffidence had prevented the proposal originating with herself. Though reserved and unassuming in her ordinary conversation, when she spoke of her religious experience, and particularly on her personal acceptance with God, it was in the most decided manner. To the cause of Missions she was ardently attached, and for four years had devoted her little all to its funds; inquiring only two days before her death, if there was any deficiency in her weekly contributions. The company of the Ministers who visited her father's house she much enjoyed, and their conversation was greatly prized by her; while they were gratified by witnessing the uncomplaining resignation with which she submitted to the appointment of her heavenly - Father, and the cheering tone of confidence and hope she was permitted to indulge. In the midst of great debility and pain, the fine sense of obligation which she through life possessed never forsook her; and her gratitude for any little attention paid her knew no bounds. Towards the close her debility was extreme, so as, indeed, to render conversation all but impracticable; but to the inquiries of her sorrowing parents and friends, her replies were of the most prompt and satisfactory character. She exchanged mortality for life, on the morning of January 9th, 1841, aged ten years. JOHN P. LOCKWOOD,

LIGHT. ECCLES. XI. 7.*

WHO ever rose at dawn of day,
And sought the hills with eager feet,
But as he look'd abroad could say,
"Truly the light is sweet?"

Glowing around its radiant source,
Waking with smiles amid the dew,
Or twinkling down the river's course,
'Twas pleasant still to view.

It is a gladsome traveller

Though far away from its bright home; So pure, 'tis happy every where If it be free to roam.

Pleasant the thought, that still on earth, Where'er 'mid fallen things we stray, Something is left of lofty birth

To tend us on our way.

'Tis sweet, when on the day of rest

Light softly cheers the house of prayer,

And 'minds us of that Spirit blest,

In costlier temples there.

Or, emblem also of the Lord,

Whose mercies every morn are new, 'Tis sweet, when bending o'er the word, To read the image true.

Sweet was the light to him of old,

Who, touch'd by gentle hand divine,
Could first his Saviour's form behold,
Then all around him shine.

It was a vast and wondrous scene
That burst upon his newborn sight;
And none could better tell, I ween,
How beautiful is light.

Restored from sickness long and drear,
The good man leaves his chamber dim;
And, glittering through a grateful tear,
How sweet is light to him!

Or, if his sickness close in death,

Thrice sweet that purer light divine, Which brightens with his parting breath In Zion's courts to shine.

From "Songs from the Parsonage."

Ascended there, what glory springs
'Mid circling hosts, his gaze to greet!
He bends, and breathes beneath his wings, t
Truly the light is sweet."

It comes not from the orb of day,

Shedding his golden beams abroad;
No moon reflects her silver ray,

It is the Lamb of God!

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LET me not leave my chamber heedlessly.
I go once more to mingle with my kind,
And ere again at nightfall I shall be
Returned hither, thoughts and words may find
From this unguarded heart a passage free
Into some kindred or confiding mind,

That haply thence, through never-ending years,
May reap the fruit of gladness or of tears.
O God! it is a thought to wake the soul;
And I would feel it in its mightiest power
Now, in the stillness of the morning hour,
That through this newborn day I may control
More watchfully each feeling of my heart,
And ponder well my words, ere they for aye depart.
From "Songs from the Parsonage."

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

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