plains; when surrounded by the darkness of midnight, as well as the splendour of noon-day, he is around us and knows us:-we feel conscious that if we could transport ourselves with the rapidity of lightning from our present local habitation to the extreme verge of the habitable globe, we should not be able to light on a single spot and take our stand and say, "Here, His eye shall not see us; here, His ear shall not hear us; here, His justice cannot overtake us; here, His grace cannot save us. And if we could leave this diurnal sphere and ascend up to heaven, we are conscious that we should see him in all the uncreated majesty of his being;—and could we descend to hell, we should behold him in all the terrors of his vengeance. But while his presence is diffused through every part of the visible and invisible creation, it is sometimes more expressly manifested in particular places and at appointed seasons. In heaven he draws aside the veil of concealment, and exhibits before its inhabitants all the uncreated beauties of his nature. They see God;-they see him as he is, with his unveiled face. What a sight! What tongue can describe it? What hand can sketch it? What imagination conceive it? What sublime and awful impressions must it produce! What an ecstasy of bliss! What a fulness of delight! And has he not said, "Wheresoever my name is recorded, there I will come to you? Yes; his name is recorded here, and here his honour dwelleth. Here he comes in the ministry of reconciliation, slays the enmity of the human heart, roots up the deep-struck prejudices against the simplicity and spirituality of his truth, disperses the fears and terrors of guilt, soothes the agitated breast, heals the wounded spirit, and lifts upon his people, in the radiance of brightness, the light of his countenance, and shines upon them according to the riches of his glory by Christ Jesus. We want no fresh evidence to convince us of the fact, it is attested by our own experience, for we have seen the goings of our God in his sanctuary, and often en

joyed the expressions of his lovingkindness and sovereign grace. Infidelity would exclude him from our world; but are there not many local spots which he has often animated and enlivened by his presence? Have you not, in the retirements of solitude, often enjoyed sweet and unbroken communion with him? Have you not, when engaged in the holy exercise of meditation and prayer, felt a tranquillity of mind which no cares could ruffle; an elevation of feeling which no guilt could repress; a moral sublimity of sentiment which has already identified you with the spirits of the just made perfect, though on this side the waters of separation? And though the enemies of religion would deprecate the sentiments we have now uttered as the rhapsodies of fanaticism, you, my Christian brethren, dare not. Shall we admit the universality of the divine presence, and yet deprive him of the power of manifesting it to his creatures? or shall we say that the special manifestation of his favour will create no sublime emotions in the human heart? “Whither shall I go from thy Spirit, or whither shall I flee from thy presence?

VICE AND VIRTUE.

ALEXANDER POPE.

FOOLS but too often into the notion fall,
That vice or virtue there is none at all.
If white and black blend, soften, and unite
A thousand ways, is there no black or white?
Ask your own heart, and nothing is so plain;
'Tis to mistake them costs the time and pain.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace,

But where the extreme of vice, was ne'er agreed: Ask where's the North? at York 'tis on the Tweed; In Scotland, at the Orcades; and there,

than he;

At Greenland, Zembla, or I know not where.
No creature owns it in the first degree,
But thinks his neighbour farther gone
E'en those who dwell beneath its very zone,
Or never feel the rage, or never own:
What happier natures shrink at with affright,
The hard inhabitant contends is right.

Virtuous and vicious every man must be,
Few in the extreme, but all in the degree;
The rogue and fool by fits are fair and wise;
And e'en the best, by fits, what they despise
'Tis but by parts we follow good or ill;
For, vice or virtue, self directs it still;
Each individual seeks a several goal;

But heaven's great view is one, and that the whole.

THE CRUCIFIXION.

BERNARD BARTON.

MARTYRS have died, and nature smil'd the same :—
But was not thy Divinity reveal'd,

By the rent temple's veil, the graves unseal'd,
And saints who rose thy triumph to proclaim?
Heaven's starless darkness, and earth's shuddering frame
In awful terrors for their God appeal'd;
Bidding each heart by disbelief unsteel'd,
Adore with trembling thy most holy name.
O! would it have been thus if man, alone,
Possessing all humanity could hoard,

In virtue's noblest cause his blood had pour'd? Believe it not; creation knew the tone

Of her Creator,-on the cross or throne;

And thus confess'd her EVERLasting Lord.

JOE STAVELEY.

By the Author of "KIRKBECK."

EVERY Country village has, or ought to have, its "Jack of all trades," one of those useful people who, having no special vocation of their own, seem to have adopted that of every one else, and to do everything that does not come handy" to other people. Such a person has long been known and prized at Kirkbeck under the name of Joe Staveley.

Joe is (as such individuals by established rule should be) a bachelor-a slight and rather small-made man, with dexterous quick moving hands and feet; a slender rather long neck, which seems to have some peculiar power of turning every way at once; small, shrewd, light-coloured eyes, which apparently see all around him; a rather delicate and well-shaped nose and mouth, the latter somewhat overstocked with white teeth, which give a general character of good-humour to the whole face, which is completed by a high forehead quite bald at the top and fringed at the sides, with thick, stiff, grizzled hair. Add a light-brown velveteen frock-coat and loose trousers, a red waistcoat, a black silk handkerchief, very loosely knotted round his neck, and a low grey cap (Sunday is the only day graced with a hat), and you have a tolerably literal portrait of Joe Staveley's exterior man. It would not be quite so easy to describe the interior. Perhaps the prominent and most noticeable feature in that is a more than ordinary share of benevolence and kindness of heart, which makes him universally interested in every one's affairs; a quality which in spite of some tendency to degenerate into busybodyness and gossipry, is so genuine in sincerity and practical results in Joe, that no one can find fault with it. Joe is always cheerful-he has had his cares, and felt them too, for his heart is warm and sensitive, but a naturally buoyant and contented spirit

has, by God's grace, enabled him lightly to leap over sorrow, and habits of ceaseless occupatión, together with a most firm and unvarying conviction that all God does is right, have always prevented care from weighing him down long. I am not sure that a better summary of Joe's character could be found than St. Paul's description of charity—he certainly is one of those very few who think no evil"-for whatever his neighbours may be doing, have done, or be about to do, Joe is sure to put the most favourable construction on their actions that ingenuity can devise; and it is quite established in the village that his must be a poor case indeed for whom Joe has nothing but a shake of the head, and an "Ah, poor fellow! may be if ane knew a', he's not so much to blame as it looks!"

Probably no one has ever heard Joe speak ill of any one; indeed I believe he speaks regretfully even of Napoleon Bonaparte, who is his beau ideal of wickedness, and as to bearing all things, few could more literally have fulfilled the precept of giving good things in return for evil things, than he did in his early life. Joe never was a man to talk much about religion-his was a religion rather of thoughts and deeds than of words, but it bore those fruits by which the tree is to be known.

Such was the man, who, after a fashion of his own, pretty well ruled our village. It would be hard to define the multifarious offices which he undertook, in addition to being the universal confidant, counsellor, and sympathizer. He physicked everybody's dogs, cats, birds, poultry, and cattle, and even occasionally trespassed on Dr. Martin's province with certain nostrums-herb teas, wonderful ointments, and plasters of his own manufacture and administration. If Joe could have offended any one, he would have mortally offended Sir John Elter's first-rate London cook by fulfilling the request of that experienced artist's master, who wished Joe to initiate her into his arts of baking the lightest bread, boiling the mealiest potatoes, and