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He had caught but a glimpse, but the beam was too bright,

Of that face which makes heaven's own day :
Mercy shaded his sight with death's veil from the light,

As on her bosom he nestled to pray.
“ I've seen yon fair Mon, no more I can say,

And a smile too I've seen in His e'e ;
Now dinna ye speak, leave poor Yeddie alone,

With His love and His sweet company."

If ye kenned how I love Him!” said the idiot boy, At His table you'd let my

heart rest!” So the Master came down when the night wind was

hushed, And took the poor lad to His breast. Poor weakling ! no more thou shalt whisper thy grief,

“ But I dinna see Him that I love,”
Nor bury thy sorrowful face in thy hands,

While waiting the light from above.
Poor heart, so forsaken, distracted, forlorn,

Yet the home of our Saviour and King ;
Oh, sweet light of love which could chase such a night,

And the day-break of glory could bring !
Though the cottage was mean and the windows were


Through its refts Thy sweet beauty could shine, And build in the soul of a poor idiot boy

A throne and a temple divine.

Oh, sweet is the thought that the morning's pale dew,

As it hangs on a half-broken spray,
Can reflect by the fingers of light gently touched,

The monarch and lord of the day.
And an idiot's face, though forsaken and blank,

When illumined by the light of God's grace,
Can reflect the same beauty as the angels' above,

When they gaze on the Saviour's own face.

O loft of poor Yeddie! so rich yet so poor,

The birth-place of heaven's own King;
O chamber of peace ! where such sweet love was born,

As is nurtured ’neath mercy's own wing.
O palace of beauty! where Christ held His court,

And swayed His own sceptre of love,
So kingly, that even an idiot's dark soul,

Became lustrous with light from above.

O loft of poor Yeddie ! the bridegroom's own face

Clothed thy walls with the purest of light, As mercy came forth to robe her own child

In raiment all spotless and bright.
Oh, how bright Yeddie's face ! as he looked at his King;

His race ended ere scarcely begun ;
As love gently kissed him and gave him the ring,

By which she declared him her son.



Oh, beauty of the lowly heart,

May we such beauty seek !
Oh, kingly grace which stoops to bless,

The humble and the meek !
The wisdom of the world here fails,

That glory cannot see
Which Christ alone reveals to those

Who learn to bend the knee.

O come Philosophy, and sit

At this poor idiot's feet;
And learn how wisdom's purest light

The eye of faith can greet;
The intellect with eagle eye

May proudly soar above;
The light of pardon, rest, and peace,

Dawns on the eye of LOVE.-W. POOLE BALBERN.


The Great fire of London.

The Ereat Fire of London.
HE year 1665 was a melancholy one for

the metropolis of our country. A disease
called the Plague was the cause of the
death of thousands. It is not surprising
that there should have been so dire a
calamity. We read that “ the streets were
very foul, and full of pits and ditches,
very noisome, and perilous, as well for

all the king's subjects on horseback as on foot.” There has been a great improvement since those days, but we are sure that cholera, small-pox, and other diseases would be much diminished, if, in the narrow streets, lanes, alleys, and courts, as well as in low, dirty, and crowded lodging-houses, more attention were paid to cleanliness and ventilation. The Great Fire took place the year after the Great Plague. While this was a terrible calamity, it did much in clearing London of many sources of contagious diseases. Not only were thirteen thousand houses burnt, but St. Paul's Cathedral, and a large number of churches and public buildings were destroyed. Such a fire would be impossible now, on account of the improved means of arresting and extinguishing fires. During the last century there has been marked advancement in arts, sciences, and generalįeducation. And we hope the present youthful generation may far surpass its predecessors, in all that it is true, and noble, and good.

We conclude our article by quoting some remarks of Samuel Pepys, which appeared in an interesting article on his Diary in our Large Magazine for March. “September 2nd, 1666, Lord's day. Jane called us up about three in the morning, to tell us of a Great Fire they saw in the

* We saw the fire as one entire arch of fire from this to the other side of the bridge. ** * It made me weep


City. * *

to see it. The churches, houses, and all on fire and flaming at once; and a horrid noise the flames made, and the cracking of houses at their ruine.”

T. B.

" Do uuto others as ye would they should do

unto you."


SAY now, Johnny, come along o'me an’ Jim. We're agoin' to knock over old Sal Casey's apple-stand, 'cause her wouldn't give us no toffy this mornin'. Don't set a whimperin' on them steps: but jest come along o' us.”

“No, no, Pat ! I a’n’t agoin' with you an' Jim no more,” answered Johnny Lane, the younger

of the three ragged, dirty boys grouped round a rickety Aight of old wooden steps in the neighbourhood of the Five Points. “You fellers does things what a’n’t right; an' though I've done 'em with yer afore, I don't mean to agin. I don't believe my mother, what's dead an’ gone to heaven, would ’a liked to have me do such mean things as knockin' over old Sal's stand; an’I a’n’t agoin' to. I'm bound to try to get out o'the Pints, an' be a better boy if I can.”

“Oho! Were turnin' mighty pious an' good all ov a sudden we are. Well, come along, jim ; we can have our fun, anyhow ;” and, with a rude, jeering laugh, the two large boys can off.

"Johnny, my lad," said a rough though kindly voice. Johnny looked up. Before him stood another boy of fifteen or so (his arm full of newspapers) whom he had known a good while, but had not seen for many months.

“Why, is that you, Peter Strong?” cried Johnny, jump

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