POETIC SELECTIONS.-THE CHILDREN'S CORNER. the world straight toward the lighthouse of love. Love is God's loaf; and this is that feeding for which we are taught to pray, "Give us this day our daily bread." Poetic Selections. SUN AND RAIN. A YOUNG Wife stood at the lattice-pane, Drip, drip, drip, It kept on its tireless play; And the poor little woman sighed, "Ah, me! An eager hand at the door, A step as of one in haste, A kiss on her lip once more, Went her little heart, grateful and gay, Forgot was the plashing rain, For the sombre room was lighted again "Love, love, love!" Ran the little wife's murmured lay; "Without, it may threaten and frown if it will; Within, what a golden day !" AT EVENING. WEARY and worn at the evening Lifting the hands that are failing, We cannot bear it alone. Dim are our eyes from weeping, And bleeding our feet from the way; Darker and darker the shadows No other shelter is found. Refuse not the strength of thine arm. In grief and confusion of face, For the evil this day we have done; The Children's Corner. SOMEBODY. "WHAT is the use of being in the world unless you are somebody?" said a boy to his friend. "Sure enough, and I mean to be," answered the other. "I began this very day. I mean to be somebody." Ashton looked George in the face. "Began to-day! how? What do you mean to be ?" "A Christian boy, and so grow up to be a Christian man," said George. "I believe that is the greatest somebody for us to be.' George is right. There is no higher manhood than Christian manhood; and it is in the power of every boy to reach that. Every boy cannot be rich; every boy cannot be premier; every boy cannot be judge; but God asks you all to a Christian manhood-to be His sons, and so, with His Son Jesus Christ, to be heirs of heaven. UNDER THE RUINS. Of the sixty thousand inhabitants of the proud city of Lisbon who perished by the earthquake of 1755, there are few accounts in history of the terrible individual experiences of men who participated in that catastrophe. All we know is, that a great city fell, and that many perished. How many thousands of mangled, crushed, and suffocated men and women lingered in the ruins for days or weeks, in the agonies of what must be an inevitable death, we know not. Some, perhaps, were dragged from among the timbers, only to be struck down by the hands of the plundering survivors. Others were devoured by the flames which soon enveloped the city; and yet others, unhurt, but imprisoned between standing walls and fallen roofs, died of starvation. Among the citizens of the unfortunate capital was one Henriquez Colon, an expert painter in fresco, who was employed in decorating the ceiling of the new church of San Juan. On that memorable morning of November, 1755, he had gone, as usual, to his place of work, and had reached the scaffolding, which was suspended from the lofty ceiling, and was about to commence his day's labour, when there broke upon his ear, as upon thousands of others, that low, rumbling sound which the inhabitants of volcanic regions hear with emotions of the utmost terror. For a moment it grew louder, and the terrified painter found himself swaying to and fro, while the roof to which he was attached trembled, and the walls tottered as with the throes of dissolution. With a feeling of unspeakable horror he clung to his scaffolding, in momentary expectation of the final crash that would bury him beneath the ruins. The walls rocked, as if reluctant to yield to the force of the shock, and at length, with that slow heavy movement that characterizes the giving way of a mass of masonry, tumbled outward; the roof fell in with a crash that was lost in the din of a falling city, while the unfortunate painter, hanging beneath, lost all consciousness in the prospect of certain death. He felt himself precipitated downward, and knew no more. How long he remained thus he never knew, but awoke to find himself lying bruised upon his scaffold, his hands still clutching the rope. The densest darkness surrounded him; above, beneath, nothing of shape could be discerned-all was black. No sound except his own breathing, broke the gloomy stillness. Rousing himself some UNDER THE RUINS. what, he began to feel the boards on which he lay, and creeping timidly along, he found the edge, and then he knew it was his scaffold. He then groped about over the edge, in the endeavour to ascertain his position; but, on which ever side he reached, nothing rewarded his efforts. He now began to think, was he suspended far above the ground, or could he reach it by a bold leap? He knew the roof must be above him, to which the scaffolding was attached, but had it fallen at all? or was it suspended half way? Might not another shock send it crashing to the earth? For a long weary time did he perplex his mind with these fears, until at last he began to realize his true situation. He knew that the roof that supported him was not much inclined from the horizontal, because it was quite easy to keep from slipping from the scaffolding; and he concluded that in falling it had been intercepted on one side by the piles of rubbish which lay beneath, or, more probably, by the lower portion of the wall, which was not likely to give way, and that the other side had reached the ground. The masses of timber and bricks from the neighbouring buildings had buried it on all sides, thus cutting off all communication with the outer world. Satisfied now of his position, he undertook to devise some means of at least reaching the ground beneath, but the horrible darkness rendered him helpless, and discouraged all experiments. A dozen schemes of determining his distance from the ground were proposed and rejected, when at length a very simple one was successful. He drew out his pocket-knife, and leaning over the very edge of the scaffold, dropped it, and listened. It struck the earth in an instant, and encouraged him to swing off and endeavour to touch the ground with his feet. He was unable to get a foothold, however; and so, letting go his hold, he dropped, he knew not where, into the darkness. The distance was, happily, but a few feet, and. he alighted in safety. After scrambling for an hour over piles of bricks, fallen pillars, and broken beams, he reached the altar in front of the church. Here he found a candle, which he was enabled to light, and, as the flame grew brighter, he looked around him in mute wonder at the appearance of his prison-house. He was literally buried in a mound of ruins. He knew, however, that his danger was not great, except in case of a second shock, and resolved to extricate himself. As long as his light lasted, he was employed in the fruitless and somewhat dangerous task of clambering over the ruins around the THE BIBLE. sides of his prison, in the hope of seeing a ray of sunlight dart through some opening through which he could escape; but in a few hours his candle burnt out, and left him again in darkness. He now began the labour of working his way out through the pile before him, without tools. For three days he worked, never despairing. He heard the rush of the tidal wave that swept over a portion of the city, and expected every moment to see the waters burst through the walls which were so impregnable to him. But it retired, and he laboured on. He heard the roar and crackle of the fierce flames that licked up the ruins of the city, and, as the clamour grew louder and nearer, the heat seemed to penetrate even the intervening stone and brick. But the fire went out; and for another weary day he laboured, until at last he saw the sunlight. But oh! it shone on a scene of desolation. He escaped at length to the hills, and long lived to tell of his miraculous escape from the common destruction that befell the fair city of Lisbon. THE BIBLE. WHO composed the following description of the Bible we may never know. It was found in Westminster Abbey, nameless and dateless; but, nevertheless, it is invaluable for its wise and wholesome counsels to the erring race of Adam :— A nation would be truly happy if it were governed by no other laws than those of this blessed book. It contains everything needful to be known or done. It gives instructions to a Senate, authority and direction to a magistrate. It cautions a witness, requires an impartial verdict of a jury, and furnishes the judge with his sentence. It sets the husband as the lord of the household, and the wife as the mistress of the table; tells him how to rule, and her, as well, how to manage. It entails honour on parents, and enjoins obedience on children. It prescribes and limits the sway of the sovereign, the rule of the ruler, and the authority of the master; commands the subjects to honour, and the servants to obey; and the blessing and protection of the Almighty to all that walk by its rule. It gives directions for weddings and burials. It promises food and raiment, and limits the use of both. THE BIBLE. It points out a faithful and eternal guardian to the departing husband and father; tells him with whom to leave his fatherless children, and whom his widow is to trust; and promises a father to the former, and a husband to the latter. It teaches a man to get his house in order, and how to make his will; it appoints a dowry for his wife; entails the right of the firstborn; and shows how the young branches shall be left. It defends the rights of all, and reveals vengeance to every defaulter, over-reacher, and trespasser. It is the first book, the best book. It contains the choicest matter; gives the best instruction; and affords the greatest degree of pleasure and satisfaction that we have ever enjoyed. It contains the best laws and most profound mysteries that were ever penned; and it brings the very best of comforts to the inquiring and disconsolate. It exhibits life and immortality from time everlasting, and shows the way to glory. It is a brief recital of all that is to come. It settles all matters in debate; resolves all doubts; and eases the mind and conscience of all their scruples. It reveals the only living and true God, and shows the way to Him; it sets aside all other gods, and describes the vanity of them, and all that trust in such; in short, it is a book of laws to show right and wrong; of wisdom that condemns all folly, and makes the foolish wise; a book of truth that detects all lies, and confronts all errors; and it is a book of life, that shows the way from everlasting death. It contains the most ancient antiquities and strange events, wonderful occurrences, heroic deeds, and unparalleled wars. It describes the celestial, terrestrial, and infernal worlds, and the origin of the angelic myriads, the human tribes, and the devilish legions. It will instruct the accomplished mechanic and most profound critic. It teaches the best rhetorician, and exercises every power of the most skilful arithmetician, puzzles the wisest anatomist, and exercises the wisest critic. It is the best covenant that ever was agreed on; the best deed that ever was sealed; the best evidence that ever was produced; the best will that will ever be signed. |