"Soon the steamer was sinking fast, and from the slanting decks many fell into the sea. There was trembling agony, and many a despairing cry for help; but all in vain.

“The last time darling Ada was seen, she was standing on the deck by the stewardess. A sailor well remembers hearing her last sweet words, 'I am not afraid!' Then came another crash, a fearful shriek, and the vessel sank with all on board in the dark waters. Where was Ada now? A few moments' struggle in those waves, and then her spirit passed, as I doubt not, to the quiet haven on Canaan's happy shore. Long ago the promise was given, "When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee.' (Isaiah xliii. 2.) Surely Ada found it true when she calmly said, 'I am not afraid.""

"And were any more drowned, dear aunt ?"

"Yes, dear, more than seventy. Many more must have perished; but a lady on the shore happened to be wakeful and restless that night. Looking out of the window, she saw the vessel get on the rocks. She ran down to the village, and awoke the fishermen, who put off in their boats, and saved many lives. One gentle

man got a plank, and tried to save his only child by holding his clothes with his teeth; but another seized the plank, and the poor struggling child was drowned. Two little boys who were saved lost their dear papa, mamma, and sisters. One noble little fellow, Archibald, was going home with his tutor, who tried to help him to get to the rocks; but he said, 'O, never mind me; assist the ladies.' One young lady's life was saved by her having learned, when at school, to float on her back. She had presence of mind to do so till picked up. A dear orphan child was returning from school, with

her uncle, aunt, and cousins; every one was drowned but this desolate child.

'When the sun rose, the tide washed ashore many of the dead. Their bodies were all laid side by side in one large room of death. There were seen fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters, all in the sleep of death. There were three lovely children, whom no one knew or claimed, till it was found their parents had sunk in the vessel.

"The body of Ada was laid there too. When her dear papa came to meet his child, there were no springing feet, no loving kisses ready for him; but

there was a smile on Ada's cold cheek. The father tried to comfort himself with the thought that his darling one had reached a better home, and that she was waiting for him there, to dwell for ever, where there shall be no more death and no more sea.'

Aunty's true tale is finished now, Miriam. You, too, must die: would you like to say with Ada, ‘I am not afraid ?' It is sin that makes us fear to die: "The sting of death is sin.' But the Lord Jesus bore our sins in His own body on the cross. The sting of death pierced Him instead of those who believe on Him. Look now, dear child, at Him who gave Himself for you, and shed His precious blood, which can wash you whiter than snow. Look now, look every day, and then, when you are dying, whether it be among the wild sea-waves, or on a quiet pillow, you will joyfully say, 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.

MAKING FUN OF PEOPLE. ENCE, when travelling on a stage-coach, says a writer in a contem

porary, I met with a young lady who seemed to be upon the constant look-out for something laughable. Every old barn was made the subject of a passing joke, while the cows and sheep looked demurely at us, little dreaming that folks could be merry at their expense.

All this was, perhaps, harmless enough. Animals were not sensitive in that respect. They are not likely to have their feelings injured because people make fun of them; but when we come to human beings, that is quite another thing.

So it seemed to me; for, after a while, an aged woman came running across the fields, lifting up her hand to the coachman, and in a shrill voice begging him to stop. The good-natured coachman drew up his horses, and the old lady, coming to the fence by the roadside, squeezed herself through between two posts which were very near together.

The young lady in the stagecoach made some ludicrous remark, and the passengers laughed. It seemed very excusable; for, in getting through the fence, the poor woman made sad work with her old black bonnet; and now, taking a seat beside a well-dressed lady,

have been to have one's clothes nailed and screwed on; and it often came very much to that, as they lived in their armour for days together.

These helmets were not unlike small coal-scuttles, sometimes with bars over the open part, or a moveable slip, called the visor, through which they could see and speak, and which opened like a trap-door, and allowed them to eat and drink, though not very comfortably I should think. The helmet was partly laced and partly screwed to a thing called the gorget, something like a dog's collar, so that it was not very easy to turn or look round. Then there were steel gloves, arm-pieces, cuisses for defending the thighs, greaves for the legs, (such as were worn by the giant Goliath,) steel shoes, or sandals, and a great many other pieces. So that it sometimes happened, if the poor knight was overthrown, could not get up without help, and lay smothered, like a sheep in a ditch on a hot day.

he

Of course, when gentlemen were screwed up in these iron cases, it was not easy to tell them apart, so that a plan was contrived, by which each was entitled to wear some kind of device on his shield, and a crest

on his helmet. All the gentlemen of one family used the same crest; and there were laws made to prevent anyone from using one that did not belong to him.

Besides this, they had mottos, many of them very beautiful, to put them in mind of the good and right things which all Knights promised to remember and do.

"Virtue is honour," that is one; "Do right, come what may," is a very noble one; "Grace is my guide," is the English of a third.

But we have gone a long way from Sir Tristan. Early one morning, between dark and light, the camp was roused by the wild war-cry of the Moors. His squires helped him on with his armour in great haste. In vain he told them the helmet hurt him; they were sure it was all right. He had no time to argue : away he went, and in the hot fight the pain was forgotten. But that evening, when the fight was won, and he returned to his tent, and his helmet was unscrewed, he threw it down, and with it a large piece of one ear, which had been pinched off.

"Ah!" he said, "you see now I was right when I told you it hurt me." He said no more;

and I think his forbearance may well entitle him to be called, as he was, patient Knight."

"The gentle and

RED RIDING-HOOD, WITH A MORAL LESSON. ELL, to be sure! What a funny picture for Early Days!

Little Red Riding-Hood, with her scarlet cloak and small basket, setting out on her disastrous journey, but no wolf in sight. Of course you all know

the nursery tale, and that, from beginning to end, it is what we call a fiction. That means, that there is no truth at all in it.

Little Red Riding-Hood never lived; therefore the basket, cloak, sick grandmother, and alarming wolf were all invented by some witty person who has thought, "I will write a story to make little folks afraid of wolves, and to teach them, when they are sent on errands, not to talk with strangers by the way for fear of mischief."

Now I have been asked to