to be out of the reach of the great waves that come rolling in from the Irish Channel; and near it is a creek, or little river, in which the fisherman used to shelter his boat. At the time of my story the man happened to have left his cabin and gone to Tenby. It was market-day there, and as the weather was rough and wintry, he had stayed away from home. It was desolate and dreary about that little house on the cold December day of which I am speaking. A dull, leaden sky; a cold, keen blast, sweeping up clouds of sand along the shore; the moaning of the sea-birds, and the regular beat of the waves upon the shore, formed the total of the sights and sounds on the coast that day. A strong wind had been blowing for three days, and all who thought of the sailor at sea prayed God to keep him from its dangers. A good brig had just made the entrance of the Bristol Channel, and was beating up towards Bristol. She had a captain, mate, and six sailors for her crew. Their voyage had been a pleasant one, and was now nearly over. They were thinking of their homes and friends when the storm came on. The rigging was stiff with ice, and it was hard to handle the ropes or manage the ship. The men did their duty, as all true English sailors will do; but it was in vain. The winds and the waves and the bitter cold were too strong for them, brave as they were, and carried the poor brig steadily towards the shore. Soon they heard a sound terrible to seamen; it was the noise of the breakers. The captain called all hands about him and raised his voice in prayer. He prayed for their safety, if God so willed it, that they might have strength to meet the fierce waves, and that, if they could not be saved from shipwreck, they might be safe in the mercy of God.

"The brig soon struck, and as she lay with her side to the shore, the water for a little space was so calm that the small boat

was safely launched, and every man seated in it. But, alas! before they could reach the shore a great wave struck the little boat, and the poor men were cast into the boiling sea. Four of them, with the captain, reached the land, and though scarcely able to move, dragged themselves forward to find a shelter. They raised a shout when they came in sight of the little cabin; but, alas! there was the creek between it and them. 'We must go through or die,' said the captain; and after a great struggle, in their tired state, they reached the other side; but the brave captain could go no further. 'Leave me, my men,' said he; get help for yourselves, and then come back if you can.' The men gained the house, but were horrified to find it empty. One man only took heart, as he looked at the fire-place and the wood near it. But, alas! there was neither flint nor steel to strike a light. A moment he stood in agony; but as he raised his head he saw upon the rude mantel-piece a small box marked, 'Matches.' With trembling haste he seized it, and found one single little match! Here were four sailors; a little way off lay their brave captain. All their lives depended, one might say, upon that simple match. If it failed all must die, for cold and hunger were fast doing their work upon the poor men. With a trembling hand, and a silent prayer, he drew the match, and as the little feeble flame broke out, Thank God!' burst from the men.

"They soon managed to make a wood fire; and as the bright blaze shot up, the glare brought relief to the poor captain, who lay on the beach too weak to crawl. The feeling that now he should be saved helped to keep him alive. When the sailors came to where he lay he was nearly gone; but they carried him in, and gradually he revived.

"Remember how much good a thing that seems so insignificant as a match can do."

M

ANY boys make a mistake as to the nature of courage. There is a true and a false courage, just as there is good and bad money. Now, as a boy with only bad money is not rich, so a boy with false courage may be nothing but a coward after all. Courage is associated with difficulty in the path of duty, but not with the yielding to entreaty to do wrong. So Shakespeare makes a hero to exclaim

"I dare do all that may become a man ;
Who dares do more,
is none."

There is Charley Ingham, who is waylaid between his home and school. Three other boys have got a dog which they intend to set to fight with another dog in the neighbourhood, and they are trying to persuade Charley to stay away from school and keep them company. But Charley knows better. He has been taught that it is cruel to set dogs to bite and tear each other; and that boys who find delight in such cruel sports will become brutish men, degraded in their character and miserable in their habits, unloving and unloved. Of course those boys will call him a coward because he will not go at their request, but he will not be misled by their words nor frightened by their taunts. He knows that he is not a coward; that in the presence of real danger he would

be more courageous than any one of his tempters; and he will show them that he possesses the elements of true heroism by turning away from their entreaty and daring to do right.

Charley has been called cowardly before to-day. Tom Barker once charged him with being afraid to fight. But Charley replied, replied, "Yes, it is true, I am afraid to fight you, Tom. I have no ill-will toward you, and am sorry that you should talk to me in that way. But if I could do you real service by fighting for you, I would do it at any risk."

We do not doubt that he would, for we have watched him for some time with care, and quite expect that he will grow up to be truthful, and honest, and industrious. There will perhaps a time come when those boys will be glad to receive a favour for themselves or their families from this very lad whom now they seek to draw away from the path of virtue. And because he will not yield to them in this matter of disobedience it is likely that when that time shall come he will both have the power and the will to return their evil with good. Boys

"Dare to be a Daniel!

Dare to stand alone!
Dare to have a purpose firm!
Dare to make it known!"

AUGHTER very often shows the bright side of man. It brings out his happier nature, and shows of what sort of stuff he is really made. Somehow we feel as if we never thoroughly know a man until we have heard him laugh. We do not feel "at home with him till then. We do not mean

a mere snigger, but a good, hearty, round laugh. The solemn, sober visage, like a Sunday's dress, tells nothing of the real man. He may be very profound, very cross, or very jolly. Let us hear him laugh, and we can decipher him at once, and tell how his heart beats.

HE

NE cold winter morning, as Annie looked out

From the parlour so cosy and warm, She saw a brown sparrow, half hid in the

snow,

Who had been out all night in the storm. His toes they were stiffened, his feathers were wet,

And he was a sight to behold. “Ah! dear little Brownee, you're frozen," said Ann;

"Come in, little bird, 'tis so cold."

There, lifeless and still, and as limp as could be,

In a terrible plight, lay poor little Brownee.

Of wool and of cloth in a cunning round box She made him a nice little bed,

And she tucked in the coverlid close at the sides,

While he lay there as still as if dead. But the warmth of the room soon restored him to life,

And he opened his eyes and looked round. Then he jumped on his feet, gave his feathers a shake,

On the table he came with a bound. Yes, he came with a bound surprising to

see,

And a wide-awake bird was this little Brownee.

SPARROW

Annie patted his head and she smoothed the soft coat

Of the birdie so bonny and wee, Little cared he for that, but he spoke up quite loud

"I'm hungry," chirped little Brownee. "Oh, that's it," said Annie; "come here, pretty pet,

"And see what there is you will eat." So she gave him some crumbs, which he swallowed in haste,

And thanked her as birds do, "Tweet, tweet." Yes, he thanked Annie Gray, as I plainly ¡Brownee.

could see,

For a grateful young sparrow was little

Then he hopped to the window, put his head on one side,

And tapped on the glass with his bill. "Let me out," said the bird, tap, tapping again.

"Yes, yes," said my Annie, "I will.” So she opened the window and lightly he flew,

And he soared to the top of the tree; And the song that he sang, as he look down at Ann,

Was as sweet as bird-music could be. "I am warm, I am fed, tra la la, I am free, And oh! I'm so happy!" sang little Brownee.

MONGST the fourteen or fifteen girls who formerly composed my class, there was cne, now no more, who often arrested my attention. She was a quiet, subdued girl, about fourteen years of age, dressed in a black willow bonnet, blue printed frock,

white pinafore, and a little drab shawl: her name was Rachel Riley.

Young as Rachel was when called away, her cup had been a bitter one, in consequence of the misconduct of a drunken father, whose intemperance and neglect of