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process of transferring the slaves from the doomed vessel to her captor—no easy task in those treacherous seas; and thus it came about that while the work was going on, a little slave-boy slipped from the ship's side and fell into the water. Only a moment, and one of the sharks, that had closely followed the dhow in hopes of some body being thrown overboard, darted at the poor child, and with one snap of its jaws bit off the right leg at the knee. As the blood tinged the water other monsters of the same swarm were attracted, and one of these severed the other leg of the boy.

Just then, an English sailor, fully aware of the peril he encountered, sprung overboard, armed only with a sheath-knife, and so violently attacked the sharks—supporting the poor child meanwhile—that he was enabled to beat off his assailants, get the boy into a boat alongside the ship, and escape himself unhurt!

Unhappily, the injuries inflicted on the negro child had been so severe that he died the same evening.

Those only who have seen a shoal of sharks—the most bloodthirsty and tigerlike of all fish—as it follows a ship in the tropics, when the wind is low and the sun hot, can form any idea of what that gallant sailor's leap really was, and how great was the risk of fighting the ravenous array with only a short knife in one hand and a helpless boy in the other. The sailor, too, must have known full well that, being a white man, he ran into extra danger; for it is a firm belief on those coasts that while none but a hungry shark will attack a black man, he will eagerly snap at a white man, be he hungry or full. The sailor knew what reception he was likely to get, from having witnessed the streaming blood and severed limbs of the boy to whose rescue he flew; he knew that there was

small hope of escape for him from a death horrible beyond description; and yet he made that gallant leap, and as far as it was possible saved the poor black child.

And for whom was this noble deed done? For no messmate of many years' standing; for no friend whom he had long known and loved; but for a poor little slave whom the sailor had never seen before. Nor was it done for any hope of reward; it was done for an alien and a stranger—one of a despised and degraded race.

There was no excitement to brace up the nerves and fire the courage of themanwhodid it. No; it was done solely from the prompting of his own noble and generous nature.

The deed sheds lustre upon the name of British sailors wherever they are found. It was so prompt, tender, and brave, that wherever the story is told we way be sure that it will never be forgotten, how the British seaman sprang into the midst of the ravenous sharks, and fighting hard on behalf of a little slave lad, snatched him from the jaws of the terrible fish.

Happy is the service that can boast such men in its ranks, and happy is the country that possesses such a service to guard it in the hour of danger!

GOOD RESOLUTIONS.

A LITTLE girl, six years old, was a shoit time ago called home to God. About a year before her death she had a writingdesk given her. After her death her mother unlocked it and found this writing :—

"The minute I wake in the morning I will think of God.

"I will mind my mother and father always.

"I will try to have my lesson perfect.

"I will try to be kind and not get cross.

"I want to behave like God's child."

SO you're going to take that little street arab along, are you ?"said Frank.

"Why not?" said Will. "I don't see what objection there is to him."

"Bah! If you had seen as many of those little wretches in the city as I have, you would want to keep clear of them."

"I tell you," said Will, "I believe the people Christ went among were just as bad, or worse, than our poor, and I don't believe he was ever stopped by the thought whether they were dirty or sick;"

"Of course," said Frank in rather a subdued tone, "but he was the Lord, and we are only human beings: and my mother, she is kind, and gives a great deal of money; but she says people run great risks by coming into contact with those classes."

"I suppose that's so," said Will, "but if everybody were afraid, what would become of all the poor 1—or who would ever go among the heathen 1"

"There comes your precious red-haired pet now," said Frank, perhaps a little glad to change the subject, as a stubby little Irish lad was seen coming up the road with a slight limp and a large basket.

"I was going to ask you, Frank," said Will in a lower tone, "if you'd be willing to lend him your old fishing-rod, now you've got your new jointed one; but perhaps you'd rather not?"

"Oh yes, he can have it," said Frank.

A merry little party gathered in a cart, drawn by two strong horses, to picnic and fish at a pretty lake a few miles from the village. A little girl called Rosy was one of the party, every member of it having made her company a matter of special petition, with promises of most watchful care. Irish Jimmy enjoyed the occasion with a relish far beyond that of more fortunate children, to whom amusement is a part of the business of life. His droll little jokes and his high spirits amused all but Frank, who chose to consider himself annoyed by the presence of the little beggar.

The fishing was good, the day, with the sun's rays obscured by light clouds, being favourable, and the boys were quite successful. Some of the girls proposed to go out in a small boat, and Rosy clamoured to go too; but Frank demurred: "I promised mother she should be always in my care."

"She will—we shall keep near shore, and she will be within sight and sound of you."

With many cautions he let her go. Shortly afterwards he left his line in the water with a stone to secure his rod, while he went a few steps into the woods for some bait. Jimmy was fishing near, and his sharp eye soon perceived the quiver of the rod which showed that a fish was caught, which might escape if not landed. Quietly and quickly he stepped to it, delighted at being able to perform even a slight service for Frank, who came up behind him just as he drew out a good-sized fish.

"Drop that, you little rough!" said Frank in a voice of suppressed anger. "How dare you meddle with my rod?" Seizing the slender thing as it still bent with the weight of the fish, he gave it a harder jerk than he was aware of. It snapped not far from the line, and the fish drew the fragment away, to free itself, it may be hoped, at its leisure.

With a muttered exclamation Frank passionately threw the remaining piece into the lake, while Jimmy, with a surprised and grieved face, turned and limped away into the woods.

After a while the girls in the boat began to row shoreward, when Rosy exclaimed,—

"Why,i there's brother Frank's beautiful fishing-rod! He must have lost it." In passing near it the child reached out for it. The motion was so quick, that before the others knew what she was doing she lost her balance and fell into the water!

The boys looked up in alarm at the sound of frightened screams. Will rushed along the bank to get nearer the boat, without clearly understanding what had happened; but Frank had caught a glimpse of long bright curls disappearing as he threw himself desperately into the water. But he was a poor swimmer, and slight was the

chance of his proving able to give any help to his little sister.

But there came a loud shout from nobody knew where—then a splash. From the branches of a willow which hung far out over the water Irish Jimmy had sprung down, and plunging in much nearer to Rosy, swam rapidly to where she could be seen. She was not far from the boat, but it was by a very painful effort that Jimmy succeeded in placing her in it; and as he swam to the shore instead of getting into it himself, they all saw that the water was stained with blood. Early in the season he had been run over by a heavy cart, and had lain for weeks in a hospital before being sent into the country. 'He had now hurt his still ailing limb, and was pale with the pain as he lay out of breath on the bank.

Jimmy had never been used to having a fuss made over him, had no idea whatever that he had done anything of special remark, and was very much put about when Rosy's mother, who had been sent for, came and kissed him and cried over him.

When Frank came, thoroughly ashamed of himself, Jimmy cut short his apologies.

"It's sorry I am for the breakin' of yer fishing-rod—but it's jist risin' yer fish out of the wather I was!"

To his great joy and comfort, Jimmy's mother was sent for to nurse him through the weary days during which he had to lie in bed. She did not go back to the city, for Rosy's mother found plenty of room and work for both, none of it pleasanter than that of caring for the little ones she brought every summer to her home, directly from the dirt and sickness from which she had held herself aloof. For when her heart was once opened in sympathy for such children, she learned more and more the blessedness of shedding light on lives which have been cast in shady places.

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I NEVER had a whole half dollar in my life; I suppose it is because grandma is so poor, and I hain't got any father and mother, only just her."

Polly, who made this remark, was only six years old.

"I know," said Aggie, " your grandma is poor, but I like you all the same;" and the affectionate girl put her arms lovingly around the poor orphan.

"What be you going to do with all that money, Aggie?"

"Oh, I don't know yet," holding a half dollar in her hand. "Buy walnuts, perhaps, or oranges. What would you do with it, Polly, if it were yours 1"

"I'd buy grandma a new dress, and some shoes, and some flour, and some butter, and some bread, and some—"

"Stop, Polly, you couldn't buy so many things. You might get some butter, or the bread, but dresses cost lots of money. You sit still on the grass until I get back."

Aggie ran home as fast as she could go, but soon returned in a happy state of excitement, and all out of breath.

"Here, Polly; mother says you may have my half dollar, and buy what you please."

"Oh!" cried Polly, in great glee. "Let me kiss you, and I'll go and buy my things before grandma comes. She's up to Miss Holley's, cleaning the house, and she will be surprised."

The little friends parted very happy— Aggie for home without her walnuts, and Polly for the shop, her head filled with shoes, dresses, and groceries. She tiptoed to look over the counter in Mr. Jones's shop, and found that gentleman sitting at his desk.

"What will my little girl have to-day?"

he asked tenderly, thinking of his own darling who but a month before had closed her blue eyes in death.

"I want to buy grandma a dress, because she is so ragged ; and some shoes, so she can go to church; and some molasses."

"How much money have you, my dear?''

"I've got a whole half dollar that Aggie Bond gave me."

"Aggie Bond is a precious child," said Mr. Jones, thinking of the sweet flowers she had so often sent to his sick Maggie.

"When will you get my things?" asked Polly, tired of standing so long on the tips of her toes.

Mr. Jones thought the matter over. "A dress and shoes—the original cost could be but three dollars and a half. 'He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.' I am afraid that I haven't lent the Lord as much as I ought."

"I'll wait on you in just one minute, Polly. Come right round here and pick out grandma a dress yourself. Anything in this pile," said he, touching a lot of ginghams as he passed.

"I'll buy this;" and she laid her hand on the only piece she could reach.

After tying up a bundle of the gingham and shoes, and making a strong loop of twine to carry it by, he put the half dollar in his pocket, and Polly laughed for joy as she turned to go.

The merchant thought of his own little daughter again. "Look here, Polly, I've made a mistake; I forgot to give you the change."

"I forgot, too," said Polly; and she turned back to receive from Mr. Jones two half dollars!

"Are we all square now?" asked Polly.

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"I think we are. Why didn't you buy something for yourself with your money?"

"Why, I just forgot myself. And I don't know that I want anything."

Polly's grandmother could not understand what it all meant, as she examined her nice presents and the two half dollars.

"Aggie gave me the half dollar, and I bought the dress and shoes, and had this left."

"But that is more than you had at first."

It looked a little mysterious to Polly, but she concluded it was because he did not give her the flour, and butter, and molasses.

It was made clear to the grateful woman when Mr. and Mrs. Jones called that evening with dresses, aprons, and shoes, that their little girl had worn, and gave them to Polly. She clapped her hands for joy.

"Everybody is so good to me; and I'll go to Mr. Jones every time I want to buy things. He never cheats a bit."

MY name is Anthony Hunt. I am a drover, and I live miles and miles away, upon the Western prairie. There wasn't a house within sight when we moved there, my wife and I; and now we have not many neighbours, though those we have are good ones.

• One day about ten years ago I went away from home to sell some fifty head of cattle—fine creatures as ever I saw. I was to buy some groceries and dry goods before I came back, and above all, a doll for our youngest Dolly. She never had had a shop doll of her own, only the rag babies her mother had made for her. Dolly could talk of nothing else, and went down to the very gate to call after me, " Buy a big one!"

Nobody but a parent can understand how my mind was set on that toy, and how, when the cattle were sold, the first thing I hurried off to buy was Dolly's doll. I found a large one, with eyes that could open and shut when you pulled a wire; and I had it wrapped in paper, and tucked it under my arm, while I had the parcels of calico and delaine and tea and sugar put up. It might have been more prudent to stay until morning, but I felt anxious to get back, and eager to hear Dolly's prattle

about the doll she was so anxiously expecting.

I mounted on a steady-going old horse of mine, and pretty well loaded. Night set in before I was a mile from town, and settled down dark as pitch while I was in the middle of the wildest bit of the road 1 know of. I could have felt my way through, I remembered it so well, but very soon the storm that had been brewing broke, and pelted the rain in torrents, five miles, or maybe six, from home too.

I rode on as fast as I could; but suddenly I heard a little cry, like a child's voice. I stopped short and listened. I heard it again. I called, and it answered me. I couldn't see a thing. All was dark as I got down and felt about in the grass; I called again, and again I was answered. Then I began to wonder. I'm not timid; but I was known to be a drover, and to have money about me. I was half inclined to run away; but once more I heard that piteous cry, and, said I, "If any man's child is hereabouts, Anthony Hunt is not the man to let it lie here to die."

I searched again. At last I bethought me of a hollow under the hill, and groped that way. Sure enough I found a little