2. STORY OF A BANK NOTE.

cap-i-tal, chief town or

city

cap-tors, those who seize

or capture

civ-i-lized, refined, enlightened

dis-posed of, got rid of

at-ten-tion cur-i-ous col-lec-tion

gen-u-ine, good, real
o-ver-looked, passed by
re-lease, being set free
soiled, dirty
traced, wrote
vein, a blood-vessel

mer-chant im-pris-oned pa-tience

suc-ceed-ed

val-u-a-ble

Not long ago there lived in Paris, the capital of France, a man who spent a great portion of his time and wealth in collecting bank notes. His collection was very curious and interesting. He had bank notes from England and from Ireland, from Scotland and from Wales, from Italy and from Russia, from North America and from South America, from many parts of Asia and Africa, and, indeed, from nearly every civilized country in the world. Some of these were very valuable, and could be turned into money whenever he liked, but others had long since lost their money value, and were only worthless bits of paper except as a curiosity. Many of them were clean and new, but many were soiled and torn, as though they had been used thousands of times. If those notes could have spoken, I have no doubt they would have told us many a wonderful story. About one of these, in fact, there was a strange story, which I will now relate to you.

About sixty years ago this note, which was a Bank of England five-pound note, was paid to a

Liverpool merchant by a gentleman to whom he had sold some goods. His clerk, who first received the note, held it up to the light to see if it was a good one. You know that all genuine English bank notes have what is called the water-mark on them. He saw that it was a good one, but at the same time noticed some other marks which appeared to have been made with red ink. He called his master's attention to this, who soon found out that these red marks were parts of words that had been written on the note.

The writing was so faint that they had great difficulty in making out any whole words at all. At last, however, by patience they were able to read the following sentence: 'If this note should fall into the hands of John Dean, of Long-hill, near Carlisle, he will know that his brother is a prisoner in Algiers.'

The merchant at once wrote off to Carlisle. He found that a Mr. John Dean did live there, and that a brother of his had left home several years before; but as they had never heard of him for ten or eleven years, his family and friends had thought he was dead. On receiving the letter Mr. Dean went to London to see if the King would help him in the matter. He now felt sure his brother was not dead, but that he was a prisoner in Algiers, and he thought that the King of England would help him to obtain his brother's liberty.

If you look at the map of Africa, you will see that Algiers is the capital of a large country called Algeria, in the north. For about fifty years it has belonged to the French. Before that time it had a king or ruler of its own called

a Dey, who often treated his own people very cruelly, and killed or imprisoned other people he found in his country.

Mr. Dean got the help he wished. The officers in the King's ships which were near Algiers were told to find out whether there was an English prisoner in the country, and if so, to do all they could to obtain his release. They succeeded in doing both, and in a few weeks Mr. Dean had the joy of having his brother restored to him.

You may be sure the poor man was glad to get back among his friends. And then came his story. He had been taken prisoner by the Dey of Algiers eleven years before, and been kept in one of the prisons from that time. One day when he was alone he cut a vein in his arm, and dipped a splinter of wood in the blood. With this he traced the words you have read on the bank note, which was the only paper he had, and which had been overlooked by his captors when they stripped him of his property. A few days after the note fell into the hands of the Dey, who disposed of it to some merchants.

Eleven years after that it was found in the Liverpool merchant's office, and led to the discovery and release of its former owner. I am sorry, however, to tell you that the poor man did not live many months afterwards, owing to the hardships and sufferings he had undergone whilst he had been a prisoner in Algiers.

'Little Particular' stands by the gate;

Sulky and silent and sullen is he;

Don't go a-nigh him, boys, there let him wait.
When he is tired, he'll come in to tea.

'Little Particular' wants this and that,
Never content with what mother provides;
Can't eat a crust, and turns sulky at fat,

Wants jams, and biscuits, and sweetmeats besides.

Nice bread and butter the naughty boy sneers at;

Sweet bread and milk he spills all on the floor;

Good broth, and rice, and roast mutton he jeers at,

Bellows and cries, and then slams-to the door.

Children must learn to like plain, proper dishes, Nice boiled potatoes and wholesome roast meat;

If they had nothing but cakes, jams, and jellies, Soon would those things cease to be any treat.

Then would come doctor, and nurse with the gruel,

Nauseous draughts, and grey, terrible pills; Children who always are feasting and stuffing, Quickly must learn to put up with such ills.

'Little Particular.' Ah! he looks sorry;

What does he say now his temper is o'er? 'Yes, dear mamma, you know best what is proper;

Pardon your boy, and he'll grumble no more!'

When a man or boy does anything that is very brave or noble, we call him a hero; when it is a woman or girl who acts in a brave or noble manner, we call her a heroine. It is not always the rich, the learned, the great, or the strong who are the heroes or heroines; many of the noblest deeds we have heard of have been done by the poor and the unknown. The picture on page 17 represents a man and his daughter,