My story is about a brave little boy, who worked in one of those deep coal-mines, which are so numerous in some parts of Lancashire and Yorkshire. Very often these mines catch fire, either through some accident or the carelessness of men. If a naked light should come into contact with the gas which often collects in the mine, there is a terrible explosion, and often loss of life.

While the men were at work in the coal-mine, the gas caught fire, and the noise of the flames as they went hissing and roaring through the mine was like that of a furnace. A poor little waggon-boy heard the noise, and saw the flames coming towards him. Quick as thought almost, he turned an empty waggon upside down and crept beneath it.

As soon as the flame had passed, the foul air put out his safety lamp, and left him in the dark. He then knew that if he breathed that air, if for but a few minutes, he must die; that his only chance of safety was in reaching the bottom of the shaft before he fainted. The shaft, as you

know, was the only means by which fresh air could be supplied to the mine.

He crept from under the waggon, pulled his flannel cap off his head, thrust it into his mouth and over his nostrils, and ran for life. It was an awful race through the dark mine, over the dead and dying miners. The fire had thrown down the roof of the mine in some places, and blocked up the air channels. He had to grope his way over loaded waggons, dead horses, heaps of coal, and dying men.

Often he fell and hurt himself, but he sprang to his feet and ran again, until he reached the mouth of the mine, where he fell down and fainted. The fresh air from the shaft soon revived him. As soon as he became conscious, he began to think what he could do to save some of the other poor fellows who were in the mine. As he groped his way about, he found several who, like himself, had fainted. They lay on their backs, breathing heavily, and in danger of dying for want of fresh air.

He turned them over with their faces towards the bottom of the shaft. He opened the air channels that had been closed, and a current of fresh air fell on their faces. This soon revived them, and they were able to render some help in saving others.

The noise of the explosion had been heard by those who were above, and men came down with safety lamps to see what had happened, and to give what help they could. As many of the miners as were alive they took away first, sending them to their homes as quickly as possible. When they were able to see all the damage which the fire had done, they were

astonished that any had been brought up from the pit alive.

Soon the news spread that it was the little waggon-boy who had been the means of saving the lives of his comrades as well as his own. Many a wife and mother and sister thanked the brave little fellow, who in the hour of danger knew what to do, and did it nobly. In darkness and amid death he thought of the welfare of others, and it is right that his deeds should be told. Such acts deserve to live in story and in song, for heroes like little Willie Ashton are the glory of any age and country.

All boys cannot have the opportunity of being heroes in the way Willie Ashton was; but in some other way they may prove their right to this name. Let a boy stand up for right, and dare at all times to do right, and he will be a hero. Let a boy conquer self, and he will be a hero. Let a boy take the side of the weak, and defend it against the wrong, and he will be a hero. Let a boy deny himself for the sake of others, or suffer to save others, and he will be a hero.

In school life even there will not be wanting many opportunities in which boys may do noble deeds, and show themselves worthy of being called heroes.

I fell into grief, and began to complain;

I look'd for a friend, but I sought him in vain : Companions were shy, and acquaintance were cold,

They gave me good counsel, but dreaded their gold.

'Let them go!' I exclaimed; 'I've a friend at my side,

To lift me and aid me whatever betide;

To trust to the world is to build on the sand ;I'll trust but in Heaven and my good Right Hand.'

My courage revived in my fortune's despite, And my hand was as strong as my spirit was light;

It raised me from sorrow, it saved me from pain, It fed me and clad me again and again.

The friends who had left me came back every one,

And darkest advisers look'd bright as the sun :
I need them no more, as they all understand,-
I thank thee, I trust thee, my good Right Hand.

DR. MACKAY. By permission.

23. HUNTING THE OSTRICH.

dam-aged, spoiled, injured | ob-tained, got

Some of you have often seen an ostrich feather, either in the window of some shop, or adorning a lady's bonnet. You may not know much about the bird itself, or the way in which the feathers are obtained. You shall now read a little about both, which will make you more interested when next you see these beautiful feathers:

The ostrich is classed among birds, although it cannot fly like the birds you see in this country. It is a very large bird, as you may judge from the picture before you. It is chiefly found in South Africa, where the natives hunt it by stratagem. That is, they have to adopt some device before they can get within reach of the bird, to kill or to capture it.

The hunter generally covers his head and shoulders with the skin and feathers of an ostrich. He allows the head and neck to hang down, as if he were a bird quietly feeding. He sits down and covers himself with the wings and feathers, like a bird sitting on its nest. He imitates the movements of a real ostrich so well, that it is scarcely possible to detect the imposture.