from her class in this bitter humour-and nobody can tell you how really bitter and terrible such times were to the unhappy girl-and, having tossed down her books, she was standing at the little dust-covered window, her face leaned upon her fire would gleam from her eyes; she would hate herself, and the world, and everybody in it; and cry out, Why had God bestowed so much beauty on all the objects He had made, and left her such an unsightly thing? One day she had returned hands, and looking 'gloomily into the street. Outside it was dull and quiet, and the houses crowded close in dark shadow; only between two gables a narrow slit of sky opened, and through that a long slanting sunbeam gave a glimpse of autumn woods, and a shining river, and blue hills in the distance, and then fell full on the dim pane and Bessie's scowling face. Inside the room it was so dismal you could hardly see. The air was stifling; the floor and shelves littered with disorder; the little tent-bed unmade; the ashes on the hearth unswept; and not a chair where any one could venture to sit down. For a good while there was dead silence. given no heed, but instead had fallen to making scores with her finger on the window-pane. At last, turning gruffly round, she replied, "What is it you want?" "Water," said the thin cracked lips, very plaintively. Bessie's heart was not softened. She went with a mug to the water-pail, and having, without any gentleness, given her mother to drink, she stood sulkily before her, and, with her coalblack glare, met the faded blue eyes turned up so sad. "Mother," she said, almost fiercely, "I wish you and I were dead!" The poor woman was perhaps long past being shocked, for these outbreaks were often occurring now, as Bessie grew older, and her heart stronger in its bad passions. The faded eyes still gazed, and the thin lips had no answer. "Bessie," at last said a feeble voice from a corner of the room. It was like a voice out of the grave; and not till you went near to a high-backed chair beside the fire, could you see a poor, wasted figure, the face half hid, the hands cold and help-you?-why is there no one less, and all clad round with wretchedness and dirt. This was Bessie Lee's paralysed mother! "Bessie," said the thin voice again, for Bessie had "Why are we so poor?” went on the wrathful girl. "Why am I left alone with to help me in taking care of you?-why do we live in so miserable a house?-why is every one I know at school better off, and better dressed, and richer, and happier than we are?—and why," for this | who are better off than we are happy, but it never makes me. Will it change my looks, or will it tell me how I can get beauty into my ugly face? was the real secret, "while everybody is good-looking and well-liked-why am I so ugly that I am hated and avoided by all who come near me, as if I had the plague ? You see Bessie's brooding over the canker of her life had taught her bitter language, and language even beyond her years. "My Bible!" murmured her mother, for the poor mind wandered; and though the head had been shaken piteously at Bessie's words, it could not retain them for more than just a minute. "You have not read to me, Bessie, for many days." This was slowly and very touchingly said. "I don't care," replied the girl. "Reading books does me no good. Am I to grow up into a woman, ugly as I am at this moment?-that is what I want to know!" "My Bible!" repeated the voice once more. "You have not read to me for many days." "I know that," was the wild answer, "and what is more, I won't do it again. There is no use in it. Reading it may make those "My Bible!" still murmured the voice. "And prayer, Bessie-you have not prayed with me for many days." "Nor will I do it now," recklessly said the girl. "I am tired of everything. I laughed in my heart last Sunday evening, when my teacher told us how, if we loved Christ, and prayed, and read the Bible, we would become beautiful like the angels in heaven. And then I am sure I saw her and all the girls look round at me in pity, as if I could never be that. So there is no use in my trying to pray and read the Bible any more. There, you may read for yourself if you like, mother!" And with that she flung the Bible roughly on her mother's knees, and, turning her back, went again to lean at the dim window. She did not think how the faded eyes closed in blinding tears-how the weak hands never stirred the Bible where it lay-and how the heart of the poor mother was pained nigh to breaking. She could only think of that one thing -Was there anything in the world could give her beauty for her ugliness-anything in the world that could tell her the secret of a new face? At that moment, as she looked out, the red sunset glinted suddenly on the face of a young girl—-young as herself-who, riding on a shaggy pony along the nar row path between the two gable ends, chanced to turn a very bright look up; the eyes of the two girls met; and in that instant Bessie Lee got a glimpse of the great secret she so much wanted to know. It, as it were, gleamed upon her and was gone; but not ere her heart had leaped up, and she gave an eager breath. But I must keep the secret for another chapter. Near Home. BOUT five months ago, a noble ship, called the "Royal Charter," laden with passengers, many of them coming home after years of absence, money-making, and hard work, left Melbourne in Australia and sailed for England. It had a happy voyage till just at the very last. It had even touched at a home port in Ireland and landed some of its passengers, and spread the news by telegraph and letter through the whole land that the rest were coming. The cry of home was on every lip on board, as you may well guess, and the sweet thoughts of home in every heart. Well, as the ship was making way up the channel, and was just a few miles from Liverpoolas one would say, at the very threshold of home-the dark arms of the night and the storm swept between. Lights were burned for a pilot off a place called Port Lynas, but no boat could live in the sea now raging; and as midnight drew on and grew black as pitch, and the wind rose to a hurricane, such that the oldest sailor living on that wild coast did not recollect its like, it became plain to all that the vessel was fast being swept ashore. Anchor after anchor was let go; but one by one they snapped like threads. Steam was kept up in the teeth of the waves, but the huge waves played with the huge ship as if it had been a toy. Then to lighten her, one mast after another was hewn down; but every effort was in vain, and when three hours of such tugging and straining in the blast were over, swift swift the vessel drove to its doom. It was a cruel spectacle, so near home! The billows gathered round it as it beat upon the rocks, like demons to the spoil. There was a little while of hurrying feet upon the deck, broken cries of hope, mixed with cries of prayer; then came the deep long shrieking of despair; then the great gulf yawning amidships, as, crushed upon the rocks, the vessel broke in twain; then the wild farewell with which heart was rent from heart, and hand from hand, as down, hundreds, old and young, strong and weak, were swept into that grave; and last, the storm roaring over its feast in savage joy, as if never from its maw it would give up the dead! What an awful abyss to open and swallow men up, just at the door of their homes! Several most affecting things are told. For example, it is said about the captain, that from nine o'clock he was never off the deck, doing all man could do, time after time knocked down by wave and spar, but buffeting at his bootless toil gallantly again. He was latterly seen giving orders on deck with a spar lashed to him, so that, when swept away, he might float. When washed into the sea, he recovered himself by seizing a yard-arm, though more than once it was struck from his gripe. On two occasions, shaking himself free of the foam, he cried nobly, "There is hope yet!" Ah, how the hope perished! He and the second officer, not long after, |