Little Annie Ashpurvis was sent by her parents to the cellar for some firewood. The child, who was but six years old, took a lighted lamp in her hand, and while descending the stairs, her foot slipped, and she fell, breaking the lamp, the flames of the burning fluid soon enveloping her entire body. As soon as the surgeon was called, the little sufferer was driven in an ambulance to the hospital. The child was put on a sofa cot, and the surgeon did all he could to alleviate her suffering, but it was impossible to save her life. Under the influence of a narcotic, she soon fell asleep. Thus she lay slowly breathing for some hours. Her face was so swollen that she could not open her eyes. About half-past two in the morning she showed signs of returning consciousness. The watchful nurse asked her if she would take a drink. She distinctly answered, "Yes." In a moment the house surgeon was beside her cot. He felt the pulse, but shook his head, and turned to go away. As he did so, the little creature moved her body. She turned half around. The dim light of the candle shone on the blackened face. The swollen lips pursed out, and in a clear, sweet voice, the dying child began to sing, "Nearer, my God, to Thee." The doctor and the nurse stood transfixed. The other patients in the silent, darkened ward leaned on their elbows and drank in the sweet melody. The first verse completed, she gradually sank back on her pillow. Her strength began to fail, and with it her voice, and only the humming, like distant music, of the air of the hymn could be heard. How sweet, yet weird, that humming sounded! The candle lent its meagre light, and the big clock in the corner told out its seconds, as the sweet little soul passed out to its Maker. The humming ceased. All was over. The doctor turned away with his handkerchief raised to his eyes. The nurse gazed into the flame of the candle, and heaved a sigh. She seemed to read the little one's death there. When the remains were buried, the coffin was strewn with flowers, offerings of her little schoolmates, with whom the dead child had been a great favourite.-- _Evangelist_. SELF-DENIAL.--There never did, and never will, exist anything permanent, and noble, and excellent in a character which was a stranger to the exercise of resolute self-denial. "ONLY ONCE." "Stop a minute, James. We're making up a skating party to go down the river to-night. We shall build a fire on the island, and have a grand time. Come, go with us." "No, George, I can't. Father says I must skate on the canal. It isn't so wide, nor quite so good skating, I know, but it's safe." "Nonsense! The ice is at least two inches thick anywhere, even in the thinnest places." "No matter. I can't skate on the river." "Well, then, come to the canal. You can skate out to the fork, where it joins the river, and see us all. Will you do that?" "Yes." "All right. Be there at seven."