go The True Riches.

A negro was dying: some friends crowded
round his bed to pray with him. “ Poor
Pompey!” said one. “No,” he said, “I’m
not poor Pompey! I’m King Pompey!”
Yes! a king and priest too, crowned by God
Himself.

Said one, not long ago, to a “poor rich”
man: ‘‘ Look north, now south, now east,
and west, as far as you can see—all is mine!”
Sir,” was the response, “can you look up
and say that’s mine? because, if not, you
are poor indeed.”

When the steamship London was sink-
ing, there were on board, among others, a
lady and a little girl The lady knew
nothing of “the true riches;” and to face
death was, to her, to meet the “dread mon-
ster.” Her last cry was a shriek: “A
thousand pounds for any one who will save
me!” Poor lady! it was hopeless. The
little girl was busy writing a pencil note to
her mother, with the few words, “We are
sinking, mamma: don’t be afraid—I am
going to Jesus.” And you may imagine
how these words cheered the heart of the
mother, and were treasured by her, enabling