THE STORY OF ALICE AYRES.

On the night of Thursday, 25th April, 1886, the cry rang through Union Street, Borough, that the shop of Chandler, the oilman, was in flames.

So rapid was the progress of the fire that, by the time the escapes reached the house, tongues of flame were shooting out from the windows, and it was impossible to place the ladders in position.  The gunpowder had exploded with great violence, and casks of oil were burning with an indescribable fury.

As the people rushed together to the exciting scene they were horrified to find at one of the upper windows a girl, clad only in her night-dress, bearing in her arms a child, and crying for help.

It was Alice Ayres, who, finding there was no way of escape by the staircase, was seeking for some means of preserving the lives of the children in her charge.  The frantic crowd gathered below shouted for her to save herself; but that was not her first aim.  Darting back into the blinding smoke, she fetched a feather-bed and forced it through the window.  This the crowd held whilst she carefully threw down to them one of the children, which alighted safe on the bed.

Again the people in the street called on her to save her own life; but her only answer was to go back into the fierce flames and stifling smoke, and bring out another child, which was safely transferred to the crowd below.

Once again they frantically entreated her to jump down herself; and once again she staggered back blinded and choking into the fiery furnace; and for the third time emerged, bearing the last of her charges, whose life also was saved.

Then, at length, she was free to think of herself.  But, alas! her head was dizzy and confused, and she was no longer able to act as surely as she had hitherto done.  She jumped—­but, to the horror of that anxious admiring throng below, her body struck against the projecting shop-sign, and rebounded, falling with terrific force on to the hard pavement below.

Her spine was so badly injured that although everything possible was done for her at Guy’s Hospital, whither she was removed, she died on the following Sunday.

Beautiful windows have been erected at Red Cross Hall, Southwark, to commemorate her heroism; but the best memorial is her own expression:  “I tried to do my best”—­for this will live in the hearts of all who read of her self-devotion.  She had tried to do her best always.  Her loving tenderness to the children committed to her care and her pure gentle life were remarked by those around her before there was any thought of her dying a heroic death.  So, when the great trial came, she was prepared; and what seems to us Divine unselfishness appeared to her but simple duty.

A SLAVE TRADE WARRIOR.

SOME STORIES OF SIR SAMUEL BAKER.

Sir Samuel Baker, who died at the end of the year 1893, aged seventy-three, will always be remembered for the splendid work he did in the Soudan during the four years he ruled there, and for his explorations in Africa.