the story of the shipwreck. He said that about three o'clock in the morning the ship struck against the rocks; the bows were stove in, the water poured in, and in less than half an hour she sank. The crew in the fore part of the ship clung to the topmast, from which they managed to swim or crawl to the rock. The ship soon sunk out of sight, and the rest of the crew with her. Fourteen men had escaped the wreck, but they had not a scrap of food or drop of fresh water. For the first day they fed on limpets which clung to the rocks, but finding their thirst increased thereby, they resolved to eat no more of them. A dog which had swam to the rock was then killed, and they chewed his flesh to allay their thirst. Nine days then passed without any other food.

On the tenth day they agreed that two of their number should die, in order, if possible, to prolong the lives of the rest. The two were chosen by lot, and the poor fellows stood ready to stab themselves in order that each of the others might suck the blood which flowed from the wounds. This they did, and some of them did actually drink the blood of their fellow-creatures. By the advice of one of their number, they made one more attempt to attract attention to themselves. Hoisting a piece of a shirt on a stick, this signal was seen by the captain we have mentioned above, and who was at that time making his way towards them in response to the wishes of his son who had had the remarkable dream.

The following lines by Mrs. Hemans refer to Ivan the Terrible, one of the emperors of Russia. He besieged Novgorod, and though in a very weak condition, insisted upon taking the command personally. His nobles urged him to give way to his son, but the monarch was so enraged that he struck his son a violent blow, from which he died two days afterwards. The Czar then became a victim of remorse and despair, and lived but a few months longer. The poem pictures the sovereign addressing the dead body of his son.

He sat in silence on the ground,

The old and haughty Czar,

Lonely, though princes girt him round,
And leaders of the war;

He had cast his jewelled sabre,

That many a field had won,
To the earth beside his youthful dead-
His fair and first-born son.

With a robe of ermine for its bed
Was laid that form of clay,

Where the light a stormy sunset shed
Through the rich tent made way;

And a sad and solemn beauty
On the pallid face came down,
Which the lord of nations mutely watched,
In the dust, with his renown.

Low tones at last, of woe and fear,
From his full bosom broke,
A mournful thing it was to hear
How then the proud man spoke!
The voice that through the combat
Had shouted far and high,

Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones,
Burdened with agony.

'There is no crimson on thy cheek,
And on thy lips no breath:
I call thee, and thou dost not speak,
They tell me this is death!
And fearful things are whispering
That I the deed have done;
For the honour of thy father's name,
Look up, look up, my son!

'Well might I know death's hue and mien; But on thine aspect, boy,

What, till this moment, have I seen

Save pride and tameless joy?

Swiftest thou wert to battle,

And bravest there of all;

How could I think a warrior's fame
Thus like a flower should fall?

'I will not bear that still, cold look ;
Rise up, thou fierce and free!

Wake as the storm wakes! I will brook
All, save this calm, from thee!

Lift brightly up, and proudly,

Once more thy kindling eyes!

Hath my word lost its power on earth ?—— I say to thee, Arise!

'Didst thou not know I loved thee well?
Thou didst not! and art gone,
In bitterness of soul, to dwell
Where man must dwell alone.
Come back, young fiery spirit!
If but one hour, to learn
The secrets of the folded heart
That seemed to thee so stern.

'Thou art the first, the first fair child That in my arms I pressed;

Thou wert the bright one, that has smiled Like summer on my breast;

I reared thee as an eagle,

To the chase thy steps I led, I bore thee on my battle-horse, thee-dead!

I look upon

'Lay down my warlike banners here,
Never again to wave,

And bury my red sword and spear,
Chiefs! in my first-born's grave!
And leave me! I have conquered,
I have slain my work is done!
Whom have I slain? Ye answer not-
Thou too art mute, my son!'

And thus his wild lament was poured Through the dark resounding night, And the battle knew no more his sword, Nor the foaming steed his might.

He heard strange voices moaning

In every wind that sighed ;

From the searching stars of heaven he shrank,
Humbly the conqueror died.

MRS. HEMANS.

LESSON 13.

STORIES FROM ENGLISH HISTORY.

I. HEREWARD THE SAXON.

By the victory at Hastings, William the Norman succeeded to the English throne, it is true, but the conquest of the country was not completed until many years after. The Saxons, in different parts of the country, made several, though ineffectual, attempts to assert their liberty. They felt the yoke of the Norman oppressor to be very heavy and bitter, and for seven or eight years kept up a continual struggle. It was all to no purpose; William took summary vengeance on all who opposed him, and laid waste whole districts with fire and sword.

Perhaps the last determined stand made by the Saxons against their Norman rulers was about the