s she sprang wildly over and turned towards e bell rang; and its sound, the knell of those en, was borne towards us on the wind.

Two

1 we lost her, and again she rose. gone. The agony on shore increased. Men d clasped their hands; women shrieked and y their faces. Some ran wildly up and down beach, crying for help, where no help could nd myself one of these, frantically imploring ailors, whom I knew, not to let those two lost erish before our eyes.

were making out to me, in an agitated way, know how, for the little I could hear I was mposed enough to understand, that the lifebeen bravely manned an hour ago, and could ; and that as no man would be so desperate mpt to wade off with a rope, and establish a ation with the shore, there was nothing left en I noticed that some new sensation moved on the beach, and saw them part, and Ham xing through them to the front.

in to him, to repeat my appeal for help. But nination in his face, and his look, out to sea, to a knowledge of his danger. I held him. both arms; and implored the men with whom speaking not to listen to him, not to let him off that sand!

other cry rose on shore; and, looking to the saw the cruel sail, with blow on blow, beat wer of the two men, and fly up in triumph active figure left alone upon the mast. ainst such a sight, and against such d

mi

might as hopefully have entreated t Davy," he said, cheerily grasping m "if my time is come, 't is come. If 't Lord above bless you and bless all! ready!"

13. I was swept away, but not unk tance, where the people around me ma as I confusedly perceived, that he w with help or without, and that I sh precautions for his safety by troubling they rested. I don't know what I a they rejoined; but I saw him standin his hand, or slung to his wrist; anoth and several men holding, at a littl latter, which he laid out himself, slac at his feet.

14. The wreck, even to my unp breaking up. I saw that she was pa dle, and that the life of the solitary n hung by a thread. Still he clung to

15. Ham watched the sea, standin silence of suspended breath behind hi before, until there was a great retiring a backward glance at those who hel was made fast round his body, he and in a moment was buffeting with with the hills, falling with the vall the foam; then drawn again to land. hastily.

16. He was hurt. I saw blood

where I stood; but he took no thou

διν

free,

or so I judged from the motion of

and was gone as before.

now he made for the wreck, rising with the g with the valleys, lost beneath the rugged e in towards the shore, borne on towards the ng hard and valiantly. The distance was at the power of the sea and wind made the ly. At length he neared the wreck. He ar that with one of his vigorous strokes he clinging to it, when a high, green, vast water, moving on shoreward from beyond. he seemed to leap up into it with a mighty the ship was gone!

e eddying fragments I saw in the sea, as if sk had been broken. Consternation was in . They drew him to my very feet—insenad. He was carried to the nearest house; he preventing me now, I remained near him, le every means of restoration were tried; but en beaten to death by the great wave, and his heart was stilled forever.

ion, dismay. -ble, endless.

in the middle of the

keel, the principal timber in a ship, extending from stem (fore part) to stern at the bottom.

re-joined', answered to a reply.

LXXVIII.—THE LOVE OF

WEBSTER.

1. It is only shallow-minded prete make distinguished origin a matter o or obscure origin a matter of personal and scoffing at the humble condition o nobody in America but those who are indulge in them, and they are generally ished by public rebuke. A man who himself need not be ashamed of his earl

2. It did not happen to me to be bo but my elder brothers and sisters we cabin, raised among the snow-drifts of at a period so early, that when the smo its rude chimney, and curled over the was no similar evidence of a white ma tween it and the settlements on the riv 3. Its remains still exist; I make i

I

carry my children to it, to teach th endured by the generations which 1 them. I love to dwell on the tender kindred ties, the early affections, and ratives and incidents, which mingle w this primitive family abode.

4. I weep to think that none of the it are now among the living; and if e of it, or if ever I fail in affectionate v who reared it, and defended it agains and destruction, cherished all the do neath its roof, and, through the fire and

lutionary war, shrunk from no danger, no rifice, to serve his country, and to raise his a condition better than his own, may my the name of my posterity be blotted forever emory of mankind!

yms of: shallow-minded, distinguished, evidence, habita, annual, endured, domestic.

XXIX. — THE THRUSH'S NEST.

CLARE.

RE, an English poet, commonly called the Northamptonshire was born in 1793, and died in 1864. Some of his simple poems e notes of wild-birds and the sweetness of spring flowers.

a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, overhung a mole-hill large and round, 1 from morn to morn a merry thrush hymns of rapture, while I drank the sound oy; and oft, an unintruding guest,

tched her secret toils from day to day,rue she warped the moss to form her nest, modeled it within with wool and clay.

y and by, like heathbells gilt with dew, re lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, otted over, shells of green and blue; there I witnessed, in the summer hours, od of nature's minstrels chirp and fly, as the sunshine and the laughing sky.