hung down over it. At high water, nothing larger than a bird could go in and out beneath the low arch; but there was a cavern within, whose sandy floor sloped up to some distance above high-water mark. In this cavern was Rolf. He had thrust his little skiff between the walls of the rock, crushing in its sides as he did so. The bushes drooped, hanging naturally over the entrance, as before. Rolf pulled up his broken vessel upon the little sandy beach within the cave; saved a pile of his fish, and returned a good many to the water; and then sat down upon the sea-weeds to listen. There was no light but a little which found its way through the bushy screen and up from the green water; and the sounds the tones of pirates' voices, and the splash of the waters against the rocky walls of his singular prison-came deadened and changed to his ear. Yet he heard enough to be aware how long his enemies remained, and when they were really gone. It was a prison indeed, as Rolf reflected when he looked upon his broken skiff. He could not imagine how he was to get away; for his friends would certainly never think of coming to look for him here; but he put off the consideration of this point for the present, and turned away from the image of Erica's distress when he should fail to return. He amused himself now with imagining Hund's disappointment, and the reports which would arise from it; and he found this so very entertaining, that he laughed aloud, and then the echo of his laughter sounded so very merry, that it set him laughing again. This, in its turn, seemed to rouse the eider-ducks that thronged the island; and their clatter and commotion was so great overhead, that any spectator might have been excused for believing that Vogel Islet was indeed bewitched. THE WRECK OF THE ORPHEUS.' The Orpheus, a fine new war-ship, with a crew of 256 souls, was lost off the coast of New Zealand on the 7th February 1863. The entrance to the harbour, for which she was bound, was a very dangerous one, and in a few minutes she was a wreck. Only seventy-one of the crew were saved by a steamer, that sent its boats to her aid; the rest, including the officers, who refused to leave the ship before their men, were lost when it broke up. All remained at their posts, and did their duty to the last, giving three cheers when the masts went, "as if taking farewell of life.” When daylight broke once more, a stump of a mast and a few ribs were all that could be seen of the Orpheus,' 1. All day, amid the masts and shrouds, The sky o'erhead was dark with clouds, And when some slack'ning hands gave way, 2. Captain and men, ne'er thought to swerve; The boats went to and fro; With cheery face and tranquil nerve, Each saw his brother go. Each saw his brother go, and knew As night came swiftly on, That less and less his own chance grew- * * * * 3. The saved stood on the steamer's deck, Their comrades clinging to the wreck And still they gazed into the dark, There came from that swift-sinking bark 4. Again, and yet again it rose; Then silence round them fell— Silence of death-and each man knows No cry of anguish, no wild shriek Of men in agony— No dropping down of watchers weak, Weary and glad to die; 5. But death met with three British cheers Cheers of immortal fame; For us the choking, blinding tears For them a glorious name. LIFE OF FLAXMAN. John Flaxman was a true genius-one of the greatest artists England has yet produced. He was, besides, a person of beautiful character, his life furnishing many salutary lessons for men of all ranks. Flaxman was the son of a humble seller of plaster-casts in New Street, Covent Garden; and when a child, he was so constant an invalid, that it was his custom to sit behind the shop-counter propped by pillows, amusing himself with drawing and reading. A benevolent clergyman, named Matthews, one day calling at the shop, found the boy trying to read a book; and on inquiring what it was, said that was not the proper book for him to read, but that he would bring him a right one on the morrow; and the kind man was as good as his word. The Rev. Mr Matthews used afterwards to say, that from that casual interview with the cripple little invalid behind the plaster-cast seller's shop-counter, began an acquaintance which ripened into one of the best friendships of his life. He brought several books to the boy, amongst which were Homer and Don Quixote, in both of which Flaxman, then and ever after, took immense delight. His mind was soon full of the heroism which breathed through the pages of the former work; his black chalk was at once in his hand, and the enthusiastic boy laboured to body forth, in sensible shapes, the actions of the Greeks and Trojans. Like all youthful efforts, his first designs were crude. The proud father one day shewed them to a sculptor, who turned from them with a contemptuous 'Pshaw!' But the boy had the right stuff in him-he had industry and patience; and he continued to labour incessantly at his books and drawings. He then tried his young powers in modelling figures in plaster of Paris, wax, and clay. Some of these early works are still preserved—not because of their merit, but because they are curious as the first healthy efforts of patient genius. The boy was long before he could walk, and he only learned to do so by hobbling along upon crutches. When afterwards reminded of these early pursuits, he remarked: We are never too young to learn what is useful, nor too old to grow wise and good.' His physical health improving, the little Flaxman threw away his crutches. The kind Mr Matthews invited him to his house, where his wife explained Homer and Milton to him. They helped him also in his self-culture, giving him lessons in Greek and Latin. When under Mrs Matthews, he also attempted, with his bit of charcoal, to embody in outline on paper such passages as struck his fancy. His drawings could not, however, have been very extraordinary, for when he shewed a drawing of an eye which he had made to Mortimer, the artist, that gentleman, with affected surprise, exclaimed: 'Is it an oyster?' The sensitive boy was much hurt, and for a time took care to avoid shewing his drawings to artists. At length, by dint of perseverance and study, his drawing improved so much, that Mrs Matthews obtained a commission for him from a lady to draw six original drawings in black chalk of subjects in Homer. His first commission! The boy duly executed the order, and was both well praised and well paid for his work. At fifteen, Flaxman entered a student at the Royal Academy. Notwithstanding his retiring disposition, he soon became known among the students, and great things |