directions.

Under these circumstances the metropolitan bishop, Joseph, a man of
sincere piety and of very elevated character, and who enjoyed in the
highest degree the confidence both of the aristocracy and of the
people, presented himself before the council, urged the incapacity of
Ivan Schouisky to govern, and proposed that Ivan Belsky, a nobleman of
great energy and moral worth, should be chosen regent. The proposal
was carried by acclamation. So unanimous was the vote, so cordial was
the adoption of the republican principle of election, that Ivan
Schouisky was powerless and was merely dismissed.

The new regent, sustained by the clergy and the aristocracy, governed
the State with wisdom and moderation. All kinds of persecution ceased,
and vigorous measures were adopted for the promotion of the public
welfare. Old abuses were repressed; vicious governors deposed, and the
rising flames of civil strife were quenched. Even the hitherto
unheard-of novelty of trial by jury was introduced. Jurors were chosen
from among the most intelligent citizens. Though there was some bitter
opposition among the corrupt nobles to these salutary reforms, the
clergy, as a body, sustained them, and so did also even a majority of
the lords. It was Christianity and the church which introduced these
humanizing measures.

Among the innumerable tragedies of those days, let one be mentioned
illustrative of the terrific wrongs to which all are exposed under a
despotic government. There was a young prince, Dmitri, a child,
grandson of Vassili the blind, whose claims to the throne were feared.
He was thrown into prison and there forgotten. For forty-nine years he
had now remained in a damp and dismal dungeon. He had committed no
crime. He was accused of no crime. It was only feared that restive
nobles might use him as an instrument for the furtherance of their
plans. All the years of youth and of manhood had passed in darkness
and misery. No beam of the sun ever penetrated his tomb. All unheeded
the tides of life surged in the world above him, while his mind with
his body was wasting away in the long agony.

"O who can tell what days, what nights he spent,
Of tideless, waveless, sailless, shoreless woe."

Mercy now entered his cell, but it was too late even for that angel
visitant to bring a gleam of joy. His friends were all dead. His name
was forgotten on earth. He knew nothing of the world or of its ways.
His mind was enfeebled