the line whistles from the swift-working wheel! He is too swift, too headstrong, to be checked as yet; tenfold the strength of that slender tackle might not control him in his first fiery rush.

8. But the fisherman, although young in years, was old in the art, and skillful as the craftiest of the gentle craftsmen. He yields to and strains upon him alternately, trying the strength of his tackle with a delicate, gentle finger, giving him line at every rush, yet firmly, cautiously feeling his mouth all the while, and moderating his speed even while he yields to his fury.

9. Meanwhile, with the eye of intuition and with nerves of iron, he bounds along the difficult shore. He leaps from rock to rock, alighting on their slippery tops with the firm agility of the rope-dancer. He splashes knee-deep through the slippery shallows, keeping his line ever tight, inclining his rod over his shoulder, bearing on his fish ever with a killing pull, steering him clear of every rock or stump against which he would fain smash the tackle, and landing him at length in a fine, roomy, open pool at the foot of a long stretch of white and foamy rapids, down which he had just piloted him with the eye of faith and the foot of instinct.

10. And now the great salmon has turned sulky; like a piece of lead he has sunk to the bottom of the deep, black pool, and lies on the gravel bottom in the sullenness of despair. The fisherman stooped, gathered up in his left hand a heavy pebble, and pitched it into the pool, as nearly as he could guess, to the whereabouts of his game, another, and another! Aha! that last has roused him. Again be dashes himself clear out of water; and again, foiled in his attempt to smash the tackle, he dashes away down the stream impetuous.

11. But his strength is departing; the vigor of his rush is broken. The angler strains on him with a heavier pull, yet ever yields a little as he exerts his failing powers. See, his broad silver side has thrice turned up, even to the surface, and

though each time he has recovered himself, each time it has been with a heavier and more feeble motion.

12. Brave fellow! His last race is run, his last spring sprung. No more shall he disport himself in the bright waters of the silver stream; no more shall the naiads* wreathe his clear silver scales with river greens and flowery rushes. The cruel gaff is in his side; his cold blood stains the eddies for a moment; he flaps out his death-pang on the hard limestone. Hurrah! a nineteen-pounder!"

cr

WORD ANALYSIS AND DEFINITIONS.

Herbert.

Bight, a bend or coil of rope.

Bosk'y, covered with bushes or thickets.

Din' gle, a small, secluded valley.

Gaff, a light spear used by fishermen.

Som'er sault (somer for supra, over; sault, a leap), a leap, heels over head; or by turning the body entirely over.

*

LESSON LXXX.

VARY THY TASKS.

1. Still vary thy incessant task,
Nor plod each weary day,

As if thy life were thing of earth,

A servant to its clay.

Alternate with thy honest work

Some contemplations high.

Though toil be just, though gold be good,

Look upward to the sky.

Naiads, water-nymphs, or female deities, supposed, according to the ancient mythology to preside over rivers and springs.

2. Take pleasure for thy limbs at morn;
At noontide wield the pen;

Converse to-night with moon and stars;
To-morrow talk with men.

Cull garlands in the fields and bowers,
Or toy with running brooks;
Then rifle in thy chamber lone

The honey of thy books.

3. If in the wrestlings of the mind

A gladiator strong,

Give scope and freedom to thy thought,

But strive not over long.

Climb to the mountain-top serene,

And let life's surges beat,

With all their whirl of striving men,

Far, far beneath thy feet.

4. But stay not ever on the hight,
'Mid intellectual snow.

Come down betimes to tread the grass,
And roam where waters flow;
Come down betimes to rub thy hands
At the domestic hearth;

—
-

Come down to share the warmth of love,
And join the children's mirth.

5. Let love of books, and love of fields,
And love of men combine

To feed in turns thy mental life,

And fan its flame divine.

Let outer frame and inner soul

Maintain a balance true,

Till every string in Being's lyre

Give forth its music due.

Charles Mackay.

LESSON LXXXI.

THE GOAT AND THE SWING.

1. A vicious goat, one day, had found
His way into forbidden ground,
When, coming to the garden-swing,
He spied a most prodigious thing, —
A ram, a monster to his mind,

With head before and head behind!

2. Its shape was odd, no hoofs were seen,
But without legs it stood between
Two upright, lofty posts of oak,
With forehead ready for a stroke.

3. Though but a harmless ornament
Carved on the seat, it seemed intent
On barring the intruder's way;
While he, advancing, seemed to say,

Who is this surly fellow here?

Two heads, no tail, it's mighty queer!

A most insulting countenance!"

With stamp of foot and angry glance

He curbed his threatening neck, and stood
Before the passive thing of wood.

4. You winked as I was going by!

"You did n't'? What! tell me I lie ?
Take that!" And at the swing he sprung:
A sounding thump! It backward swung,
And, set in motion by the blow,

Swayed menacingly to and fro.

5. "Ha! you'll fight'? A quarrelsome chap I knew you were! You'll get a rap!

I'll crack your skull!" A headlong jump:
Another and a louder bump!

6. The swing, as if with kindling, wrath,
Came pushing back along the path,
The goat, astonished, shook his head,

Winked hard, turned round, grew mad, and said,
"Villain! I'll teach you who I am!"

(Or seemed to say,) "you rascal ram,
To pick a fight with me, when I

So quietly am passing by!

Your head or mine!" A thundering stroke:

The cracking horns met crashing oak!

Then came a dull and muffled sound,

And something rolled along the ground,
Got up, looked sad, appeared to say,

"Your head's too hard!" and limped away
Quite humbly, in a rumpled coat,

A dirtier and a wiser goat!

J. T. Trowbridge.

LESSON LXXXII.

THE WONDERS OF YOSEMITE.

[See Frontispiece.]

1. At five o'clock in the morning we started for the Glacial Rock, a point overlooking the Yo sem'i te Valley; and,

*

*

The Yo sem'i te Valley is situated on the Merced River, about one hundred and forty miles southeast from San Francisco. It is a narrow gorge, eight miles in length, from a half-mile to a mile in width, and inclosed by gigantic walls of granite, rising almost perpendicularly to the hight of from three to six thousand feet. This valley was discovered in 1851 by a party in pursuit of a band of predatory Indians, who made it their stronghold.