Along the immediate edges of the stream every tree trunk, sapling, stump, or other projecting coigne of vantage is wrapped about with a close-growing vine. At first, like an unending procession of nuns disposed along the aisle of a church, these vine figures stand.

But presently, as one journeys, this nun-imagery fades out of one's mind, and a thousand other fancies float with ever new vine-shapes into one's eyes. One sees repeated all the forms one has ever known, in grotesque juxtaposition. Look! here is a great troop of girls, with arms wreathed over their heads, dancing down into the water; there the vines hang in loops, in pavilions, in columns, in arches, in caves, in pyramids, in harps and lyres, in globular mountain-ranges, in pagodas, domes, minarets, belfries, draperies, and dragons.

* * * *

The edges of the stream are further defined by flowers and water-leaves. The tall, blue flags; the ineffable lilies sitting on their round lily-pads like white queens on green thrones; the tiny stars and long ribbons of the water-grasses; the pretty phalanxes of a species of "bonnet" which, from a long stem that swings off down stream along the surface, sends up a hundred little graceful stemlets, each bearing a shield-like disk and holding it aloft as the antique soldiers held their bucklers to form the testudo, or tortoise, in attacking. All these border the river in infinite varieties. * * *

And then, after this day of glory, came a night of glory. Down in these deep-shaded lanes it was dark indeed as the night drew on. The stream which had been all day a baldric of beauty, sometimes blue

and sometimes green, now became a black band of mystery. But presently a brilliant flame flares out overhead; they have lighted the pine knots on top of the pilot house.

* * *

Startled birds suddenly flutter into the light, and, after an instant of illuminated flight, melt into the darkness. From the perfect silence of these short flights one derives a certain sense of awe.

Now there is a mighty crack and crash; limbs and leaves scrape and scrub along the deck; a little bell tingles; we stop. In turning a short curve, or rather doubling, the boat has run her nose smack into the right bank, and a projecting stump has now thrust itself sheer through the starboard side. Out, Dick! Out, Henry! Dick and Henry shuffle forward to the bow, thrust forth their long white pole against a tree trunk, strain and push and bend to the deck as if they were salaaming to the god of night and adversity, our bow slowly rounds into the stream, the wheel turns, and we puff quietly along.

a mal' ga ma' tion (shŭn), a blending. coigne (koin), corner.

fil' lip, to snap.

gar' ish, showy; dazzling.

her' e dit' a ment, any species of property that may be inherited.

jux' ta po si'tion (zĭsh' ŭn), position

side by side.

limp' kin, a species of wading bird. or' ni thol' o gy, a branch of zoology treating of the natural history and classification of birds.

pel lu' cid ness, transparency.

Speak not at all, in any wise, till you have somewhat to speak; care not for the reward of your speaking, but simply for the truth of your speaking.

-- CARLYLE.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

It was the schooner Hesperus

That sailed the wintry sea ;

And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds

That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old Sailor,

Had sailed to the Spanish Main, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!"

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the Northeast;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain

The vessel in its strength;

She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so;

For I can weather the roughest gale

That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat,
Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring; O say, what may it be?"

"Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!". And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns; O say, what may it be?"

"Some ship in distress, that can not live In such an angry sea!"

"O father! I see a gleaming light;

O say, what may it be?”

But the father answered never a word,

A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be;

And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept
Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf,
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,

And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool,

But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank-
Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,

To see the form of a maiden fair,

Lashed close to a drifting mast.