that lay away down the river, with all its perils and marvels, until at last the old miller took him by the hand and led him to the hilltop that overlooks the valley and the plain. The sun was near setting, and hung low down in a cloudless sky. Everything was defined and glorified in golden light.

Will had never seen so great an expanse of country in his life; he stood and gazed with all his eyes. He could see the cities, and the woods and fields, and the bright curves of the river, and far away to where the rim of the plain trenched along the shining heavens.

An overmastering emotion seized upon the boy, soul and body; his heart beat so thickly that he could scarcely breathe; the scene swam before his eyes; the sun seemed to wheel round and round. Will covered his face with his hands, and burst into a violent fit of tears; and the poor miller, sadly disappointed and perplexed, saw nothing better for it than to take him up in his arms and carry him home in silence.

From that day forward Will was full of new hopes and longings. The running water carried his desires along with it as he dreamed over its fleeting surface; the wind, as it ran over innumerable treetops, hailed him with encouraging words; branches beckoned downward; the opening road, as it went turning and vanishing faster and faster down the valley, tortured him with its solicitations. He spent long whiles on the eminence, looking down the river shed and abroad on the flat lowlands, and watched the clouds that traveled forth upon the sluggish wind and trailed their purple shadows on the plain; or he would linger by the wayside, and follow the carriages with his eyes as they rattled downward by the river.

It did not matter what it was; everything that went that way, were it cloud or carriage, bird or brown water in the stream, he felt his heart flow out after it in an ecstasy of longing. The true life, the true bright sunshine, lay far out upon the plain. And oh! to see this sunlight once before he died! to move with a jocund spirit in a golden land! to hear the trained singers and the sweet church bells, and see the holiday gardens! . . .

But the days passed by, and then year after year went into nothing, and Will still abode in his quiet home, dreaming of the great world, but seeing only as much as could be viewed from the top of the hill. And at last when a noble age came upon him, nothing could tempt him from his upland valley. "When I was a boy," he would say, "I was a bit puzzled, and hardly knew whether it was myself or the world that was curious and worth looking into. Now, I know it is myself, and stick to that."

DEFINITIONS. Va'por, cloud, fog. Ru'ral, belonging to the country. Tho'rough fâre, a public road. Tourists, travelers for pleasure, sightseers. Tum'bril, a two-wheeled cart used to carry ammunition. Stand'ard, flag. Rhythmic ăl, in regular succession. Con spir'a çy, a combination for evil purposes. Ex pănse', an opening, a wide space. E mō'tion, feeling. In ăn'i māte, having no life. Pōst'ing, going steadily and rapidly forward. Trailed, dragged behind. Joc'und, glad, full of joy.

EXERCISE.

- What is meant by "adopted parents"? What picture is formed in your mind by the brief description of the village, in the third sentence of the first paragraph? What is meant in the third paragraph by "cavalry hoofs"? "the coil of battle"? What picture is formed in your mind by reading the fourth paragraph? What do you think of the miller's description of the sea? Why could not Will when he became an old man be tempted away from the valley?

NOTE. This selection is abridged from a longer story entitled "Will o' the Mill."

CARCASSONNE.

BY GUSTAVE NADAUD.

I'm growing old; I'm sixty years;
I've labored all my life in vain ;
In all that time of hopes and fears
I've failed my dearest wish to gain :.
I see full well that here below

Bliss unalloyed there is for none.
My prayer will ne'er fulfillment know;
I never have seen Carcassonne,
I never have seen Carcassonne !

You see the city from the hill-
It lies beyond the mountain blue;
And yet to reach it one must still

Five long and weary leagues pursue ;
And, to return as many more!

Ah! had the vintage plenteous grown! The grape withheld its yellow store, I shall not look on Carcassonne, I shall not look on Carcassonne !

They tell me every day is there

Not more nor less than Sunday gay;
In shining robes and garments fair
The people walk upon their way ;
One gazes there on castle walls

As grand as those of Babylon,
A bishop and two generals!

I do not know fair Carcassonne,
I do not know fair Carcassonne !

The curé's right: he says that we
Are ever wayward, weak, and blind;
He tells us in his homily

Ambition ruins all mankind.

Yet, could I there two days have spent,
While still the autumn sweetly shone,
Ah me! I might have died content
When I had looked on Carcassonne,
When I had looked on Carcassonne !

Thy pardon, Father, I beseech,
In this my prayer if I offend;
One something sees beyond his reach
From childhood to his journey's end.
My wife, our little boy Aignan,

Have traveled even to Narbonne ;
My grandchild has seen Perpignan :
And I have not seen Carcassonne,
And I have not seen Carcassonne !

So crooned one day, close by Limoux,
A peasant, double bent with age.
"Rise up, my friend," said I, "with you
I'll go upon this pilgrimage."

We left next morning his abode,

But (Heaven forgive him) halfway on

The old man died upon the road:

- Translated by John R. Thompson from the French. DEFINITIONS.- Un ăl loyed', pure. Vint'age, produce of wine for one season. Cure', a parson, a curate. Hom'ily, sermon. Crooned, mur

mured.

FISHING.

BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

Our bachelor uncle who lived with us was a quiet, genial man, much given to hunting and fishing; and it was one of the pleasures of our young life to accompany him on his expeditions to Great Hill, Brandy-brow Woods, the Pond, and, best of all, to the Country Brook. We were quite willing to work hard in the corn field or the haying lot to finish the necessary day's labor in season for an afternoon stroll through the woods and along the brookside.

I remember my first fishing excursion as if it were but yesterday. I have been happy many times in my life, but never more intensely so than when I received that first fishing pole from my uncle's hand, and trudged off with him through the woods and meadows. It was a still, sweet day of early summer; the long afternoon shadows of the trees lay cool across our path; the leaves seemed greener, the flowers brighter, the birds merrier than ever before.

My uncle, who knew by long experience where were the best haunts of pickerel, considerately placed me at the most favorable point. I threw out my line as I had so often seen others, and waited anxiously for a bite, moving the bait in rapid jerks on the surface of the water in imitation of the leap of a frog. Nothing came of it. "Try again," said my uncle. Suddenly the bait sank out of sight. "Now for it," thought I; "here is a fish at last."

I made a strong pull, and brought up a tangle of weeds. Again and again I cast out my line with aching arms, and drew it back empty. I looked at my uncle appealingly.