In this dilemma I produced rough pads of the shark's skin, and, after fastening them to their arms and knees, told them to try again, as the rough surface would enable them to rest and take breath while clinging to the stem with their knees.

Fritz and Jack made the attempt, and soon reached the top of the tree. Each took an axe from his leathern girdle and struck so bravely at the clusters of cocoanuts that they fell to the ground like hail. The boys were almost beside themselves with delight, and, coming down, received our congratulations that this wonderful gymnastic performance had turned out so well.

Ernest, who had not taken part in it, was soon seen climbing a tree on which no fruit grew. In response to a laugh from his brothers, he took his axe from his girdle, and with one or two strokes cut off the large, delicately formed leaves from the crown. "I have thrown to you a beautiful palm cabbage," he cried, "twenty times more agreeable to eat than cocoanuts. This tree is the vegetable palm."

"The boy is right," I exclaimed, as I examined a leaf, "and it is very healthful food. It grows on the top of the tree."

As the day was now far advanced, we resolved to remain for the night in this charming spot, and to build a little cabin of branches and leaves to protect ourselves from the cold wind and the dew. I had brought with

me a piece of sail-cloth, with which we could cover our little hut and protect it from the night air.

I determined that after gathering dry grass and moss for our beds, large fires and torches should be lighted to surround our cabin. These torches were easily made of dry sugar-canes, about five or six feet long, which gave a brilliant light, and would continue burning for many hours.

We laid ourselves down on the soft beds of grass and moss which the boys had collected, with loaded guns close at hand in case of danger. For a time I kept awake to replenish the fire and keep the torches lighted; but as hour after hour passed, and no wild beasts appeared, I gradually sank into a refreshing sleep.

-JOHANN DAVID WYSS.

A DAY IN JUNE1

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;

Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays:
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;

1 See note on page 260.

The flush of life may well be seen

Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green,

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace.

The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun

With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?

Now is the high-tide of the year,

And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with a rippling cheer, Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because God wills it; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green; We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing That the skies are clear and the grass is growing;

The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky,

That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For other couriers we should not lack;

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, -
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all, in his lusty crowing!

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how
Everything is happy now,

Everything is upward striving;

'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,
'Tis the natural way of living:

Who knows whither the clouds have fled?

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake;
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
The soul partakes of the season's youth,
And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.

- JAMES RUSSELL LOWEll.

THE SUMMER SHOWER

Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain,
As when the strong storm-wind is reaping the plain,
And loiters the boy in the briery lane;

But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain,
Like a long line of spears brightly burnished and tall.

Adown the white highway like cavalry fleet,

It dashes the dust with its numberless feet.
Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat,

The wild birds sit listening, the drops round them beat; And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall.

The swallows alone take the storm on their wing,
And, taunting the tree-sheltered laborers, sing;
Like pebbles the rain breaks the face of the spring,
While a bubble darts up from each widening ring;
And the boy in dismay hears the loud shower fall..

But soon are the harvesters tossing their sheaves. The robin darts out from his bower of leaves; The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered eaves; And the rain-spattered urchin now gladly perceives That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all.

- THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.