when this fish was entirely unknown in that stream. The books say that this fish is only "found every where West, from the basin of the St. Lawrence to the tributaries of the Ohio," and it is of course found in the Ohio river itself. The books also say, "he varies from a few inches in length to rarely over eight pounds weight, and is an excellent fish."

How did this fish get into the Potomac? The supposition, that he walked over the Allegheny Mountains of his own motion, and got into the Potomac at its head waters, is incorrect! This is contrary to the habits of fish. The real state of the case is this: Ten years ago, Hon. Frank Thomas, now United States Senator from Maryland, and Hon. McKegg of Cumberland, with some other gentleman whose name we could not learn, brought some of this species of fish from the Ohio river across the mountains in the water tank of an engine, and put them into the Potomac at Cumberland. In the brief period of ten years the river has become abundantly stored with them, and they are now caught in great plenty weighing from two to five pounds! What a good thing it was which those gentlemen did!

The Bass, like all other fish, have their kinks; and there are therefore days when anglers sit on the bank "like patience on a monument," waiting in vain for the coveted Bass to fulfil their part of the contract. Not a bubble or a bite do the gliding waters indicate; whilst at other times the delighted disciple of Walton returns rejoicing in a string of from twelve to twenty, two and three pounders. There is a tide, not only "in human events," but also in "fisher's luck." We happened on a day when they were very chary of their favors; yet besides some fall fish, and a more than respectable eel, we-our friend and ourself—had the pleasure of flinging out on the bank a two pound bass. This was sufficient, if not to satisfy our ambition, still to convince us that this beautiful fish is there, and can be had when fortune favors. Besides, we were justified in relying freely on the assurances of our friend, that he had caught them there by the dozen, of even larger size. The fact is they have propagated so fast in ten years, that they are as plenty now as any class of fish are in streams to which they are native-and even much faster.

The introduction of this fish into the Potomac, and its great and speedy increase there, is a confirmation of what the books say on this subject: "Fish readily adapt themselves to new localities, both marine and fresh water species; pickerel were easily introduced into the ponds of Berkshire county, Mass., and the great pike of the Northern Lakes has been transplanted to the Connecticut; the salt water smelt lives in Jamaica and other ponds in Massachusetts; and the tantog has found a new home in Massachusetts bay, north of Cape Cod." So the Rock Bass, "originally peculiar to the St. Lawrence, has come down the Erie canal, and become common in the Hudson river, where it is freely taken."

These being facts, why should not the bass be introduced into the noble Susquehanna? To say nothing of the fact already mentioned, that all fish easily adapt themselves to new localities, there are no two rivers known to us more alike in character than the Susquehanna and the Potomac. Both head in the same range of mountains, both flow in the same directions, and through the same kind of country, are alike rocky and clear, and free from the disturbances of steam navigation. Just the waters for fish. There is every reason to believe, that this excellent fish, if introduced into the Sus

quehanna, would, in like manner, in ten years fill its waters with plenty of sport for the angler, and the pans of rich and poor, with sounds of the fragrant and delicious fry.

Since we learned the facts related in this article, our head has been full of it. Here is a chance for some of our friends to immortalize themselves, as did the Hon. gentlemen of Maryland. We thought at first of grabbing this honor ourselves, by silently transferring some specimens. But being disinterested, and willing that others shall have a chance for glorious fame, we throw the field open to others. But we confess to our strong desire that this honor may be seized upon by our whilom friends at Lewisburg— a spot to us of early and precious memories-a place, however, not a whit behind any of the towns on that glorious old river in enterprise and public spirit.

Allow us, then, to propose:

1. That this article be transferred to the columns of the enterprising and always wide-awake Lewisburg Chronicle, so that the facts may be known.

2. That thereupon there be an extemporaneous meeting for consultation in one of the offices; which meeting ought to result in the appointment of a delegation and general committee of "Ways and Means" for executing the transfer of the piscatorial representatives and progenitors of the future generation of Susquehanna bass. We shall be willing, if so honored, to be guide, spy, and co-operator of the Committee on the line of the Potomac. 3. That the said bass be placed in the Lewisburg Dam, with such formalities as the Convention may deem appropriate to the oocasion.

To this disinterested proposal to our Lewisburg friends, we append this our public proclamation, that if this liberal offer be not accepted in such reasonable time as shall be necessary for this proclamation to become known, we, the editor of the GUARDIAN, shall ourselves take immediate and effectual measures to have the project executed through ourselves or through others. In that case the fish shall be put into the river below the Shamokin Dam!

P. S.-September would be the best time in which to execute this purpose, as the young bass can at that time be readily taken about the length of a man's hand.

JOHN'S DEATH BED.

Why so loath, my dear John, to say you'll soon leave me,
When 'tis shown by my tears, I count the hour nigh;
Haunts dismay your wan thoughts, lest as foam-flakes at sea,
Parting here, all our bands forever disappear?
Nay, the faith that we are held by a vitalized tie,
Whose essence undying binds beyond earth and sky,
Should chase from our adieus the intrusive, base fear!

Let the bridal ring break, say 'tis bootless in heav'n,
Since we enter not there as husband and wife;
But oh, our wedlock'd love, think not this may be riv’n !
Nay, 'tis a mystic might, that meets death, but survives!
'Tis consecrate, my John, where godliness is rife-

An infinite power, ever quick in our life,

That coheres, and surmounts, howe'er death roars and rives!

Ever gladsome, thank God, we have trod heaven's ways,
And this faith of the soul loudly utter'd till now,
Hand in hand, filling out the measure of your days,

Reach'd nearer, still nearer the sweet home of the blest!
Darkens timid distrust in this hour your blanch'd brow,
Think you now 'tis all vain, our earliest made vow,
To love here, and love on evermore in God's rest?

But answer me not now; sped beyond sin and woe,
Its verity this faith to your sight will prove-
Ev'n where darkness God makes his pavilion, and lo!

By our Lord, nearest by, with his own in bright light!
Oh! the hope of there meeting in new life, enhanc'd love,
Oh, my John, let this hope the hour's doubting reprove,
And for mourning give joy, on your way glad delight!

-NORRISTOWN.

THE OAK.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.

BY LUELLA CLARK.

You know the story of the birds choosing their king. They gathered themselves together in a great field and flew upward in emulation of each other. It was decided that the one who should fly highest should be king. They chirped and fluttered. The hens soon remained behind. The sparrows, the robins and finches flew somewhat higher, but they soon sank down again to the earth. The doves and ravens, the herons and storks flew up as far as the first clouds; but the eagle soared high above them, and looked down from the clear, blue heaven upon all the rest. The birds cried, "The eagle is king, for he can fly the highest!"

So also the plants once gathered in a great wood, and wished to choose over them a king. It should be he, so it was determined, who could grow the highest. All lay yet as little seed-kernels in the earth; here hazel-nuts and beech-nuts, there acorns and flower-seeds. The snow was still spread over them as a covering, so that one could not begin to grow earlier than another.

Now was counted, "One!" Then the south wind began to blow— "Two!" Then the rain fell and the snow melted. The seed-kernels all took quickly a fresh, hearty drink and made themselves ready-"Three!" Then the loving sun shone so warmly from the blue heaven that all the birds began to sing for joy, and all the gnats to dance.

Now all the seeds began to spring up and grow. The nuts burst, the oat-grains, and the rough seeds of the wild carrot; all the many hundred different kernels extended their roots and pressed upward in emulation of each other. Some put forth at once two leaves, others only a single green spike. All are still of nearly equal height. But now some seek to surpass the others. The convolvulus and the beans twist themselves up with great rapidity. They wish very much to be king of the plants. Every day they mount a span further and bring new leaves and blossoms.

Two months are passed. How various are now the position of the plants upon their emulous course! The beans and convolvulus have wound themselves aloft to twice a man's height. The hop is still higher. He will surely be king. The willows and poplars, the hazels and golden-rods have shot up to the height of a man. They will at least come to be maids of honor and chamberlains of the new king. The young oaks and beeches are still very small. They have remained far, far behind the rest. The high white flowers of the convolvulus, the fiery-red blossom adorning. They look down compassionately upon the little oaks far beneath them.Even the grass blades stretched themselves up much further than the little oak-plant. They propose to obtain some where a place in the court of the king. Only a little moss enlists itself in favor of the young tree. It is itself much too modest even to think of striving after the king's crown. Warmly and kindly it wraps the young stems, protects them from the hot rays of the sun, and reaches fresh water to them when they are thirsty.

Again more weeks pass. The sun rises later and goes earlier to bed. The air is cooler. Now it is all over with the proud flowers. The hops and convolvulus feel very weak, the beans are faded and cannot support themselves. The grass-blades sink down-the blossoms decay. Snowflakes fall. Nothing now remains of all the summer splendor except here and there a withered stalk which the wind drives rustling before it.

But the oak has a little stem ready, which is indeed so small yet that the little hare can easily spring over it, and a robin can scarcely seat itself upon it; the leaves also are brown and withered, but upon the little rod sit many fresh buds clothed in firm, brown shells. Provided with such an armor, they may well bid defiance to the severest Winter frost. The next year they all break open and continue calmly growing.

The vines and grasses begin the strife again in the spring. Once more they triumph, but in its turn the Autumn makes an early end of their vain existence. The little oak-stem becomes larger and stronger, and puts forth little branches from its sides.

So the emulous strife is renewed each year. Each year the oak grows higher-yearly it fashions in its trunk a new ring of wood, and makes that already formed firmer and thicker. Yearly, also, it wraps about its trunk a new layer of bark, the old no longer sufficing.

It continually puts forth new branches and new leaves, and at last, after many, many years, it stands as a mighty giant in the wood. Many men could scarcely span its trunk. It wears a great, green crown. Now is the oak the king of the wood. Thousands of twigs and branches extend on all sides like a wide temple-dome. Innumerable leaves rustle in the wind, green clusters of blossoms, and ruddy spires hang, in Spring, in their midst, and, in Autumn, many exquisite acorns with tiny cups. Far, far

beneath grow the flowers and the grasses, and can scarcely look up with their party-colored little eyes to the head of the oak. Round about stand the beeches and aspens, the maples and service-trees-the court officers of the king.

You will perhaps remember what a joke was played when the birds held their trial flight. Just as they all cried, "The eagle is king!" a little bird, which had concealed itself among his feathers, flew forth and fluttered a very little higher, and so wished to be king. But all the birds laughed and called it in derision King Hedge-hopper-another name for the wren. At the selection of the king of the plants, it happened almost in the same way. When all the plants of the wood swore allegiance to the oak as their king and were bowing themselves before him, there grew forth from the topmost branches of the mighty tree a tiny plant. It exerted itself to be strong, and made itself as broad as possible; yet in spite of all its pains it grew no more than two inches. It wished to be king. Then the trees shook their tops with laughter, they knew the little mistletoe too well, and knew that the thrush had carried its glutinous little seeds up there. Therefore was the mistletoe the enemy of the green forest. Every where it hung itself upon the twigs of the trees and fed itself upon them. To the fowler it furnished, from its white berries, bird-lime with which to catch the beautiful birds the dwellers among the green foliage. Therefore no one can bear the mistletos, and the forester tears it from the trees wherever he finds it.

But now how did the oak conduct himself as king in the realm of the plants? We know indeed from the Bible, by the example of Saul, that it is not enough in order to be a good king, that one be merely taller and larger than other people, and our Lord commends him as the most distinguished who best serves others.

In the first place, the oak thinks of its youth and early insignificance. It remembers its benefactor-the little moss-which nourished it so faithfully when it was still an acorn; which kept from its delicate shoot the cold wind and gave it drink. It now extends over it its protecting branches, and sends down to it every year its leaves for covering and nourishment. It invites it to mount to it, and proffers it its rough bark for support. Modestly the moss climbs aloft. It hangs in beautiful green tufts on the branches and winds itself about the trunk like a soft, silken mantle. The oak also allows the tresses to fasten themselves upon its bark. So a long white beard hangs down upon it like gray hair, and ever-green ivy twines itself in through the midst.

What a multitude of animals the mighty oak takes to itself and royally cherishes! Wood-lice drink the juice of the green leaves. Ants lay out for themselves a highway upon its trunk. Snails creep slowly upward to feed upon the fresh foliage, while at the foot of the tree the blind worms lie in wait to devour them when, satiated, they descend. The lady-birds chirp upon the oak and give their eggs into his keeping. They know that their young ones will find abundant nourishment upon the insects which live upon the leaves of the tree. A varied multitude of caterpillars eat of the foliage and turn to a chrysalis upon its trunk. Spiders and sappers creep forth, and butterflies flutter about. The oak is their father-land and their support. May-bugs banquet here; beetles drink the sapof the tender twigs, which they rend with their pointed horns. Birds come and catch