ing before the wind from the head of the ship, till it was driven into the gloom far to leeward.

""Tis the jib blown from the bolt-ropes," said the commander of the frigate. "This is no time to spread light duck -but the mainsail may stand it yet."

14. "The sail would laugh at a tornado," returned the lieutenant; "but that mast springs like a piece of steel."

"Silence all," cried the pilot. "Now, gentlemen, we shall soon know our fate. Let her luff-luff you can."

This warning effectually closed all discourse, and the hardy mariners knowing that they had already done all in the power of man to insure their safety, stood in breathless anxiety awaiting the result. At a short distance ahead of them, the whole ocean was white with foam, and the waves, instead of rolling on in regular succession, appeared to be tossing about in mad gambols.

15. A single streak of dark billows, not half a cable's length. in width, could be discerned running into this chaos of water; but it was soon lost to the eye amid the confusion of the disturbed elements. Along this narrow path, the vessel moved more heavily than before, being brought so near the wind as to keep her sails touching. The pilot silently proceeded to the wheel, and with his own hands he undertook the steerage of the ship. No noise proceeded from the frigate to interrupt the horrid tumult of the ocean, and she entered the channel among the breakers with the silence of a desperate calmness.

16. Twenty times, as the foam rolled away to leeward, the crew were on the eve of uttering their joy, as they supposed the vessel past the danger; but breaker after breaker would still rise before them, following each other into the general mass to check their exultation. Occasionally the fluttering of the sails would be heard; and, when the looks of the startled seamen were turned to the wheel, they beheld the stranger grasping its spokes, with his quick eye glancing from the water to the canvas.

17. At length the ship reached a point where she appeared to be rushing directly into the jaws of destruction, when suddenly her course was changed, and her head receded rapidly from the wind. At the same instant, the voice of the pilot was heard shouting: "Square away the yards!—in mainsail!"

A general burst from the crew echoed, square away the yards!" and quick as thought the frigate was seen gliding along the channel before the wind. The eye had hardly time to dwell on the foam, which seemed like clouds driving in the heavens, and directly the gallant vessel issued from her perils, and rose and fell on the heavy waves of the open sea."

Re'tro grāde, tending to move backward. Trim (nautical), to arrange in due order, as a sail, for sailing.

Ma neu'ver, to perform a movement in military or naval tactics; a dexterous movement.

Tack (nautical), to change the course of a ship by shifting the tacks and the positions of the sails and rudder. Luff (nautical), to turn the head of a ship toward the wind; to sail near the wind.

Yacht (yot), a light and elegant pleasure vessel.

A lee' (nautical), opposite to the side on which the wind strikes.

Hělm (nautical), the instrument by which
a vessel is steered, consisting of a
rudder, a tiller, and, in large vessels,
a wheel.

Bight (nautical), a bend or coil.
Bow'er (nautical), an anchor carried at
the bow of a ship.

LESSON XXIV.

WAITING BY THE GATE.

BY WILLIAM C. BRYANT.

William Cullen Bryant was born at Cummington, Mass., 1794. He was carefully educated under the advice of his father, a man of superior talents and accomplishments. Like most poets, he began writing at an early age, publishing a small volume when he was but ten years old. He entered Williams College in 1810, but remained only two years, and then began the study of law. Having continued in the profession for ten years, he went to New York and engaged in literary pursuits. In 1826 he became connected with the N. Y. Evening Post, and is still one of the editors and proprietors of that paper. He has made several visits to Europe and traveled extensively in this country. He has written much and ably in prose and delivered many public addresses, which are models of their kind, embodying the purest expression and the finest thought. His verse is smooth, elegant, and yet strong. His Thanatopsis, A View of Death, written at the age of nineteen, is considered to be the best expression of his genius.

Like Wordsworth, he is always grave and thoughtful, yet always beautiful. His translations of the Iliad and the Odyssey, published in 1872, are everywhere much admired. The name of Bryant is honored in American literature, and, to-day, he wears his crown of seventy-nine winters with the serene strength of some patriarch of old.

B

ESIDE a massive gateway built up in years gone by, Upon whose tops the clouds in eternal shadows lie, While streams the evening sunshine on quiet wood and lea, I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me.

2. The tree-tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight,
A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of the night;
I hear the woodthrush piping one mellow descant more,
And scent the flowers that blow when the heat of day is o'er.
3. Behold, the portals open, and o'er the threshold now

There steps a weary one with a pale and furrowed brow;
His count of years is full, his allotted task is wrought;
He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not.

4. In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets the hour
Of human strength and action, man's courage and his

power.

I muse while still the woodthrush sings down the golden day,

And as I look and listen the sadness wears away.

5. Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, throws
A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes;
A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair,
Moves mournfully away from amidst the young and fair.

6. O glory of our race, that so suddenly decays!

O crimson flush of morning, that darkens as we gaze!
O breath of summer flowers, that on the restless air
Scatters a moment's sweetness, and flies we know not where!

7. I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn ;

But still the sun shines round me; the evening birds sing on.

And I again am soothed, and, beside the ancient gate, In this soft, evening twilight, I calmly stand and wait. 8. Once more the gates are opened; an infant group goes out, The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the sprightly shout.

O frail, frail tree of Life, that upon the greensward strows Its fair, young buds unopened, with every wind that blows! 9. So come from every region, so enter, side by side,

The strong and faint of spirit, the meek, and men of pride;
Steps of earth's great and mighty, between those pillars

gray,

And prints of little feet, mark the dust along the way.

10. And some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with fear,

And some whose temples brighten with joy in drawing near, As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious eye Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die. 11. I mark the joy, the terror; yet these, within my heart, Can neither make the dread nor the longing to depart; And in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood and lea, I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me.

LESSON XXV.

THE OLD MAN DREAMS.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

FOR one hour of youthful joy!
Give back my twentieth spring!
I'd rather laugh a bright-haired boy
Than reign a gray-beard king!

2. Off with the wrinkled spoils of age!
Away with learning's crown!

Tear out life's wisdom-written page,
And dash its trophies down!

3. One moment let my life-blood stream
From boyhood's fount of flame!
Give me one giddy, reeling dream
Of life all love and fame!

4. My listening angel heard the prayer, And calmly smiling, said,

"If I but touch thy silvered hair,
Thy hasty wish hath sped.