obstacles, thought I, so I pushed with all my might whenever I found anything in my way, and often carried away with me small particles of gravel and sand as I rubbed against the rocks or flowed over the soil.

As I got farther down the mountain side, I was joined by so many other rivulets that I soon became quite a large stream.

Then how I worked! Grinding away particles of rocks, scratching, rubbing, and rolling them into smooth pebbles, taking a bite out of the soil whenever I could reach it, and swallowing every smaller stream which came in my way, I in time became a mighty river, carving a deep gorge or channel in the rock by scratching and grinding it down with the sand and pebbles I constantly carried with me.

Do you not see how strong and powerful I am? Do you see how I take up the dirt and the sand from the bottom of the stream and move it about, or carry it along with me as I go?

When I have more of this sediment than I can carry, or when I am flooded, I cast it along my banks, where it forms fields of alluvial land, the richest of soils.

I am often turned out of my course by ledges of projecting rock, or changes in the level of the ground through which I flow, as well as by the

burden of sediment which sometimes almost stops me; but, urged on by the pressure of the water behind me, overcoming every obstacle, on I flow to my home in the sea.

THE RIVER.

"River, river, little river!

Bright you sparkle on your way,
O'er the yellow pebbles dancing,
Through the flowers and foliage glancing,
Like a child at play.

"River, river, swelling river!

On you rush o'er rough and smooth,
Louder, faster, rolling, leaping,
Over rocks and shallows sweeping,
Like impetuous youth.

"River, river, brimming river!

66

Broad and deep, and still as time;

Seeming still, although in motion,
Tending onward to the ocean,—

Just like mortal prime.

River, river, rapid river!

Swifter now you slip away;

Swift and silent as an arrow,

Through a channel dark and narrow Like life's closing day.

"River, river, headlong river!

Down you dash into the sea, Sea, that line hath never sounded, Sea, that sail hath never rounded,

"My birthplace was the mountain; My nurse, the April showers; My cradle was a fountain

O'ercurtained by wild flowers.

66 One morn I ran away,
A madcap, noisy rill!

And many a prank that day
I played adown the hill.

"And then 'mid meadowy banks
I flirted with the flowers,
That stooped with glowing lips,
To woo me to their bowers.

"But these bright scenes are o'er,

And darkly flows my wave;

I hear the ocean's roar,

And there must be my grave."

GREEN RIVER.

When breezes are soft and skies are fair,
I steal an hour from study and care,
And hie me away to the woodland scene,
Where wanders the stream with waters of green,
As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink
Had given their stain to the waves they drink;
And they whose meadows it murmurs through
Have named the stream from its own fair hue.

*

Oh, loveliest there the spring days come
With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees' hum;
The flowers of summer are fairest there,
And freshest the breath of the summer air;

And sweetest the golden autumn day
In silence and sunshine glides away.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

The rains fall on the mountains, they fall in the valleys, they sweep down the long hillsides, washing the rocks and carving the banks.

From the crumbling cliffs and from the broad meadows the waters gather the sands and carry them down to the brooks and the creeks and thence into the rivers.

The river current takes to itself each bright drop with its tiny load of sand or mud and bears it along on its bosom.

Sometimes the waters deposit part of their loads on the banks, but usually the strong currents carry their burdens on and on towards the sea.

The ocean is almost reached, and each wee particle hopes to start out on a journey for itself around the world, when alas! the ocean interferes.

While the river rushes down to the sea, the sea