hills, its white houses, and its rocks, and encircling a sea bluer than the heavens above, resembled a great vase of vert antique whitened with foam, whose brim and handles are festooned with ivy leaves and branches. It was the season when the fishermen, who hang their cabins over the rocks and stretch their nets out upon the sandy beach, push off from the shore during the night in perfect confidence, and go out two or three leagues into the sea to fish. Some carry with them torches made of resin which they light in order to deceive the fish. The fish come to the top of the water, believing it to be the break of day. A boy, crouched upon the prow of the boat, inclines the burning torch toward the water, while the fisherman, whose eye penetrates to the very bottom of the gulf, searches for his prey and catches it in the net. These lights, red as the fire of a furnace, are reflected in long, undulating waves on the surface of the sea, like the last faint glimmerings of the moon. The undulation follows the movement of the billows and prolongs the glare from wave to wave, reflected from one to the other. - A. DE LAMARTINE. Man proposes; but God disposes. CATH. FIFTH READER 3 - THOMAS À KEMPIS. SONG OF MARION'S MEN Our band is few, but true and tried, As seamen know the sea. We know its walls of thorny vines. Woe to the English soldiery And hear the tramp of thousands Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil: We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup. On beds of oaken leaves. Well knows the fair and friendly moon The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds. Grave men there are by broad Santee, Their hearts are all with Marion, |