[to be continued.]
[THE TROUT PLAYS HOOKEY.]
A little trout, one bright sunshiny day,
As to his morning school he went his way,
Thought 'twould be fun to turn aside and stray,
And at the wicked game of hookey play.
"'Tis great," he said, as up the purling brook
He slyly swam, with many a backward look,
"To travel thus upon one's own sweet hook,
And leave the stupid study of one's book."
And so he gayly swam from pool to pool,
Forgetting all his duties at the school;
Forgetting lessons, pencil, slate, and rule,
Till afternoon gave way to twilight cool.
And then, ah me!—poor naughty little trout!—
A fisherman came treading softly out,
With pole, and line, and worms both sleek and stout,
In search of such as he, beyond a doubt.
And trouty, feeling hungry, took a bite.
He bit with all his main and all his might.
The line drew back, it drew exceeding tight,
And trouty flashed straight upward, out of sight.
And now the other trout, his brothers, weeping, say
He ne'er came back to his old purling way.
He's not been seen since that sunshiny day
When at the game of "hook" he tried to play.
Carlyle Smith.
PROTECTING FIELD ARTILLERY.