"Reward, Reward!" they warmly cried
(Sebastian's ear was bent

To catch the sounds he scarce believed,
But with imploring look received).
"What shall it be?" They spoke of gold
And of a splendid dress;

But still unmoved Sebastian stood,
Silent and motionless.

"Speak!" said Murillo, kindly; "choose Your own reward - what shall it be?

Name what you wish, I'll not refuse:

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Then speak at once and fearlessly." "Oh! if I dared!"-Sebastian knelt, And feelings he could not control (But feared to utter even then)

With strong emotion shook his soul.

"Courage!" his master said, and each Essayed, in kind, half-whispered speech, To sooth his overpow'ring dread. He scarcely heard, till some one said, "Sebastian - ask you have your choice, Ask for your freedom!"—At the word, The suppliant strove to raise his voice: At first but stifled sobs were heard, And then his prayer - breathed fervently "Oh! master, make my father free!" "Him and thyself, my noble boy!" Warmly the painter cried; Raising Sebastian from his feet, He pressed him to his side.

"Thy talents rare, and filial love,
E'en more have fairly won;
Still be thou mine by other bonds-
My pupil and my son."

Murillo knew, e'en when the words
Of generous feeling passed his lips,
Sebastian's talents soon must lead
To fame that would his own eclipse;
And, constant to his purpose still,
He joyed to see his pupil gain,
Beneath his care, such matchless skill
As made his name the pride of Spain.

Susan Wilson.

THE YOSEMITE VALLEY.

HE Yosemite! as well interpret God in thirty-nine

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articles as portray it to you by word of mouth or pen. As well reproduce castle or cathedral by a stolen frieze or broken column, as this assemblage of natural wonder and beauty by photograph or painting. The overpowering sense of the sublime, of awful desolation, of transcending marvellousness and unexpectedness, that swept over us, as we reined our horses sharply out of green forests and stood upon high jutting rock that overlooked this. rolling, upheaving sea of granite mountains, holding far down its rough lap this vale of beauty of meadow and grove and river,— such tide of feeling, such stoppage of ordinary emotions comes at rare intervals in life. It was the confrontal of God, face to face, as in great danger, in

solemn, sudden death. It was Niagara magnified. All that was mortal shrank back, all that was immortal swept to the front and bent down in awe.

And here we have wandered and wondered and worshipped for four days. Under sunshine and shadow; by rich mellow moonlight; by stars opening double wide their eager eyes; through a peculiar August haze, delicate, glowing, creamy, yet hardly perceptible as a distinct element, — the New England Indian summer haze doubly refined,—by morning and evening twilight across camp-fires; up from beds upon the ground; through all the watches of the night, have we seen these, the great natural wonders and beauties of this Western world. Indeed, it is not too much to say that no so limited space in all the known worldoffers such majestic and impressive beauty. Niagara alone divides honors with it in America. Only the whole of Switzerland can surpass it. No one scene in all the Alps can match this before me now in the things that mark the memory and impress all the scenes for beauty and sublimity.

The one distinguishing feature is a double wall of perpendicular granite, rising from half a mile to a mile in height, and inclosing a valley not more than half a mile in width on the average, and from ten to fifteen miles in length. It is a fissure, a chasm, rather than a valley, in solid rock mountains; there is not breadth enough in it for even one of its walls to lie down; and yet it offers all the fertility, all the beauties of a rich valley. There is meadow with thick grass; there are groves of pine and oak, the former exquisite in form and majestic in size, rising often to two hundred and two hundred and fifty feet; there are thickets

of willow and birch, bay trees and dog-wood, and various flowering shrubs; primrose and cowslip and golden rod and violet and painted cup, more delicate than Eastern skies can welcome, make gay garden of all the vacant fields now in August; the aroma of mint, of pine and fir, of flower loads the air; the fern family find a familiar home everywhere; and winding in and out among all flows the Merced River, so pure and transparent that you can hardly tell where the air leaves off and the water begins, rolling rapidly over polished stones or soft sands, or staying in wide, deep pools that invite the bather and the boat, and holding trout only less rich and dainty than the brook trout of New England. The soil, the trees, the shrubs, the grasses and the flowers of this little valley are much the same in general character and variety as those of your Connecticut River valleys; but they are richer in development and greater in numbers. They borrow of the mountain fecundity and sweetness; and they are fed by summer rains as those of other California valleys rarely are.

The one great conspicuous object of the valley is a massive, two-sided wall, standing out into and over the meadow, yellowish gray in color, and rising up into the air unbroken. Square, perpendicular, for full threequarters of a mile. It bears in Spanish and Indian the name of the Great Jehovah, and it is easy to believe that it was an object of worship by the barbarians, as it is not difficult for civilization to recognize the Infinite in it, and impossible not to feel awed and humbled in its presence.

In other places these mountain walls of rock take similar and only less majestic shapes; while as fre

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quently they assume more poetical and fantastic forms. Here and there are grand massive domes, as perfect in shape as your State-house dome, and bigger than the entire of a dozen State-houses. The highest rock of the valley is a perfect half-dome, split sharp and square in the middle, and rising more than a mile, or near six thousand feet, over the little lake which perfectly mirrors its majestic form at its foot. Perfect pyramids take their places in the wall; then these pyramids come in families, and mount away one after and above the other, as "The Three Brothers," "The Cathedral Rocks," and "The Cathedral Spires" - uniting the great impressiveness, the beauty and the fantastic form of the Gothic architecture.

Over the sides of the walls pour streams of water out of narrower valleys; still above, and yet higher and far away, rise to twelve and thirteen thousand feet the culminating peaks of the Sierra Nevadas, with still visible fields of melting snows. All forms and shapes and colors of majesty and beauty cluster around this narrow spot. It seems created the home of all that is richest in inspiration for the heroic in life, for poetry, for painting, for imaginative religion.

The water-falls of the valley, though a lesser incident in all its attractions, offer much that is marvellous and beautiful.

In the main portion of the valley the Bridal Veil is the first conspicuous fall now a dainty rivulet, starting over a precipice nine hundred feet high, but nearly all lost at once in delicate spray that sways and scatters in the light breeze, and fastens upon the wall, as sign of its being and its beauty, the fabled rainbow of promise.