t in great rings, while
the loop spreads wider and wider, and at last drops plump over the head of
a mustang. The vaquero's horse pulls up with a sudden halt, and sinks back
on his haunches, and braces his fore feet out in front. Ah! How the dust
flies! The mustang is fast, held by the slip-knot, and he rears up and
plunges in wild and frantic terror. The rope strains terribly, but the
vaquero watches his chances, and takes in the rope every time it slackens.
It is of no use! The poor mustang is hard and fast. Perhaps another rider
comes up and flings another lasso over his head. Then they ride round him,
and the mustang is twisted and tangled in the ropes till he can hardly
move. He falls, and rolls, and kicks furiously, and all in vain. Panting,
exhausted and conquered, he at last submits to his fate. His free days are
over, and he seems to know it. A few more struggles, and he recognizes
that man is his master, and, perhaps, in one or two days he submits to a
bit in his mouth, and becomes a tame horse for the rest of his life. If,
by any chance, he escapes before he is broken in, and runs away to join
his wild companions, he seems never to forget that terrible lasso, and if
he sees the vaquero again, he will stand, trembling and frightened, too
much terrified to even run away.

The wild mustangs of the far West are rapidly disappearing. As the
settlers come in, they capture them and tame them, so that in places where
once the wild horses roamed in great droves, hardly one is now to be seen,
and the much better American horse has taken his place. This picture shows
two vaqueros in South America just making a capture. They came out from
the plantation under the palm-trees, and the powerful white mustang has
just felt the pull of the lasso round his splendid neck. Poor fellow! It
is hard, but it will soon be over, and then he will one day enjoy chasing
others quite as much as the splendid black horse has enjoyed the exciting
chase after him.

APRIL'S SUNBEAM.

BY JOY ALLISON.

"Here's a warm sunbeam, Daisy, Daisy;
April sent it to wake you, dear!
How can you be so lazy, lazy?
Haven't you heard that Spring is here?"

Daisy murmured, sleepy and surly:
"Spring's too young yet--the air is cool;
I don't believe in a sun so early,--
He's just playing at April fool!"

[Illustration: EASTER LILIES.]

OLD NICOLAI.

BY PAUL FORT.

One fine summer morning, man