Canoes are of many styles, and range in price from $20 to $100. The former are canvas canoes, and the latter are of cedar and oak or birch, beautifully finished in every detail. A number of boys have already written to the editor of this paper asking him what style of canoe is the best. This question can only be answered when it is accompanied by a description of the water on which the canoe is to be used, and the purposes for which it is wanted. For paddling on inland waters, and large carrying capacity, the birch is a good canoe; but being open, and without a keel, it is a "wet" craft, and not adapted for sailing. The canvas canoe, of which a description and directions for building have already been given in YOUNG PEOPLE, is also good for inland waters, is easy to paddle, can carry sail, and being decked over, will keep a cargo dry. The "Racine" and "Nautilus" canoes are the best for both paddling and sailing, and will stand heavy weather. The "Shadow" and "Jersey Blue" canoes are the best for sailing, and are generally preferred for salt-water cruising. Any of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE who desire further information concerning canoes may address "Nautilus," and he will try to furnish it through Our Post-office Box. THE BELL-RINGER OF 1776. BY MARY A. P. STANSBURY. Up from the gateway of the dawn The great sun lifted slow, And touched with fire the State-house spire, To eyes that watched with strong desire, A hundred years ago. The ringer's foot was on the stair-- A gray-haired man was he, But firm of step and strong of arm, With heart that, warm through night and storm, Beat time to liberty. "I'll climb the tower," he said. "My son, Stay thou to bring me word, And ere the glorious page be dry, My bell and I, 'twixt earth and sky, Shall bid the news be heard." The boy's face from his father's eyes Reflected radiance wore: Hour after hour, the annals tell, Young sentinel, he guarded well The Senate-chamber door. Hour after hour the shadow crept Along the State-house wall: The old man from his lofty seat Saw in the street the people meet, And looked upon them all-- Looked down upon the waiting throng, And up with burning eye To where the great bell silent hung, And from the tongue a spider swung Her slender thread on high. He read the legend graven there-- His trembling lips were pale-- "Freedom through all the land proclaim." "God keep its name and spotless fame, Or rend it with His gale!" The gray-haired ringer called aloud, And backward thrilled again A low vibration on the air, As if, aware of that wild prayer, The bell had cried, "Amen!" Still crept the lengthening shadows on: Hope from his sinking heart Had well-nigh fled. He shook his head; "Alas! they will not sign," he said; His clasped hands fell apart.