The conversation was successfully turned from girls to canoes, and the boys discussed canoes and canoeing until they finally fell asleep, with the rain beating heavily on their canvas covering, and rattling like a constant shower of peas on the deck. They had been asleep for several hours when they were suddenly awakened by the heavy report of a cannon, fired apparently but a little distance from them. [TO BE CONTINUED.] WHAT ROBIN TOLD. BY GEORGE COOPER. How do the robins build their nest? Robin Redbreast told me. First a wisp of amber hay In a pretty round they lay; Then some shreds of downy floss, Feathers too and bits of moss, Woven with a sweet, sweet song, This way, that way, and across: That's what Robin told me. Where do the robins hide their nest? Robin Redbreast told me. Up among the leaves so deep, Where the sunbeams rarely creep. Long before the winds are cold, Long before the leaves are gold, Bright-eyed stars will peep and see Baby robins one, two, three: That's what Robin told me. RECKLESS SPARROWS. BY JAMES OTIS. Once upon a time, perhaps this summer, perhaps last, four reckless young sparrows lived in Central Park. Of course there were very many more of their kind there, but these four had formed a sort of club by themselves, and all the staid, respectable sparrows were really shocked by the way in which these youngsters behaved. They would fly in on to the paths, picking up crumbs almost from beneath the feet of the visitors, and then fly back among the bushes, as if they believed they had displayed a wonderful amount of bravery. They twittered and chirped around the heads of the sacred cattle, and darted back and forth past the ostriches, until it was a wonder they were not killed. Now these young sparrows never would take the advice of their elders, but continued in their wild ways, with a twitter that was very like a laugh whenever any of their relatives lectured them on the folly of recklessness and foolish daring. Finally the time came when they felt they needed a change, and one of them proposed, while they were making an early breakfast from a fat worm that had come in their way just in time, that they all go down to the city for a regular lark. With such a party as that, the idea was a good one, for it not only promised plenty of sport and adventure, but would show younger or more sedate sparrows what could be done by fellows who had the proper amount of courage. At the risk of indigestion the worm was eaten hastily, and stopping only long enough to use a blade of grass as a napkin, they started on their journey, just a trifle confused by the noise and bustle, but determined that no one should know they had never been around the town before.