In the morning, Washington prepared to renew the attack, but the British had slipped away under cover of the darkness, not willing to venture another battle. Pursuit, except by some cavalry, was unavailing. The men were exhausted. The sun beat down fiercely, and the hot sand made walking difficult. Moreover, the British fleet lay off Sandy Hook, and an advance in that direction would lead the army nearer to the enemy's re-enforcements. Accordingly Washington marched his army to Brunswick and thence to the Hudson river, crossed it, and encamped again near White Plains. After the battle of Monmouth, Lee wrote an angry letter to Washington and received a cool one in reply. Lee demanded a court-martial, and Washington at once ordered it. Three charges were made, and Lee was convicted of disobedience of orders in not attacking the enemy on the 28th of June, agreeably to repeated instructions; misbehavior before the enemy on the same day, by making an unnecessary and disorderly retreat; and disrespect to the Commander-in-chief. He was suspended from the army for a year, and he never returned to it. Long after his death, facts were brought to light which make it seem more than probable that General Lee was so eaten up by vanity, by jealousy of Washington, and by a love of his profession above a love of his country, that he was a traitor at heart, and that instead of being ready to sacrifice himself for his country, he was ready to sacrifice the country to his own willful ambition and pride. But his disgrace was the end of all opposition to Washington. From that time there was no question as to who was at the head of the army and the people. (_To be continued_.) * * * * * [Illustration: FRESH FROM A DIP IN THE BREAKERS.] A SONG OF SUMMER. BY EMMA C. DOWD. The flowers are fringing the swift meadow brooks, The songsters are nesting in shadowy nooks; The birds and the blossoms are thronging to meet us, With loveliness, perfume, and music they greet us,-- For Summer, the beautiful, reigns! The bobolink tilts on the tall, nodding clover, And sings his gay song to us over and over; The wild roses beckon, with deepening blushes, And sweet, from the wood, sounds the warble of thrushes,-- For Summer, the beautiful, reigns! The white lilies sway with the breeze of the morning, In raiment more fair than a monarch's adorning; The bright-throated humming-bird, marvel of fleetness, Comes questing for honey-blooms, draining their sweetness,-- For Summer, the beautiful, reigns! High up in the elm is the oriole courting, A new suit of velvet and gold he is sporting; With gay bits of caroling, tuneful and mellow, He wooes his fair lady-love, clad in plain yellow,-- For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!