There was not a single case of serious accident or illness for the camp diary to record. We were all healthily bronzed, and were as hardy as only life in the open air can make boys; and I am sure that camp life enabled us all to do better work at school during the winter. We broke camp on the morning of September 1. The night before, we had as guests our neighbors for miles around. Our good friends the Deacon and the Captain each made touching speeches, and the camp resounded again and again with three times three "'rahs" for them and other summer friends, each named in turn. The night was very cold, but every heart was warm. Sky-rockets shot through the air, bombs, flower-pots, and other fireworks exploded, and Lake Monomonock looked almost like a sheet of fire. Then amid this blaze of glory our guests departed to the tune of our favorite song. Lake Monomonock settled down to its somber stillness; old cloud-capped Monadnock loomed above us like the great pyramid, and now came a realizing sense of the sad parting which the morrow threatened to bring us. Morning came at last. The wind blew fresh and made the air as clear as crystal. Four-horse teams were in readiness, horns were produced, and with one long last look, off we started. Our woodland home never seemed so fair as when we turned our faces away from it. Those fragrant pine-trees had heard boys cheer before, but never until now with such lusty vigor and manifest feeling had come forth that inspiring watch-cry of: "'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! CAMP HARVARD!" ROBIN'S RETURN. BY EDITH M. THOMAS. Robin on the tilting bough, Red-breast rover, tell me how You the weary time have passed Since we saw and heard you last. "In a green and pleasant land, By a summer sea-breeze fanned, Orange-trees with fruit are bent; There the weary time I've spent." Robin rover, there, no doubt, Your best music you poured out; Piping to a stranger's ear, You forgot your lovers here. "Little lady, on my word, You do wrong a true-heart bird! Not one ditty would I sing, 'Mong the leaves or on the wing, In the sun or in the rain; Stranger's ear would list in vain. If I ever tried a note, Something rose within my throat. 'Twas because my heart was true To the North and spring-time new; My mind's eye a nest could see In yon old, forked apple-tree!" (NOTE.--It is said that the robin does not sing during its winter stay in the South.) LITTLE MISS MABEL BY DAISY JONES. [Illustration] Little Miss Mabel, Brimming with play, Turned into Grandmamma All in a day. "Now, children, you see How I look," said she, "And Grandmamma Harris Looked just like me. They always do; it's the natural way. All children take after their Grandmas, they say." MOTHER'S IDEA.