have gained greatly in popularity. The two former methods of riding the waters are so much less expensive than yachting that they are more generally indulged in. Jerome's" Three Men in a Boat" is a delightfully humorous recital of the experience of three overworked young Englishmen, who made a boating trip, during their summer vacation, on the Thames, from Kingston to Oxford. Black's "Strange Adventures of a HouseBoat" is also a history of a more ambitious trip up the Thames and other picturesque rivers of England. Robert L. Stevenson's "An Inland Voyage" and Hamerton's "The Saône" are well-known ac

wheels" in

written of the charms of a tour on numerous volumes. The Pennells' "Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy," "Canterbury Pilgrimage," and "Two Pilgrims' Progress" are not only charming reading, but are full of suggestions and excellect advice. The same may be said of Stevens' "Around the World on a Bicycle" and Karl Kron's "Ten Thousand Miles on a Bicycle." "Cycling," by Viscount Bury and G. Lacy Hillier (Badminton Library), is designed not only to interest the general reader, but to form a useful handbook for all who are interested in any of the various ramifications of

counts of river tours in France and Belgium. R. G. Thwaites tells of his investigations in a small boat of some of our western rivers in "Historic Waterways," and Saint George Rathborne wrote a volume on " Paddling in Florida." Boating," by W. B. Woodgate, takes up the subject from every point of view. It is one of the later volumes of the Badminton Library. The following books are more strictly practical: Field's 'Canvas Canoes," Hick's "Yachts, Boats, and Canoes," Summer's "Who Won," and Cozzens' "Yachts and Yachting."

Mr. and Mrs. Pennell and Mr. Thomas Stevens have probably done more to popularize cycling and bicycling than any other writers. They have

cycling. "Tips for Tricyclists," by Prof. Hoffmann, is a little dictionary of facts. Horsebackriding is recommended as one of the most healthful exercises for ladies. Mead's "Horsemanship for Women" and Mrs. O'Donoghue's "Riding for Ladies" will give them many valuable points. Anderson's "Modern Horsemanship," of which a new edition has recently been published, and Mrs. Karr's "The American Horsewoman," have long been accepted as excellent authorities. The Badminton Library contains several comprehensive volumes on nearly related subjects, as: "Racing and Steeple Chasing," by the Earl of Suffolk and Berkshire, "Driving," by the Duke of Beaufort, and "Hunting," by Mowbray

"Base-Ball," by John Montgomery Ward, embraces all that there is to know about our national game. "Stories THE EXODUS. of the Base-Ball From "Three Men in a Boat." (Holt.) Field," by Harry Palmer, is chiefly amusing, although it gives a few valuable points. "Lawn-Tennis in America," by Valentine G. Hall, gives a record of the tennis tournaments since 1884.

"Cricket" and "Golf," two naturalized games, have volumes devoted to them in the Badminton Library. These are both ball games, which recommend themselves to all ages and both sexes. In England the ladies boast of several cricket clubs, and their right to play golf is no longer denied. These games, so popular and so enthusiastically pursued in the British Isles in all seasons, and at all times excepting when the snow is on the ground, promise to obtain a similar popularity with us. The volume on "Golf" is largely the work of Horace G. Hutchinson, ably assisted by contributions from Lord Wellwood and other English experts at the game. Mr. Andrew Lang's interesting history of golf, with which the book opens, proves that the English golf is not the same game, as many have asserted, as the old Dutch game called "kolf," but rather something more nearly akin to what the boys call "hockey," or what becomes polo when pursued on horseback. "Cricket" comes from the pen of A. G. Steel and R. H. Lyttelton. "Croquet" is taking a new lease of life in a somewhat more difficult form than when first introduced. It is a kindred game, on a small scale, to cricket and golf, and a most delightful inducement to ladies and children to keep out-doors. Flannery's "American Cricket Annual" may be consulted for facts and figures. For those who enjoy living under canvas during

the summer months we suggest as rich in experiences, Barrows' "Shaybacks in Camp," Pool's "Tenting at Stony Beach,' and Shields' "Camping and Camp Outfits." "Adirondack" Murray's enthusiasm for out-door life has borne fruit in a new book on "Lake Champlain and Its Shores." Together with other topics he writes of life in the woods, gives some details about inland yachting. and a breezy chapter on out-door life. Many books have been written devoted entirely to the beauties of nature and the charms of an out-door life-all rich in instruction on the numerous inhabitants of the fields, forests, and streams, and in enthusiastic praise of our wonderful flowers and trees. Some of the more recent ones we have included in our lists of new books, such as Bamford's "Up and Down the Brooks; " Abbott's "Days Out of Doors;" Sylvester's "Homestead Highways;" Knight's "By Leafy Ways" and "Idyls of the Field;" Torrey's "A Rambler's Lease," and Merriam's "Birds Through an Opera Glass," etc. Any of the books of Torrey, Olive Thorne Miller, Burroughs, or Thoreau, are most restful midsummer reading. The student of nature reaps the same reward in health and strength as does the seeker after mere physical enjoyment. He will find many congenial com

AT THE END OF THE SWING. From "Golf." (Little, Brown & Co.) panions to carry with him into his solitudes, friends who offer him their choicest thoughts and profoundest observations.

For prices and full titles of the books here mentioned we refer to our lists, where many additional books of travel and fiction will be found with the best guide-books to all parts of the world. M. M. M.

Harbor of Pernambuco.

From Vincent's " Around and About South America."

(Appleton.)

PERNAMBUCO is very different from Bahia and the Argentine Republic in respect to a long, narrow reef of rock which, at about five hundred feet from the shore, stretches along the whole front of the city and for several miles beyond, thus making within it a commodious harbor and safe anchorage for all ships and steamers, save those of the very deepest draught. Vessels of twentyfive hundred tons may readily enter; larger ones, of which I saw a few, lie in the offing, about two miles from land. Pernambuco itself stands upon comparatively level ground, but its suburb to the north, Olinda, covers several prettily sloping and extremely verdant bills. All along the shore are great groves of cocoa-palms, and where the vessels enter the reef-protected harbor, at the northern end, are two large forts, not more than half a mile a part, the tops of their brick walls showing many though small cannon. At the extremity of the reef is a low lighthouse, and just beyond it are a round tower and a small building connected with the revenue department. From here the reef proper, which at high tide is barely above water-level, has been topped with a brick wall about five feet in height and ten in width. The great ocean swells, as they roll majestically in, break against this barrier, and dash aloft in vast clouds of fleecy foam. The reef near the surface of the water is about fifty feet in width. At regular intervals in it have been sunk large cannon to which ships may moor. The sea-front of the city is a cemented, cut-stone wall. Vessels lie

three and four abreast, just within the reef, and also next the jetty, leaving the central space between them clear for traffic. I noticed two or three men-of-war, three or four steamers, and about fifty sailing-vessels, mostly barks of light tonnage. Pernambuco is a very bustling place, and steamers are coming or going almost every day. As at Bahia, there is a street with "Belgian" pavement adjoining the harbor; and here also at one point is a very small sort of plaza, in which are a dozen great trees, around whose bases circle iron settees, filled all day and evening by loiterers and curiosity-mongers. The houses are narrow, but deep, and four or five stories in height. Here, also, you find the leading banks, sugar and cotton firms, the hotels, and the fine building of the Commercial Association. From my room in the hotel I look into the reef-inclosed harbor, with its always interesting stir of ships and sailors, of steamers and passengers, of stevedores and longshoremen, and away beyond, the view is closed by the remote commingling of sky and water.

Upon a closer inspection I find that Pernambuco lies upon two long, narrow peninsulas and the mainland, the peninsulas being formed by two small rivers and the ocean. The several parts are connected by handsome iron and stone bridges. The country beyond is mostly low, filled with little streams and lakes, and sparsely settled. Everywhere you see palms, bananas, and bamboos. The rich merchants possess country-houses west of the city, at distances varying from one to eight miles, and reached by two or three lines of railroad. The oldest part of the town is called Recife, the Reef, either from the

fact of its lying next the reef, or because it is itself upon a sort of reef. Here the streets are very narrow and crooked; but, upon crossing the first bridge to the other and larger peninsula, you notice a great improvement; the blocks of houses become much larger, the streets wider, tram-cars are running in every direction, and the best retail stores display their wares. In the river Beberibe, which divides the district of Recife from that called San Antonio, are several lines of small ships, mostly engaged in bringing dried beef from the Argentine Republic, and dried fish from Newfoundland. Upon the Recife side is the custom-house, a great, square, yellow building, with high and broad towers at the corners. On the opposite side is the Arsenal of War. The extreme point of the peninsula of San Antonio is reserved for the President's house and gardens.

The Nest of the White Heron. From Jewett's "Tales of New England." (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.)

THE birds sang louder and louder. At last the sun came up bewilderingly bright. Sylvia could see the white sails of ships out at sea, and the clouds that were purple and rose-colored and yellow at first began to fade away. Where was the white heron's nest in the sea of green branches, and was this wonderful sight and pageant of the world the only reward for having climbed to such a giddy height? Now look down again, Sylvia, where the green marsh is set among the shining birches and dark hemlocks; there where you saw the white heron once you will see him again; look, look! a white spot of him like a single floating feather comes up from the dead hemlock and grows larger, and rises, and comes close at last, and goes by the landmark pine with steady sweep of wing and outstretched slender neck and crested head. And wait! wait! do not move a foot or a finger, little girl, do not send an arrow of light and consciousness from your two eager eyes, for the heron has perched on a pine bough not far beyond yours, and cries back to his mate on the nest, and plumes his feathers for the new day!

The child gives a long sigh a minute later when a company of shouting cat-birds comes also to the tree, and vexed by their fluttering and lawlessness the solemn heron goes away. She knows his secret now, the wild, light, slender bird that floats and wavers, and goes back like an arrow presently to his home in the green world beneath. Then Sylvia, well satisfied, makes her perilous way down again, not daring to look far below the branch she stands on, ready to cry sometimes because her fingers ache and her lamed feet slip. Wondering over and over again what the stranger would say to her, and what he would think when she told him how to find his way straight to the heron's nest.

"Sylvy, Sylvy!" called the busy old grandmother again and again, but nobody answered, and the small husk bed was empty, and Sylvia had disappeared.

The guest waked from a dream, and remembering his day's pleasure hurried to dress himself that it might sooner begin. He was sure from the way the shy little girl looked once or twice yesterday that she had at least seen the white heron, and now she must really be persuaded to tell. Here she comes now, paler than ever, and her worn old frock is torn and tattered, and smeared with pine pitch. The grandmother and the sportsman stand in the door together and

question her, and the splendid moment has come to speak of the dead hemlock-tree by the green marsh.

But Sylvia does not speak after all, though the old grandmother fretfully rebukes her, and the young man's kind appealing eyes are looking straight in her own. He can make them rich with money; he has promised it, and they are poor now. He is so well worth making happy, and he waits to hear the story she can tell.

No, she must keep silence! What is it that suddenly forbids her and makes her dumb? Has she been nine years growing, and now, when the great world for the first time puts out a hand to her, must she thrust it aside for a bird's sake? The murmur of the pine's green branches is in her ears, she remembers how the white heron came flying through the golden air and how they watched the sea and the morning together, and Sylvia cannot speak; she cannot tell the heron's secret and give its life away.

Dear loyalty, that suffered a sharp pang as the guest went away disappointed later in the day, that could have served and followed him and loved him as a dog loves! Many a night Sylvia heard the echo of his whistle haunting the pasture path as she came home with the loitering COW. She forgot even her sorrow at the sharp report of his gun and the piteous sight of thrushes and sparrows dropping silent to the ground, their songs hushed and their pretty feathers stained and wet with blood. Were the birds better friends than their hunter might have beenwho can tell? Whatever treasures were lost to her, woodlands and summer-time, remember! Bring your gifts and graces and tell your secrets to this lonely country child !

Inland Yachting.

From Murray's "Lake Champlain and Its Shores.” (De Wolfe, Fiske & Co.)

To an American yachtsman, especially, inland yachting has a peculiar charm, and yields to him a singular enjoyment. His is the only country inhabited by civilized nations which, in its size and facilities of water communication, is continental. To say that a yacht of eight or ten tons can be sailed by a party of tourists four or five thousand miles without passing out of inland waters, and never over the same course twice, is a statement calculated to astound a European, and even an American, we fancy, would have to look up his geography a little to credit it. But, if he will take his map, he will see at a glance how easily the thing can be done, and that the five thousand miles can easily be made ten thousand, if the party can extend its vacation time a month or so. Burlington, or rather this lake lying in front of Burlington, is the natural centre and starting-point for such magnificent touring. It is large enough to supply facilities for aquatic training requisite for such as, not having it, must prepare themselves for these splendid voyages. It is the only lake in all this east country of ours that can serve as a school in which practical knowledge of yachts and yachting can be taught. It is, moreover, so placed as to be easily accessible from the great seaboard cities, from which the majority of our true tourists and sportsmen come. It is surrounded by natural scenery of the hightest order. Its shores and bays are alive with historic memories, which quicken patriotism and ennoble the character of whosoe'er receives their inspiration.