Put-in-Bay Island is the largest and most attractive of the group. Its magnificent scenery, pure water, bracing atmosphere, entire absence of dew, superb boating, bathing and fishing have made it popular for years. There are five large hotels on the island, and an electric railway, many handsome summer cottages, magnificent bathing beaches with bath houses, toboggan slides, etc. The surrounding islands are so close to Put-in-Bay as to make it the head of a large family of pleasure seekers. The famous fishing for which Put-in-Bay and the islands are noted, needs no mention here. The islands are the headquarters for the yachting and canoeing associations of the Middle West, and ever enthuse new interest to lovers of the aquatic sport.

These resorts are reached by the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad to Sandusky, and an excellent line of steamers meets all trains

ers make the trip between Sandusky and Cedar Point every half hour.

LAKESIDE, OHIO.

Lakeside is another Lake Erie resort near Sandusky, and is known as the "Chautau qua" of the lakes. For more than twentyfive years it has attracted, enlightened and entertained its thousands of frequenters. Chautauqua work, kindergarten, summer schools, bathing, fishing and boating all combine to instruct and amuse patrons.

PAOLI LITHIA AND SULPHUR
SPRINGS, IND.

These springs are situated near French Lick and West Baden Springs, and have the same direct train connections at Mitchell, Ind., from points on Baltimore & Ohio and Baltimore & Ohio South-Western

CHUBBY-HAND.

L. H. ROBBINS IN NEWARK (N. J.) NEWS.

Once was the parlor white,

Of purest enamel ray.

Once was the bookroom polished bright,

Polished and rubbed till it dazzled the sight

But that was another day.

Table, piano, cabinet, chair,
Many a curious mark they bear,

Since Chubby-hand came to stay.

Whose is the work on the pane-
Palm prints all in a row?

Who, when grown-folk pass in the lane,
Patteth the glass with might and main,
Cheering them on as they go?
Out in the rain they trudge along—
Who is it turns their sighs to song?
Chubby-hand, do you know?

Who on the bookcase door

A private sign has set?

Chubby-hand, weary of babehood lore,

Has longed and grasped for a guarded store
She may not delve in yet.

Better for her are books that endure,
Irish linen literature

And the Animal Alphabet.

Who, when the curtains are drawn
And low is the bedroom light,
Steals away to the Sundown lawn
To bide with beautiful birds till dawn
And flowers blooming bright?
Who, in a quiet hour like this,
Offers a palm for a last soft kiss?
Chubby-hand, good night.

THE GIFT THE POOR GOT.

When it became known in Gosh, the primeval city, that the fairies were coming to town to bestow gifts on the people, there was a mighty rush for the railway station.

The strong crowded the weak aside, and those that lined up at the train to receive the delegation from Fairyland were the big, the strident, the heavy-weights.

"Gentlemen all," said the chairman of the visiting committee, 66 we are amazed to find so many inhabitants in the city of Gosh. There are more of you than we supposed, and we haven't brought gifts enough to go round.

At this the people in front set up a great clamor. "Give us our presents, they cried. "We won't be cheated!"

So the fairies opened their baggage and distributed the gifts. To some of the people of Gosh, went the gift of making money.

Some received

the gift of making magnificent speeches. A few got the gift of being socially prominent. These all, mind you, were the front-rankers; and they hastened away uptown rejoicing.

The trunks were empty at last, and the fairies looked up to see a great crowd of weak and lame and weary people still waiting.

He opened the case.

"Here," he went on, "is any quantity of the gift of seeing a joke. Help yourselves, you poor folks.'

So the weak came in for something, after all; and the strong were blocks away rejoicing.

Now the years rolled on and some of the people of Gosh waxed wealthy, and some grew to be socially prominent, and some went to Congress, and these all naturally came to think themselves much better than the weak and the poor around them. But the poor didn't mind that, for they had the gift of seeing a joke.

THE CITY GAME.

See the small boy running, Hear him shout in glee, Pounding on the lamp-post: "Onetwothreeforme!

See the grown man dashing
For the full trollee,
Knocking people over-
"Onetwothreeforme!"

City full of people
Striving first to be,
Everybody thinking:
"Onetwothreeforme!"

THE HEN.

BY HARRY PERSONS TABER.

The Hen, she is a noble bird-
By pity she is doubtless stirred-
For if, perchance, for food we beg,
She promptly goes and lays an egg.

We love her for the good she does-
At least we try-but, Dear me Suz!
We never, never can forget
Her temper when she wants to set.

She sets and simply glares at us-
An attitude rediculous!

If she but knew we loved her so,
She might some slight affection show.

The hen is, somehow, just like me -
She has no wisdom, don't you see?
For great intelligence she lacks-
She don't know where she'll get the axe!

It's easy to construct a rhyme
Of thought sublime.

Just crawl to some sequestered nook
And place blank paper on a book
Then muse-
Excuse

This awkward metre please,

My paper's blowing in the breeze.

Let's versify in metre strange

Of modest range,

Aha! an idea comes apace,
For Oh,

The B. & O.,

Has burgs along the road
Full fit for many an ode.

Martinsburg

There's a place I love full well—
'Tis Hannisville, fair Hannisville.
In Martinsburg I fain would dwell,
Near Hannisville, fair Hannisville.
In pints and quarts I love to see
Its smiling face beam out on me;
It's one perpetual glob of glee
In Hannisville, fair Hannisville.

Cumberland

Gem of the mountain side, nestling in green,
Lapped by the mountain brook's silvery sheen,
Quiet and pretty, dearest old Cumberland,
You are the essence of fairy-like slumberland.
Gem of the hillside-to you I'm drawn,

For in your confines they put dining cars on.

Pittsburg

(Borrowed to fit in.)

Mary had a little lamb,

It's fleece was white as snow,

It followed her to Pittsburg one dayNow, look at the blamed thing.

Wheeling

Unfortunate you are, old girl,
For lunatics at large

Mouth loudly your benighted name
And at you madly charge.
Joe Miller first devised the joke
And oh, but why continue,

A tired world still hears that you
Are "wheeling West Virginia."

Chicago

As we wind over the prairie and stream,
Yanked along by an aqueous steam,

We go through Hammond, Ind.,
Propelled only by wind,

Which is quite like Chicago, I wean.

SPRING.

BY F. H. SCHLEY.

Beautiful spring is coming soon! I hear the thrush singing,

I hear down near the cotton loom
The woodman's axe ringing.

I hear the dove's sotto noise
Just at the peep of day;

I see him as he hunts his choice
And quietly steals away.

I see the little swollen beads
Upon the old beech tree,
They see result, of recent flood,
Just like a chickaree.
Toward the margin of the stream
This old tree has its home,
And near the top a "violin"
Sings me a sweet love song.

I see the sumach's blackish-brown
Which bows to Nature's force,
Toward the all-absorbing ground,
Caused by the potent frost.
I look for the cute buttercup
With yellow face like gold,
But it can not as yet, come up,
Until the bee can drone.

This is only early April

I look for all these things, But who can even help the thrill That comes with early spring. It can not be called selfish

To long for that you love, As in the heart, we all can wish For sunlight from above.