yet. The trapper finds two old logs about three feet apart. Then he puts lighter logs on top to make a kind of fence, and fastens them in place with stakes and wire. He closes one end of the passage, puts some scraps of meat or fish inside at the closed end, and in front of this bait sets a great jagged-jawed steel trap. The trap is not hitched. If it were, and a bear got into it, he would jerk his foot out at his first jump. The trap itself weighs thirty pounds, and has a stout chain five feet long hitched to it, and on the end of that is a three-clawed grapple which drags along and catches on roots and bushes. The bear is not likely to go very far before the grapple compels him to stop, and there the trapper finds him.

Bears usually keep away from villages and farms; and, as they do most of their roving at night, people seldom see them. In the winter they stay in some snug hiding-place asleep, and do not come out until the snow melts off. They are usually fat then, but food is scarce and they become very lean long before the berries are ripe in the summer. Meanwhile they eat roots, and dig up wild turnips, and they tear rotten logs and stumps to pieces to get at the big ants which are inside. If they can make their way into a bee tree, they steal the honey, and they are always on the lookout for yellow wasp nests. In the fall the bears paw over the leaves after beech-nuts. They climb apple trees to get the fruit, and often damage them badly pulling in the ends of the limbs and clawing off the apples.

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their income by taking boarders who come from the cities, when the summer heat and dust are most trying, to find rest and recreation amid the country greenery. It is a grateful change to people who spend

most of the year in offices, stores, and manufactories. They resort in multitudes to New England's wooded mountains and silvery lakes, its winding rivers with their falls and rapids, its pleasant valleys, and its rocky seacoast. Some stay for only a few days, but others remain for weeks or months.

It is estimated that the summer people leave over five million dollars a year in the single state of New Hampshire. Much of this is spent in the White Mountains, but there are many other favorite resorts

names were bestowed by the Indians. The latter means "The Smiles of the Great Spirit." Winnepesaukee is a very irregular lake with a breadth of from one to twelve miles and a length of twenty. It has three hundred and sixty islands, some only a few square yards in extent, and others having an area of many acres.

Large numbers of people are attracted to the beaches of the state's short shore-line, or to the famous Isles of Shoals, which are among the most frequented of all the New England islands. Lowell describes them as

A heap of bare and splintery crags,

Tumbled about by lightning and frost,

With rifts and chasms, and storm-bleached jags,
That wait and growl for a ship to be lost."

They are about three leagues off the New Hampshire coast. The largest of the nine islands is a mile in length and half a mile across. On one of them enough ground free from boulders is found for a few acres of mowing, and on another for some garden plots. They are wholly treeless, and support nothing of larger growth than huckleberry and bayberry bushes, woodbines, and wild roses.

The isles were frequently visited by European fishing boats long before New England was settled, and people began to establish their homes on them almost as soon as on the neighboring mainland. There was a rapid increase of population and wealth, and the isles had their

meeting-house and court-house, and a seminary of such repute that gentlemen's sons came from the mainland to it for literary instruction. Swine were numerous, and what is now called Appledore was then known as Hog Island. There was a tavern on Smutty Nose. Hog Island had a good spring of water on it, and a considerable village grew up on its sheltered southerly slope.

Trade, commerce, and fishing were actively engaged in, and the little harbor was filled with shallops and pinnaces. The scene presented at the isles then must have been a picturesque one. On windless summer days the great hulking red-capped fishermen lounged about the rocks smoking their Brazil tobacco and waiting for a breeze, the fishwives chattered at their outdoor net-mending, and the ragged children played boisterous games in the narrow village lanes. By the shores were many long platforms spread with the drying fish, and wisps of smoke drifted upward from cottage chimneys. Roundabout was the wide sea, glistening in the sunlight, and westward were the dim blue hills of the mainland.

When the wind began to blow, the men sailed away in their little vessels, but with the approach of twilight the fishing boats, one by one, came winging home.

By 1700 the isles began to lose their population and prosperity, and of late years they have not had a single permanent family on them except that of the lighthouse keeper. But their healthfulness and the equable

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