"He was too clever for that!" cried daddy. "But he put on oilskins and went out in a rowboat to visit this monster of the north, which had got stranded on the bottom of the sea. Only one-eighth of an iceberg ever shows above water, you know, and the other seven-eighths of this berg had touched bottom. The waves had cut great channels under and through it, so that he rowed past glistening white pillars. The walls and ceilings of this ice palace dripped, dripped, all honeycombed and rotting in a climate already too warm for ice monsters, and its icy walls glistened with all the colors of the rainbow, which it had to borrow from the sunshine, because icebergs have no color of their own and can only reflect what the giant sun strikes it with—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. Some time I will tell you about icebergs and steamers," daddy promised, looking at the clock.

Can be so optimistic about the immediate unification of their party. Mr. Bryan ought to be good for about sixteen years of trouble making yet. Among the books that are convenient to possess because they make suitable gifts for a convalescent in need of cheering, is "Phoebe, Ernest, and Cupid." Some very natural and appealing little tales published earlier under the title of "Phoebe and Ernest" in this later volume find an interesting sequel. The Martin family whose daily life is depicted is drawn true to life, and the story moves along with sufficient variety; in episode to hold the interest.

Up in Winnipeg they have decided to make proprietors of moving picture shows charge 20 cents for admission. 