length, and to be
written upon some historical event, preferably one connected with
the Hudson.

The poem must be entirely original, but must be unsigned and accompanied
by a sealed envelope containing the writer's name, this not to be
opened until the prize had been awarded to the best poem, at which
time the name of the winner would be made known.

"That makes it fair for everybody," declared Percival. "I am not
much of a poet, Jack, but you might try for this."

"You have had as much training in this line as I have, Dick,"
replied Jack. "There are plenty of subjects to choose from, Arnold's
treason, the capture of Stony Point by Wayne, the firing upon
the Highland Forts, Montgomery and Clinton, the burning of Kingston
and the hanging of the man with the silver bullet and a lot more.
Let your imagination loose, Dick, and I think you can win."

"If it were a case of letting my temper loose," laughed Percival,
"it would be a sure thing, but the imagination is different."

Jack knew that his mother would be pleased if he won the prize, and
so he determined to try for it, and began setting himself to work on
some verses having to do with the very location where the Academy
was situated.

When Billy Manners heard of the contest he said to Arthur, Harry,
young Smith, and a few others who were down on the shore fixing
their boats:

"Oh, say, can you see by the dawn and so forth!" he exclaimed,
"that is fine. Think of the inspiration we get from this historic
river. Look at the mountains all around us, full of patriotic
memories, and then say that you can't do anything. Why, the poetry
fairly bubbles out of me."

"Give us a sample, William," chuckled Harry. "There was another
poet named William once. Perhaps you inherit some of his genius.
I never saw any suspicion of it on you, but it may be there all the
same. Give us a sample, There's a good fellow."

"Why, certainly," Billy rejoined. "Historical subject, eh? And
one that occurred on the Hudson? Why, that's easy. Listen to this:"

Then Billy threw up his arms, gazed straight up into the sky,
and delivered himself of his poetic thoughts as follows:

_"When Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her banner to the skies,
Not a creature was stirring, not-----"_

"You've got things mixed, Billy," roared Harry. "Try again.
Besides, that is not original. It must be original to pass."

"Oh, well, all poets are plagiarists more or less," said Bil