shall we
give our club?"

"Woodland Archers," suggested Ned.

"Mohawk Foresters," added Henry. "We want our river in the name, and the
Mohawks were great warriors."

"Let's call it the Mohawk Bowmen," continued Ned. "That's just the
thing." And all agreed to it, and so Mohawk Bowmen was decided upon as
the club name.

"Who'll be captain?" asked Stuart.

"Oh, Foster, of course," answered all at once. "He's the best shot, and
ought to be."

By this time the coals were ready, so the potatoes and corn and meat
were roasted, amid much fun and gay talk, and were eaten by the hungry
archers. Then, after a rest, the Mohawk Bowmen ranged the woods and
fields till sunset found them at home again, tired, indeed, but
enthusiastic over archery and their day's sport. They agreed it was the
happiest day they had ever seen, and arranged for a grand woodchuck hunt
on the following Saturday.

MORNING SIGHTS AND SOUNDS FROM A WINDOW IN JERUSALEM.

BY LYDIA FINKELSTEIN.

The first sound I heard at daybreak, through the window, was the
Moslem's call to prayer, from the minaret, "La Illaha illa
Allah"--"There is no other God but God"--breaking clear and solemn over
the stillness of the early dawn, and waking the echoes of the empty
streets. Presently I heard a footstep in the distance; as it approached
nearer, it made the arches resound. I looked out, and saw a pious
Mohammedan hastening to prayer. As he passed under the window I heard
him muttering in a low voice, and caught some sentences of his prayer:
"Ya Rahim, ya Allah" ("O God, the merciful!"). Scarcely had his
footsteps died out when I heard the soft silvery sound of a bell, whose
melodious music seemed to roll out like billows into space, and as the
reverberations were carried away to a more distant region, a chime of
bells rang out merrily; these were the matin bells calling the
Christians to prayers. The streets and arches again re-echoed hurrying
footsteps, which were those of the Catholic monks hastening to the
Church of the Holy Sepulchre. As they passed the window I could hear the
clicking of their rosaries, and distinguish the words "Dominus,
Dominus," muttered in a low voice.

Another sound broke the stillness: "Ya Karim, ya Allah" ("O bountiful
God!"). This was a cake vender, carrying on his head a large wooden tray
containing cakes and baked eggs. He uses this exclamation as an
acknowledgment that God is the giver of our daily bread.

"Karim" was st