ss Association, of which Miss Susan D. Robbins,
Abington, Mass., is president. She will give information concerning it
to all who ask.

Celebrating the "Fourth" Abroad.

The other day we went in the cars to a little town on the Elbe's
bank, and there took a steamboat and went up the river. The view
was lovely, and looked like a mixture of the Rhine and the
palisades on the Hudson, with high cliffs on each side--some green
with trees, and others with the bare gray rocks worn by the wind
and rain into a thousand queer shapes. In some places there were
quarries for the soft buff sandstone of which these cliffs are
composed, lending another color (yellow) to the cliffs of gray and
green. You can well imagine how lovely it was.

As we neared the town the country changed, and now it resembled
the Thames, with villas here and there among the trees. The King
of Saxony has his summer palace here, with pleasure-boats moored
to the wharf. We reached the brightly lighted city on our return
just at twilight, wishing our journey was not over so soon.

We went to the Belvedere on the Fourth of July. It is a large
garden by the river. It is crowded every night, a good half of the
people being English and Americans. Of course the "Fourth" was a
great American night, the programme being printed in English. The
band played everything it knew of American music, with some of the
English composers for the English part of the audience. You should
have heard the clapping for "Hail Columbia." The musicians played
the beautiful "Largo" too, and the hush that fell over every one
was nice to see, even a lot of students who sat at the next table
stopped talking and laughing.

Last of all came a great mixture of all the American tunes.
Everybody, or at least a great number, sang; and you can well
imagine the noise when "Yankee Doodle" came. "Marching through
Georgia" was sung loudly, every one clapping in time. By everybody
I mean the Americans. "Old Black Joe" was most highly appreciated,
and when it came to "Way Down upon the Suwanee River," the voices,
it seemed to me, beat any opera chorus in the world. A great many
voices were "quavery" at "Home, Sweet Home," and my sister and I
indulged in rather a "watery" smile.

I never knew the pathos of that song till I was