erican
flags, "Colors warranted not to run."

The party drove to the Produce Exchange, one of the most impressive
buildings in New York. It is of rich Italian Renaissance architecture.
Beneath the projecting galley-prows in the main hall, the fierce
bargaining of excited members reminded Mr. Searles of a pitched battle
without cavalry or artillery.

Gertrude was anxious to climb the richly decorated campanile that rises
two hundred and twenty-five feet, which commands an unrivalled bird's-eye
view of lower New York, the bay, Brooklyn, Long Island, and the mountains
of New Jersey. All hoped to catch a glimpse of the "Majestic," but she
was down the Narrows and out of sight.

Mr. Searles desired to see Trinity Church, so he was driven up Broadway
to the head of Wall Street. Its spire is graceful and two hundred and
eighty-four feet high. The land on which it stands was granted in 1697
by the English government. There were also other magnificent endowments.
Trinity Parish, or Corporation, is the richest single church organization
in the United States, enjoying revenues of over five hundred thousand
dollars a year. In Revolutionary times the royalist clergy persisted in
reading prayers for the king of England till their voices were drowned
by the drum and fife of patriots marching up the center aisle.

It was now past two o'clock and the Harris party was driven to the Hotel
Windsor for lunch. Promptly at six o'clock the conductor of the fast
Western Express shouted, "All aboard," and Colonel Harris, Gertrude, and
Mr. Searles in their own private car, left busy New York for Harrisville.

The Express creeps slowly along the steel way, under cross-streets,
through arched tunnels, and over the Harlem River till the Hudson is
reached, and then this world-famed river is followed 142 miles to
Albany, the capital of the Empire State. This tide-water ride on the
American Rhine is unsurpassed. The Express is whirled through tunnels,
over bridges, past the magnificent summer houses of the magnates of the
metropolis that adorn the high bluffs, past wooded hill and winding dale,
grand mountains, and sparkling rivulets. Every object teems with historic
memories. This ride, in June, is surpassed only when the forests are in a
blaze of autumnal splendor.

For twenty miles in sight are the battlemented cliffs of the Palisades.
Mr. Searles was familiar with the facile pen of Washington Irving, and
from the car caught sight of "Sunny Si