assumption that it is to be "more thoroughly edited" than our regular Church papers, is a harmless, though somewhat amusing conceit. Its price is $2 per annum, while that of our Church weekly papers is but $1.50.

"UP THE HILL A-BERRYING."-A neat little poem, by Luella Clark, was published under this title in the March number, 1859, of the Repository-since then it has been copied into many of our exchanges with a variety of headings, such as "Jenny," "I and Jenny Davis," but, we believe, never once with the proper credit either to the author or the magazine.

WHY IS NOT MY ARTICLE PUBLISHED?-Happy is the editor who does not have this question now and then thrust into his face. Sometimes the question is uttered in a tone that grates harshly upon his ear; sometimes couched in language that gives evidence of any amount of pent-up indignation. We have a case just in hand. A contributor says: "In April I sent an article, another the 14th of May, and a third the 25th of June. With each of them I made the request that you would do me the kindness to return the manuscripts if you did not care to publish them. As it is now three months since the first was forwarded, the most natural inference is, that, though rejected, the manuscripts are not returned. Is it not ungenerous to refuse, on looking over and condemning an article, to place it in an envelope, which may be done as easily as to throw it into a waste basket?" Ahem! may be; may be not. Let us make a few notes for the benefit of our contributors generally, just premising by the way that we have no earthly recollection of the special articles in question.

First, we have again and again advertised our contributors that we can not return manuscripts from the office. It may seem a small thing to place a single article in an envelope, direct it, and send it to the post-office. But it is not always so easy a matter; and then when the one is increased to hundreds, it becomes a labor no editor will undertake. Besides, it is practically more difficult than it seems. Many of the articles finally rejected are "sort of goodish;" they are read, reread, placed on file for further consideration and as a sort of reserve in view of the possible contingencies of the demand for "copy." After a long lapse of time they come to a final reading and rejection, when perhaps the request and locality of the author are forgotten. It may be "ungenerous," after all, in the editor not to return the manuscripts; but we incline to think that it is equally ungenerous on the part of the writer not to make some compensation to the editor for the extra labor he has occasioned him.

Then, too, if an article is accepted it can not alIt has numerways be published in our next issue.

ous competitors, of equal claim it may be; and also fitness and variety must be studied in making up a number. A person unacquainted with the routine of an editor's office can hardly comprehend all the contingencies that may affect the destiny of an article. At least we will say that three months is no unusual time for articles from our very best contributors to be in the editor's hands before they can fittingly find place in our columns. Nor is it uncommon for arti

cles that were accepted without hesitation to be on hand months before we can use them.

But, to conclude our homily, let none of our writers fear the rejection of an article if it has real and decided merit. The diver does not more eagerly desery or more firmly grasp a pearl of surpassing brilliancy and size than an editor a contribution of rare richness and beauty.

The conclusion of the whole matter is, that a little more modesty and a little less peevishness on the part of writers would be a great relief to editors.

WHERE IS LOON LAKE?-A correspondent, writing from Shawano, Wisconsin, claims the locality of this celebrated Lake for that region. He makes out an interesting case, to say the least. It will set our readers who are fond of hunting and fishing on the qui vive. Our correspondent must not be surprised if the quiet of Shawano should some day be disturbed by a party of excursionists inquiring the way to "Loon Lake." But let us hear him:

I wish to answer the question-"Where is Loon Lake?"— which will be asked by every one who sees the engraving in the January number of the Repository, which, by the way, has but recently fallen into my hands. Loon Lake is in Shawano county, near Lake Shawano, and about ten or twelve miles north-east of the village of Shawano, in the pinery of northern Wisconsin. The Lake derives its name from a large water fowl, great numbers of which are found in this Lake and vicinity. The Lake is also inhabited by several kinds of wild ducks. A variety of wild game is found near, and the waters are inhabited by a large variety of fish, the most delicate of which is the speckled trout, which live in the small streams emptying into Loon Lake, and which are not found any where else in this vicinity. Loon Lake is surrounded by a dense forest of gigantic trees and thick under-brush; the banks are very high and steep, except on the east side, where there is an opening of about two hundred acres. This opening is covered with a green sod, which gives it the appearance of an old meadow recently mowed, and forms a strong contrast with the surrounding wildness. The Menomonee Indians, who live on their reservation a few miles north of here, but who formerly occupied all of the surrounding country, have a tradition, that many years ago, long before the pale faces came to these remote regions, there was a small Menomonee village on the clearing by this Lake, and a few small mounds are pointed out as the burial-place of the villagers, who, many, many summers ago, raised their corn in this clearing and paddled their canoes on the waters of this romantic Lake. The head man of the village, or the chief of the small band, had, for some reason, gone down the Wolf river, near Lake Winnebago, when, in a quarrel, he killed a Winnebago Indian. About a moon after his return to his wigwam, which stood in the center of the village, a party of Winnebagoes surprised the village and massacred all of the inhabitants excepting four, who were absent on a hunting excursion. The two tribes were immediately involved in a long and sanguinary war, which was terminated by the disastrous defeat of the Winnebagoes and the death of their chief, who had long been distinguished among the neighboring tribes for his bravery. The slaughtered villagers were all buried in the mounds which were previously constructed to bury those who died in peace. Since that time no red man will hunt near this Lake; for they believe it is haunted by the spirits of the dead. Occasionally a company will go there to perform religious rites, but they never tarry over night. The Indian name for the Lake is Pe-nun Wanke-chon, which means "the lake. haunted by the dead." I am sure that it must be some cruel act of man which gives this name to so beautiful a lake. The aboriginals are beginning to call the Lake by its new name, and seem to be forgetting their superstitions about the Lake; but they do not often frequent the locality.