Chapter XII: In England and America (1)

How natural the valley looked as George came down the road that led across the bridge! He could hear the brook roaring under its icy covering, and through the leafless trees he could make out the big manor-house. It was home again. What would they say? How would they receive him? There were no signs of activity about, no smoke coming from the foundry chimney. The place looked half deserted.

George watched some crows waddling out in the field. Suddenly they took flight, and the young Lieutenant saw what had put them up. He reined in his horse. "Adam Bent Knee," he ejaculated, and placing his fingers to his lips he gave the well-remembered whistle.

The old Indian stopped, and then striking into a gait, half run, half lope, he came across the snow.

"How! how!" he said, grasping the lad's extended hand.

Here was the first welcome. After the old Indian had answered a few questions about what was going on on the Hewes place, George pushed ahead. He had been sighted coming up the lane, and the few servants ran out to meet him. Cato danced about like a headless chicken, and rubbed his hand over his tear-wet check.

Little Grace, now a tall slender girl, wept for joy, and kissed the bronzed young soldier over and over again. Aunt Clarissa was nowhere to be seen.

"She's locked herself in the left wing," said Grace. "She says she will not see you. Don't grieve; perhaps she will change her mind."

Then she had held her brother off at full arm's-length, and looked at him from head to foot.

"You are just like the portrait of father in the hall," she said. George placed his arm about her waist, and went inside the house.

Aunt Clarissa did not put in her appearance, and that afternoon the young Lieutenant had ridden with the despatches over to Colonel Hewes's. What they contained he did not know. But they were evidently of importance, and this was soon to be proved.

* * * * *

The very day that Washington had moved upon Trenton an interesting dinner (the happenings of which have great bearing upon this story) was in progress thousands of miles away.

It was one of the oldest inns of the old town of London. The grill-room of the "Cheshire Cheese" was filled with the aroma of steaming plum-pudding and the appetizing fumes of roast beef. Even the mulled ale lent its accent to the general flavor. The waiters shuffled across the sanded floor, and from the compartments floated up clouds of smoke from the long church-warden pipes. The talk on all sides was upon the one absorbing subject--the rebellious Colonies and the progress of the war in America.

It all looked one way to most of the Londoners--New York had been taken, the Americans routed; in a few weeks all would be over. This was the general sentiment.

The gathering was mixed. Tradesmen, country squires, well-to-do haberdashers and drapers, poets and political writers, barristers, and a sprinkling of soldiers composed it mostly. Here and there might be seen a gay young noble-man, all frills and lace, who had strayed from his inner circle to enjoy the delights of this old time-honored meeting-place.

The busy London street outside was crowded with merrymakers.

In a corner of the grill-room was sitting a group that would at once hold our attention.

A tall florid individual with heavy hands was gesticulating with his thick blunt fingers, and an officer in un-dress uniform sitting opposite was listening, and making rings with the bottom of his wineglass on the elbow-polished table. His white wig decorated the post at a corner of the seat. In this same corner had sat Oliver Goldsmith, and it was Dr. Johnson's head that had made that dark spot on the wainscoting; in fact, the ponderous old gentleman still drifted in occasionally. And David Garrick had held forth here not many years before this very day.

But it is the figure now sitting silently in the corner that most interests us. The high forehead and clear-cut features have changed somewhat, and the strong slender hands and muscular young legs sprawled under the table have grown and lengthened, but if you would take our young American patriot and do his hair in that neat London fashion, dress him in that embroidered waistcoat and fine glass-buttoned coat, there he would be for all the world. As George had changed, William had changed also in the same proportion and ratio. The younger, on this very night shivering in the cold of a New Jersey winter, was browner of skin and ruddier of cheek, but features, glance, and the quick graceful movement of the head are all the same.

William was listening listlessly to the conversation. By constant practice he had become accustomed to the flow of Uncle Daniel's eloquence, and could stand to one side and allow it to pass on without disturbing him. Strange to say, at this very moment he was thinking sadly of the brother who was thinking more sadly still of him.

He put his hand into the inside pocket of his handsome coat and drew forth a sheet of closely written paper. It was a letter from Aunt Clarissa. Not only a letter, but a speech, a tirade, an eloquent exhortation. It contained little news that could give comfort, for it told of George's wicked behavior, and base defection to the ranks of the enemy arrayed against the Crown. "A Frothingham should be fighting for the King," the letter concluded, the lines heavily underscored. Poor Aunt Clarissa! Her most tender point, her pride, had been injured deeply.

"Mark my words, my dear sir, I have seen that country, and know its people," said Uncle Daniel, sententiously, "and as soldiers I hold them in contempt, sir. Who is this Mr. Washington on whom they pin their faith? An arrant up-start who has had some practice, I believe, in fighting the red Indians in the woods. Against a line of grenadiers he can do nothing. I wish I were young enough; I should like to take the field myself."

William pricked up his ears at this, and thrust Aunt Clarissa's letter back into his pocket. Never had he known that Uncle David had the slightest leaning toward the life of a soldier.

The military gentleman poured himself out another glass of wine. He held it critically up to the light before replying.

"I don't hold them in contempt, Mr. Frothingham. It will take our bravest and our best, mark me. We can accomplish little by depending upon the Hessians, mere hirelings of a German prince. Nothing but the devotion of Englishmen themselves can save the Colonies to England."

"You have been influenced, Colonel, by the Earl of Chatham," said Daniel Frothingham, also pouring out a glass of wine.

"I admire him," said the other, calmly; "but no half-way measures will suffice at this stage of the proceedings. We will need the best blood and the truest hearts in the country. If France joins in the struggle, it will come near to draining the resources of our tidy little island; but the French King wavers, I believe. The Americans, so far, have accomplished nothing." He turned to the young figure at the head of the table. "Has this tall nephew of yours any predilection for the service?" he inquired. "Me-thinks he would look well in red and white."

William's eyes glistened brightly.

"I know not," returned Uncle Daniel. "Wouldst care to be a soldier, son? Hast thought aught of it?"

William looked his uncle firmly in the eye and grasped the edge of the table. "Aye, many, many times. I doubt not I know the drill already, sir. I watch them at the castle every week," he said.

"Let's make a soldier of him, Mr. Frothingham," spoke up the officer. "There's a young cornet in my regiment who is poor in health and would sell out. Why not buy the red coat and the commission for the lad? I could take him with me and have him under my eye. Would you fight in America, young sir?"

"Aye," said William; "or anywhere."

"We sail in the _Minerva_ in a fortnight come next Thursday," went on the Colonel. "It's bad weather on the Atlantic, but we wish to show them what a crack regiment can do. I have under me the pick of the service."

"H--um," said Uncle Daniel, thoughtfully, looking at his nephew with something of pride and affection in his small twinkling eyes. "Wouldst like to go, son?" he inquired.

William's reserve broke down. His mind was crowded with many things, and his heart torn with conflicting emotions. How strange it would be to be arrayed upon the other side with George, his brother, who still held all his love and affection, against him! Could he do it? And then the words that he had once penned George came up into his mind. "For the King, for the King," kept repeating themselves. "Uncle Daniel," he said, his under lip quivering, "if you would let me go, I would try to do my duty."

"Well spoken, well said, my young friend," put in the Colonel, leaning across the table and taking William's hand. "'Twould take no pains to make a soldier of such. Frothingham, let him go with me."

The expression on the red face had softened, and the old man for a moment paused. He followed a seam in the table with his forefinger thoughtfully. "He can go if he so wills. I will buy him the commission," he said at last.

William's heart bounded. Time and again, though his uncle had not known it, the sight of a marching regiment, the call of a bugle, and the steadily moving line had tempted him so strongly that he had almost felt like doing what many lads of his age had done under the same impulse--enlist and go into the ranks. Now was the chance offered to him to serve in a more legitimate and comfortable position. "I shall feel honored, sir," he said, in his dignified manner, "if you will accept my service, and take me with you."

"Done," said Colonel Forsythe. "Come and see me to-morrow morning after review; and you, sir," turning to his uncle, "will have done your part toward winning back the Colonies when you have helped place a sword-belt around his waist. Come also to-morrow. Matters can be easily arranged. But we are pressed for time." Colonel Forsythe arose--the compartment was hidden from the view of the crowd that thronged the large room--and adjusted his wig skilfully over his thin brown hair. He buckled on his sword, and turning, spoke again. "I must hasten," he said, "and I wish to thank you for the pleasure of the dinner and the honor of your company. To-morrow, then, at nine o'clock." He bowed and walked away.

Uncle Daniel picked up his heavy gold-headed cane, and slipping his arm through his nephew's, stepped out into the street. For some time as they walked along neither spoke. William was living over in his mind some of the old scenes out in the New Jersey home. He could hear the clatter of the mill and the roaring of the waters at the dam. He imagined he could hear George's laughter, and feel the hand that had so often grasped his own as they climbed the hills or ran down the brook together. Oh, if his brother were only here beside him!

At this very moment the same thought that was upper-most in his mind was being echoed by another heart, beating firmly beneath a brass-buttoned coat in far-off New Jersey.

"Your service may make some amends for the disgrace your brother has brought upon the family," said Uncle Daniel at last.

William's heart rebelled at the words his uncle used. "I'll warrant you," he said, "that George will not disgrace the name. He has been influenced by bad counsel and wicked friends."

"I would not give a shilling for his future," said Daniel Frothingham, "and I'm sorry that I brought up this at all. I told you once before that he was dead to me. I can never forgive him."

"I have forgiven him," said William. "I know that he thinks he is in the right, and, uncle, promise me"--he grasped the old man by the arm--"that when the war is over and our standard is once more respected and honored in America, grant me this, that George and I will be able to stand once more together hand in hand in your estimation. He has been misled. Oh, if he could but see!"

"William," said Daniel Frothingham, in his most ponderous manner, "I have made you my son and heir. May you never forget who you are, and that your grandfather, aye, and his grandfather, and so on back, have bled and died on foreign soil for the same flag and country that you are going to serve. Traitors have no place. Led or misled, your brother's hand has been raised against his and yours. Now say no more."

They had reached Uncle Daniel's house, for William had lived with him ever since his arrival in London. Uncle Daniel's heart had opened to the worth of the frank true nature that had grown so close to him; he would have denied his nephew nothing; all the yearnings of paternity had come to the lonely old man. He was deeply affected by thinking that the only being he had ever loved was now about to leave him.

"Good-night, good-night, son," he said, placing his heavy hand on William's head. "I will see you on the morrow. Sleep well, Lieutenant Frothingham."

William went up the stairs slowly to his richly furnished room. He could not sleep, but tossed uneasily until the morning. If he could have only held George from the fatal step! But young natures are hopeful, and he planned to suit his fancy.

When the war was ended, their love would bring them once more together, and what was his would be his brother's, as it had always been.

Three weeks later a bluff-bowed frigate was pounding her way through the heavy seas of the Atlantic. The wind boomed in the hollows of the great mainsail, and the icy spray dashed over the rail and clung to the rigging. The decks were slippery with frozen sleet, and the gray sky seemed to meet the ocean, and shut down like a tent over the tossing mass of gray-green water.

A group of officers, with their long coats gathered tightly about them, were standing near the taffrail. It was easy to recognize young Frothingham. He was listening to the talk about him.

"It promises to be a stormy passage," said one of the ship's officers. "In the twenty-six days that we may be out of sight of land the war may be over."

"I trust so," said the young Lieutenant to himself. "I'd rather fight the French." He looked down on the icy deck.

They had now been three days out from Portsmouth. There were few but the watch and the lookout pacing up and down the forecastle. A battery of five brass field-pieces was lashed firmly amidships, covered over with tarpaulin to keep them from the wet. Below, the 'tweendecks were crowded with lounging figures. So closely indeed were they packed that to make one's way forward or aft one would have to step over the recumbent figures. A thousand men were crowded within the wooden walls. The ports were closed, and the air was stifling. Racks of muskets shone on the sides and around the masts.

A drummer was practising softly, with his back against a gun-carriage. A fifer picked up his instrument and joined in shrilly.

"That's what we'll make 'em run to," he said, in derision. "It's their own tune, and, by St. George! it's a good tune for running!"

"Yankee Doodle" was caught up by the recumbent groups, and the men thumped the time on the decks with their heels.

"Mr. Washington's jig step," said a sailor, shifting his quid in his cheek. "English feet cannot dance to it. It takes the Yankees to do that."

The group of officers had made their way to the ward-room. The steward had set the table; dinner was waiting.

"Here's confusion to the 'rebels,' and health to King George!" said one of the subalterns. William drank it with the rest.

* * * * *

On the very day that the _Minerva_ was being warped out into mid-stream at Portsmouth, to begin her voyage to America, Colonel Hewes had received the young American Lieutenant, who had ridden over from Stanham Manor, with as much joy as if he had been his own son.

George was surprised to find a company of well-clad soldiers encamped among the houses of the people who worked at the Hewes foundry. Piles of cannon-balls and some roughly moulded cannon were under a long shed.

It was necessary to have a guard for the protection of the works, for the northern part of New Jersey and the southern half of New York swarmed with marauding bands that claimed allegiance sometimes to one side and sometimes to another. "Cowboys" and "Skinners" they were called. The first claimed to be patriots, and were attached to no command; but the others were Tories, under the leadership of a man named Skinner, whose name brought terror with it. They were as lawless and as merciless as the wild red man of the woods, and plundered travellers and the soldiers of either side with the indiscrimination of highwaymen.

In a few words Colonel Hewes had explained the situation to George, and then taking him into the big office, he closed the door behind them.

"You remember your uncle's overseer, Cloud?" he asked. "Well, he has turned bandit; and if I catch him he will get a swing at a tree-limb, for a thieving rascal. He and his cut-throats have returned to the mountains here, I am informed. But it is not of this that I wish to talk with you." Colonel Hewes arose and threw a log on the fire. "Now, young man," he said, "I want you to listen until I have finished, and then--for I may talk at some length--you can do all the question-asking that you wish." He opened the despatch that George carried, read it carefully, and, leaning back in his chair, took a portfolio from a drawer and spread it across his knees. "Listen," he said. "You have a chance now to perform a signal service for your country. I asked them at Morristown to recommend a young man who might volunteer for love of it, and, to be frank, I suggested your name."

George smiled at the peculiar wording of this statement.

"It is known to you, of course, how important it is for us to be kept in touch with the movements and plans of the enemy," went on the Colonel. "We obtain information from sources and in a way that might astonish you; it certainly would cause some consternation to the British. Now in my mind there has been for some time an idea that I think can be successfully accomplished. I have broached it to no one high in authority in the army. There might be objections raised. It may be rash, but it is not impossible, and, if successful, would go in a great measure toward settling up affairs.

"Follow me closely. There is in New York a society formed of a few men of brains and caution, who are serving their country in a way that for the time being must make them suffer. They are placed in people's estimation as being royalists and Tories, but no truer American hearts beat than theirs. Risks are great, but the needs are quite as much so. They are known to one another, but cannot hold any meetings, as that would excite suspicion. Each one's movement is reported to the others in their own peculiar way. Nothing said, nothing heard, you know. But opinions are discussed amongst themselves, nevertheless. I cannot give their names; you will find them out for yourself, perhaps, if you care to meet my views.

"Now you know that the British hold in captivity our General Lee, and they decline to consider him a subject for exchange. He was taken from a farm-house by a party of Tories in New Jersey. Surprised and captured, he is now within the power of the enemy. Don't let what I am going to propose seem wild, or imaginary; but I believe that it is feasible to secure the person of either Lord Howe or his brother the General, and bring them from the heart of the city to become the guests of the people at large. To do this would require some plotting, much caution, fearlessness, and devotion. The details I cannot tell you, but you will be informed of them if you choose to assist in the venture."

George did not interrupt.

"Do you see these papers?" went on Colonel Hewes. "They are despatches from the Tories of Albany to the British in New York. Here also are the credentials of the young man who carried them. He is about your height, but nineteen years of age, and has never been in New York before. He is endorsed, however, to the British leaders. To make one's way into New York secretly is difficult. A stranger who cannot account for his appearance is suspected, but it is my belief that the person, armed with these papers can secure a position close to the seat of power. Intercepted despatches are better than destroyed. We know what these contain, but their contents will appear to be of great moment to the British, and upon them may determine the disposition of much of the huge force quartered in New York. This young man's name is Blount. I have found out enough of his family and of his personal history to make it possible for any one who takes his place to appear to have the knowledge necessary to allay suspicion. There is but one man there who has ever seen him. This is an uncle of his who is now absent in Connecticut, and who therefore need not be feared. Would you care to volunteer for an enterprise so hazardous?"

"But _I_ am known," said George, "to people in New York."

"Think to whom," said Mr. Hewes. "Count over those whom you might fear."

"Mr. Wyeth," suggested George at once.

"He's safe in Canada," said Mr. Hewes.

George mentioned several other names, and, to his surprise, Mr. Hewes could account for almost all of them.

"Schoolmaster Anderson," said George.

Colonel Hewes smiled. "You need not fear him," he responded. "He will not know you; he is blind."

George started.

"But you will hear more of that anon, perhaps. The plan, in short, is this: I have a passport. 'Twill carry you through the American lines. You will be rowed across the river and placed so you can make your way safely up to the British works. These papers will do the rest for you. You will be Richard Blount, of Albany, will go at once to the 'City Arms,' wait for a day or so, and then receive instructions what to do. You will be watched, of course, but act with caution; keep off the streets as much as possible; stay with the soldiers, and forget that you have ever been in New Jersey. It is necessary that the one who undertakes this venturous trip should know New York and its by-ways. Therefore you have been chosen. The people you will meet will be those with whom you have never come into contact, and many of whom you have never even heard. It will not be for long. If you start to-morrow, you can be in New York in three days." The Colonel paused, then added:

"If you follow this story that I have written, you can explain how you came down from Albany."

George was thinking deeply. It did look like a wild, impossible scheme, but still be trusted in Colonel Hewes's judgment.

"Listen," again went on the older man. "Here is a cipher. It is not hard to learn." He handed George a slip of paper hardly larger than his thumb-nail.

"I cannot make much out of this," said the latter.

"Try it now," said Colonel Hewes, taking a magnifying-glass out of his pocket. Under the strong lens the characters could be easily read. Above each one was the letter of the alphabet it represented. "With this at your elbow you can readily write anything you please," said the Colonel. "When you have arrived at the inn, pretend to be ill; stay in your room, and write out in this cipher a description, frankly stating who you are, what you are doing, and who sent you. Add that you are waiting to receive your orders, and tell where you are to be found."

"To whom will I send it?" inquired George.

"You know that lane that leads by Edward Ripley's house at the upper turn of Broadway?"

"I do," said George. "There's a picket-fence at the further entrance of the field, and a path and turnstile lead through the orchard."

"Aye," said Colonel Hewes, "that's it. Have you ever marked the old gnarled apple-tree--the third one to the left of this same path?"

"I have," said George.

"On the further side," went on the Colonel, "is a hollow limb. When you have written out your paper, place it in the hollow as far back as you can reach. The next night go there, and you will find your answer. It will direct you in what way to proceed. It will not do for you to be seen talking with any one at first, for you must be a complete stranger. Now, there's a disguise--not much, for disguises excite suspicion. Young Blount has Indian blood; many good families up the Hudson have. Your hair is brown."

"Nearly red," put in George, laughing.

"We'll soon remedy that," said Mr. Hewes. "And you must change your walk, for Blount is slightly lame."

"Where is he?" asked George.

"He is safe enough," said Mr. Hewes, "and even without these papers it would be impossible for him to accomplish what you can with them. But I have forgotten to ask one thing."

"What's that?" inquired George.

"Whether you will go or not," replied Mr. Hewes.

"Of course I will," the lad answered, eagerly.

"Money will be given you, and you will receive more when you arrive in the city. Your companions in the scheme will make themselves known to you in their own way. I know not what it will be. They are clever people. Come over to-morrow early. You will start from here."

George jumped on his horse, and rode back on a run toward Stanham Mills. As he came up the lane, Aunt Clarissa was watching him from her retreat in the left wing. Her stern old face was set, but her eyes were red from weeping. She did not know what fruits the letter she had written William had already borne, and that he, now dressed in the King's red, was tossing on the bosom of the Atlantic. Neither did she have an inkling of what perils the renegade nephew was about to face in his country's service.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A NEW YEAR.

Here you are, little Year. Did you come in the night,
When I was asleep in my bed?
And how did you find your way in before light,
With no sun shining out overhead?
Did you pass the old Year as he rushed out of sight
With a pack that was heavy as lead?

He looked just like you, oh! so shining and slim,
When he made his bow twelve months ago;
We all said "Good-morning" politely to him--
It was manners, dear Year, as you know,
And his hand was outstretched, and his eye was not dim,
As he stood in his first morning glow.

But his fifty-two weeks were so crowded with work,
And he had such a handful of days,
That you couldn't expect, since he was not a shirk,
He'd be chipper and cheery always;
His story was mixed up with brightness and mirk,
And we'll speak of him only with praise.

As for you, little Year, you are growing so fast
As you stand in the other Year's place,
That already the shadow that falls from the past
Is weaving its veil o'er your face.
Oh! happy new Year, may your happiness last,
As you trot at the century's pace.

The All-New-York interscholastic football team for 1895 is as follows:

F. M. BRISSEL, _Pratt Institute_ left end.
JASPER BAYNE, _Berkeley School_ left tackle.
SANDS, _Cutler School_ left guard.
MARSHALL PAGE, _Trinity School_ centre.
H. J. BROWN, _St. Paul's School_ right guard.
PARSONS, _Poly. Prep. Inst._ right tackle.
YOUNG, _Berkeley School_ right end.
S. V. M. STARR, _St. Paul's School_ quarter-back.
J. R. HIGGINS, _Pratt Institute_ left half-back.
CAREY, _Col. Gram. School_ right half-back.
F. BIEN, JUN., _Berkeley School_ full-back.

The substitutes for this team are Hasbrouck, Berkeley, and Loraine, St. Paul's, ends; Jesup, Cutler's, and Bowie, Pratt, tackles; Ruppold, Pratt, and Perry, Cutler's, guards; Rand, Berkeley, centre: Scott, Berkeley, quarter; Homans, Cutler's, Bannerman, and Lutkins, Brooklyn Latin, half-backs; O'Rourke, Trinity, or Mason, Poly. Prep., full-back.

The make-up of this All-New-York eleven for 1895 has called for careful consideration of the characteristics of each individual player, their amenability to discipline, and aptitude for team instead of individual play. Only under the most rigid discipline, and cheerful submission to it by the players themselves, can harmonious and successful team-play be hoped for. Science, muscle, and sand are the three absolute requisites necessary to the make-up of a winning team. That spirit of dogged determination to win under adverse conditions, and against overwhelming odds--that spirit which inspires a man to stubbornly contest every inch of ground, win or lose--is called _sand_. Without it in each individual player and in the team as a whole no eleven can be considered in championship form.

The All-New-York eleven for 1895 embody these characteristics in a great degree; and while it has been a task of no small moment to select the team from among so large a number of candidates as are represented in the New York and Brooklyn schools, there seems little doubt, all things being considered, that this team will stand on its merits alone, and truly represent championship form.

The choice of ends has been a hard one, but Brissel of Pratt for left and Young of Berkeley for right make a pair that, with one exception, overshadow all others seen this season. The exception is Hasbrouck of Berkeley, who must rank as first substitute. Brissel is eighteen years of age, and weighs 151 pounds. His work this year has shown great improvement over former achievements. He is strong on his feet, runs and tackles well, and is in every play. His powerful chest and shoulder muscles greatly aid him in breaking up interference with a dash and abandon that have made him a terror to backs who try plays around his end. Rarely is he hurt, and he is equally at home in offensive or defensive work. At running with the ball in criss-cross plays he has been a great success this season, and his dogged determination to gain ground for his team or prevent the advance of the ball by opponents has been conspicuous in every game played.

The choice of right end for a time lay between Young and Hasbrouck. The merits of each were fully considered, and Young was selected for the reason that he was less liable than Hasbrouck to be drawn into a play too soon, and thus put out of it. This has been Hasbrouck's greatest fault this year, and with the improvement made this season it is safe to predict that he will be in a class by himself next year. Young is nineteen years old, and weighs 164 pounds. He came to Berkeley from Lawrenceville, where he played end in 1894. He is an all-round man with few equals, rarely misses a tackle, and is very speedy down the field on kicks. He follows the ball with undaunted persistency, is cool and courageous, and thoroughly understands the game. Both on the offensive and defensive he is aggressive, and every moment of a game plays good hard football.

Jasper Bayne, of Berkeley, at left, and Parsons, of Poly. Prep., at right, are the tackles. Bayne was captain of the Berkeley team this season. He is eighteen years old, and weighs 192 pounds. He is a plodding football-player, and makes every ounce of his weight and strength tell. His breaking through, tackling, and running with the ball place him beyond question in the championship class. He plays steady and hard from start to finish, and is calculated to hold down and steady the entire line by his hard, brilliant work. Parsons is also a strong player. He blocks well, is a sure tackle, and runs very well with the ball. He is good in breaking through and in stopping plays, and has the knack of getting into every play.

Sands and Brown as guards make an almost invincible pair, and while they are both aggressive forwards, play only clean, hard football. Sands is from Cutler's, eighteen years of age, weighs 175 pounds, and is over six feet in height. He is built in proportion. His great strength makes, with his weight, a combination hard to get through, and to this must be added fleetness in running with the ball. Brown of St. Paul's is certainly a wonderful player for a boy. He is only fifteen years old, yet stands over six feet in height, and weighs 178 pounds. Possessed of great strength, he has learned to use it well and judiciously, and thus far has not met his equal on the gridiron. Cool, courageous, and determined, he plays steady and hard, and follows the ball very closely. At stopping centre plays he is a wonder. With Page in the centre this trio would put up a stone-wall defence, and on the offensive could not be held down or prevented from opening up big holes in the line for their backs.

Marshall Page, from Trinity, makes a gritty, sandy player, and is well calculated to give a good account of himself. He is another young man, being only fifteen years of age. His weight is only 165 pounds, but he makes up for his lightness by agility and strength. Under all conditions he is a cool and heady player, aggressive and determined, and by his quickness alone outplayed Rand in the final game for the N.Y.I.S.A.A. championship. He will be pounds better next year.

Behind the line the All-New-York team shows great strength in her ground-gainers and generalship. S. Starr, of St. Paul's, at quarter, is the right man in the right place. Had he played quarter-back for his team the entire season, taking into consideration the later changes in the team, St. Paul's would probably have retained the championship. His work is of a high order, and he is most conscientious in doing it. He is nineteen years old, and weighs 166 pounds. His passing is steady and true, and he is sure to get the ball promptly to the runner, and just at the proper time. He follows the ball closely, gets into every play, and tackles well.

At right half no one can displace Carey of Columbia Grammar. He is seventeen years old, and weighs 165 pounds. His playing this season, on a team that failed to make any showing other than to demonstrate its sportsmanship and sand, drew the attention of the entire League to him. Fleet of foot, strong, and aggressive, and withal a very heady player, he has honestly won a place on the All-New-York team. Higgins of Pratt, at left half, is in a class by himself. He is twenty years of age, weighs 170 pounds, and is over six feet in height. As a line-backer he has few equals, and with such a line in front of him as this year's team proves itself to be, could, with the aid of his other backs, tear up opponents in great shape. He has a record of .10³ for 100 yards, and is a good general athlete.

The substitute half-backs are clever players too. Lutkins should be ranked first, with Bannerman and Homans following. Lutkins is stockily built, and reminds me of a pocket-edition of McClung. He resembles the Yale man in the peculiar way in which he runs, seeming to go faster with one foot than the other. He runs very low and hard, and when tackled has a trick of twisting himself away from the tackler and eventually shaking him off.

The all-important position of full-back goes to Franklin Bien, Jun., of Berkeley. His work this year stands out in clear contrast to that of his opponents as superior in every detail. His development has been very fast, and for the simple reason that he has been willing to learn, and has listened to the advice given him. He is seventeen years old, and weighs 155 pounds. Captain Bayne has entrusted to him several times this season the giving of the signals and running of the team, and in every instance he has proved himself to be a general who thoroughly appreciated the strength of his own team and the weakness of his opponents. Not only is he a sure tackle, but he is one of the most dogged line-breakers, and a most valuable man in interference. His catching is sure, and his punting of a very high order. With Bien giving the signals it is safe to predict that no interscholastic team of this season in the New York or Brooklyn League could score against the All-New-York eleven for 1895. For substitute full-back I should choose Mason of Poly. Prep. He is the best man that has played the position in Brooklyn for some time. His kicking, running, and plunging are of a high order. He is large for his age, and weighs 165 pounds. The average weight of the team is 170 pounds, most uniformly divided. Add to this the playing-strength of each member of the team, and it will very readily be seen that the eleven is a remarkable one to represent the composite playing-strength of New York and Brooklyn preparatory schools.

Of the formation of the National Interscholastic Amateur Athletic Association I can only say a few words this week, but I shall go into it more extensively at an early date. For the benefit of the many readers of this Department who may have no other means of learning what progress was made at the convention held in this city on December 28th, we give here the constitution which was adopted on that occasion by the delegates present from the New York, Massachusetts, Long Island, New Jersey, and Maine associations:

CONSTITUTION OF THE N.I.S.A.A.A.

Article 1.--This organization shall be known as the National
Interscholastic Amateur Athletic Association of the United States.

Article 2.--The objects of this association shall be to foster and
promote physical exercise among all public, private, and
preparatory schools of the United States.

Article 3.--Any interscholastic league, association, or club,
composed of at least two schools, shall be eligible to membership.

Article 4.--The management of this association shall be entrusted
to an Executive Committee, of which the President shall be a member
ex-officio. They shall be elected for a term of one year, and no
league, association, or club shall have more than one
representative in the Executive Committee. Vacancies in the
membership of the Executive Committee arising from any cause
whatever shall be filled by the league, association, or club of
which said student is a member.

Article 5.--Any league, association, or club desiring to join this
association shall send to the Secretary a written application for
membership, said application to be acted upon by the Executive
Committee at the next Convention.

Article 6.--The annual Convention of this association shall be held
on the evening of the annual meet at 8 o'clock, in the same city
where the annual meet is held. The annual field meeting shall be
held on the afternoon of the last Saturday in June of each year.

Article 7.--A special meeting may be called by the Secretary at a
written request of any league, association, or club belonging to
the National Interscholastic Athletic Association, provided that
notice of such meeting be sent to every league, association, or
club at least fifteen days before the date assigned for such
meeting.

Article 8.--At all meetings each league, association, or club may
be represented by no more than three delegates, each of whom may
take part in a discussion, but in the discussion of any matter each
league, association, or club shall be entitled to only one vote. No
voting by proxies shall be allowed.

Article 9.--The annual dues shall be $25, payable at the annual
meeting, but no league, association, or club shall be considered a
member until its first annual dues have been paid.

Article 10.--Any violation of the rules of this association by
members shall render them liable to suspension by the Executive
Committee until the next meeting of the association, and to
expulsion by a two-thirds vote of the league, association, or club
representing such meeting.

Article 11.--No one should represent any league, association, or
club at the annual field meeting who has attained the age of
twenty-one years.

Article 12.--The Constitution may be amended by a two-thirds vote
of the members present only.

In addition to this constitution the following by-laws were adopted:

The Executive Committee shall assume entire control of the annual
games, and shall decide all the protests.

The annual meeting of the Executive Committee shall be held the
evening before the annual field meeting.

Winners and second men in each event in the field meeting in the
league, association, or club may compete at the annual field
meeting of this association.

These few paragraphs, which look so simple as printed on this page, represent a vast amount of work and thought, and the young men who formulated them at the convention, and spent many hours in discussing them, deserve the gratitude and support of all their sport-loving fellows. There may be some points upon which all scholastic sportsmen will not agree; but instead of picking out these weak points, let me urge them rather to overlook them, and to devote their energies toward insuring the prosperity of the new association.

In the next number of the ROUND TABLE we shall continue the series of illustrations of "Field Sports in Detail" begun in No. 822, with a description and commentary upon throwing the hammer.

THE GRADUATE.

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Last week we published a map and description of the first stage on the most attractive route from Philadelphia to Washington. This brought the rider to Compassville, a distance of about 45 miles. Leaving Compassville the next day or in the afternoon of the same day, the rider proceeds by an almost unmistakable road to White Horse, a distance of a little under three miles, through a very attractive farming country. From this point to Intercourse the road is direct, except a short distance out of White Horse, where the rider should take the right fork, thence running direct to Intercourse, six miles or more away. Keeping to the main road, and not turning either to the right or left, there will be no difficulty in reaching Bridgeport, after running through Bird In Hand, on a straight level road. At Bridgeport the Lancaster Turnpike is rejoined, and following this through Lancaster and Mountville, the rider finally comes to Columbia, on the bank of the Susquehanna, 31 or 32 miles from Compassville.

If the trip is to be extended through a day, Lancaster is a good place to stop for dinner, although it is hardly half-way, and if the idea is to ride most of the distance in the morning and make a long noon stop, it may be wise to push on to Columbia, or at least to Mountville. At Columbia, however, there are good accommodations. Leaving Columbia, the rider should cross the bridge, which is a mile and a quarter long, paying five cents toll, and proceed thence through Wrightsville, Hellam, and Frystown to York, a distance of 44 miles from Compassville. Here is a good place to stop for the night. The road all the way is moderately level, and where there are any hills they are all rideable. But it would be difficult to find on the Atlantic coast a 40-mile stretch of road in such good condition and with so few hills as lies between Compassville and York and the next stage of the trip to Washington, which we shall give next week. In fact, this road, as was said last week, is somewhat roundabout, if one is anxious to make a quick journey from Philadelphia to Washington, but it is nevertheless one of the best road-beds in that part of the United States, and the rider is again earnestly urged to follow it rather than the more direct route through Wilmington. One of the great advantages of this circular route is that it brings you near enough to the field of Gettysburg to warrant a little detour over the historical battle-grounds, and this will be given next week, together with a map of the third stage of the journey.

A word should be said here about winter bicycle-riding--for there is summer riding and winter riding. It is often the case that a bicyclist, or any human being for that matter, has better muscles than he has heart and lungs. Perhaps he never finds this out until he takes some exercise like bicycling, which stimulates his heart beyond its power. Then he discovers that he can ride a certain distance, and of a sudden, though perfectly free from any weariness, he is obliged to stop because he cannot breathe, or because he has a pain in his chest. He is surprised, and cannot understand it until his physician tells him he must not ride so fast or so far at any one time. These little irregularities come out more prominently in the cold air of winter-time than in the summer months. Furthermore, a young man who is blessed with a weak throat will catch cold by riding fast against a head wind in winter, where in summer he would never notice that his breathing had anything to do with bicycling. One should always remember, therefore, that in cold winter air, especially against the wind, speed is to be given up. In fact, it is wise to put on a thick woollen or silk handkerchief, spread across the whole chest under waistcoat or jacket like a fencer's shield. If this is done, many an unexplained cold may be avoided. Never stop in winter to rest. If you want rest, go into a house and take off some clothing, or keep walking after you dismount. A little thought in time saves much trouble and anxiety.

This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young
Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the
subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor.

Somebody asks me to talk about economy--a bright little somebody who has spent all her savings on the holidays, and now regretfully looks at the empty satin-lined box in her bureau drawer, where usually she keeps her funds. Never mind, girlie, your allowance is paid you every month, and if you are a little bit self-denying, a wee bit careful, the box will presently be comfortably full once more.

We are apt to think of economy as scrimping and hoarding, and to speak of the economical person as if she were not generous and open-handed, but, instead, were close, and what the Scotch call "near." This is all wrong, a misunderstanding of the word, which is really a beautiful old picture-word, which came to us from the Greeks, and which means management. The economical girl is a good manager, and the good manager makes the most of whatever she has in her hands. A poor economist is cramped and worried even when she has a large income; a good economist has a margin, though her allowance happen to be small.

Speaking of margins, the late Prince Albert is always quoted as a man of singular good sense and sweetness of character. In writing to his daughter, then a young girl, now the Dowager Empress of Germany, mother of the reigning Kaiser, the wise father gave this advice: "Never spend all you have. Keep a margin for expenses which may be unforeseen."

This is a very safe rule for every one--always to reserve at least a little, a thing which can be done if we are very decided about the trifles. It is usually the little expenses, a few cents here, a few cents there, which make the big holes in a girl's income.