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Contents

Preface xvii

C H A P T E R 1 REL ATING WORDS, PHR ASES, A N D SLOTS 1

What Grammar Does 1
Grammar and Our View of Language 2
Parts of Speech 4
What Nouns Do 5
Verbs, Modal Auxiliaries, and Tense 7
Adjectives Specify Characteristics of Nouns 7
Adverbs Orient Readers and Listeners 8
Prepositions Precede Noun Phrases 10
Try This 11
Words and Grammar 12
Grammatical Slots Identify Phrases 12
Grammatical Analysis and Chicken Parts 13
Heads, Attributes, and Hierarchies 14
Basic Sentence Structure 15
The Yes/No Question Test 16

vii
viii Contents

Knowledge and Practice 17

Chapter Summary: Words, Hierarchies, and Constituents 17
EXERCISES 18
I. IDENTIFYING SENTENCE CONSTITUENTS 18
Thinking Critically about Grammar 21

C H A P T E R 2 IDENTIF Y ING V ERBS A N D CORE SENTENCES 22

Verbs and Core Sentences 22
Verbs: The Basic Sentence Components 22
Intransitive Verbs 23
Linking Verbs 24
Transitive Verbs 26
Two-Place Transitive Verbs 27
Try This 30
The Verb BE 32
Verbs and Slots and Sentence Nuclei 33
Verbs Change Types 35
Try This 36
Reference Material 36
Tree Diagrams 37
Diagrams as Tools 42
Multiple-Word Verbs 44
So You Say 47
Chapter Summary: The Six Verb Types 48
EXERCISES 49
I. IDENTIFYING VERB TYPES 49
Thinking Critically about Grammar 51

C H A P T E R 3 E X PA NDING V ERB PHR ASES 52

Tense, Modality, and Aspect 52
Status of the Main Verb 52
 Contents ix

Tense 54
Finiteness 56
Mood and Purpose 56
Conditional Mood 56
Conditional Mood and Possibility 58
Try This 59
Future Time and Conditional Mood Again 59
So You Say 60
Aspect 61
Perfect Aspect 61
Past Participles 62
Progressive Aspect 63
Present Participles 65
Conditional, Perfective, and Progressive 65
Tense Form of Main Verb 66
Principal Parts 66
The Words in the Main Verb 67
Designating the Status of a Main Verb 69
How to Expand a Main Verb 69
Regular and Irregular Verbs 70
So You Say 71
Chapter Summary: Components of the Main Verb 72
EXERCISES 73
I. CHANGING MAIN-VERB FORMS 73
II. IDENTIFYING VERB STATUS AND ANALYZING
SENTENCES 73
Thinking Critically about Grammar 76

C H A P T E R 4 E X PLORING NOU N PHR ASES 77

Noun Phrase Components 77
Proper and Common Nouns 77
x Contents

Determiners 78
Definite Articles 79
Demonstratives 79
Possessive Pronouns 80
Numbers 81
Prearticles 82
Try This 85
Postnoun Modifiers 85
Genitives 86
Genitive Rather than Possessive 87
Personal, Reflexive, and Indefinite Pronouns 90
So You Say 92
Chapter Summary: Function Words Can Expand
Noun Phrases 93
EXERCISES 94
I. IDENTIFYING NOUN CONSTITUENTS AND
ANALYZING SENTENCES 94
Thinking Critically about Grammar 97

C H A P T E R 5 RE A RR A NG ING A N D COMPOU N DING 98

Changing Core Sentences 98
Making Negative Sentences 98
Changing Statements into Yes/No Questions 101
Wh-Question Sentences 104
So You Say 108
Passive Sentences 108
Deleting By from a Passive 111
Core Arrangement of Passive Constituents 111
Past Participles and Adjectives 113
So You Say 113
Get as a Passive Auxiliary 114
Rearranging a Passive Sentence 114
Status and Passive 115
 Contents xi

Existential-There Sentences 116

Expletives 117
Imperative Sentences 118
Deleting You and Will from Imperative Sentences 118
Diagraming Imperative Sentences 119
Imperative Sentences Lack Tense 119
The Negative Form of Imperatives 120
Compounding Structures 120
Coordinate and Correlative Conjunctions 122
Conjoining and Commas 123
Parallel Structure 125
Try This 126
Attaching Conjunctions 127
Conjunctive Adverbs 127
Chapter Summary: Rearranging and Compounding
Core Sentences 128
EXERCISES 130
I. REARRANGING AND COMPOUNDING
SENTENCES 130
II. ANALYZING SENTENCES 131
Thinking Critically about Grammar 133

C H A P T E R 6 CONSTRUCTING REL ATI V E CL AUSES 135

Dependent Clauses 135
Why We Combine Clauses 135
A Relative Clause Embeds into a Noun Phrase 136
The Way It Was Is the Way It Is 138
Relative Clauses and Sentences 138
Restrictive Relative Clauses as Adjectives 139
Making a Relative Clause 141
Relative Pronouns Replace Noun Phrases 142
Whose Replaces a Possessive Pronoun or a Genitive Noun 144
Relative Pronouns in Prepositional Phrases 146
xii Contents

So You Say 146

The Functions of Fronted Relatives 147
Finding the Constituents of the Relative Clause 148
Deleting Object Noun Phrases from Relative Clauses 149
Try This 150
Embedding Relative Clauses into Subordinate Clauses 150
Chapter Summary: Constituents in Independent
or Dependent Clauses 152
EXERCISES 153
I. COMBINING SENTENCES 153
II. BREAKING OUT UNDERLYING SENTENCES 154
III. ANALYZING SENTENCES 154
Thinking Critically about Grammar 158

C H A P T E R 7 REDUCING REL ATI V E CL AUSES TO PHR ASES 159

Deriving Prepositional and Participial Phrases 159
Reducing Clauses 159
Participial Phrases are Verb Phrases 161
Making Some Verbs into Present Participles 162
Deriving Past Participial Phrases 162
Embedded Prepositional Phrases 163
Try This 164
Constituency: Adjective or Adverbs 165
How the Components of an Embedded Phrase Function 166
Prepositional Phrases Headed by With 167
We Won’t Derive One-Word Modifiers 167
Embedded Phrases and Commas 168
Making Long Sentences from Just a Few Kinds of Phrases
and Clauses 169
 Contents xiii

The Clauses That Underlie a Sentence’s Constituents 172

Grammatical Ambiguity 173
Chapter Summary: Phrases Derived from Relative Clauses 175
EXERCISES 176
I. BREAKING OUT UNDERLYING SENTENCES 176
II. COMBINING SENTENCES 176
III. ANALYZING SENTENCES 177
Thinking Critically about Grammar 181

C H A P T E R 8 M A KING NOUN CL AUSES, GERUNDS,

A N D IN FIN ITI V ES 182
Noun Clauses, Gerunds, and Infinitives Fill Noun Phrase
Slots 182
That-Clauses 182
Noun Clauses Fill Noun Phrase Slots 185
Try This 186
Extraposing That-Clauses 186
Some Sentences with Expletives and Noun Clauses Don’t Seem
to Be Derived 188
Wh-Subordinators Act as Content Words within Noun
Clauses 188
Wh-Clauses Are Related to Question Sentences 191
Reducing Clauses to Infinitive Phrases 193
Infinitives without To 195
Infinitive Phrases Introduced by For . . . To 195
Some Infinitives Function as Adverbs 197
So You Say 198
Gerunds Are -ing Verb Forms 199
Gerund Phrases May Contain a Subject in the Genitive Form 200
xiv Contents

Studying Grammar is Cumulative 201

Try This 202
Chapter Summary: Embedded Structures That Fill Noun Phrase
Slots in Matrix Clauses 203
EXERCISES 203
I. BREAKING OUT UNDERLYING SENTENCES 203
II. COMBINING SENTENCES 204
III. ANALYZING SENTENCES 205
Thinking Critically about Grammar 208

C H A P T E R 9 A DDING MODIFIERS TO SENTENCES 209

Nonrestrictive Modifiers 209
Nonrestrictive Modifiers are not Bound within Phrases 209
Nonrestrictive Relative Clauses Sit Next to Noun Phrases 210
Nonrestrictive Relative Clauses Make Added Comments 212
Try This 213
Nonrestrictive Participial Phrases 214
Nonrestrictive Participial Phrases Function as Adverbs 214
Appositives Sit Next to Nouns 215
So You Say 216
Absolute Phrases 218
Adverb Clauses Share Some Characteristics of Nonrestrictive
Modifiers 221
Adverb Clauses and Subordinate Conjunctions 223
Nonrestrictive Modifiers Change the Pace, Rhythm, and Movement
in Sentences 224
A Grammar Course Should Prepare You to Analyze
 Contents xv

Real Sentences 225

Chapter Summary: Doing Grammar is About Understanding
the System That Generates Sentences 227
EXERCISES 228
I. BREAKING OUT UNDERLYING SENTENCES 228
II. COMBINING SENTENCES 229
III. ANALYZING SENTENCES 229
Thinking Critically about Grammar 233

C H A P T E R 10 W H AT CA N YOU DO NOW TH AT YOU CA N DO

G R A M M A R? 235
Reflecting on Writing and Reading 235
Writing Styles 236
Better Writers Match Sentence Structure with Content 242
Most Punctuation Can Be Addressed with Three Principles 243
Try This 249
Teachers Should Point Out Interesting and Effective Student
Sentences 249
Chapter Summary: Good Writers, Good Readers, and Good
Teachers Understand the Options Grammar Gives Us to
Construct Sentences 251
EXERCISES 252
Thinking Critically about Grammar 253

Answer Key A-255

Glossary G-339
Index I-351
Preface

By Max Morenberg

I doubt whether any school subject is so universally dreaded and

loathed by students and remembered with as much discomfort by
adults. The term “grammar” will generally make people grimace and
snarl. When I want to free myself from a particularly obnoxious person
at a cocktail party, all I have to do is tell him that I’m a grammarian.
Without fail, he’ll lower his head and sidle away, mumbling into his
shirt collar, “I never did well at that in school.” When I like the person
and want to continue the conversation, I say I’m a linguist.
If you’re one of those who would rather eat lint than “do gram-
mar,” I know how you feel, because I hated grammar as a kid. I even
failed eleventh-grade English because of my animosity for the subject.
Grammar classes seemed an endless repetition of silly rules and mind-
less diagrams that took up a portion of every year from third grade to
twelft h grade. The lessons never stuck in my mind because nothing
about grammar ever seemed to make sense. Grammar was something
you had to endure, like the awful-tasting cough syrup that was sup-
posed to be good for you.
It’s odd that so many of us hate studying grammar. It’s like cats
hating to stalk prey. Or dolphins learning to dislike swimming.
Humans are as much language animals as cats are stalking animals
and dolphins are swimming animals. We are born to love language and
everything associated with it—rhythm, rhyme, word meanings, gram-
mar. If you want to make a three-year-old child roll on the floor laugh-
ing, just tell her a riddle, or alliterate words, or read her Dr. Seuss’s
lilting rhythms and rhymes about cats in hats or elephants who are

xvii
xviii Preface

“faithful, one hundred percent” or Sam I Am eating green eggs and

ham on a boat with a goat. Listen to a child in a crib entertaining him-
self by repeating sounds and syllables, playing with language. Think
about the games you played in kindergarten by creating strange words
like Mary Poppins’ “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” Keep a ten-
year-old entertained on a car trip by producing odd sentences in a “Mad
Libs” game. Then ask an eighth grader what subject she hates most. The
answer will invariably be grammar. We’re born to love grammar. We
are taught to hate it.
I was taught to hate it by well-meaning teachers who presented
grammar as morality lessons of do’s and don’ts, linguistics etiquette.
I learned only the most trivial lessons—that you shouldn’t end sen-
tences in prepositions or start sentences with conjunctions or write
fragments. When I found professional writers who used fragments,
who ended sentences with prepositions, or who began them with con-
junctions, I was told that it’s all right for professional writers to break
the rules because they know them. Not a satisfactory answer. It made
me disdain the subject even more.
Then, in a junior-level grammar class at Florida State University,
Kellogg Hunt introduced me to Paul Roberts’ English Sentences, and
I began to see grammar in a new way. Before I read Roberts’ book,
grammar was just an endless list of pointers and admonitions to me:
Do this, don’t do that. Roberts said that grammar is “something that
produces the sentences of a language.” He went on to explain that
grammar is a system that puts words into an understandable order.
Roberts illustrated the point with a simple game. You put words on
twenty-five cards, one word to a card, and place the cards in a hat. The
words are face, my, never, his, dog, usually, car, struck, the, liked,
a, washed, window, sometimes, seldom, George, stroked, he, she,
Annabelle, her, goldfish, often, Sam, touched. If you pick the cards
from the hat, one at a time, and place them in rows of five, you’ll prob-
ably never produce an English sentence. You’ll get nonsense like struck
the she Sam touched. But if you first arrange the cards into stacks fol-
lowing the pattern Sam never stroked his window, and pick them in
order starting with the Sam stack, you’ll always produce a five-word
sentence like George usually struck my goldfish or Annabelle some-
times touched her dog. In fact, there are hundreds of such sentences
in the hat. What you’ve done by arranging the cards is to sort words
 Preface xix

into classes and then put the classes in order. If you play long enough
with the sentences, you discover important facts about the ordering of
words—that words make constituents, units like his window, washed
his window, seldom washed his window, and Sam seldom washed his
window. You find that a noun phrase can fit within a verb phrase, that
the new verb phrase can pattern with another noun phrase to make
a sentence: you’ve learned that constituents form hierarchies. You
may also discover that some noun phrases can’t function as subjects
for some verb phrases and that some noun phrases can’t function as
objects with some verbs. My window never stroked she isn’t an English
sentence, though it follows the pattern Noun Phrase + Adverb + Verb
+ Noun Phrase.
Roberts’ game is a pretty simple idea. But it was a revelation to
me: grammar is like a machine that fabricates sentences according to
a set of discernible principles. When we speak or write, we don’t throw
words into sentences at random: we order them according to a dis-
cernable system. We build constituents and relate them to one another
within hierarchical frameworks. Grammar made sense to me.
The next revelation was that you can take the simple sentences pro-
duced by such a grammar machine and put them together into new
and different combinations, because the grammar of a language keeps
recycling material, using the same constituents over and over in new
combinations. In this way, grammar produces an infinite number of
sentences from a small number of core constituents, or modules.
To introduce beginning linguistics students to this idea, I ask them
to combine two sentences into one in as many ways as they can. My
favorite two sentences for this exercise are It surprised me and Jane
arrived late, sentences that my colleague Andy Kerek made up several
years ago. If you try the exercise, remember that you can add words
like and, or when, or if, and you can change the forms of words—for
example, from arrive to arriving or arrival. Students will typically
come to the next class with fift y or sixty combinations. The all-time
champ was a mathematically inclined student who ran a factor analysis
on the combinations and produced 467 new sentences, stopping, he
said, not because he couldn’t continue but because he finally got bored
with the task.
Those two ideas, the grammar machine and the combining exer-
cise, inform everything in this book. Chapter 1 defines categories
xx Preface

like noun, adjective, adverb, and preposition and shows how those
categories build into constituents that fit together within hierarchies.
Chapter 2 introduces you to six verb types that are central to the core
sentences and determine what structures and functions can exist
within them. Chapters 3 and 4 expand the concepts of verb phrases
and noun phrases. Chapter 5 shows how you can rearrange or com-
pound components of the core sentences. Chapter 6 explains how you
combine core sentences into relative clauses, while Chapter 7 describes
how to reduce those clauses to phrases. Chapter 8 demonstrates how
you combine core sentences into substitutes for nouns—noun clauses,
gerunds, and infinitives. Chapter 9 explores ways you combine sen-
tences into nonrestrictive modifiers. Finally, Chapter 10 shows that
your knowledge of grammar can enhance your understanding of writ-
ing styles and may even help you improve your writing.
Mastering the technical vocabulary and concepts in Doing
Grammar demands the kind of studying you’d put into a science or
math course. Go through the book slowly and methodically. Underline
important concepts and write notes in the margins. Don’t move ahead
until you understand what you’re reading. But don’t be afraid of doing
grammar, either. You already know more grammar than you suspect.
You speak, write, and understand language without ever thinking
about the identity and function of grammatical constituents.
The best that a textbook like this can do is make you conscious of
how language operates to produce sentences. Grammar works by put-
ting words, phrases, and clauses together into sentences. Any native
speaker of English can make It surprised me and Jane arrived late into
It surprised me that Jane arrived late, Jane surprised me by arriving
late, or When Jane arrived late, I was surprised. When you complete
Doing Grammar, you should be able to identify that Jane arrived late
as a noun clause which functions as a logical subject, arriving late as
a gerund phrase that functions as the object of the preposition by, and
when Jane arrived as an adverb clause of time.
We all put sentences together. Putting together is natural; taking
apart and labelling is learned. The idea behind Doing Grammar is that
if you can see how you put sentences together, you can understand
how to take them apart. It takes practice to learn grammatical analy-
sis. So, besides the explanations, each chapter has lots of sentences for
you to analyze. I hope you find them appealing as well as challenging.
 Preface xxi

I’ve devoted a great deal of time and effort to finding example sen-
tences that are interesting. Besides hating mindless grammar exercises,
I always hated the sentences in grammar books because they were so
lifeless that you could be sure they occurred nowhere else but grammar
books. The sentences in Doing Grammar are real sentences—vivid and
detailed.
Doing Grammar is not tied to one ideology. Its terminology is
traditional. It draws upon both traditional and generative gram-
mars for its basic concepts. It is rooted in the traditional principles of
Otto Jespersen as well as in the contemporary formulations of Noam
Chomsky, with an admixture of Kenneth Pike’s Tagmemics and
Robert Allen’s Sector Analysis. It is nurtured through the textbook
explanations of Paul Roberts and the language development research
of Kellogg Hunt. When I have questions, I usually look for answers in
Quirk, Greenbaum, Svartvik, and Leech’s A Comprehensive Grammar
of the English Language. Nowadays, I also look in Huddleston and
Pullum’s The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language. I also find
questions and answers in cyberspace, particularly from the listserv for
the Assembly of Teachers of English Grammar. The scholarly works,
the textbooks, and other linguists and grammarians I’ve learned from
through the years form the book’s academic credentials.
I have attempted to make the technical and obscure clear and sen-
sible. The book assumes, loosely, that a small number of core sentences
composed of basic classes of constituents can be rearranged or com-
bined into new, more elaborate sentences. It also assumes that if you
learn to analyze the structures and relationships in the core sentences,
you will be able to analyze the structures and relationships in the new
combinations. After working through Doing Grammar, you should be
able to read and understand a traditional grammar text or be prepared
to begin the study of linguistic theory. And you should be able to reflect
more thoughtfully on how writers, including yourself, use language to
create stylistic effects.

From the Editors

The editors at Oxford University Press wish to thank Max Morenberg
for his lifetime of teaching grammar. We also thank Jared Haynes, who
carried out the vision that Max had for this edition. And we thank the
reviewers listed below as well for their helpful opinions and suggestions
xxii Preface

as we worked on this edition. Max’s goal with this book was to make
grammar an accessible and interesting subject for all students. We
hope that this new edition will continue that important tradition.

Changes in the Fifth Edition

(revised by Jared Haynes)

At the time of Max Morenberg’s death, he had already considered the
feedback his fourth edition received from teachers who reviewed it,
and, in discussion with his editor at Oxford University Press, he had
made plans for the fift h edition. Many of his planned changes have
been carried out here, I hope in the spirit and style with which he
would have written them himself.
One of the main suggestions that reviewers made was to reverse
the order of the first two chapters, so that a basic discussion of the parts
of speech comes before the introduction of individual verb types. That
change involved quite a lot of revising and careful checking to make
sure that the new first chapter didn’t use concepts and terms that hadn’t
been carefully introduced yet because the order of the material had
been switched. The new arrangement seems to produce the more logi-
cal order that the reviewers were hoping for.
Another major change is the comparisons of writing styles in
Chapter 10, with some discussion of audience and rhetorical situation.
This can be but an introduction to the idea of varying styles, but it
allows the chapter to be used more fruitfully by students in a wider
variety of disciplines
A significant addition to the text is the three types of inserted
study elements: Try This, So You Say, and Thinking Critically about
Grammar. Try This sections are quick practice exercises on concepts
just introduced in a chapter. So You Say sections examine expressions
or ways of using language that raise questions for grammar and usage.
The Thinking Critically about Grammar sections at the ends of chapters
ask students to give some thought to how English differs from other
languages or present exercises in thinking about how English is used.
In keeping with the spirit of the fourth edition, I have continued
to slim down the book where I felt that explanations were confusing
or needed consolidation. But I have also added some material where
I felt it would clarify an explanation. For example, I added a section in
 Preface xxiii

Chapter 5 on parallel structure, because I felt that it would show stu-

dents the importance of using coordination correctly. In Chapter 4, the
discussion of genitive noun phrases has been clarified by going back to
some ideas in the second edition that were more logical. And, where
appropriate, comments on proper punctuation have been inserted.
Most of the sentences in the chapters and in the exercises already
have those qualities that Max valued of universality and specificity. But
several have been changed to make the references to American culture
and history more up-to-date. In addition, many small errors in the
diagrams for these sentences have been fi xed; most of the problems
were omitted labels. The diagrams in the text and in the answer key
should now be consistently and accurately labeled to represent the les-
sons in the chapters.
The glossary that Max first introduced in the fourth edition has
now been expanded to insure that all the terms introduced in the text,
as well as any alternative forms of the terms, can be found there.
Despite these rearrangements, additions, and subtractions, this
book remains Max Morenberg’s. The guiding principle here, as always,
is the same: “You learn to understand grammar by Doing Grammar.”

Acknowledgments
This book is the result of the long-standing effort and passion of its
author and creator, Max Morenberg. He was the driving force behind
not only its first four editions, but the plan for this one as well, and
I am grateful to him for creating such an admirable tool for learning
grammar.
The Oxford University Press editors are as good as textbook editors
get. Jan Beatty, the book’s first editor, acquired the book, and worked
on it along with her associate editor, Cory Schneider. Fred Speers,
its current editor, and his assistant editor, Talia Benamy, brought it
through to this edition.
Finally, the many reviewers provided ideas and insights as teach-
ers and scholars. They are Nancy J. Caplow, University of North Texas;
Susan Gimprich, Fairleigh Dickinson University; Rob Montgomery,
Kennesaw State University; Mark Stevens, Southern Polytechnic State
University; Chris P. Pearce, Boston University; Isabel Serrano, Ball
State University; Brittny Mandarino, University of Houston; Barbara
Karman, Kent State University; Yousif A. Elhindi, East Tennessee State
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
sways to the opposite side. It is so arranged that it works a lever that at once swings the
steering-rudder of the ship to the side that will bring the boat straight on its course
again.
Suppose, now, it is necessary to come to the top of the water at once, without waiting
for the diving-rudders to steer us up. The compressed-air tanks can expel nearly twenty
tons of water from the tanks at the bottom of the vessel in about two minutes, and the
boat will rush to the top at once. Here is where the matter of buoyancy comes in. A
problem that has also been solved in this boat is the ability to remain stationary at a
certain depth under water. There is an anchor which is run from a drum at the bottom of
the boat near the bow, and it will hold the boat in any position independent of current or
tide. If it is desirable to remain in one position, and not at anchor, we must use two little
"down-haul" screws. They are little screws such as propel a ship at the stern. An electric
dynamo is set going, and these screws are turned in a horizontal position, and the small
reserve buoyancy in the boat, amounting only to about 375 pounds, is overcome. When
we are running under water the slight dip of the diving-rudders keeps us at the required
depth.

RAMMING A MAN-OF-WAR.
There have been several devices to make a vessel go under water. The oldest, perhaps,
has been the sudden filling of tanks by allowing the water to rush in. The water has to be
expelled by air pressure. This method of diving and coming up consists of a series of
bumping motions, and is very crude. Another method used was by "down-haul" screws.
These were turned, and they simply bored holes in the water, like an auger in a board,
and the boat had to go down in the water. After the boat got down there was no
satisfactory way of regulating the depth, and the rise to the surface was always too
abrupt. Propelling the boats under water until recently has been an unsolved problem.
Sometimes chemicals have been used, and sometimes the stored-up heat of the engine
has been tried. Electricity has solved this problem, and made it possible to stay under
water six hours going at full speed. During this time the boat can go fully fifty miles
without once coming to the surface. Should any accident occur, each member of the crew
is supplied with a life-saving helmet, which is easy of adjustment, and by means of which
he may float to the surface of the water in safety. A folding rubber boat may also be
carried in the super-structure of the craft, so that there is very little danger of loss of life
under the water. Mr. Holland has explored all New York Harbor, and he says that ladies
have often asked him to take them down in his experimental boats.
The facility with which this vessel will do its work may be judged from the fact that when
running on the surface of the water it can dive to a depth of twenty-five feet in twenty
seconds. When running awash it can dive to a depth of twenty-five feet in ten seconds. It
can come up as quickly as it goes down. It is supposed that the vessel will never need to
go any deeper than forty feet, and having the ability to dive when attacked it will carry
no guns.
Mr. Holland was a young man in Ireland during our civil war. He studied engineering, and
was especially interested in the submarine boat that the Confederates used with
considerable success, but with great loss of life to themselves, in the war. The splendid
ship Housatonic of our navy was sunk off Charleston, South Carolina, by one of these
boats. Mr. Holland came here in 1873, and two years later made his first experiment in
going under water. He has kept at it ever since, and more than once has he given the
pilots and skippers of New York Harbor a scare by suddenly causing to come to the top of
the water some sort of a sea monster, the like of which no one ever dreamed, and the
appearance of which could not be explained. One of Mr. Holland's boats was popularly
known as the "Fenian ram," because he was practising in it in New York Harbor about the
time of the celebrated Fenian uprising. He has lost one or two boats by the mistakes of
some of his helpers, and on more than one occasion he has been in a ticklish situation,
but he always came out all right, and finally mastered all the intricate problems
connected with submarine navigation—problems that have engaged scores of men ever
since Drebbell, a Dutchman, first tried the experiment in the time of James I. of England.
The first partly successful boat of this kind seems to have been made in the time of our
revolutionary war by a man named Bushnell, who lived in Maine. The boat could remain
under water for half an hour, but the scheme of building them came to nothing. It will
surprise most persons, probably, to know that the first really successful boat was made
by our own Robert Fulton, the famous steamboat engineer. It was in 1800, and Fulton
showed it to Napoleon Bonaparte in the harbor of Havre in 1801. He went down twenty-
five feet in it, and remained there for one hour. Then he went down with four persons,
and remained four hours. Compressed air was used for respiration in this boat. Various
improvements have been made from that time to this. The crude boats of the civil war
were displaced in the late seventies and eighties by those of fairly satisfactory working
arrangements, and the Russian, French, and Turkish governments have built several, but
they have lacked complete mastery of the problem of under-water navigation, such as
this boat that we are now building is expected to display. By next summer the boat will
probably be in service.
If the boat is successful it may make as great a revolution in naval warfare as the famous
Monitor, built by Mr. Ericsson, did in the war of 1861. For what battle-ship would be proof
against it? The biggest of all battle-ships would only sink quicker than smaller ones, and
huge war-ships of all kinds would be nothing more than death-traps for all those aboard
them. Another question of great importance is whether the guns of war-ships can be
tipped sufficiently to strike the boat when it is anywhere near.
 TODDLETUMS'S NEW-YEAR'S DREAM.
"Papa, I paid another visit last night."
"Another visit? Where did you go, Toddletums?"
"I guess I got a little sleepy after our big dinner. I got up among those spirit chaps in the
sky that I played baseball with last summer, and was wondering what became of all the
hours we use up during the year, so I thought I would ask them. When I got up there
they were awfully glad to see me.
"The whole crowd were bowling, and they were using the tail of a comet for a bowling-
alley. Papa I'm so sorry you couldn't see them, it was so funny. At the end of the comet
alley they had a lot of things stuck up that looked like those glasses that cookie boils
eggs by. One of the spirits told me they were the hours we used up during the year, and
that it was their custom to meet every New-Year's eve to bowl them out of existence. As
he was telling me, one big chap (say, papa, but those chaps are big!) grasped what they
said was a baby world, and, swinging it, smashed down a lot of hours. Well, in a short
time all the hours were gone except one. Then they stood around and waited, looking
solemnly at a winking, blinking light in the distance that they said was my world.
Suddenly every one lifted his hand and pointed at the last hour, and the biggest spirit
seized a world, and when the last moment trickled down the glass, they dropped their
hands, and he sent the ball smashing along the comet, and knocked out the last hour.
"Some of them rushed over to one side and began piling up what looked like cakes of ice.
Every few seconds one chap sent a cake flying smash at our world. Those were the new
hours. You see, time moves very quickly up there, and it takes a lot of work to keep the
hours moving.
"They invited me to get on the comet and take a ride through the Milky Way. We all
perched on it, and some one started it off, and we went skipping along faster than any
bob-sled. In a few minutes we got into the Milky Way. After a while we got off and
strolled up to a funny-looking world. It was made of pies, cakes, candies, and all sorts of
good things mixed. When we stopped, all the spirits looked grave, and when one of them
began to talk, I grew frightened.
"He said that when little boys from the world ate such things they were all saved and
piled up here. Then if a little boy ate too much he would die, and come up here and
commence all over again, and the moment he put the nice things in his mouth they
immediately became bitter and nasty. They all looked hard at me when he said this, and
shouted, 'Make Toddletums turn over a new leaf.'
"One of them commenced to blow, and a thin vapor formed, and then another blew rents
into it, until I could make out the words, 'I promise to turn over a new leaf.'
"'Turn it over!' shouted the spirits; and it sounded like a crash of thunder.
"Well, they thought I'd get frightened at that, but I didn't. I just grasped the edge of that
vapor leaf, and I was turning it nicely, when I woke up, and found myself wrapping the
bed-sheet around me 'cause it was cold. But, papa, I guess I'll turn over the new leaf as I
promised."
 THE MIDDLE DAUGHTER.
BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

CHAPTER I.

AT THE MANSE.
"I am troubled and low in my mind," said our mother, looking pensively out of the
window. "I am really extremely anxious about the Wainwrights."
It was a dull and very chilly day in the late autumn. Fog hid the hills; wet leaves soaked
into the soft ground; the trees dripped with moisture; every little while down came the
rain, now a pour, then a drizzle—a depressing sort of day.
Our village of Highland, in the Ramapo, is perfectly enchanting in clear brilliant weather,
and turn where you will, you catch a fine view of mountain, or valley, or brown stream, or
tumbling cascade. On a snowy winter day it is divine; but in the fall, when there is mist
hanging its gray pall over the landscape, or there are dark low-hanging clouds with
steady pouring rain, the weather, it must be owned, is depressing in Highland. That is, if
one cares about weather. Some people always rise above it, which is the better way.
I must explain mamma's interest in the Wainwrights. They are our dear friends, but not
our neighbors, as they were before Dr. Wainwright went to live at Wishing-Brae, which
was a family place left him by his brother; rather a tumble-down old place, but big, and
with fields and meadows around it, and a great rambling garden. The Wainwrights were
expecting their middle daughter, Grace, home from abroad.
Few people in Highland have ever been abroad; New York, or Chicago, or Omaha, or
Denver is far enough away for most of us. But Grace Wainwright, when she was ten, had
been borrowed by a childless uncle and aunt, who wanted to adopt her, and begged Dr.
Wainwright, who had seven children and hardly any money, to give them one child on
whom they could spend their heaps of money. But no, the doctor and Mrs. Wainwright
wouldn't hear of anything except a loan, and so Grace had been lent, in all, eight years;
seven she had spent at school, and one in Paris, Berlin, Florence, Venice, Rome, the Alps.
Think of it, how splendid and charming!
Uncle Ralph and Aunt Hattie did not like to give her up now, but Grace, we heard, would
come. She wanted to see her mother and her own kin; maybe she felt she ought.
At the Manse we had just finished prayers. Papa was going to his study. He wore his
Friday-morning face—a sort of preoccupied pucker between his eyebrows, and a far-away
look in his eyes. Friday is the day he finishes up his sermons for Sunday, and, as a matter
of course, we never expect him to be delayed or bothered by our little concerns till he
has them off his mind. Sermons in our house have the right of way.
Prayers had been shorter than usual this morning, and we had sung only two stanzas of
the hymn, instead of four or five. Usually if mamma is anxious about anybody or
anything, papa is all sympathy and attention. But not on a Friday. He paid no heed either
to her tone or her words, but only said, impressively:
"My love, please do not allow me to be disturbed in any way you can avoid between this
and the luncheon hour; and keep the house as quiet as you can. I dislike being
troublesome, but I've had so many interruptions this week; what with illness in the
congregation, and funerals, and meetings every night, my work for Sunday is not
advanced very far. Children, I rely on you all to help me," and with a patient smile, and a
little wave of the hand quite characteristic, papa withdrew.
We heard him moving about in his study, which was over the sitting-room, and then
there came a scrape of his chair upon the floor, and a creaking sound as he settled into it
by the table. Papa was safely out of the way for the next four or five hours. I would have
to be a watch-dog to keep knocks from his door.
"I should think," said Amy, pertly, tossing her curls, "that when papa has so much to do
he'd just go and do it, not stand here talking and wasting time. It's the same thing week
after week. Such a martyr."
"Amy," said mamma, severely, "don't speak of your father in that flippant manner. Why
are you lounging here so idly? Gather up the books, put this room in order, and then,
with Laura's assistance, I would like you this morning to clean the china closet. Every cup
and saucer and plate must be taken down and wiped separately, after being dipped into
hot soap-suds and rinsed in hot water; the shelves all washed and dried, and the corners
carefully gone over. See how thorough you can be, my dears," said mamma in her
sweetest tones. I wondered whether she had known that Amy had planned to spend the
rainy morning finishing the hand-screen she is painting for grandmother's birthday. From
her looks nothing could be gathered. Mamma's blue eyes can look as unconscious of
intention as a child's when she chooses to reprove, and yet does not wish to seem
censorious. Amy is fifteen, and very headstrong, as indeed we all are, but even Amy
never dreams of hinting that she would like to do something else than what mamma
prefers when mamma arranges things in her quiet yet masterful fashion. Dear little
mamma. All her daughters except Jessie are taller than herself; but mother is queen of
the Manse, nevertheless.
Amy went off, having with a few deft touches set the library in order, piling the Bibles and
hymn-books on the little stand in the corner, and giving a pat here and a pull there to the
cushions, rugs, and curtains, went pleasantly to begin her hated task of going over the
china closet. Laura followed her.
Elbert, our seventeen-year-old brother, politely held open the door for the girls to pass
through.
"You see, Amy dear," he said, compassionately, "what comes on reflecting upon papa. It
takes some people a long while to learn wisdom."
Amy made a little moue at him.
"I don't mind particularly," she said. "Come, Lole, when a thing's to be done, the best
way is to do it and not fuss nor fret. I ought not to have said that; I knew it would vex
dear mamma; but papa provokes me so with his solemn directions, as if the whole house
did not always hold its breath when he is in the study. Come, Lole, let's do this work as
well as we can. Amy's sunshiny disposition matches her quick temper. She may say a
quick word on the impulse of the moment, but she makes up for it afterward by her
loving ways."
"It isn't the week for doing this closet, Amy," said Laura. "Why didn't you tell mamma so?
You wanted to paint in your roses and clematis before noon, didn't you? I think it mean.
Things are so contrary," and Laura sighed.
"Oh, never mind, dear! this won't be to do next week. I think mamma was displeased
and spoke hastily. Mamma and I are so much alike that we understand one another. I
suppose I am just the kind of girl she used to be, and I hope I'll be the kind of woman
she is when I grow up. I'm imitating mother all I can."
Laura laughed. "Well, Amy, you'd never be so popular in your husband's congregation as
mamma is—never. You haven't so much tact; I don't believe you'll ever have it, either."
"I haven't it yet, of course; but I'd have more tact if I were a grown-up lady and married
to a clergyman. I don't think, though, I'll ever marry a minister," said Amy, with grave
determination, handing down a beautiful salad-bowl, which Laura received in both hands
with the reverence due to a treasured possession. "It's the prettiest thing we own," said
Amy, feeling the smooth satiny surface lovingly, and holding it up against her pink cheek,
"Isn't it scrumptious, Laura?"
"Well," said Laura, "it's nice, but not so pretty as the tea-things which belonged to
Greataunt Judith. They are my pride. This does not compare."
"Well, perhaps not in one way, for they are family pieces, and prove we came out of the
ark. But the salad-bowl is a beauty. I don't object to the care of china myself. It is ladies'
work. It surprises me that people ever are willing to trust their delicate china to clumsy
maids. I wouldn't if I had gems and gold like a princess, instead of being only the
daughter of a poor country clergyman. I'd always wash my own nice dishes with my own
fair hands."
"That shows your Southern breeding," said Laura. "Southern women always look after
their china and do a good deal of the dainty part of the house-keeping. Mamma learned
that when she was a little girl living in Richmond."
"'Tisn't only Southern breeding," said Amy. "Our Holland-Dutch ancestors had the same
elegant ways of taking care of their property. I'm writing a paper on 'Dutch Housewifery'
for the next meeting of the Granddaughters of the Revolution, and you'll find out a good
many interesting points if you listen to it."
"Amy Raeburn!" exclaimed Laura, admiringly, "I expect you'll write a book one of these
days."
"I certainly intend to," replied Amy, with dignity, handing down a fat Dutch cream-jug,
and at the moment incautiously jarring the step-ladder, so that, cream-jug and all, she
fell to the floor. Fortunately the precious pitcher escaped injury; but Amy's sleeve caught
on a nail, and as she jerked it away in her fall it loosened a shelf, and down crashed a
whole pile of the second-best dinner-plates, making a terrific noise which startled the
whole house.
Papa, in his study, groaned, and probably tore in two a closely written sheet of notes.
Mamma and the girls came flying in. Amy picked herself up from the floor; there was a
great red bruise and a scratch on her arm.

"OH, YOU POOR CHILD!" SAID MOTHER, GAUGING THE EXTENT OF

THE ACCIDENT WITH A RAPID GLANCE.
"Oh, you poor child!" said mother, gauging the extent of the accident with a rapid glance.
"Never mind," she said, relieved; "there isn't much harm done. Those are the plates the
Ladies' Aid Society in Archertown gave me the year Frances was born. I never admired
them. When some things go they carry a little piece of my heart with them, but I don't
mind losing donation china. Are you hurt, Amy?"
"A bruise and a scratch—nothing to signify. Here comes Lole with the arnica. I don't care
in the least since I haven't wrecked any of our Colonial heirlooms. Isn't it fortunate,
mother, that we haven't broken or lost anything this congregation has bestowed?"
"Yes indeed," said mamma, gravely. "There, gather up the pieces, and get them out of
the way before we have a caller."
In the Manse, callers may be looked for at every possible time and season, and some of
them have eyes in the backs of their heads. For instance, Miss Florence Frick or Mrs.
Elbridge Geary seems to be able to see through closed doors. And there is Mrs. Cyril
Bannington Barnes, who thinks us all so extravagant, and does not hesitate to notice how
often we wear our best gowns, and wonders to our faces where mamma's last winter's
new furs came from, and is very much astonished and quite angry that papa should insist
on sending all his boys to college. But, there, this story isn't going to be a talk about
papa's people. Mamma wouldn't approve of that, I am sure.
Everybody sat down comfortably in the dining-room, while Frances and Mildred took hold
and helped Amy and Laura finish the closet. Everybody meant mamma, Mildred, Frances,
Elbert, Lawrence, Sammy, and Jessie. Somehow a downright rainy day in autumn, with a
bit of a blaze on the hearth, makes you feel like dropping into talk and staying in one
place, and discussing eventful things, such as Grace Wainwright's return, and what her
effect would be on her family, and what effect they would have on her.
"I really do not think Grace is in the very least bit prepared for the life she is coming to,"
said Frances.
"No," said mamma, "I fear not. But she is coming to her duty, and one can always do
that."
"For my part," said Elbert, "I see nothing so much amiss at the Wainwrights'. They're a
jolly set, and go when you will, you find them having good times. Of course they are in
straitened circumstances."
"And Grace has been accustomed to lavish expenditure," said Mildred.
"If she had remained in Paris with her Uncle Ralph and Aunt Gertrude she would have
escaped a good deal of hardship," said Lawrence.
"Oh," mamma broke in, impatiently, "how short-sighted you young people are! You look
at everything from your own point of view. It is not of Grace I am thinking so much. I am
considering her mother and the girls and her poor worn-out father. I couldn't sleep last
night, thinking of the Wainwrights. Mildred, you might send over a nut-cake and some
soft custard and a glass of jelly, when it stops raining, and the last number of Harper's
Magazine might be slipped into the basket too—that is, if you have all done with it. Papa
and I have finished reading the serial, and we will not want it again. There's so much to
read in this house."
"I'll attend to it, mamma," said Mildred. "Now what can I do to help you before I go to
my French lesson?"
"Nothing, you sweetest of dears," said mother, tenderly. Mildred was her great favorite,
and nobody was jealous, for we all adored our tall, fair sister.
So we scattered to our different occupations, and did not meet again till luncheon was
announced.
Does somebody ask which of the minister's eight children is telling this story? If you must
know, I am Frances, and what I did not myself see was all told to me at the time it
happened, and put down in my journal.

[to be continued.]
 FOR KING OR COUNTRY.
A Story of the Revolution.

BY JAMES BARNES.

CHAPTER XII.

IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA.

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.
 "WOULDST CARE TO BE A SOLDIER, SON?"
"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.

S. V. M. STARR, J. BAYNE, Tackle.

Quarter-back.
 YOUNG, End.

F. M. BRISSEL, End. H. J. BROWN,

Guard.

M. PAGE, Centre. BANNERMAN,

Substitute.
 F. BIEN, JUN., J. R. HIGGINS,
Full-back. Half-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.

Walter Baker & Co., Limited, Dorchester, Mass., the well-known manufacturers of Breakfast
Cocoa and other Cocoa and Chocolate preparations, have an extraordinary collection of
medals and diplomas awarded at the great international and other exhibitions in Europe
and America. The house has had uninterrupted prosperity for nearly a century and a
quarter, and is now not only the oldest but the largest establishment of the kind on this
continent. The high degree of perfection which the Company has attained in its
manufactured products is the result of long experience combined with an intelligent use
of the new forces which are constantly being introduced to increase the power and
improve the quality of production, and cheapen the cost to the consumer.
The full strength and the exquisite natural flavor of the raw material are preserved
unimpaired in all of Walter Baker & Company's preparations; so that their products may
truly be said to form the standard for purity and excellence.
In view of the many imitations of the name, labels, and wrappers on their goods,
consumers should ask for and be sure that they get the genuine articles made at
Dorchester, Mass.—[Adv.]
 SICKNESS AMONG CHILDREN

is prevalent at all seasons of the year, but can be avoided largely when they are properly
cared for. Infant Health is the title of a valuable pamphlet accessible to all who will send
address to the New York Condensed Milk Co., N. Y. City.—[Adv.]
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