might easily think him none too secure on his legs. Bunch determines to charge, and like a little bull rushes full at him.

But Bate's whole football life has been one long series of deceptions, and so he is quite prepared for this kind of attack. As Bunch comes at him he steps lightly aside, catches the halfback about the neck, swings him round and lands him prone with such terrific impact that the ball flies out of his grasp.

Immediately little Brown has it, passes to Martin, who on being tackled passes to The Don. The field before him is full of the enemy, but The Don never hesitates. Doubling, twisting, knocking off, he eludes man after man, while the crowds on the line grow more and more frantic, and at length, clearing the main body, he sets off across the field to more open country on the 'Varsity left. Behind him come Campbell, Shock, Martin and others, following hard; before him stand three of the McGill defence. Dorion, McDonnell, and Mooney. He has already made a great run, and it looks as if he cannot possibly make through.

First Dorion springs at him, but The Don's open hand at the end of a rigid arm catches him full in the neck, and Dorion goes down like a stick.

Big McDonnell bears swiftly down upon him and leaps high at him, but The Don lowers his shoulder, catches McDonnell below the wind and slides him over his back; but before he can get up speed again little Carroll is clutching at his hips, and Mooney, the McGill full-back, comes rushing at him. Swinging round, The Don shakes Carroll partly off, and with that fierce downward cut of his arm which is his special trick, sends the little quarter flying, and just as Mooney tackles, passes the ball

over his shoulder to Shock, who is immediately pounced upon by half a dozen McGill men, but who, ere he is held, passes to Campbell, who in turn works forward a few yards, and again on being tackled, passes to The Don. It is a magnificent bit of playing. For a few moments both teams hang in the balance, neither giving an inch, when old Black, yelling and waving wildly, attracts the attention of Bate.

"Go in!" he cries. "Go in!" and Bate, coming up with a rush, throws himself behind the scrim.

His weight turns the scale. Slowly at first, but gaining momentum with every inch, the mass yields, sways and begins to move. The McGill men, shoving, hacking, struggling, fighting fiercely, finally dropping on their knees, strive to check that relentless advance. It is in vain. Their hour has come.

With hoarse cries, regardless of kicks and blows, trampling on prostrate foes, and followed by a mob of spectators tumultuously cheering, the 'Varsity wedge cleaves its way, till on the other side The Don appears with the ball hugged to his breast and Huntingdon hanging to his throat. A final rush and the ball is down.

"The ball is down!" cries the referee, and almost immediately time is called.

The great match is over. By four points 'Varsity holds the championship of the Dominion.

"The greatest match ever played on this ground," cries old Black, pushing through the crowd to Campbell, with both hands outstretched.

After him comes the Montreal captain. "I congratulate you most heartily," he says, in a voice that breaks in spite of all he can do.

"Thanks, old man," says Campbell quietly. "It was a case of sheer luck."

"Not a bit of it," replies Huntingdon, recovering himself. "You have a great team. I never saw a better.'

"Well," replied Campbell heartily, "I have just seen as good, and there's none we would rather win from than McGill."

"And none," replies Huntingdon, "McGill would rather lick than 'Varsity."

Meantime Shock, breaking from a crowd of admirers who are bound to carry him in on their shoulders, makes for the Fairbanks carriage, and greets his mother quietly.

"Well, mother, it's over at last."

"Ay, it is. Poor fellows, they will be feeling bad. But come along, laddie, you will be needing your supper, I doubt.”

Shock laughs loudly. He knows his mother and needs no words to tell him her heart is bursting with pride and triumph.

"Come in. Let us have the glory of driving you home," cries Betty.

"In this garb?" laughs Shock.

"That's the garb of your glory," says Helen, her fine eyes lustrous with excitement.

66

'Come, Hamish man, you will get your things and we will be waiting for you."

"Very well," he replies, turning away. "I will be only a minute."

He is not allowed to escape, but with a roar the crowd seize him, lift him shoulder high, and chanting, "Shock! Shock! we --like Shock!" bear him away in triumph.

"Eh, what are the daft laddies saying now?" inquires the old

lady, struggling hard to keep out of her voice the pride that shines in her eyes.

"Listen," cries Helen, her eyes shining with the same light. "Listen to them," and beating time with her hand she joins in the chant, "Shock! Shock! we like - Shock."

- RALPH CONNOR.

JOHN JAY:

FRANKLIN'S LETTER TO JAY

PASSY, 10 September, 1783.

Sir I have received a letter from a very respectable person in America, containing the following words, viz:

It is confidently reported, propagated and believed by some among us, that the Court of France was at the bottom against our obtaining the fishery and territory in that great extent, in which both are secured to us by the treaty; that our minister at that court favored, or did not oppose, this design amongst us; and that it was entirely owing to the firmness, sagacity and disinterestedness of Mr. Adams, with whom Mr. Jay united, that we have obtained these important advantages.

It is not my purpose to dispute any share of the honor of that treaty which the friends of my colleagues may be disposed to give them, but, having now spent fifty years of my life in public offices and trusts, and having still one ambition left, that of carrying the character of fidelity, at least to the grave with me, I cannot allow that I was behind any one of them in zeal and faithfulness. I therefore think that I ought not to suffer an accusation, which falls little short of treason to my country, to pass without notice, when the means of effectual vindication are

at hand. You, Sir, were a witness of my conduct in that affair. To you and my other colleagues I appeal, by sending to each a similar letter with this, and I have no doubt of your readiness to do a brother Commissioner justice, by certificates that will entirely destroy the effect of that accusation. I have the honor to be, with much esteem, etc.,

The United States Frigate Constitution has come back to Boston and Massachusetts. She floats again upon the waters into which she rushed as she left the builder's ways a hundred years ago. Curious inquirers have been at pains to tell us that of the ship launched in 1797 scarcely anything remains; that in her long career she has been made over from truck to keel. Whether the statement is true or false matters not. It is not a given mass of wood and iron which touches our hearts and stirs our pride. It is the old ship herself, because she is the visible symbol of a great past charged with noble memories and representing sentiments, aspirations, and beliefs far more lasting than brass eternal, slave to mortal rage. Everyone is familiar with Turner's famous picture of "The Fighting Temeraire Towed to Her Last Berth." The splendor of the execution arrests the eye at once. The crowded river, the disturbed waters, the smoky mist, the marvelous effects of clouds and color, of light and shade, all fill the gazer with wonder and delight. But there is much more than this. As we look at the old brown hulk dragged slowly up the murky stream, we see that the canvas before us is not only a picture, but a poem full of pathos and