of whom cheered for the old lady and her flag. In the course of time this silk flag became much worn and somewhat torn in places by age and much handling, and in 1898, Mrs. Abbott had the flag framed and now keeps it hanging in her parlor in Frederick.

The bunting or cotton flag which Barbara Fritchie presented to General Reno resembled the silk flag in some respects, but was considerably larger and had a strip of canvas with holes in the canvas, through which a cord could be passed and the flag attached to a staff. This flag also has thirty-four white stars and seven red stripes and six white stripes. It is eight feet nine inches long and three feet eight inches wide. The stripes are sewed together with long stitches, and the whole flag bears unmistakable evidence of having been homemade.

Colonel B. F. Reno took the flag when it was handed to him by General Reno, and put it into the holster attached to his saddle. He carried it all day with him and at night placed it in a small leather bag or satchel which General Reno used for papers. The next morning, Sunday, September 14th, 1862, the battle of South Mountain commenced and the flag was allowed to remain at headquarters. At the close of the battle, General Reno was mortally wounded and died within an hour after he was shot. The flag was taken from the battle field by Colonel Reno and carried to Baltimore, where General Reno's body was embalmed, and there placed on his casket. It remained on the casket from Baltimore to Boston, where Mrs. Reno was then residing. The flag was then left in the custody of Mrs. Reno, who always kept it in the army chest containing General Reno's uniform and sword.

For many years the flag had a small piece of paper attached to it in the handwriting of Mrs. Reno, bearing the words, "Barbara Fritchie's Flag." About twenty years ago however, this paper was lost or destroyed. The flag has remained in the possession of General Reno's sons and is still in a good state of preservation.*

BOSTON

CONRAD RENO

*The flag was exhibited to the Commandery by the author, on the evening when this paper was read.

THE TRUE VERSION OF THE BARBARA FRITCHIE EPISODE

Very few, if any, of the great ballads in our language will stand minute cross-examination as to historical accuracy. Almost every line of "The Burial of Sir John Moore" is a misstatement of fact. "Evangeline" has little of history back of it. The story upon which Whittier depended when he wrote "Barbara Fritchie" really comes nearer to accuracy than the average of the most noted ballads in any language. Indeed he told the story almost exactly as he had it from Mrs. Southworth, but she was mistaken in bringing General Jackson personally into it. I think the real incident is given below, as told by Barbara herself to the niece of her husband, who is now residing in Frederick, and who has lately been interviewed in regard to it. She says:

Dame Barbara did not knowingly, at first, wave the star-spangled banner at the Confederate soldiers. A niece had gone to see her aunt that morning, and told her that it was said "the troops" would pass through the town that day. Later the same small maid ran in, in much excitement and called out:

"Aunt Fritchie, the troops are coming."

To the loyal old lady "the troops" meant only one army, the Northern; and when she heard the sound of marching feet, she rose, and taking a small silk flag which she had removed from its staff and hidden in her Bible for safe keeping, she stepped out upon the porch and waved it at the passing men. Instantly a murmur arose, and an officer riding up to the porch said kindly:

"Granny, you had better take your flag in the house."

"I won't do it! I won't do it!" said the old lady, childishly; and then becoming aware for the first time that it was the men in gray that were passing, she defiantly shook the flag at them.

Tht excitement in the ranks now increased, and threatening murmurs arose, so that another officer left the line and said to her:

"Old woman, put that flag away or you may get in trouble."

"I won't!" she replied, and repeated her action. Angry shouts arose from the men, and a third officer, approaching the porch, sternly said:

'If you don't stop that you'll have that flag shot out of your hand."

The first officer, who had remained throughout this scene, thereupon turned to the last speaker and exclaimed angrily:

"If you harm a hair of her head I'll shoot you like a dog."

From another source I have an additional incident relating to the dame. When the Confederate troops were retreating, they were followed through Frederick by Federal regiments under command of General Reno, who was killed in the battle of South Mountain the next day. Upon arriving in Frederick, General Reno hearing of the incident of the flag, called on the old lady, who took from her Bible the silken trophy and gave it to him. It was found in his pocket after his death, and is now in the possession of his son, Mr. Conrad Reno, a Boston lawyer.

SAMUEL T. PICKARD

P. S. In regard to spelling of "Fritchie." The poem as written by Whittier has it "Frietchie". But her tombstone has it without the first "e", and I suppose this is as she spelled it.

Transcript, BOSTON

S. T. P.

W

CHANGES IN SUMMER SPORTS

OUR GRANDFATHERS' SIMPLE AMUSEMENTS

HEN recess-time came the boys went out with a whoop and a rush which carried them as far as the fence. Arrived at that boundary certain of them were sure to look longingly towards "the Hole"; and, though the master had forbidden them to approach it between the hours of nine and four, he could not prevent the engagements, made at almost every intermission while warm weather lasted, to meet there after school was out.

The Hole was an old cellar, twenty feet, perhaps, in diameter. Somewhere at the bottom there must have been a spring, for the cavity was always level full of water. Two rude rafts, public property, were moored at the bank. The challenging party balanced himself on one of these and poled it to the centre of the little pond. The challenged took the other raft, his undertaking being to cross the pond; his opponents' to prevent his doing so. If the rafts encountered, the boy who was first to sit down was the loser of the trick. As a rule, they did collide, and both boys went overboard.

This game was extremely unpopular with fathers and mothers, and at the moment when an unsuccessful player was having his trousers dried in the old fashioned way, the boy himself was willing to admit that the pastime had its disadvantages. Yet he always returned to the Hole, and either a conservative or a progressive might have defended that deed; for this was the one original game which the boys of a certain Maine village knew.

Other sports, current at the place and period, will need no introduction to the boys of thirty years ago. In early spring, stilts were in fashion. A little later, the boys "buxed" marbles, for fun or for keeps, though this was too sedentary an amusement to win high favor. Through the summer and autumn, baseball and football of the artless sort prevailed, supplemented, of evenings, with the eternal tag. In winter the boys coasted and skated and warred over snow forts. Winter would have been the boys' most favored season had there been no `snow to shovel.

Characteristic of all these diversions was their exceeding simplicity as compared with modern games. Baseball, for instance, invited strong arms and ready legs; but when the ball was actually "pitched", with the palm upward, a perplexing curve was so nearly impossible that almost anybody could be a batter; and, so long as the "first bounce" was "out", the fielder had little need to take long runs and desperate chances. Football, at least in the country, resolved itself into kicking that was almost aimless. Games that required a large or expensive outfit would not have been tolerated; and there were many popular games that, as one recalls them, seem to have demanded no equipment but a pair of lungs.

Perhaps, indeed, the perennial charm of tag resides in the fact that it can be played in any place, at a moment's notice, by two boys or two hundred. Yet there are variants of the game that, like "the red lion", a favorite form in western New York show a degree of complexity in organization. In this case the other boys, circling about "It", cry:

Six and four are ten:

Command the red lion out of his den.

Thereupon the lion, joining his hands in front of him, makes for the boys. If he separates his hands he must return and touch the goal. When he tags a boy with the joined hands that boy also becomes a lion, and at a repetition of the signal the two start out hand in hand, forbidden to break apart. As the game progresses the row of lions grows longer, and a fleet-footed boy finds it increasingly easy to escape. With boys as with men, it is hard to act in unison. Until a master spirit makes itself felt, the line of lions waveringly pursues as many purposes as there are boys.

In its own way this game is almost, not quite, unique. Boys like to know, what they are about. Most of their pastimes admit of few rules or of rules that are easily to be construed and enforced. But "prison goal" is another exception, and this particular form of tag has been responsible for much railing and more or less bloodshed.

Here the players are divided in two groups, each aiming to imprison the other. A player is entitled to tag any player who left the opposite goal before he started from his own-and such a one only. "Who was the last man out?" is the burning question that continually

arises. At such a time an unprejudiced umpire would be invaluable; but a dozen volunteer arbiters stand for anarchy, riot and red ruin.

As a rough-and-tumble that yields obvious results, a game once popular at the Episcopal Institute of Burlington, Vt., deserves to be mentioned, even though it be not commended. A ball was placed in a corner of the room. A boy squeezed into the corner, two boys stood in front of him, and three boys lined up in advance of them. These six lads were the defenders. The object of the other side was to drag them away and get the ball. It was a simple game, but it had its charms; and the clothiers and the haberdashers approved it highly.

A slow boy who had strength or a weak boy who was crafty might excel in this pastime, but at most athletic sports, the handicapped do not shine, and "Guard the Sheep" would be particularly hard on a stupid lad who chanced to be "It". As the game is played in New York and some Western States, a stick is set up for sheep-guard. "It" blinds his eyes and counts a hundred while his comrades hide. Perhaps he reels it off by the syncopated method, "Ten, ten, double ten, fortyfive and fifteen". Anyhow, having finished the count, he seeks the other players. If, after he has espied and named one, It is first back at the goal, the boy who was espied becomes a prisoner.

But the distinguishing feature of the game is that, if an unnamed boy can run into the goal, he is at liberty to throw away the stick and yell, "Sheep-guard down!" By this act, all the imprisoned sheep are freed, and, before It can recapture any, he must replace the stick. In the neighborhood of Buffalo, horrid tales are told of lads who have been "It" for hours at a time, on this basis. Probably in self-defence they finally grew up or left the country.

A boy who is merely muscular and not particularly "smart" might find his opportunity in "truck", however, if he could introduce it. A prominent lawyer of Vermont says that at Waterville, fifty years ago, he was the "best fellow" who owned the roundest and smoothest truck -a section of wood, say a foot in diameter, cut from the end of a sawlog. Two goals were marked off, and the players divided. Members of the one party took turns at rolling the truck; the other side endeavored to check its progress with boards or cudgels or stones, not being permitted to lay a hand upon it.