Outing; Vol. XIII.; October, 1888 to March, 1889 - An Illustrated Monthly Magazine of Recreation.

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Title: Outing; Vol. XIII.; October, 1888 to March, 1889 - An Illustrated Monthly Magazine of Recreation.
Author: Various
Language: English
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Transcriber’s Notes

This e-text is based on Vol. XIII of the ‘Outing Illustrated
Monthly Magazine of Recreation;’ October, 1888-March, 1889.
Advertisements have been relocated to the end of the text. A few
page references in the Table of Contents have been corrected
according to the original page numbers in the magazine. Footnotes
have been moved to the end of the corresponding articles. Some
tables have been split to fit into smaller screens.

Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation have been retained, but
punctuation and typographical errors have been corrected. Passages
in English dialect and in languages other than English have
not been altered.

_Underscores_ have been used to indicate italic text in the
original; ~tilde characters~ have been applied to denote small
capitals. Bold text has been highlighted by using =equals signs=.

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~Outing~

AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY MAGAZINE

RECREATION

VOL. XIII.

OCTOBER, 1888-MARCH, 1889

THE OUTING COMPANY, LIMITED

NEW YORK: No. 239 FIFTH AVENUE.

LONDON: No. 61 STRAND, W. C.

~Copyright, 1888-1889~,

~By the~ OUTING COMPANY, ~Limited~.

PRESS OF FLEMING, BREWSTER & ALLEY, NEW YORK.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XIII.

OCTOBER, 1888-MARCH, 1889.

AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY. PAGE

~Amateur Photography.~ By Ellerslie Wallace.
(_To be continued._) 515

ATHLETICS.

~American College Athletics--Harvard University.~ Part I.
By J. Mott Hallowell 233
Illustrations from photographs.

~American College Athletics--Harvard University.~ Part II.
By J. Mott Hallowell 301
Illustrations from photographs.

~American College Athletics. II.--Yale University.~
By Richard M. Hurd 404
Illustrations from photographs.

~Detroit Athletic Club, The.~
By John A. Russell 205
Illustrations from photographs and pen-and-ink sketches
by Eugene Bauer.

~Jersey City Athletic Club, The.~
By Charles Lee Meyers 445
Illustrations by Eugene Bauer, from photographs.

~Progress of Athletism, The.~ (English Universities.)
By C. Turner 109
Illustrations from instantaneous photographs.

~Training of a University Crew, The.~
By Frederic A. Stevenson 57

BASEBALL.

~Baseball in Australia.~
By Harry Palmer 157
Illustrations from photographs.

CANOEING.

~Damp Journey on a Down-Grade, A.~
By Ralph K. Wing 117

~Ninth Annual A. C. A. Meet at Lake George.~
By C. Bowyer Vaux 73

~Paddles and Palettes~ (Continued from Vol. XII., p. 510).
By Edward L. Chichester 46
Illustrations by the Author.

CLUBS.

~Chicago, The Boat Clubs of.~
By Edith Sessions Tupper 3
Illustrations from photographs.

~Detroit Athletic Club, The.~ By John A. Russell 205
Illustrations from photographs and pen-and-ink sketches
by Eugene Bauer.

COACHING.

~Coaching and Coaching Clubs.~
By Charles S. Pelham-Clinton 525
Illustrations from photographs and old prints, and drawing
by C. Beard. Engraved by H. Pflaum.

COLLEGE SPORTS.

~American College Athletics--Harvard University.~ Part I.
By J. Mott Hallowell 233
Illustrations from photographs.

~American College Athletics--Harvard University.~ Part II.
By J. Mott Hallowell 301
Illustrations from photographs.

~American College Athletics. II.--Yale University.~
By Richard M. Hurd 404
Illustrations from photographs.

~Evolution of Form in College Rowing.~
By E. M. Garnett. (_To be continued._) 518

~Progress of Athletism, The.~ (English Universities.)
By C. Turner 109
Illustrations from instantaneous photographs.

CYCLING.

~Haunted Wheel, The.~
By President Bates 132

~How to Cycle in Europe.~
By Joseph Pennell 511

~Ladies’ Eastern Tricycle Tour, The.~
By “Daisie” 260
Illustrations by Eugene Bauer.

~Mr. Perker’s Bear, or Mr. Bear’s Perker?~
By President Bates 328

~One Man’s Work for Cycling.~
By Howard P. Merrill 32
Illustrations from photographs, reproduced by Kurtz.

FENCING.

~Mask and Foil for Ladies.~
By Charles E. Clay 312
Illustrations by Eugene Bauer.

FICTION.

~Breaking of Winter, The.~
By Patience Stapleton 350

~Critical Situation, A.~
By S. Smith 226

~Herne the Hunter.~
By William Perry Brown 423

~Ysleta.~
By E. Hough 66

FISHING.

~Canadian Fishing Sketches.~ II.--Spearing Fish at the
Lachine Rapids.
By Hiram B. Stephens 29

“~Eelin’ off Goose P’int.~”
By Scott Campbell 53

~Love at Fishing.~ Poem.
By Edward A. Valentine 167

~Obituary Notice of Seth Green.~
By F. Endicott 72

~Pickerel Shooting on the Marshes.~
By O. W. Hard 203

~Salmon-Fishing on Loch Tay.~
By “Rockwood” 533
Illustrations by J. and G. Temple.

FOOTBALL.

~Hints to Football Captains.~
By Walter C. Camp 357

FOX-HUNTING.
~Fox-Hunting.~ A Day in the Shires.
By H. S. Pearse, “Plantagenet” 483
Illustrations by A. C. Corbould and J. and G. Temple.

FRONTISPIECES.

~A Woodland Shot.~ October, 1888. J. Carter Beard 2
Engraved by G. A. Greene.

~Washington and his Hounds.~ November, 1888. J. Carter Beard 98
Engraved by W. H. F. Lyouns.

~A Pair of Poachers.~ December, 1888. 194
Engraved by H. Pflaum.

~Ice Yacht “Northern Light.”~ January, 1889. 290
Photograph by C. E. Shaffer. Reproduced by Kurtz.

~A Moonlight Encounter with Russian Wolves.~ February, 1889. 386
Engraved by H. Pflaum.

“~One Fair Pursuer goes at it where the Huntsman Leads.~”
March, 1889.
A. C. Corbould 482

HORSE RACING.

~Plain Talk about Steeple-Chasing.~
By C. S. Pelham-Clinton 361

ICE YACHTING.

~Fast Ice Yachts.~
By Charles Ledyard Norton 333
Diagrams by the Author.

KENNEL.

~Spaniel Training.~
By D. Boulton Herrald 494

LAWN TENNIS.

~Lawn Tennis in the South.~
By Henry W. Slocum, Jr. 496
Illustrations by Eugene Bauer.

MISCELLANEOUS SPORTS.

~Coursing in Ireland.~
By Robert F. Walsh 64
Illustration by J. Carter Beard.

~Rabbit Coursing.~
By “Sporting Tramp” 362

OBITUARY.

~Green, Seth.~ (With portrait.)
By F. Endicott 72

~Satterthwaite, Franklin.~ 168

OUTDOOR LIFE OF THE PRESIDENTS.

~George Washington--I.~
By John P. Foley 99
Illustrations by J. Carter Beard and F. Miranda.

~Thomas Jefferson--II.~
By John P. Foley 250

~Andrew Jackson--III.~
By John P. Foley 437

OUTINGS.

~Among the Taurus Mountains.~
By L. B. Platt 291
Illustrations from photographs. Wood engravings by
H. Pflaum, W. F. Lyouns, and others.

~How to Take a Tramp Trip.~
By Lee Meriwether 60

~On a Canadian Farm in Midwinter.~
By W. Blackburn Harte 452

~Pacific through Canada, To the.~ Part I.
By Ernest Ingersoll 141
Illustrated.

~Pacific through Canada, To the.~ Part II.
By Ernest Ingersoll 217
Illustrated.

~Ride to a Russian Wedding, A.~
By C. M. Litwin 242

~Visit to Death Lake, Florida, A.~
By Lieut. W. R. Hamilton 230

PEDESTRIANISM.

~How to Take a Tramp Trip.~
By Lee Meriwether 60

RIDING.

~Across Wyoming on Horseback.~
By Lewis P. Robie 392
Illustrations by E. W. Deming.

~National Horse Show, The.~
By “Sporting Tramp” 361

~Plain Talk about Steeple-Chasing.~
By C. S. Pelham-Clinton 361

~Pony Racing~ 76

~Talk about the Pigskin, A.~
By “Sporting Tramp” 17
Illustrations by J. Carter Beard and J. and G. Temple.

ROWING.

~Boat Clubs of Chicago, The.~
By Mrs. Edith Sessions Tupper 3
Illustrations from photographs.

~Evolution of Form in College Rowing.~
By E. M. Garnett. (_To be continued._) 518

~Training of a University Crew, The.~
By Frederic A. Stevenson 57

SHOOTING.

~Pickerel Shooting on the Marshes.~
By O. W. Hard 203

~Rifle in the Sacramentos, The.~
By William H. Johnston, Jr. 125

~Russian Wolf Hunt, A.~
By Tom Bolton 419
Illustrations by J. Carter Beard.

~Sport--Past, Present, and Future.~ Part I.
By Alexander Hunter 195
Illustrations by J. Carter Beard.

~Sport--Past, Present, and Future.~ Part II.
By Alexander Hunter 321
Illustrations by J. Carter Beard.

~Wild Duck Shooting.~
By W. G. Beers 39
Illustrations by J. Carter Beard. Engraved by F. H. W. Lyouns.

~Winter Shooting in South Carolina.~
By C. W. Boyd 401

~Winter Shooting in Florida.~
By F. Campbell Moller 541

SKATING.

~On Blades of Steel.~
By D. Boulton Herrald 435
With illustration.

SLEIGHING.

~Sleighing.~
By Will H. Whyte 387
Illustrations by J. Carter Beard.

SNOWSHOEING.

~Snowshoeing in Canuckia.~
By James C. Allan 505
Illustrations from photographs and drawings by
J. William Fosdick.

TRAVEL.

~Among the Taurus Mountains.~
By L. B. Platt 291
Illustrations from photographs. Wood-engravings by
H. Pflaum, W. H. F. Lyouns, and others.

~Pacific through Canada, To the.~ Part I.
By Ernest Ingersoll 141
Illustrated.

~Pacific through Canada, To the.~ Part II.
By Ernest Ingersoll 217
Illustrated.

VERSE.

~Ace of Hearts, The.~
By Edith Sessions Tupper 249

~Autumn.~
By Susan Hartley Swett 116

~British Fox’s Lament, The.~
By “Sporting Tramp.” (Amenities) 368

~Californian Lyrics.~
By Minna Caroline Smith 300

~Faun Dance, The.~
By M. E. Gorham 311

~Gray Evening.~
By Charles Prescott Shermon 216

~I’m Single no Longer, You Know.~
By S. Gove Tenney (Amenities) 560

~Love at Fishing.~
By Edward A. Valentine 167

~Love Letter, A.~
By Frank Dempster Sherman 265

~Man’s Three Follies.~
By Egbert L. Bangs 259

~My Boat.~
By Arthur Cleveland Hall 451

~Night Paddle, A.~
By M. E. Gorham 458

~On the Connecticut.~
By Lucy C. Bull 125

~Outing, An.~
By Jay Gee 429

~Rainy Day, A.~
By H. J. Livermore 71

~Rondeau.~
By Jay Gee. (Amenities) 272

~She only Shook her Head.~
By A. A. P. (Amenities) 464

~Soft Light Beamed, The.~
By Howell Stroud England 23

~Sonnet.~
By Howell Stroud England 540

~Three Days’ Grace.~
By Sarah J. Burke 403

~Yachting Song, A.~
By Clinton Scollard 28

YACHTING.

~Cruise of the “Frolic,” The.~
By S. G. W. Benjamin 544

~Lake Champlain Yacht Club, The.~
By Frederic G. Mather 340
Illustrations from photographs.

~Memories of Yacht Cruises.~ (Continued from Vol. XII., p. 517.)
By the late Captain Roland F. Coffin 24
Illustrations by Fred. S. Cozzens.

~Memories of Yacht Cruises.~ Part IV.
By the late Capt. Roland F. Coffin 430

~New York Yacht Club Cruise of ’88, The.~ 148
Illustrations by Fred. S. Cozzens and from photographs.

~Yacht Racing Results.~
By J. C. Summers 73

~Yachting Song, A.~
By Clinton Scollard 28

AMENITIES 80, 176, 272, 368, 464, 560

AMONG THE BOOKS 79, 174, 271, 367, 463, 559

EDITOR’S OPEN WINDOW 72, 168, 266, 361, 459, 553

EDITOR’S SCRAP BOOK 177, 273, 369

GLANCES AT OUR LETTER-FILE 466

MONTHLY RECORD, OUR 81, 178, 274, 371, 465

OUTING CLUB, THE 170, 269, 363, 556

PLEASURE, TRAVEL, AND RESORTS 370

THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND, OUR 173, 270, 366, 462, 558

[Illustration]

[Illustration: A WOODLAND SHOT.]

~Outing.~

~Vol. XIII.~ OCTOBER, 1888. ~No. 1.~

THE BOAT CLUBS OF CHICAGO.

BY MRS. EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER.

Chicago is singularly devoid of the presence of that species of animal
popularly known as “the dude.” In going about its bustling streets,
one remarks that the thin-legged, hollow-chested youth who is chiefly
noticeable for the height of his collar, and from the fact that the
head he carries on his stick is larger than the one he carries on his
shoulders, is seldom met.

In place, then, of a throng of these sickly creatures dawdling
up and down and ogling the women, one sees a hurrying crowd of
broad-shouldered, athletic young men with sturdy limbs, sparkling
eyes and florid complexions. They walk, they do not saunter. As they
shoulder their way through the busy throng, one cannot fail to note
their muscular figures and supple movements. No doubt much of this
is due to their daily associations and the constant Western push for
place, but to the realm of sport must belong much of the credit, and
to constant exercise with the oar this supreme vitality is greatly
attributable.

For many years rowing has been popular in Chicago, and the city
boasted several independent clubs, but there was no concerted plan of
action until September, 1886, when the “Chicago Navy” was organized,
which comprises all the various clubs of the city and suburban towns.
Previous to this, the active boating had been done by the Farragut,
Delaware, Pullman, Tippy-canoe, and Evanston clubs.

The membership of the “Chicago Navy” is composed of the Iroquois,
Ogden, Catlin, Union, Hyde Park, Quintard, and Douglas clubs, in
addition to those above mentioned--twelve in all.

The effect of this organization was at once felt, especially among
the weaker clubs, whose enthusiasm was aroused to such an extent that
they soon caused some of the older ones to look to their laurels.
While the clubs are constantly working to strengthen their respective
organizations, and while there is much friendly rivalry between
them, the ambition of all is to make Chicago the headquarters of all
the rowing associations of the West. All signs point to the speedy
consummation of this desire. From her commercial importance and central
position, from the fact that all roads lead to Chicago, she is destined
to become the centre of the aquatic sports of the West. Chicago men
have been made president and commodore of the Mississippi Valley Rowing
Association, which embraces all rowing clubs from Galveston to St.
Paul, and from Omaha to Detroit. This organization has a contract with
the Pullman Club to hold its annual regattas on Lake Calumet for the
next three years.

[Illustration: J. F. KORF AND W. WEINAND OF THE DELAWARE CLUB.]

The annual regattas of the “Chicago Navy” are also held on Lake
Calumet, at that remarkable town of Pullman owned by the great
sleeping-car knight. The lake is about four miles long, and the course
is three-quarters of a mile from start to turning-stake. The first
annual regatta was held July 4, 1887.

FARRAGUT CLUB.

Both from the fact that it is the oldest settler, and from its record,
the Farragut Club must take supremacy. It was organized March 10, 1872,
and incorporated July 1, 1875. The fleet at that time consisted of one
barge, the _Farragut_, and the timber-house of the Illinois Central
Railroad Company was its boat-house.

In the spring of 1873 a boat-house, which cost $350, was built at
the foot of Twenty-first Street. This was destroyed by a storm in
1874. Another was erected in its place, which was, later, moved to
Riverdale, on Calumet River, to be used for training purposes, and a
new boat-house costing over a thousand dollars was erected on the old
site. In November, 1877, this house, as well as that of the Chicago
Barge Club, in its immediate neighborhood, was completely destroyed
by storm, and only three boats were saved. The next year a two-story
brick boat-house was built at the foot of Twenty-fifth Street, costing
$4,000. The first floor was used for storing boats and the second was
devoted to social purposes. For six years it was a pleasant home for
the club. But it would seem that Fate had an especial grudge against
the Farragut, for, it becoming necessary to move the boat-house nearer
the lake to make way for the encroachments of a railroad, in the month
of March, 1883, a furious storm arose and destroyed it, with twenty
expensive boats.

A temporary house was at once erected and new boats were purchased, and
the ambition of the club was fired rather than daunted by its repeated
disasters. It was fast outgrowing the former narrow limits of the
organization, and at this juncture its president, Lyman B. Glover, to
whom the club is more indebted than to any other one man, proposed that
they should build an elegant club-house on some eminence overlooking
Lake Michigan, and simply provide a storage for boats near the water.

[Illustration: OGDEN BOAT CLUB.]

This rather startling proposition speedily gained favor, and the result
is shown in the superb club-house which stands on a lofty elevation on
Lake Park Avenue, overlooking the vast expanse of the blue lake which
stretches before it. It is a model of correct and elegant architecture.
From its balconies and observatory one commands a view of the entire
city as well as the lake. Indoors it is most conveniently arranged for
the comfort and pleasure of its _habitués_, the hall and staircase
being especially beautiful. It is finished throughout in hard wood,
and its fireplaces are handsomely tiled, with the initials of the club
inserted. There are two spacious parlors, directors’ room, card-room
and billiard-room on the first floor. On the second is a large
gymnasium and dancing-hall, which is also equipped with a good-sized
stage for dramatic purposes. In the basement there is a bowling alley,
two pool tables, and various other attractions. From top to bottom
it is complete and perfect in every respect. The club-house seems to
have been a veritable _mascotte_. The limit of membership has been
raised from time to time, until now it rests at two hundred and fifty.
Socially the club is an important factor, being made up of prominent
business and professional men.

[Illustration: STARTING FOR A PADDLE.]

The club is well equipped with a fleet of thirty fine boats, for
the storage of which a commodious boat-house has been erected near
the club-house. This club exercises active interest in many boating
circles, being a member of the National Association of Amateur Oarsmen,
the Mississippi Valley Amateur Rowing Association, the Northwestern
Amateur Rowing Association, and the Chicago Navy. It has a remarkable
record, for a Western club that has no smooth water for practice, of
seventy victories, trophies of which adorn the walls of the club-house.
In 1879 and ’80 their four-oared crew--Downs, Adams, Young and
Muchmore--won several brilliant races. Their time was not beaten for
some years. In 1882, at St. Louis, McClellan, Van Schaak, Metcalf and
Berau won the four-oared race against the celebrated Minnesota crew of
St. Paul. In 1885 a great four-oared crew, Billings, Plummer, Avery and
Fowler, won eight straight races. In 1886, at the regatta of the M. V.
R. A. at Moline, Illinois, the pair-oared crew, Adams and Jennison,
defeated Clegg and Standish, of Detroit, who were the former national
champions.

But the bright particular star of the club is the recent champion
amateur sculler, J. F. Corbet. He was formerly a member of the Pullman
Club, and won his first race under their auspices. But he has for some
time been a member of the Farragut crew, and the club is justly proud
of his great record.

In 1886, at the Northwestern Rowing Association regatta, at Grand
Rapids, he won the senior single; time, 13m. 45¾s., two miles with
turn. At the National Association regatta, at Albany, N. Y., in the
same year, he won the trial heat; time, 8m. 46½s., one and a half miles
straightaway. In the final, he beat all but Mr. Monahan, of Albany, but
was shut out at the finish by rowboats closing in upon him.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

H. C. AVERY. H. P. BILLINGS. C. A. PLUMMER. M. F. FOWLER.

THE BIG FOUR OF THE FARRAGUT CLUB.]

In 1887 he won the senior single in the Chicago Navy, M. V. R. A. and
N. W. R. A. regattas, and at the National regatta, on Chautauqua Lake,
won not only the senior single on one day, but on the following the
final heat and the Amateur Championship of America, beating all the
scullers of the United States and Canada. To complete this record of
two years, which has never been surpassed by any amateur sculler, he
won the senior single at Lake Minnetonka regatta; time 10m. 40s., one
and a half miles with turn.

[Illustration: CATLIN BOAT CLUB.]

[Illustration: SOME OF THE TIPPY-CANOE CLUB FLEET.]

Among other prominent men in boating circles who have been members of
the Farragut Club, may be mentioned W. B. Curtis, of the _Spirit of the
Times_; John Ostrom, the famous Cornell stroke and captain; and Frank
E. Yates, who was twice the national champion.

Lyman B. Glover, who was for seven years president, and George R.
Blodgett, secretary, were presented with honorary memberships in the
National Amateur Rowing Association of France.

CATLIN CLUB.

This club, so-called from its president, Charles Catlin, who is also
commodore of the M. V. R. A., though practically a new club, has done
good work and made a record for itself at its first trial. It was
founded in 1882, with a boat-house at Cedar Lake, Indiana; but last
year a commodious boat-house, with a capacity for storing twenty boats,
was built in Chicago, at a cost of $500. It is the intention of the
club to fit up the second story as a gymnasium and club-room. Reeding
and Goff form their crack team. They won the junior double in the
Chicago Navy regatta last year at Pullman, and later the junior double
in the M. V. R. A. regatta. It is an ambitious, energetic club, and
intends to do great things in future. Mr. Catlin is their main stay,
and though not an oarsman himself, is exceedingly popular with his
followers.

OGDEN CLUB.

What is known as the “gilt-edged” club of Chicago, being very exclusive
in its tendencies, is the Ogden Club, so named from the first Mayor of
Chicago. Its boat-house was originally near the foot of Chicago Avenue.
But Lake Michigan, with a reprehensible disregard for the feelings of
so aristocratic a club, proceeded to wash it down as fast as it was
erected. It was finally removed to the foot of Superior Street, where
it now stands in safety. It is the largest club on the North Side,
and, as one of its prominent members expresses it, “looks more to the
social than physical status of its members.” Heretofore it has devoted
its attention to barge parties, pleasure rowing and sailing, but
proposes to give more time to racing in the future. A costly “Goldie”
rowing-machine was purchased this winter, and several new boats and
shells have been ordered. The president, Mr. James W. Scott, who is
proprietor of the Chicago _Herald_, has offered five gold medals to be
competed for at the club regatta next fall.

Among its honorary members is Professor David Swing, the famous
preacher. A prominent active member is W. M. Le Moyne, who was captain
of the Harvard University crew in 1876-77. The club owns a number of
fine boats, including two four-oared gigs, four sailing canoes, six
shell-bottom working boats, five pleasure boats, a single-scull shell,
and a barge that will carry fifteen people.

[Illustration: CLUB-HOUSE AT EVANSTON.]

E. D. Neff, captain of the club, who is also secretary of the Chicago
Navy, won the single sculling race in the Navy regatta last year,
defeating a competitor who was considered invincible. He has competed
in the single sculling races this year, in the regattas of the
Chicago Navy, Mississippi Valley, and Northwestern Associations.

There is a project afloat to issue bonds and erect a club-house which
shall cost thirty thousand dollars, and contain theatre, gymnasium and
billiard rooms, but no action will be taken until the course of the
Lake Shore Drive has been settled.

[Illustration: J. F. CORBET, FARRAGUT BOAT CLUB.]

TIPPY-CANOE CLUB.

This club is, as its appropriate name indicates, a canoeing
organization. It has a fleet of sixteen canoes, which for beauty of
model and excellence of finish compare favorably with those of any club
in the country. The captain of the club, Mr. D. H. Crane, who unites a
wide experience in boating matters with unusual skill as a draughtsman,
is the designer of these canoes.

At the first annual regatta of the Chicago Canoe Club, in 1884, J. B.
Keogh, in the _Phantom_, of Class A, won the sailing race, and again
in 1885. In this same year A. W. Kitchin won the “paddling” races for
Classes 2 and 3, in the _Gypsy_, and in the “upset” race won again in
_The Bells_. The tandem race was won by J. B. Keogh and H. B. Cook.

In 1885, the Chicago Canoe Club became defunct, its members joining the
Tippy-canoe, which is now the representative canoe club of the State of
Illinois.

No club regattas were given last year, but the members carried off all
the prizes in paddling at the Navy regatta at Pullman. Later in the
season, several of the members attended the Western Canoe Association
meet at Ballast Island, and carried off many laurels.

Kitchin won the paddling race again in the _Tippy_. B. W. Wood’s
_Vivum_ won the free-for-all “no ballast” sailing race. R. P. McCune’s
_Idler_ won the “hurry-scurry” race, as well as the free-for-all
sailing race around Ballast Island for the Nixon special prize; while
in the “Tournament,” the contest that always proves so edifying to
spectators, G. C. Messer and his partner succeeded in capsizing all who
entered the lists against them.

IROQUOIS CLUB.

Organized in 1882 and incorporated in March, 1888, this club did
not escape the misfortune of many of its fellows, for in 1884 their
boat-house was blown down and washed away, and many boats and shells
destroyed.

Nothing daunted, they erected a new home at the foot of Chicago Avenue
on the lake front.

They own a fleet of twelve boats, one, a four-oared shell, being the
finest in the West. Their uniform is very handsome, and they have
patriotically selected red, white and blue for their colors.

[Illustration: A RACE OF THE TIPPY-CANOE CLUB.]

One of their single shells won two victories at Pullman last season.
They are workers, and propose to make themselves felt in the future.

EVANSTON CLUB.

The preliminary organization of the Evanston Club was effected in
September, 1880, and incorporated in February, 1881.

Their equipment is good. They own forty boats, including single shells,
double sculling boats, four-oared shells and several canoes. Canoeing
is quite as popular with them as rowing. This club holds every year
a series of local regattas which attract considerable attention, the
contestants all being members of this club. The membership numbers one
hundred and sixty-one. They possess a neat and commodious club-house,
which is beautifully situated.

The club seems to be of a genial, social nature, and does not greatly
thirst for glory.

HYDE PARK CLUB.

This club devotes its energies chiefly to sailing, and has a fleet of
thirty sail-boats, two steam launches and one cat-boat.

[Illustration: UNDER WEIGH.]

QUINTARD CLUB.

The name of this organization is derived from George W. Quintard, the
wealthy iron manufacturer of New York, and the club is composed of very
young men. It was the winner of the Cregier Challenge Cup, which was
contested for in 1886, at St. Charles, Illinois.

DELAWARE CLUB.

The phenomenal record of William Weinand and John F. Korf, the champion
amateur double scullers of the country, has rendered this club famous.

In 1883 this noted team entered the races of the M. V. R. A. and took
second place among four starters. Heartily encouraged, they worked
actively for the rest of the season, and in ’84 were entered, with
five other starters, in the junior double sculling race. They won this
race and also the senior double, winning the latter race of two miles
and turn in the fastest time on record of twelve minutes and forty
seconds. From that time they have never been beaten, and have won over
twenty-five races. The most notable of these are: 1884-85-86-87, of the
M. V. R. A.; 1885-86-87, of the N. W. R. A.; the race for the medal at
the New Orleans Exposition; the race for the National Championship at
Albany, N. Y., in 1886, and that on Lake Chautauqua in ’87.

[Illustration: THE FARRAGUT CLUB-HOUSE.]

By a decision of the referee, they were disqualified after winning the
latter race by forty seconds, and being dissatisfied with this result,
they are anxious to meet any amateur double sculling team in the United
States or Canada. Indeed, they challenged the famous Metropolitan
double to a race on Lake Calumet, offering to put up an appropriate
prize, and pay all the expenses of their competitors, but the offer was
declined. Few teams, it is apparent, care to meet these all-conquering
oarsmen. They will no longer be allowed to row in the races of
the M. V. R. A. and the N. W. R. A., as they, of course, prevent
competition.

[Illustration: J. F. CORBET.]

In future they will turn their attention to bringing a four-oared crew
to the front that shall win fresh laurels for the Delaware.

There are only sixteen members, but they intend to become known by
works rather than numbers.

“We have no wall-flowers,” said handsome, athletic John Korf, “but men
that are willing to try to win races.”

The club has a fleet of thirteen boats, and a good-sized boat-house,
the second story of which is used for a gymnasium, and is well stocked
with apparatus for the development of the muscles.

PULLMAN CLUB.

The history of the Pullman Club is so interwoven with that of the
Athletic Club of the place, that it requires almost a separate paper.

There is a beautiful island of about three acres in extent lying in
Lake Calumet. This has been most handsomely laid out for athletic
sports by command of Mr. Pullman. Here is located a substantial
club-house, and here are erected two grand-stands with a seating
capacity of four thousand.

Under these grand-stands are accommodations for thirty rowing clubs,
at the least calculation, and from them one obtains a fine view of the
regattas.

The Pullman Rowing Association was formed in 1881, and the next year
the international regatta took place there.

Many professional oarsmen from Canada, England and this country were
present, and the universal verdict was one of favor for Pullman’s
rowing course.

Through the efforts of Mr. Lyman Glover, President of the Mississippi
Valley Rowing Association, that organization holds its annual regattas
on this lake, and efforts are being made to induce the Northwestern
and International Associations to do likewise. Lake Calumet seems well
adapted to aquatic sports, being a mile and a half in width by four
miles in length, and can always be depended on for smooth water in the
evening. The property of the club consists of one six-oared racing
barge, two four-oared racing shells, two single shells, two gigs, and
eight pleasure-boats. The club entered crews in the National regatta
at Detroit in ’83, and got second place among seven starters. It has
defeated the Farragut and Delaware clubs in match races. It won the
barge race and four-oared shell race at the Chicago Navy regatta of
last summer, and the four-oared junior race at the M. V. R. A. regatta
a few days later.

Thus it will be seen that Chicago can point with pride to the
achievements of her oarsmen, and, with admirable audacity, she
prophesies greater victories in the future.

I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness to Mr. Lyman B. Glover, of the
Farragut Club, and Mr. Thomas P. Hallinan, of the Catlin Club, for
their invaluable aid in procuring data for this sketch.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: A SCAMPER ON THE BREEZY DOWNS OF SUSSEX.]

A TALK ABOUT THE PIGSKIN.

BY A SPORTING TRAMP.

“This gallant
Had witchcraft in’t--he grew unto his seat;
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorpsed, and demi-natured
With the brave beast.”--_Hamlet._

To deliberately sit down and write on the subject of riding is a
task which is attended with no slight difficulty. Such themes are
invariably hard to handle, but riding has special difficulties. Much
that is apropos and correct has been written on this most engaging
subject from the day of Xenophon onward, but it is nevertheless an
impossibility--nay, more, it is an absurdity, to suppose that rules can
be shaped by which all can regulate their particular styles of riding.
It is as futile to try to frame a code for the direction of both the
fashionable crowd of a metropolis and the ranchmen of the West as to
compare the Indian squaw, crouched on the pony that drags the “tepee”
poles, with the blithe damsels enjoying a scamper on the breezy downs
of Sussex.

Not only do different surroundings and objects alter the style, but
Mother Nature has endowed her sons with limbs of varying shapes. It
is no more possible for the short, stout man of vast avoirdupois to
emulate the methods of a McLaughlin, a Fred Archer or a Tom Cannon,
than it is for the same person to look elegant on a ball-room floor.
“Circumstances alter cases,” and every man must adapt himself to the
saddle as best he can.

Again, what may be a very taking display of horsemanship in Rotten Row,
or Central Park, would look sadly out of place in rounding up a “bunch”
of cattle on a Wyoming ranch. An equestrian might look very nice at a
meet of fox-hounds, about whom we entertain grave doubts whether after
forty minutes’ run across a stiff country he would be still well to the
fore. The method that in one place is a near approach to perfection is
worse than ridiculous in the other In this connection arises the fact
that, though there are many brilliant exceptions, the great jockeys of
the English flat are, generally speaking, by no means so much at home
when following hounds as when braving the dangers of Tattenham Corner.
Of course, however, it is by no means impossible, and it is often the
case, that a man can adapt his style to his immediate circumstances,
but it is rare to find a man who excels in all styles.

Some few years ago a “Britisher,” who though young had already made
a name for himself in the noted hunting counties of Ireland and
Leicestershire, migrated to the far West to try his luck in the
ranching business. His scorn was great when he saw the unwieldy saddles
that cowboys used, and he promptly determined to keep an English
hunting saddle for his own use. His lesson was soon learnt, and after
a few “almighty croppers,” he adapted himself to circumstances and the
saddle of the country. Ere long his fame as a rider spread among the
very “broncho busters” who had laughed at him on his first arrival.
The finishing touch to his lasting renown was reached when he managed
to sit a certain animal yclept the “Camel,” which had disposed of all
previous aspirants to the honor of mounting him.

Such cases are rare, and though some few Englishmen have acquired a
great reputation as riders in the West, the majority find that the
style to which they have been brought up stands in their way when it
comes to riding cow-ponies. Mayhap Buffalo Bill’s visit to Earl’s
Court, London, may prove to have inculcated the necessary lesson.

One thing is very apparent to English visitors to New York, and it is
that the English seat is now the thing. By the English seat we mean
what is called, “across the herring pond,” the park seat, though we
see occasionally symptoms of the adoption of the hunting seat. But
before going farther, it would be well to say a few words as to the
differences between the two. The park seat is the dandified style
mostly taught in riding-schools. It is, however, an indispensable
qualification of any man who wishes to “show” his horse. The general
appearance is rather similar to that one may notice among the horsemen
of the Southern States. Though a difference exists, it is hard to
define, but may be summed up thus: while every Southerner seems part
and parcel of the animal he bestrides, whence comes the common dictum
that all Southerners are born cavalrymen, the possessor of a park seat,
however perfect, lacks the appearance of being perfectly at home on his
horse. The reason is obvious, viz., that the park seat is artificial,
and the rider’s attention is chiefly given to producing good action on
his hack’s part. He carries his hands high, often very high, and as he
rides he “lifts” his horse, and is answered by correspondingly high
action. The bit is often severe to further this. The rider’s feet are
carried rather wide, and all the while the calf of the leg is never
quite at rest, for while the grip of the knee is neglected, the calf
is kept continuously but gently in motion. The spur never touches the
flank, but the horse feels the necessary reminder at his ribs, and
frets and moves with vigorous action as his rider wishes. In such a
seat the foot is thrust but a short way through the stirrup, and rests
on the iron at or about the ball of the great toe. The rider has, of
course, to sit well down in his saddle, and stick to his horse mostly
by balance, as the seat-preserving grip of the knee is so slightly
maintained.

Youatt, in his book “The Horse,” gives the following instructions
regarding the riding of hackneys: “He does wrong who constantly pulls
might and main: he will soon spoil the animal’s mouth. He does worse
who carelessly throws the reins on the neck of the horse. _Always feel
the mouth lightly_, with a simultaneous pressure of both legs. By these
means, the rider will insure a regularity of pace, and command the
safety and speed of his horse. If he depends entirely upon the feeling
of the hand, the mouth may become too sensitive, and refuse to have the
proper bearing upon the bit.... Again, if the horseman neglects the
elasticity and fine feeling of the hand, and makes too much use of his
legs alone, a callous mouth and boring upon the bit will most likely
result from the practice.... By this constant gentle _feeling_ he will
likewise be induced to carry his head well, than which few things are
more conducive to the easy, beautiful, and safe going of the horse.”

To turn to the other style of English riding, it must be said that
here there are many variations in style. The older school adopts a
very short “leather” and feet thrust well home into a heavy stirrup,
with a tendency to disregard the smaller niceties of the art. Look at
an old gentleman nearly approaching the span of life allotted by the
Psalmist, as he makes his way to covert. If he allows his horse to go
out of a walk at all, the pace does not exceed a slow “jog” or trot,
in fact, what is called the “huntsman’s jog.” He goes along, bump,
bump, bumping, or, perhaps, for some hundred yards effecting a kind of
shuffling rise from his saddle, while his knees seem to have no grip
whatever on his horse’s sides and sway to and fro with every motion.
Probably any stranger to the country could make many greater errors
than to follow this old gentleman when hounds are running a rattling
pace with a breast-high scent, for as necessity calls, a change takes
place in his riding. See him as he lifts his flagging hunter at that
stone-wall, his grip on the saddle is wonderful and he seems glued
to it! This style is still common in England, and every man who has
hunted there will see in his mind the picture of some white-haired old
gentleman to whom this description might apply. Such men were the older
generation who were content to rise before daylight, to ride long miles
to the covert side without taking their horses out of a walk or a slow
jog, so that they might arrive fresh and fit for the day’s sport. One
may see them still, jogging behind the huntsman and his hounds, leaving
the more rapid conveyances of train or tandem to sportsmen of the
modern stamp.

One reaches the meet, and though the time appointed is eleven o’clock
_sharp_, the master is not here yet. He belongs to the younger school
of sportsmen with whom punctuality is not one of the cardinal virtues.
But after twenty minutes, which are profitably employed in exchanging
greetings and inquiries after absent friends, he is seen in the
distance.

Down the bridle-path he comes as fast as his smart little covert-hack
can lay legs to the ground. He is a perfect picture of the more modern
school of cross country riding. A dim suspicion crosses the mind
that he may at some period have held a commission in a crack cavalry
regiment. Decidedly there is a _soupçon_ of the military seat about
him. Stirrups long, feet thrust in to an extent half way between the
old hunting and the park style, hands kept low, sitting well down
in the saddle, very probably with only a snaffle, or, at any rate,
but a merciful double bridle, he looks as graceful a knight as ever
championed dame of old in the jousting field.

In no costume is there such a happy blending of the dandified and
workmanlike as in a well-appointed hunting man. Nowhere is the scorn
showered on the luckless dude who has missed the workmanlike part
of his equipment so great as in the hunting-field. The top-boots
glittering in the gleam of sunshine in spite of their perfection of
fit are stout enough to keep the wearer’s feet dry, should he do such
an unlikely thing as take a walk in them on a rainy day. The spotless
leathers are warm and comfortable--the smart “pink” is a roomy and
serviceable garment. The resplendent silk hat will perhaps save the
wearer a broken neck or fractured skull ere the day’s work is done.
That milk-white scarf so neatly and dexterously tied that it also takes
the place of collar, protects the throat and chest and relieves its
wearer from the galling confinement of a collar. And the horse’s saddle
and bridle, how simple and yet how handsome! not a buckle too much, but
yet a man could rely on such work if he rode for his life.

[Illustration: ONE OF THE OLDER SCHOOL OF SPORTSMEN.]

The fashion for the last few years in England has been all for
plain-flap saddles, _i. e._, with no knee-rolls at all. No doubt they
look neater, and give no artificial support, making the rider rely
entirely on his own powers, but there are disadvantages. Should
a horse take it into his head to buck, or “pig-jump,” the merest
pretence of a knee-roll will save a good rider, who without it may cut
a somersault, from being taken unawares. Again, the absence of them
no doubt affects the riding somewhat, giving an increased looseness
of seat. Hence it seems a pity that the arbitrary Goddess of Fashion
should lay down a hard and fast law, instead of allowing her votaries
to follow their own inclinations.

Another fashion which has a bad side to it, is the recent introduction
of very long-necked hunting spurs. They look very tidy and trim, with
the long, straight piece of highly-polished metal finishing off the
heel of the smart boot. Few men, however, find themselves capable of
wearing such a spur with rowels left in. The danger of cutting the
horse, most probably in the shoulder, is too great; hence has arisen
the foolish custom of making spurs without rowels, or with plain
round rowels, merely for appearances’ sake. In truth the short spurs,
with curved necks, of our fathers may not have been so effective
in appearance, but when punishment was to be given to a refractory
horse, they had the pull. With the introduction of the English method
of riding has come the adoption of the English riding-breeches for
men, and the short, safe, plain skirt for ladies. In regard to the
latter the Tramp has but little experience, and feels but slightly
qualified to speak, though in the English sporting papers he has read
vast columns of correspondence on the question from the pens of such
authorities as Mrs. O’Donoghue Power. But to any practical horseman
it must be a patent fact that the modern style is in every respect
superior to the old-fashioned. To see a lady following hounds in one
of the once fashionable flowing habits was a sight to make any one
capable of reflection shudder. Without entire knowledge of all the
intricacies of elastic loops, shot-weighted skirts, etc., one could
not but feel how impossible it was that in an accident those flowing
lengths should fall clear of a pommel, or fail in some way to entangle
the fair wearer. Even with the modern style of skirt, accidents are
rife enough. Some few years ago, while hunting in a southern county
of England, the Tramp saw a young lady, married only a few months,
dragged by her habit. Over a stone-wall flew the horse, and a battered,
life-scarred visage took the place of the bright, pretty face of five
minutes previous. One such sight is enough for a lifetime.

[Illustration: A MODERN DIANA.]

After all, nowadays a lady has but little more encumbrance than a man,
and who shall say modesty is in any respect violated, clamorous as
was the outcry at the first adoption of the short skirt? To watch a
beautiful woman on a fine thoroughbred, clad in a neatly-cut habit with
its plain severe folds, and the suspicion of a dainty patent-leather
jack-boot apparent, is to see God’s noblest work to every advantage.
Even the increased masculinity that fashion has dictated of late years,
is becoming, under the circumstances, and the shining silk hat, dainty
tie and collar, and trim edges of fancy work simulating the male
waistcoat, all add to the _tout ensemble_.

The trouble with ladies in the saddle is often said--alas! with
considerable truth--to be that they are unmerciful: that to them a
horse is as an engine, bound to go at any pace desired until it is
stopped. One cannot but feel admiration when one sees a lady calmly
and dexterously manage a fretting, restless horse in a crowded ride.
Too often it is that sharp, cruel little spur beneath the habit that
is the cause. On the other hand, it is an undoubted fact that many a
horse unmanageable to the heavier hands of a man, will become docile
under a lady’s touch. Let ladies, then, remember that nature has made
them capable of more sensitive handling of the horse’s mouth than any
man, and that the horse’s mouth is more delicate and responsive than
any piano. The glory is not by needless torture and aggravating teasing
to excite the baser side of the equine nature, but to so convey to the
horse by the reins their smallest wishes that the willing beast may
take a delight in compliance.

Men can by no means lay the sole claim in these times to workmanlike
simplicity. The ladies have adopted this as their motto. The days are
gone for trailing skirts, plumed hats, lace collars and such stagey
effects, and the modern Diana relies not on her winning feminine
graces, but her ability to rival man in his own field.

Well does she press her claim. To see the score or so of young ladies
that follow an English pack must prove an eye-opener to those of an
older generation when riding to hounds was thought unladylike, and a
gentle palfrey of easy paces considered the right mount for the sweeter
half of humanity. Now, whether it be in Central Park or Rotten Row,
the hunting field or the road, the lady assumes the place that is her
right, if her ability equal her ambition. All lackadaisical ideas are
thrown overboard, and the best one is she who rides best.

Nor do the ladies lack leaders in such a movement. With the Empress
of Austria showing the way across country, and the Princess of Wales
gracing Hyde Park with her presence, who shall say that bright examples
are lacking? Many more might be quoted; the Empress Victoria of Germany
was accounted a good rider in her day, and, in fact, Queen Victoria and
all her family have been fairly expert in the saddle.

Concerning the male riding costume the Tramp has formed decided
opinions, for he has tried all shapes and kinds. His conclusion has
been that nothing equals breeches, carefully made by a good tailor.
The feeling of snugness about the knee is pleasant, and enables the
rider to get a good grip, and _feel_ his horse; with the ordinary
garments of the male biped there is a great tendency to wrinkles and
such discomforts. For hunting, the lower parts of the limbs are best
equipped in top or butcher boots, while for ordinary hacking a neat
pair of lace shoes, with gaiters cut loose in the lower part, are the
best outfit. But above all eschew hooks for the laces; nothing is more
prone to cause serious mishaps in accidents than these consolations
for the lazy. They are simply a patent invention to ensure that a foot
stuck in a stirrup may never come out of it till the owner has been
dragged or kicked to death. As to the upper part of the body, every man
should follow his own inclinations.

In England, however, custom has made certain rules which are not to be
lightly transgressed. No man should don a black tail-coat with a low
hat, nor a shooting-jacket with a tall hat, nor a tall hat and black
coat with gaiters. In the hunting field, no man should wear white
riding-breeches and top-boots with anything but either a pink or black
tail-coat and a tall hat or hunting-cap. By the by, the hunting-cap
has almost become obsolete for any but the hunt servants, _e. g._,
huntsman, two-whips, and second-horsemen--and sometimes the master,
except in a few woodland counties, _e. g._, the Braes of Derwent, in
Northumberland. Again, no one should wear anything but white breeches
and top-boots (_i. e._, boots with tops of leather of a different
color, white, mahogany, pink, etc., as fashion dictates) with a black
or scarlet coat and a tall hat; while top-boots should not be worn with
breeches of any color but white, though, of course, plain boots (called
in England butcher-boots) may be. Such rules are, of course, entirely
lacking in any real reason, but the observance of them is almost
universal, and the effect produced is good.

Fashion, as is her usual habit, varies every few years in most points.
The color of tops may alter, the length of spurs may vary, the correct
coat may be cut with a full skirt or a swallow-tail, but these rules
are as unchanging as the laws of the Medes and Persians.

But leaving the mandates of the goddess who shares with Fortune the
reputation of fickleness, let us return to riding proper. It is a
common thing to hear riders, and good riders too, declare that riding
cannot be taught, meaning thereby that if nature did not intend a man
to be a finished equestrian, no practice or tuition can make him such.
This is no doubt to some extent true, but surely even a bad rider can
by determination so improve himself as to become moderately good.

Again, ideas differ much as to the advisability of teaching children
to ride while quite young. The general opinion seems to be that
the younger they begin the better, for that, unless they happen to
meet with a serious and nerve-shaking accident, they will become
accomplished and bold riders. This opinion is, however, by no means
universal, and is not shared especially in some of the English
colonies, where a boy who rides boldly when young is regarded as likely
to “lose his nerve” about the time he reaches maturity. Whyte-Melville
gave his observation in one of his books that among the boldest riders
to hounds that he had ever seen were men who had never followed hounds
until after twenty years of age.

Much depends on the way in which a youngster is taught. It is very
possible to make a child imbibe a hatred of the saddle which will last
him into later life. The idea, then, to be kept in mind is that lessons
should be made a pleasure, and not a torture. Begin with easily-learnt
instruction and short lessons, and the child will enjoy it. But begin
with lessons lasting till the poor little legs are aching, and the head
is muddled with complicated commands, and the youngster will regard
his teacher as his torturer. As the aptitude and capacity grows, the
lessons can be made harder and longer, till almost before the teacher
or the pupil can recognize the fact, a fair, if not a good, rider has
been turned out.

As to the methods of teaching riding, this must be left for
riding-masters to discuss, but some few points should, I think, be
insisted on. Chief among these is that the horses or ponies on which
the pupil is mounted should be changed often. This enables him both
to learn how to handle horses with differing qualities of mouth, and
how to sit the variations of gait. The most successful results seem
to ensue where the first lessons are given on a plain saddle-cloth,
or “numnah;” and another important elementary lesson is to make the
pupil keep his toes turned up so as to harden the muscles of the inner
side of the thigh, and thus acquire a strength of grip. Snaffles
should invariably be used, to foster that great essential of a good
rider--lightness of hand. The pupil must be taught to ride by balance,
that indispensable quality without which all the grip in the world
is useless. But above all the master must see that the pupil has
confidence in him, or his best efforts will be in vain.

Grip without balance is of no use. One often hears people say that they
ride by balance, or that they ride by grip. In reality the one is a
necessary concomitant and supporter of the other.

Some few years ago a man with whom the Tramp was acquainted, when
slightly in his cups, undertook to go home by a short cut across
country. His attempted negotiation of a fence ended in a somewhat
ignominious “voluntary.” As he sat on the ground, he plaintively
remarked: “Old B---- says that I ride blamed well ’cos I ride by
balance. Old B---- ’s a blanked old fool. What the thunder’s the good
of balance?” And he had to a certain extent hit the point. No man in
creation can ride all the time by grip--the constant strain on the
muscles soon brings cramp.

There is in one of England’s fairest counties a certain sporting young
squire whose grip on his horse is so terrific that to prevent galling
the animal’s sides, a space in the padding of the flaps of his saddle
is left where his knees come, with thick padding round the edges. But
even this man could not ride always by grip.

This is demonstrated by the schooling which a recruit undergoes on
entering an English cavalry regiment. He has to ride on a “numnah” at
first, after such preliminary lessons as to how to lead a horse, etc.
Next he is placed on a “stripped” saddle, without stirrups--meanwhile
riding with only a “biddoon”--and is put to jumping obstacles some two
feet high, with his reins tied and his arms folded behind his back. If
such discipline as this is not calculated to inculcate the doctrine
of both balance and grip one can scarcely say what is. This course is
found so severe that many a man who enlists with the idea that he is a
crack rider begins to doubt it before he is through the school.

As, however, was said at the beginning of this paper, it is impossible
to lay down arbitrary rules for all cases. Any one who has tried it can
vouch for the extraordinary difference between riding in an English
hunting-saddle and, say, a McClellan army saddle. A follower of the
old-fashioned hunting seat would be much put about to follow hounds
in one of the peaked wooden saddles, excellent in their own line as
they may be. In all truth the saddle has more to do with the formation
of a seat than is usually supposed. An uncomfortable saddle makes the
unfortunate rider twist and writhe in vain endeavor to find an easy
spot. A jogging horse that won’t walk, and an uneasy saddle which seems
to be galling one in a dozen places at once, is enough to make a man
eschew equestrianism for the rest of his life. It is a man’s fault if
he cannot find a saddle to suit him, and in selecting one it should be
remembered that as a rule the more comfortable the saddle the better
the seat. It is great folly to try to save a few pounds extra weight
at the expense of comfort. A large roomy saddle is certainly more
comfortable to a rider, and generally easier for the horse, which,
unless the work to be done is exceptionally long and wearisome, will
never notice the slight increase in weight.

In the same way everything should be as large and roomy as possible
without being clumsy. The stirrups should be large and heavy enough to
slip easily from the feet in case of accident; the reins broad enough
to hold firmly, and the bit or bits solid enough to give the horse
something to play with.

One thing should always be borne in mind, which, alas! people are
too apt to forget. A horse is not a machine. He is a sensible,
affectionate, willing animal, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred
wishing to do his best for one. He is, therefore, entitled to as
much kindness and sympathy as possible, and no one will be worse for
remembering the old, well-worn saying, put in the horse’s mouth: “Up
hill worry me not, down hill hurry me not, on level ground spare me
not.”

[Illustration]

THE SOFT LIGHT BEAMED.

The soft light beamed, with glow benign,
O’er purpling hill-tops fringed with pine,
As seated snugly, side by side,
We drifted with the glist’ning tide,
Adown the classic Brandywine.

We heard the lowing of the kine--
We saw the trees their boughs entwine,
And o’er the meadows newly mown
The soft light beamed.

I held her dimpled hand in mine,
And from each dainty, curving line
I read her fate--till, bolder grown,
I dared to join it with my own;
While from those eyes, so deep, divine,
The soft light beamed.

_Howell Stroud England._

MEMORIES OF YACHT CRUISES.

BY THE LATE CAPTAIN R. F. COFFIN.

Continued from page 517.

~Note.~--~Outing~ for November will contain a richly
illustrated article on “The Cruise of 1888,” in consequence of
which the next article by the late Captain Coffin will appear in
~Outing~ for December.

[Illustration]

In 1878 the cruises of the New York and Atlantic Yacht Clubs occurred
at the same time, and while at Greenport the Atlantic Club had a
regatta with the New York Club as spectators. The two clubs, however,
did not fraternize to any greater extent then than they do now. Both
have always inclined to conservatism, the Atlantic particularly so, and
among the list of eighteen starters in this regatta, there is not a
single New York Club yacht, and, in fact, the New York squadron was got
under weigh for New London before the Atlantic race had ended, the two
fleets meeting in Gardner’s Bay. Very many owners in the New York Club
have found it to their interest to join the Atlantic, but comparatively
few of the distinctively Atlantic Yacht Club members have joined the
New York. Still, as the years have gone by, the relations between the
New York and Atlantic clubs have become more and more friendly, and if
there is any club in this neighborhood that the old and aristocratic
club could be induced to fraternize with, it would probably be the
Atlantic.

On this particular occasion, however, the courses of the fleets on
leaving Greenport diverged, the Atlantics going to Newport, the New
Yorks to New London. Practically, the Atlantic Club disbanded at
Greenport, only six of the yachts going on to Newport. Commodore Kane
was a great favorite at the Pequot House, and the proprietor and guests
went to the extreme of courtesy to do honor to the club while it
tarried there. This cruise, like that of the previous year, was a great
success.

To those who know the gentlemen--the announcement of the correspondents
with the fleet on this cruise, that divine service was held on board
the _Estelle_--Mr. John Oakey officiating as chaplain, and Alexander
Taylor, Jr., and John R. Dickerson leading the choir--is an assurance
that the service was interesting and impressive.

At this time the sloop _Thistle_, the same yacht now owned by Mr.
William Zeigler, belonged to Mr. E. C. Palmer, president of the
Louisiana State Savings Bank and a member of the Boston Yacht Club. She
was considered to be the fastest sloop in Boston. She has been much
altered since then and doubtless much improved, but she would stand no
chance at all to-day with the crack sloops of the “Hub,” which is a
convincing proof, if any were needed, that Boston yachtsmen have been
moving in the past ten years.

The _Active_, the _Regina_ and the _Vixen_, at that time the three
fastest sloops of the New York Yacht Club, were selected to polish off
the _Thistle_ when she was encountered in the harbor of New Bedford. I
was fortunate enough to receive an invitation to sail on the _Thistle_
during that race. The _Thistle_ was beaten, but she was miserably
equipped, not half manned, and sailed in the most lubberly manner.
In elapsed time she was only about a minute behind the _Vixen_ and
_Active_, but was beaten about thirteen minutes on corrected time by
the _Vixen_. Had she, however, been as well equipped and handled as
the New York yachts she would have beaten them, I think, and that was
the general opinion. After all, what are any of these yachts compared
with the yachts of to-day? I think that to yachts of this class we have
added at least a knot an hour in speed, and to the larger craft, such
as _Gracie_, _Fanny_, _Shamrock_ and _Titania_, fully two knots are
added, and these are, withal, safer yachts than their predecessors.

The New York Yacht Club managed to get back from Vineyard Haven to
Newport, and then it disbanded. As usual, a race had been arranged, but
there were not sufficient entries and the thing was given up.

[Illustration: Fred S. Cozzens.

SLOOP FANNY, NOW THE PROPERTY OF JOS. P. EARLE, ESQ.]

The Atlantic Yacht Club, I think, made its first visit to Black Rock
in 1879. After a rendezvous at Whitestone as usual on a Saturday
afternoon, the fleet sailed thence to Glen Cove. Next day, for a
wonder, not one of the twelve chaplains of the club was available,
and the usual divine service had to be omitted. What then were the
yachtsmen to do? Glen Cove was dreary enough, and there was a fine
breeze blowing from the southwest. At that time Mr. Fish was the
commodore, and after consultation with the owners he found that a
majority of them were in favor of disregarding the traditions of the
club as to Sunday sailing, and at noon he hoisted the signal for the
fleet to get under way. Whether or not this was its first visit to
Black Rock, I know not, but matters were found so pleasant there that
I believe it has been the rendezvous of this club ever since. The
George Hotel there is a splendid hostelry, in the season always full
of guests; the harbor, though small, is good, and the anchorage close
to the shore and handy for the embarkation of ladies. So since this
year the club leaves Whitestone on the afternoon of some Saturday and
sails to Black Rock, where on Sunday there is divine service on board
of one of the schooners, which is attended by a great majority of the
hotel guests. This service on board a flush-decked yacht enclosed with
awnings is peculiarly impressive. The Rev. Dr. Thomas has usually been
the officiating clergyman, but the club has many other chaplains that
can be called upon in an emergency. Its list of chaplains comprise the
following well-known divines: Revs. A. A. Willets, of Philadelphia,
whose club connection dates back to 1866; J. T. Duryea, D.D., of Boston
(1868); H. M. Gallaher, of Brooklyn (1868); C. H. Hall, D.D., Brooklyn
(1869); G. F. Pentacost, Brooklyn (1870); W. H. Thomas, Cambridge,
Mass., and E. Murphy, Brooklyn (1871); E. Van Slyke, Syracuse, N. Y.
(1873); H. M. Scudder, D.D., Brooklyn (1874); G. H. Hepworth, New York
(1875). For eleven years after this the club did not add to the list,
but in 1886 it elected R. Heber Newton, D.D., of New York, and its
latest addition to its chaplains was Joshua Reynolds, Jr., of Brooklyn,
elected May, 1888.

[Illustration: Fred S. Cozzens

SLOOP VIXEN, NOW THE PROPERTY OF W. C. LOVING, OF BOSTON.]

The Atlantic Club has never desired to leave Black Rock sufficiently
to induce it to break through its rule with respect to sailing on the
Sabbath. After the lunch which follows the sermon, the guests find an
afternoon at the hotel on shore pleasant. For those who so desire,
there are very pleasant drives, and in the evening there is music at
the hotel and companionship sufficiently pleasant to detain the boats
at the landing to a late hour.

Black Rock is easily accessible from the city, and guests who cannot
join on Saturday may come up by the late train on Sunday.

In those days, nine years ago, neither the Larchmont, New Rochelle,
nor the American yacht clubs had established their headquarters on the
Sound, and possibly the rendezvous of the future when a club is about
to start on a cruise will be at one of these congenial anchorages.
The American Club, as being farthest east and as affording the best
anchorage, will doubtless be the favorite, but the Atlantic Club has
strong affiliations with the New Rochelle members and may make that
its first rendezvous in place of Whitestone, and start thence to Black
Rock. It will hardly, in any event, neglect the George Hotel, with
which so many pleasant memories are associated.

As to this particular cruise in 1879, there is not much to tell, as it
was very tame and monotonous. The yachts on their passages from port to
port had exceedingly light airs. They visited New London, Greenport,
Newport, New Bedford, and Martha’s Vineyard, the old, old route, and
there the fleet disbanded. Why on earth cruises are not continued,
returning from this point direct to the place of departure, or making
stoppages on the way, I have never been able to discover. Bound East
there is generally no weather at all, or if there is, it is accompanied
by “dirty” weather. A beat back to Black Rock would show what the
yachts really could do.

This was the year that Commodore Thomas had command of the New York
Yacht Club fleet, and the big _Rambler_ was his flagship. A fleet of
over twenty yachts left Glen Cove, and went to New London and thence to
the Manhansett House, Shelter Island, where a grand reception awaited
the yachtsmen. There was an illumination and fireworks in the evening,
and this was followed by a ball which continued until after daybreak.

It is not possible, as far as I know, to vary the route, and yet I
think some change might be made. This year, as usual, the yachts
went from Shelter Island to Newport and thence to New Bedford. Here
the New Bedford people arranged a regatta that was a great success;
six schooners and six sloops starting and filling four classes. The
_Vision_ and _Niantic_ (now the _Hildegard_), at that time, were the
crack sloops of the New York Yacht Club, and their close match in
this race will be remembered by all who were present. The _Niantic_
was sailed by her owner, the late Mr. R. M. Huntley, and was admirably
handled.

There is no port which the yacht fleet visits where the welcome is so
cordial as in the old whaling city of New Bedford. On this occasion,
the mayor and the prominent officials visited the flagship, and
extended a welcome to all the yachtsmen. In the evening, a number of
citizens passed through the fleet with a band and tendered a serenade.
There were also fireworks and all sorts of jollifications, and all
hands left with regret the next morning.

[Illustration: Fred. S. Cozzens

SLOOP GRACIE, NOW THE PROPERTY OF MESSRS. FISKE BROS.]

The reach down the Vineyard Sound, while the fleet was _en route_
for Oak Bluffs, was one not easily forgotten. There was a cracking
breeze from the southwest and the schooner _Dreadnought_ was the
first vessel through Quick’s Hole, followed by the _Wanderer_, after
which came the _Rambler_. All three had all balloons pulling, and
the _Rambler_ easily established her claim to be the fastest sailing
vessel in the world with a free wind. She went through the _Wanderer’s_
lee as if that vessel had been anchored, and was coming up with the
_Dreadnought_--which was doing full thirteen knots--hand over hand,
but, when just at her taffrail, the head of the _Rambler’s_ mainmast
went just above the rigging. Her racing career was over for the rest
of the cruise. She ran into Vineyard Haven to clear away the wreck
preparatory to returning to the city, and the _Dauntless_ became the
flagship, with Vice-Commodore John Waller in command. The next day the
fleet returned to Newport and disbanded.

[Illustration]

A YACHTING SONG.

Keen is the clear, free air,
Sharp with a salty tang,
Far o’er the waters blown--
Blown on the winds that fly.
Up with the topsail, there!
Gray have the shore-lines grown,
Dim where the mountains sprang
Bold, as we turned toward Skye.

Never a flaw in the breeze,
A fair and favoring gale,
Never a guy-rope wrong,
Never a sheet awry!
Over the summer seas,
Gay as a lover’s song,
Merrily on we sail
Up to the Straits of Skye.

Let them prate of their joy,
Footing firm on the earth;
Oh, they may prate who will,
Ours is the joy, say I!
Bliss of the buoyant boy,
Tremble and throb and thrill--
Sound of the wild sea’s mirth,
Loud on the Strand of Skye!

_Clinton Scollard._

CANADIAN FISHING SKETCHES.

BY HIRAM B. STEPHENS.

II. SPEARING FISH AT THE LACHINE RAPIDS.

The Lachine Rapids are well known to many American tourists, as they
are included in a circuit of tourist travel adopted by large numbers,
viz.: from Niagara Falls through Lake Ontario, the Thousand Islands,
the Rapids of the St. Lawrence, down to the ancient city of Quebec, and
on to the mysterious Saguenay. The average tourist’s knowledge of the
Lachine Rapids is confined to the personal experience of running them
in the steamboat. But few realize that this is historic ground, trod by
“the pioneers of France in the New World;” that Champlain endeavored
to ascend these rapids in a small boat two centuries and a half ago,
and that La Salle built a fort or house here which is still standing,
though fast falling into decay. Here have been Champlain, Maisonneuve,
Frontenac, Joliette, and La Salle himself, all of whom have left their
indelible records, not alone in Canadian history, but in that of
America.

The Lachine Rapids rush madly past, whitening with foam in their
ceaseless career. The old name of the rapids was the “Sault St. Louis.”
The Catholic mission here has been famous; it was situated on the south
shore, and has changed its home several times, till now it is located
in the Indian village of Caughnawaga. In this village lived La Salle
some twenty years previous to the “massacre at Lachine,” perpetrated by
the Iroquois on the night of the 4th August, 1689, when, in not more
than an hour, over two hundred persons were butchered. In Caughnawaga
lived Charlevoix, the author of the celebrated “Histoire de la Nouvelle
France,” and his desk is still to be seen there in the _Presbytère_.
Not many months ago, the writer was called upon by two dusky Indians,
and asked by them to translate a certain parchment. It was dated early
in the seventeenth century, written in old Norman French, and signed
“~Louis Roy~.” It was the deed of the _seigneurie_ to the
mission, which these Indians had carefully preserved, without any safe
deposit company, through all their wars and massacres, their fires and
revolts. But I am not to write historical notes and must cease, much as
the subject interests.

Above the villages of Lachine (so named by La Salle, who thought of
going to China from this point) and Caughnawaga, the St. Lawrence is
wide and forms what is known as Lake St. Louis. This lake narrows very
much at the two villages. A few miles below, the river, taking a turn,
rushes over a bed of rocks and boulders, forming the Lachine Rapids,
and then widens out into Laprairie Bay below, and passes on more
peacefully to the good city of Montreal.

The south shore from the Lachine Rapids down past and below Laprairie
Bay, is an excellent fishing-ground, and deserves a few notes which it
has never yet, to the writer’s knowledge, received in any important
publication.

The fish which can be secured here are sturgeon, bass, dory, carp, and
mullet of different kinds, and the eel. There are also bream, shad,
and a fish known as the _loche_, and at times whitefish and small
perch. The Indians of Caughnawaga devote much of their time to fishing.
These Indians, by the way, have intermarried with the surrounding
French Canadians to such an extent that the blood is far from pure, if
there be even one pure-blooded Indian remaining, except an old squaw
107 years old, who still smokes her pipe and is somewhat active. But
theirs is a commercial pursuit and not for any love of sport. They
use nets principally, and in the spring spear the carp and eels in
large numbers. Apart from their fishing pursuits, their chief means of
livelihood lies in running timber rafts down the rapids. The majority
of them speak French, and some of them English. Their squaws are
engaged in the making of Indian “curiosities” for sale to tourists.

A visit to the village is interesting in more ways than one. The
locality is not an inviting one, as it is rocky and somewhat barren,
and if the original intention in placing the Indians here was to
instruct them in agricultural pursuits, no more unsuitable locality
could have been found. They could drill, and that is all, for there
is nothing but solid rock. The houses are all of stone, as might be
supposed, with quaint little windows. In some of them the old irons
still remain, placed there in colonial days. There is one long street,
the houses being built on each side at varying distances. The church
is a plain building, very simply appointed, free from the gorgeous
elaborateness of more modern Roman Catholic churches, and contains
some curious old pictures, more curious than valuable. Last summer,
while the floor of the church was being altered, a quantity of bones
were discovered; but the Indian workmen were not disturbed, continuing
their work, and probably relaying the floor without paying any further
attention.

The _pappooses_ are worth seeing. They are so old-fashioned and
wise-looking that one is tempted to think they are born with all the
knowledge and wisdom they ever possess, and merely require time for
the purpose of acquiring a larger growth. They never cry, and would
probably starve to death without a single whimper. With their dark
complexions, jet black eyes and severe expressions, they very much
resemble scheming imps of darkness.

The rapids are delightful as an experience of steamboat travel, and a
more exciting episode is a descent of them on a raft of timber, and
a still more exciting and certainly foolhardy event is to run them
in a canoe, as has been done on several occasions. It is, however,
regarded in much the same light as an attempt to swim through the
Niagara rapids. It is exciting enough, and yet not too dangerous to
persons of cool temperament to take what is known as a “dug-out” and a
French-Canadian _pêcheur_ and have a day’s bass-fishing in the rapids.
The “dugout,” somewhat out of date now, is merely a log hollowed out
to form a canoe, and it is fully as treacherous as a bark canoe. No
paddle is used; a pole is the arm of progression, and it is really
wonderful with what skill one of these French-Canadian fishermen will
take you from eddy to eddy, in and out between the rocks and across mad
currents. The crude boat seems to be part of himself. Other boats are
used ordinarily of a safer description, made more like a punt, from
which one can throw a fly with some security and with little fear of
taking a “header” and being swept toward the ocean. The bass fishing is
excellent, and splendid sport can be had during the proper season. Dory
(pickerel) can be caught here with the minnow, and though they are not
game-fish, they are excellent eating.

But _the_ sport at the foot of the Lachine Rapids is spearing fish,
_i. e._, sturgeon, carp and eels.

In June the large red-finned carp, known locally as the “_carpes des
rois_,” weighing from three to fifteen pounds each, ascend the river;
the eels are present in large numbers, and the sturgeon come in-shore
to feed.

A flat-bottomed boat is secured and an arrangement for the light put in
place. This usually consists of an open basket made of a few strips of
hoop-iron. In this pine and cedar knots are burned, emitting a pleasant
odor and a somewhat fitful glare over the water. Another means of
lighting is to split cedar rails in long, thin strips six or eight feet
in length, and make them into bundles, a boy in the boat holding them
at the required position over the water. The boat is allowed to float
broadside on down the river over the best places, the torch of pine
burning with its crackling noise. The spear usually consists of either
five or seven barbs and those used by the French-Canadian fishermen
are frequently made by themselves out of hammered iron, and are clumsy
instruments, which when they strike a fish sometimes almost cut it in
two.

The best plan is to have one made out of No. 4 wire, or buy one of
the light steel spears; and with a light ash handle about one inch
in diameter and ten feet in length, an exciting time can be had,
especially if one has never been out before. One misjudges the distance
so as the boat floats on, and is fortunate if no upset occurs. A
waving weed is mistaken for a huge eel, and a frantic dart ends only
in disappointment, or an eel is thought to be a useless weed, and
annoyances ensue at the mistake. But the art or knack is soon learnt,
and then the enjoyment is keen. Round about, on the same purpose bent,
are other boats, each with their blaze of light, like some huge red
Cyclops.

The night is dark and one floats on, darting at each successive finny
denizen, missing some and lifting many a fine fellow with the cruel
barb into the boat _sans cérémonie_. A huge eel, four feet in length,
is speared and with some difficulty hauled into the boat, and his
wriggling form gives one the shudders.

Then a large sturgeon that appears to weigh thirty pounds is seen
lazily moving his tail and merely maintaining himself against the
current. _C’est un gros_--“He’s a big fellow,” and every one is stilled
into expectancy. The spear is held in the water till the time for
striking is come--down goes the spear, and as you press on it you feel
the points are crushing through bone and flesh and are firmly fixed.
There is a cruel joy or satisfaction as you thus fix the spear in him;
he turns, and you hold on like grim death; the boat swings end on in
the struggle; you have to go with the current and the fish, resisting
as firmly as you can. And so the struggle continues; your boatman has
been gradually poling nearer and nearer to the shore. The water is only
two feet deep here, and shouting to you to look out, the boatman is in
the water and has the sturgeon by the gills, and with a few steps is on
_terra firma_. You follow, regardless of wet feet, and find you have
speared the largest one of the season, so far. Your spear has to be cut
out, so firmly are the points imbedded, and the sturgeon’s sufferings
are over. He is weighed, and tips the scales at 65½ pounds.

This is picturesque work--the swarthy, indistinct forms in a circle of
flickering light, looking for all the world, with their spears, like
attendants of some fresh-water Neptune. The boats float slowly down
stream, the shores are invisible in the gloom, and all is still. A
splash, and another fish is secured, and so the night draws on. There
is an end to all things, and the evening’s spearing is over.

One drives back to the village hotel in the quaint town of Laprairie,
or else “bunks” with a friendly French-Canadian, paying him _trente
sous_ for the accommodation. In many cases no charge will be made, but
some gratuity ought to be given, and for this nothing is better than
tobacco.

The fish congregate on these shallows as the water is not deep, and
therefore is of a higher temperature, which in the spring months
attracts them.

An _al fresco_ lunch on one of these islands at the foot of the Lachine
Rapids is a delightful experience on a bright blue sunny day, so
happily frequent in the valley of the St. Lawrence. The rushing of the
waters and the rustling of the leaves in the trembling silver maples is
a sweet chorus of music, ever changing and ever harmonious; the _coup
d’œil_ up the rapids is unequaled in interesting beauty, and there is a
sense of communing with Nature entirely different in spirit and feeling
to that in the solitudes and hearts of the great forests.

One reads everywhere the records of past winters and of winters to come
in the ruggedness of the entire landscape, in the hardy look of the
timber, in the robustness more than tenderness of the herbage and signs
of latent strength conserved to contend with the mighty snows. The
present is the more enjoyable by very reason of this knowledge; and the
lunch is a royal repast, made so by the royal appetite which the ozone
of the woods and waters always produces. We enjoy our lunch of fish
chowder, baked beans, strong tea, and such extras as may be in supply,
and look upon these magnificent rapids, the “last escapade” of the St.
Lawrence in its eternal march to the sea.

I have written of the spring months and their wealth of fishing. But
there are the duck, the _outardes_ and the snipe to be shot in the
fall, when Nature is donning her winter suit and the days are getting
shorter and more sombre, when there is a change that renders one
thoughtful and pensive, except in the excitement of the chase.

One ponders over this mighty St. Lawrence, one of the grandest highways
of the globe. “Its history, its antecedents are unparalleled. The great
lakes are its camping-grounds; here its hosts repose under the sun and
stars in areas like that of states and kingdoms, and it is its waters
that shake the earth at Niagara. It is a chain of Homeric sublimities
from beginning to end. The great cataract is a fit sequel to the great
lakes; the spirit that is born in vast and tempestuous Superior takes
its full glut of power in that fearful chasm.”

[Illustration: MAIN BUILDING OF THE BUFFALO INTERNATIONAL FAIR
ASSOCIATION.]

ONE MAN’S WORK FOR CYCLING.

BY HOWARD P. MERRILL.

No man has ever given such an impetus to any recreative sport as Henry
E. Ducker has given to cycling. Almost wholly by individual efforts, he
has brought cycling to the foremost position it now holds in America.
In his own town he has raised an obscure club to a position of such
prominence as to be almost without a rival in the whole country. It
was Ducker who inaugurated the tournaments which have without doubt
done most toward giving bicycling its present pre-eminence. And it
is this same Henry E. Ducker who is now quickening the whole cycling
world by his latest and most daring project of an Annual World’s
Cycling Tournament, under the auspices of the Buffalo International
Fair Association, the first meet of which gathered in the “Queen City”
on the shores of Lake Erie, ten thousand wheelmen, besides making
the event one of the most notable in the history of cycling. But,
though his name be familiar to the whole world of sport, there is no
widespread knowledge of the individual man.

It is, therefore, the purpose of ~Outing~ in this article to
present to cyclists and all lovers of sport a short but compendious
sketch of this giant among wheelmen.

Henry E. Ducker was born in London, England, forty years ago, and came
to New York with his parents in 1853. In 1863 the family removed to
Springfield, Mass., where he lived until June, 1887. Early in life Mr.
Ducker learned the printer’s and bookbinder’s trade. While still a
youth he became foreman of the large establishment variously known as
the Clark W. Bryan Company and the Springfield Printing Company, and
for five or six years he was the superintendent of this establishment.
In June, 1887, he went to Buffalo to accept the superintendency of the
printing department of Gies & Co. Within the past few months he has
devoted himself entirely to cycling, and now expects to make it the
work of his life.

Mr. Ducker, from his boyhood, has been an ardent admirer of all
athletic sports--boating, shooting, fishing, skating and baseball, but
he has a special passion for cycling.

Mr. Ducker’s cycling career dates from May, 1880, when he purchased his
first bicycle--a “Harvard”--and in that year he rode 800 miles. In 1881
he rode 1,183 miles; in 1882, 1,218 miles; in 1883, 1,030 miles; in
1884, 1,087 miles. Since 1884 he has preserved no records. He kept his
“Harvard” until 1883, when he changed to a “Sanspareil.” During 1885 he
again changed his machine, this time to a “Victor.” Later, he adopted
an “Expert Columbia” for his mount, which he rides to-day, and he has
in addition a Columbia tandem. Gifted with an enthusiasm as exhaustless
as his energy he quickens all with the same love for cycling that
possesses him. Thus every member of his own household has been made an
enthusiastic cycler.

Mr. Ducker’s prominence as a cycler dates from the organization of
the Springfield club, which he, together with several other gentlemen,
called into life.

[Illustration: HENRY E. DUCKER.]

Every cycler in the world has heard of this Massachusetts cycle
club,[1] and its fame is due solely to the enterprise and push of its
founder. The first meetings of the club were held at his house and
were well attended. Never in the club’s history has the percentage of
attendance at club meetings been larger than during its first year. As
chairman of the entertainment committee, Mr. Ducker, in the fall of
1881, arranged with a committee from the local post of the G. A. R.
to give bicycle races in connection with the Grand Army field-day. He
supplemented these with a very successful evening exhibition of fancy
and trick riding at the local skating rink, and it was the prosperous
issue of this enterprise that started the bicycle “boom.”

* * * * *

[Illustration: W. M. WOODSIDE.]

The following year Mr. Ducker was inspired with the idea of giving
a tournament, or race meeting, similar to the trotting fixtures. He
was elected president of the Springfield Bicycle Club, and after
mapping out a program, boldly announced that a one day’s tournament
would be given, at which $1,200 in prizes would be distributed. The
tournament was advertised far and wide, and wheelmen came from all
over the United States to attend this innovation in racing events. The
tournament was a grand success, and the Springfield club cleared over
$800. Record-breaking, which has always been the characteristic of the
Springfield or Ducker tournaments, dates from this event. Frank Moore,
of England, who was under the care of ~John S. Prince~, astonished
everybody by putting the mile at 2m. 57¼s., and made what was then
considered wonderfully fast time for five miles. He gave all the
starters (among them ~George M. Hendee~, in his first year of racing)
a start of thirty seconds, and broke the record of 16m. 10¾s., making
a new record of 15m. 47¾s. Moore was the lion of the town, and perhaps
the proudest moment of Mr. Ducker’s life was when he distributed the
prizes at the rink, and announced that two records had been made. The
racing was done on the mile track.

The success of this first tournament aroused the citizens of
Springfield as much as Mr. Ducker, and the bicycle club had large
additions to its membership. Moore’s records had whetted Mr. Ducker’s
appetite, and he started to have a special racing track built.

When the three days’ camp and tournament of 1883 were announced,
everybody was on the _qui vive_. This was the year in which “Doodle”
Robinson posed as England’s fastest amateur rider. He was, however,
pitted against Geo. M. Hendee and ignominiously defeated. Mr. Ducker
had now raised the Springfield people to such a pitch of enthusiasm
that, on the second day of the tournament, all the banks and principal
manufactories, many of the stores, and even the public schools, were
closed. Nearly every one of Springfield’s 33,000 inhabitants caught
the infection. The days of 1883 and 1884 seem almost like a dream. It
appears incredible that one man should have so completely dominated a
whole city. In those days Ducker was a king in all but the name; he had
but to express a wish and it was instantly executed.

[Illustration: J. S. PRINCE.]

The tournaments of 1884 and 1885 only showed slight diminution in
popularity. But in 1886, owing to the non-appearance of the Englishmen,
who had been announced, the tournament was not so well patronized.

Mr. Ducker has been the uncompromising advocate of the rights of the
racing bicyclers. Single-handed, he gamely fought the League on the
makers’ amateur issue. He even carried the war to England and nearly
won the N. C. U. over to his standard. He has always believed that the
racing men have rights, and, therefore, has done everything to promote
their interests. The racing men, however, are not the only ones who
have been befriended by him. He is generosity personified, and though
he has been in many disputes, his bark is worse than his bite.

The money expended in tournaments and cycle exhibitions during Mr.
Ducker’s administration in Springfield amounted to upward of $60,000.
These large expenditures have given rise to the silly charge that
Mr. Ducker went into cycle racing for the money to be made out of it.
How far from the fact this imputation lies may be judged by this. The
Springfield Bicycle Club, on one occasion, after a very profitable
meet, presented Mr. Ducker with five hundred dollars in recognition of
the time and labor expended by him in behalf of cycling. On his removal
to Buffalo he was presented with a dinner set of 150 pieces, and these
are the only two instances in which he “made” anything. His work was
for the club, and not for himself. If there was any profit, so far as
he was concerned, it went into the club’s treasury.

[Illustration: W. A. ROWE.]

Mr. Ducker attributes his success in promoting tournaments to the
cordial and unqualified support of the Springfield Bicycle Club.
Whatever he suggested was cheerfully carried out, and whatever work
he laid out was taken up with a will and faithfully performed. An
indefatigable worker himself, he influenced others to perform herculean
tasks. Without the Springfield Bicycle Club Mr. Ducker’s fame would
probably not be as widespread as it is, and without Ducker the
Springfield Bicycle Club would not to-day rank as the leading cycle
club of the country. The one was the indispensable complement of the
other.

[Illustration:

R. JAMES. F. WOOD. E. P. BURNHAM.
]

Mr. Ducker is essentially an originator. Whatever tends to make a
successful race meeting when traced back, nine times out of ten, will
be found to have its impetus from him. The arranging of programs, track
building, timing, scoring, novelty races, all bear his stamp. Everybody
concedes that the Springfield tournaments were models; everything was
managed with clockwork precision, and rarely was there a hitch in the
program. So great was their reputation that Mr. Ducker has often been
called upon to furnish details and even personal assistance for other
meetings, and he has received letters asking advice from Switzerland,
Germany, and even Australia. His motto has always been: “The best is
none too good,” and as a result of strict adherence to that rule, the
Springfield track holds to-day a large proportion of the existing
records.

His ideas on track building were the result of personal observation
and study. Good side-paths in the country were the means of awakening
and guiding his attention. It occurred to him that if a path could be
built of nearly the same materials, the problem of good tracks would
be solved. That he successfully followed up this idea as well as the
accuracy of his reasoning, the Springfield track, and, more recently,
the Buffalo track indisputably prove.

In 1885 and 1886, Mr. Ducker was chief consul of the Massachusetts
division, L. A. W., and his work in that office speaks for itself. He
was also for two years a member of the racing board of the L. A. W.,
and representative for Massachusetts. He was for five years president
of the Springfield Bicycle Club, of which he is a life member; he is
a member of the Massachusetts Bicycle Club of Boston, the Ixion Club
of New York City, the Ramblers of Buffalo and the N. C. U. of England.
In connection with the Springfield tournaments, Mr. Ducker founded
the _Springfield Wheelmen’s Gazette_. It was intended at first only
as a tournament “boomer,” but it made such a hit, that he yielded to
the public demand for its permanent publication. Upon his removal to
Buffalo, the _Gazette_ was sold to Darrow Brothers, of Indianapolis.
While in Mr. Ducker’s control it was a crisp, sparkling sheet, and
commendable from a literary standpoint. He was also the publisher and
editor, in connection with Henry Goodman, of “The Wheelmen’s Reference
Book.”

Mr. Ducker’s cycling correspondence is simply enormous. His private
office is the headquarters for cycling information of every kind, and
in Springfield it was constantly besieged by newspaper men.

Until within a few months, Mr. Ducker has worked regularly at his
business, consequently his cycling work has been done after business
hours. He is of medium height and inclined to stoutness. He is of light
complexion, with sandy, curly hair and heavy imperial and mustache.
Nature has not endowed Mr. Ducker with a very good voice, having
oversupplied him with tones of the upper, entirely to the neglect
of those of the lower register. But his voice is no handicap to his
ability to talk. He is an enthusiastic conversationalist, and can
convert the most skeptical to his optimistic way of thinking.

For the past few months, Mr. Ducker has given his entire attention to
the World’s Tournament at Buffalo, which is his latest project. The
management of the Buffalo International Fair Association, recognizing
Mr. Ducker’s abilities, secured his services by most liberal offers of
support. And Mr. Ducker’s first official act was to appoint his friend
G. M. Hendee as starter.

A full report of events as they shall become a matter of record in
connection with the Buffalo meet, will appear in later issues of
~Outing~.

It now remains for us to recall a few of the names of the noted cyclers
who, under the management of Mr. Ducker, visited Springfield during his
prominent connection with the cycling history of that most noted of
American cycling clubs.

In the year 1886, W. A. Rowe defeated George M. Hendee and Fred Wood,
of England, for the world’s championship. Rowe is, of course, very well
known to the cycling world by his wonderful record, holding as he does
all from a ¼ mile to 22 miles. These have been, however, made at record
trials, _i. e._, against time and not in races. Recently Rowe visited
England, but he has twice been unsuccessful in holding the title of
the world’s champion as against Richard Howell.

M. V. J. Webber, or “Alphabet” Webber, was one of the fast English
amateurs who raced at Springfield in ’85. He made 21 miles within the
hour during a race. It was a 10-mile race, but he was anxious to keep
on, and was allowed to do so with the result above mentioned. He has
been off the path since his return to England.

[Illustration: G. M. HENDEE.]

George Weber was America’s champion Star rider, but he died in ’85. He
was a plucky rider, and though he did not secure many first places in
track riding, he was unconquerable in road racing and hill climbing. He
won the great 100-mile road race in the spring of ’85.

[Illustration: HAMPDEN PARK, IN SPRINGFIELD, MASS.]

Richard Howell, of England, professional, is undoubtedly the world’s
champion. Indeed, he has for a long time been called “King of the
Wheel.” His recent defeats of Rowe have put his right to the title
beyond dispute. He has rarely been beaten and is a marvelous rider,
having a spurt that cannot be approached. He was the first to do a mile
in 2m. 31 1·5s. It was a trial against time and was made just after the
’85 tournament at Springfield.

Percy Furnivall, while on the path, was England’s fastest amateur
rider, holding the amateur championship of England for two years. He
raced at the ’85 Springfield tournament and won every event in which he
started. He was to have raced against Hendee, at that time America’s
champion amateur, but Hendee was “spilled” and prevented from racing.

R. A. Cripps was another English amateur who raced at Springfield in
’85. He was first-class as a tricycle rider.

Another English professional of note who has appeared on the
Springfield track is Fred Wood. He was formerly Howell’s great rival.
In ’86, Wood was the only scratch man in a mile handicap at Hartford,
and won, his time being 2m. 33s., the fastest mile ever made in a
_race_ in America. The race was run on a trotting track, and if it had
been the Springfield track the time would have been nearer 2m. 31s.
Wood made 2m. 35s. at Springfield the following week.

E. P. Burnham is what is known as a “luck” rider, for in several races
he has been first through accidents to others. He is, however, a good
rider, and very hard to beat on a tricycle. He has been off the track
for two years. H. G. Crocker is a _protégé_ of Burnham, and is one of
America’s best riders.

William M. Woodside is known as the Irish champion, and is a member of
W. J. Morgan’s American Racing Team. Woodside has sometimes been styled
the champion of America, but has never really held the title. He is
best known by his having done so much “donkey work” in races, _i. e._,
he has set the pace for others and thus sacrificed his own chances for
a position. He is a professional rider.

John Shillington Prince is also a professional. He was the first to
put the mile record down to 2m. 39s., which performance was shortly
afterwards equaled by Sanders Sellers, the fast English amateur, who
defeated Hendee in 1884. Prince has also posed as America’s champion
rider. He formerly gained much prominence when he was racing against
John Keen, England’s old war-horse.

Of course, numerous other prominent riders have taken part in the
Springfield tournaments. Lewis B. Hamilton was a very popular amateur,
and was known as the Yale College rider. Robert James, professional,
and Reuben Chambers, amateur, are Englishmen who have appeared several
times. In ’85, R. H. English performed as an amateur, but is now a
professional, while at the same time W. A. and G. H. Illston, both
amateurs, were in America for the Springfield tournament. Space fails
us to mention all the prominent riders whose names have been on the
programs of the Springfield tournaments, but the few we have mentioned
will convince the unprejudiced reader of the omnipotence in the
bicycling world of Henry E. Ducker.

[Illustration]

[1] An article on this club appeared in ~Outing~, Vol. II., page
337. Another is now in preparation.--~Ed.~

WILD DUCK SHOOTING.

BY W. G. BEERS.

[Illustration]

Among the memorable events of my youth I can scarcely recall any rival
to the days spent on foot and in canoe hunting wild duck. It was the
master passion of the boyhood of many I know, becoming in later years
a passion to master. It was the acme of enjoyment in the days when
one was light-hearted and _débonnaire_, and went whistling through
birthdays with that enviable serenity so few of us manage to retain.

Wild duck! With the last fall of leaves and the first fall of snow,
their quack was music to the ear. Steeped to the lips in classics, one
wondered if there were no duck on the coast of Campania, that Tiberius
tired of the pleasures around him and sighed in vain for more; or
if there were none in Assyria, that Sardanapalus sought to have new
amusements invented; or if there were no real ones where Loelius and
Scipio made them on water with flat stones.

The first wild duck one kills, like first love, or one’s first
proof-sheet, causes a sensation that is never duplicated. The history
of its mysterious and ecstatic thrill through the veins, its wild
rush through the soul, never knows a repetition. The duck may be in
the “sere and yellow,” stricken in years, scraggy on the crown, weak
in the wings, tough to your teeth as parchment--aye, indeed, with one
foot in the grave and the other shot off, and have long ago ceased to
scud between earth and sky for mere fun--just as the first love may
have been nearly old enough to have been your mother, and with no more
love in her eyes than an oyster; or as the first proof-sheet may have
been an immature production to which you are now thankful you did not
append your name. But in the heyday of life a vivid imagination throws
a halo around our achievements, and though other duck, like other love,
may turn out more “tender and true,” yet there lingers about the memory
of the first experience an inexpressible charm which no gross soul can
know.

I do not think I shall ever forget the first wild duck I shot. It
was impressed upon me in a manner too striking. During the school
holidays a few of us undertook to dispose of our superfluous energy by
a pedestrian pilgrimage around the Island of Montreal, and as a dose
for the game we might encounter, we managed, by coaxing a big brother,
to muster a single-barreled gun and liberal supply of ammunition.
There was a strong suspicion of rust down the barrel, and a disabled
look about the hammer, but the owner declared it was good enough for
boys, with that sublime faith manifested by watermen who let boats to
inexperienced lads, that Providence takes special care of people who
cannot take care of themselves. A well-worn inscription on the butt was
ominously deciphered as “_Memento mori_.” I’ve seen more defective guns
since--but they had burst.

[Illustration: MALLARD DUCK (ANAS BOSCHAS).]

We started from the Place d’Armes, and when we reached “the Cross,” at
Hochelega, held a council of war about loading the gun, as a scared
squirrel had just darted under a fence and roused our thirst for blood.
Opinions conflicted as to whether the powder or shot should be put
in first, as one dogmatic adventurer, whose experience in squibs and
fire-crackers entitled him to respect, declared with the positiveness
of error that the shot should have the preference. Better reasoning,
however, prevailed, and to make assurance doubly sure, down went a
double charge of powder. “It’s not near full yet,” sneered young
Dogmatism. I hoped not; but to make assurance trebly sure, up came
the flask again and down went more powder. I remember one of the
group, whose characteristic caution provoked us throughout the trip,
suggested mounting the gun in an embrasure in the fence, laying a train
of powder to the nipple, and testing its safety at discreet distance;
but there was a display of fear in the proposal that we, as of Saxon
blood, could never countenance, and so we strangled it at birth. It is
a memorable fact, that may go some way to sustain the belief that I
have mentioned above, that, as if prompted by instinct, the gun refused
to go off on several occasions, in spite of repeated cleanings of the
nipple, coaxing with grains of powder and fresh caps. We were unable
to “distill the soul of goodness” in this apparently evil and obdurate
circumstance; so the charge was withdrawn, the barrel cleaned, and to
make assurance quadruply sure, the powder was poured down with even
more liberality than before.

The third day we reached the upper end of Ste. Anne’s, near the old
French fort. At that time the village was even a quieter spot than
now, where never a speculator had looked with greed upon the soil;
its greatest stir made by the visits and voices of the boisterous
voyageurs; its rapids sacred to the memory of the poet Moore, and the
soft refrain of his “Canadian Boat Song.” Moreover, its surroundings
made it a perfect paradise for wild duck.

We were marching along, when some one’s sharp eyes espied a solitary
black duck feeding close to the shore, about thirty yards away.
Suddenly it rose with a frightened flutter. With considerable
difficulty I had managed to cock my gun. I raised it to my shoulder,
with a strong fear that it would go off, and an inward prayer that it
wouldn’t, took accurate aim by pointing in the direction of the bird,
and shutting my eyes--with the Latin inscription brought at that moment
vividly before me, as if the letters had elongated from the butt to the
barrel--I thought of my past sins and pulled the trigger.

[Illustration: EIDER DUCK (SOMATERIA MOLLISSIMA).]

Once I participated in a railroad accident when a locomotive almost
telescoped our car; but it was an insignificant impression to the
condensed crash and astonishing concussion that followed the snapping
of the cap. As if weary of well-doing, the old gun went off with a
vengeance, blowing the stock off the barrel with a retrograde movement
that met my shoulder on the way with a deliberate intention to
dislocate, sent the hammer into the air, singed the hair from around
my eyes closer and more speedily than I have ever been professionally
shaved on my chin, and gave the trusting hand that was supporting the
barrel a shake of extreme familiarity--a left-handed compliment--that
was reflected up my arm and down the spinal column until it bred my
deepest and most heartfelt contempt. Like Richard, when about to fight
for his kingdom, I was depressed, and

“Had not that alacrity of spirit
And cheer of mind that I was wont to have.”

After having carried that gun round the island for three days, sparing
no pains to keep it dry, to oil its rusty barrel and wash its musty
stock, I felt it had been an ungrateful companion, undeserving of the
personality with which we had almost invested it, and, to use a modern
metaphor, that it “had gone back on me.” It evoked on my part an _et
tu, Brute_! sort of feeling. As I looked at it in silent woe, lock,
stock and barrel lying in bits, I felt sore enough at its conduct to
have given it a retributive kick, and sent it into the river, but the
kicking capacity of my legs had been too materially weakened by the
last kick of the gun.

Gun gone to glory, vision of some one’s big brother with possible heavy
fist and inevitable “good, round, mouth-filling oath,” hand, head, and,
indeed, all my anatomy aching, there was a consolation that poured
metaphorical oil on my wounds and alleviated the pangs of pain--I had
shot the duck!

You won’t find wild duck at Ste. Anne’s to-day, except some stray ones
of over-curious trait, who refuse to be advised by their experienced
friends. You’ll be lucky if you hit upon a spot within thirty miles of
Montreal where you do not find “pothunters” by the dozen--that New
World species of the _genus homo_ who should have lived in Arcadia,
where they would certainly have utilized their propensity to good
purpose by driving away the birds which haunted Lake Stymphalus,
without the brazen clappers of Vulcan or the arrows of Hercules.

For short holidays, one of the most popular localities, and therefore
one which has been well spoiled, was in the vicinity of Carillon Bay.
You may enjoy a varied autumn vacation by taking the steamer _Prince
of Wales_ at Lachine, landing at Carillon, and staging about twenty
minutes to the beautifully situated village of St. Andrews. There beg,
buy or borrow a dug-out canoe, small enough to be concealed in cover,
and paddle down the charming North River, with its picturesque rocks
and pretty shadows, until you cast anchor at the portage of the Presqu’
Isle. Here you will find remnants of old camp-fires, plenty of free
fuel, hay-stacks in the vicinity to make your bed, and elderberries
ripe in September, luscious in October, waiting in thick and tempting
clusters to be eaten on the spot, or taken home and made into wine.
Pitch your tent at this point, and portage your canoe through the
narrow strip of loose soil and water to some convenient slip in what is
called “The Bay.” You fasten a stout stick through a rope or chain on
the nose of the boat, and two getting abreast of it where the portage
is heavy, or at each end with outstretched arms where the water is
deep, you have quite an enjoyable tug, while the novelty of being up
to your knees in mud and water, without getting wet if you wear “beef”
moccasins, or a delicious indifference to wet feet if you do not, gives
you a sensation of “roughing it,” that not even the pain you’ll get
across your shoulders can make you impugn.

The Bay, which is two miles across, is picturesque, and, were it not
getting too well known, a glorious place for duck. From it you see
St. Placide, about seven miles away, its church spires gleaming in
the sunshine; and nearer, Presqu’ Isle Point, Borwash Point, Point de
Roche, Coon’s Point, Jones’ Island, and Green Island--between which and
the end of the Presqu’ Isle you can see any vessels that pass up and
down the Ottawa River. Mount Rigaud--mysterious hill, with its “Lake of
Stones”--rises to the west, while the few farms and houses of the Bay
settlement lie on the uplands to the north. Over the islands the smoke
of steamers miles away may be seen, and the plash of the paddle-wheels
heard like the distant “rat-tat” of kettledrums.

The most unique echo I know in Canada follows your shot in this Bay,
and is one of the “lions”--a roaring lion at that--of the place. It
travels in tremulous waves of sound across the water, lurks for a
moment in the bush of the Presqu’ Isle, then shoots out abruptly on the
other side and flies over the Ottawa to strike Mount Rigaud, where it
reverberates from hill and dale, now to the right, now to the left, in
a mysterious prolonged monotone, as if at hide-and-seek in the “Lake of
Stones.” Then it returns with a scared suddenness, only to fly back in
broken flutterings of sound, from crag to crag, from haunt to haunt,
again to be repeated, like frightened deer, chased and cooped up on
every side, with no escape, till, after several such re-echoes, it
calms to a lullaby, and dies away on the distant hills. A marsh fringes
the Presqu’ Isle, and on its borders are many good feeding spots for
the duck. The grass of the marsh is mowed with scythes and heaped in
large stacks, which you can mount to spy for duck that may be feeding
among the lily stalks--though, if your experience is limited, or your
vision none of the best, you will often be puzzled to know whether the
moving objects are lily stalks or duck.

For many years, a few Canadians of French descent, the inheritors of
the old voyageur-sportsman spirit of the _ancien régime_, who dread
legitimate labor with all their hearts, but love harder work that
smacks of adventure, have camped in the vicinity of the Bay, trapping
musk-rats, catching fish or shooting duck and snipe. The veritable
chief of the clan bears the martial name of “Victor,” and is a
character in his way. I first saw him with his breeches rolled above
his knees, loading his gun in the marsh. Nature evidently made him
in haste, for there is an unfinished look about his face, and enough
indentations around his head to give a phrenologist the blues. His nose
is mostly nostril, and fiery enough to make the nose of Bardolph look
pale, while his eyes are black as a sloe and piercing as a falcon’s.
Though he can neither read nor rhyme, he has a taste in common with
Byron--he hates pork and loves gin. When he swears--and then he best
pronounces English--spiders feign death, and his dog turns his tail
between his legs and moans. He is said, like sheep, to undress only
once a year. When he changes his clothes the very pores of his skin
open themselves in mute astonishment. If you can hire him by the day
as your “Man Friday,” it will add very much to your sport, for he is a
walking map of the haunts of duck, and has a perfect genius for waking
them up. He will steal with his canoe through the marsh wherever they
can go, quietly as a snake in the grass, until he is within gunshot of
his game. To crown all, he is the presiding genius of _bouillon_; and I
canonize him for this, if for nothing more.

Have you ever tasted _bouillon_ made in camp? It is not “fricasseed
nightmare,” _mon ami_. It is more savory than tongue of lark or
peacocks’ brains, or other rarest dish that epicures of ancient Rome
ever compounded. Yes, it even throws the wild boar of Apicius or the
roast pig of Charles Lamb into the shades of unpalatableness. You take
water, fish, musk-rat or squirrel (in lieu of beef), potatoes, onions,
butter, pepper and salt, and boil them all together in a pot, in the
open air, over a glowing wood fire. Pour off the soup, and you have the
nectar of the gods; the balance is a dish I would not be ashamed to
set before a hungry king. I would not give one sip of _bouillon_ made
by Victor for a bottle of the wine in which Cleopatra dissolved her
precious pearl.

But where are the wild duck?--for this seems all digression. Ah! there
they come, with the flutter of wings which starts something of the
same sort in your heart, their long necks stretched out, following
their leader in Indian file, or wedged together like the Macedonian
phalanx, or spreading out when they come nearer in _échelon_ or
like skirmishers, as if knowing the risk of receiving your shot in
close column. You lie low, concealed by the long stalks of the marsh
grass--the point of your canoe hidden by the house of a musk-rat. What
a quiet few moments as they come within range! You can almost hear
your heart beat. Gun at full cock, nerves steady as a rock, ducks
coming straight to their fate--look out! Forty yards off, up goes gun
to shoulder in a twinkling, eye following the game, a gentle pressure
of the trigger--deftly, as if all your care and coolness had been
concentrated for that instant in your right forefinger--down drop the
legs of a duck, denoting mortal wound, off goes your dog at a plunge,
back in boisterous haste and trembling, with a frothy mouthful which he
drops at your feet with an almost human sense of importance, and an
expressive wag of his tail that quivers delicious delight from every
hair! If a “fellow feeling” does not make you “wondrous kind” to that
dog--if you do not realize the touch of nature that Darwin declares
makes you kin--if, after his companionship, you are not sparing in your
chastisement, generous with your pats, and loath to treat him like a
dog, you must be a brute, beneath the stature of a trained retriever,
and unworthy to have the meanest and most mongrel cur whine at your
grave.

Education has ennobled your dog. His senses have gained a keenness
you may envy, while more eloquence and gratitude is gestured from his
tail than can be uttered by many a human tongue and eye. I will not
question the propriety of Solomon’s instructions in training a child,
but I protest against its applicability to a dog. A dog that has been
bullied into obedience possesses the same sort of training as a boy
who has been whipped into morality. They both become white-livered;
the dog carries his tail between his legs, and so would the boy if he
had one. You may have seen a hot-tempered drover beat an obstinate cow
in unsuccessful attempts to make it move, while another simply twisted
its tail, and at once stimulated its muscles of locomotion. If you have
to chastise a dumb brute at all, you may as well do it mercifully, and
on the Italian system of penmanship--the heavy strokes upward and the
light ones down; specially so with a dog you wish to be your companion
in hunting duck or partridge.

If you have done much duck-hunting you will have discovered that within
rifle-range of civilization the instinct of duck is surpassingly keener
than outside the pale. In spite of the “blue unclouded weather,” soft
calm on the water, and stillness in the air, you cannot catch them
asleep any more than a weasel. If you would get within range of them
at their feeding-ground you must slip slyly and softly. They sniff
gunpowder in the air, and know it from the smell of burning bush.
Victor vows they know an empty cartridge-case or gun-wad a mile away.
You cannot make them believe your canoe is a musk-rat house, however
you try. You cannot put an empty calabash on your head as they do in
China, and wade among them, so as to pull them under the water and
secure them by a strap. You may fool a Chinese or a Hindoo duck in that
way, but not a Canadian. They will play in the water twenty yards
away when you have not a gun; but they know the difference between the
barrels of one peeping from a marsh and the grass stalks or lilies,
better than many people know the difference between a duck and a crow.

[Illustration: WOOD DUCK (AIX SPONSA).]

There is at least one virtue displayed by enthusiastic hunters of
duck--it is that of patience. You may not get a shot for days, or even
catch a glimpse of a bird, except your tame decoys, and be tempted to
waste a cartridge for change on a stump or a branch; but it is not all
monotony, sitting quietly in your camp or in your canoe, or paddling
through the marsh, and, Micawber-like, waiting for “something to turn
up.” There is a physical and intellectual enjoyment, if you have the
capacity to take it in--a pleasant antithesis to the excitement of a
shot. If you’re in camp it is expended in a hundred ways. If you do
nothing more than lie on your back, with your arms under your head for
a pillow, and look up through spreading branches of trees, gorgeous
with autumnal tints, into “the witchery of the soft blue sky”--if you
only let your mind lie fallow, and your hard-worked body feel the
luxury of a genuine rest, it is not time misspent. Toward the close of
day the duck exercise their wings and take their supper, and you may
then get some good shots. If you are in your canoe waiting for their
appearance, I commend to you the magnificent sunset for which the Bay
is famed.

Flocks of blackbirds whiz and whir over your head in wild _abandon_,
as if conscious they were not in danger; the melancholy “too, too,
too, to-o-t” of the owl is heard in the woods, as if it were mourning
for Minerva; kingfishers flutter in one narrow compass of mid-air
over their prey, as if trembling with apprehensive joy, and shoot
down suddenly like meteors to seize the unsuspecting minnow below;
the “schayich” of the “ritualistic” snipe is heard as it rises from
the bog in graceful evolutions and gyrations a _danseuse_ might envy;
the incense of autumn is borne to your nostrils; a _conversazione_
of swallows is going on throughout the bush near by, while a perfect
tempest of twitter rages on a tree-top. Is it love, jealousy or
scandal, is it an Œcumenical Council to proclaim the infallibility of
the kingfisher or the peacock, or are they only scolding their young
ones to bed?

To complete the delight of your senses, you will be sure to add to your
knowledge of entomology the penetrating fact that, though the black
flies have absconded, the marsh in autumn is “the last ditch” of the
mosquito. Here it conjugates the verb “to bite,” in all its moods and
tenses, until the frost-king subdues its ardor, or the dragonfly saves
the frost the trouble. It does not interest you to know that its wings
vibrate three thousand times a minute, and that with these and the
rapid vibrations of the muscles of its chest it produces its soothing
sound. Its sting is certainly very complex and attractive under the
microscope--not so under your skin. You may be ever so gallant, and
yet be unable to pardon the fact that only the female mosquitoes bite.
You may be reduced to believe with Gay’s fable of the man and the flea,
“that men were made for fleas (or mosquitoes) to eat.” The mosquito
is far too insinuating in its manner. It depresses one’s mind, but it
elevates one’s body. When you’re sitting in your canoe on the _qui
vive_ for a shot, its familiar evening hymn is heard in a halo of
buzzing around your head. Sting first, like a sapper with his heel on
his spade in the trenches in the face of the enemy, it digs into you
with a perseverance worthy of a nobler aim. A summer’s sucking has not
satiated the thirst of the seniors, while the junior cannibals are
eager to try their stings; but the weather has curbed their power if
not their desire, and you may slap them into eternity with comparative
ease. If there is no food for powder in the air, You can live in hope
and wish there was, or you can meditate on your sins, or, what is
more popular and pleasant, the sins of your friends and enemies; but
it somewhat disturbs the equanimity of your thought and humiliates
your dignity to find a corduroy road of mosquito bites on the back of
your neck, and suddenly to realize that the last of the Mohicans is
determined to “play tag” with the tip of your nose, or to say its
vespers vigorously in the hollow warmth of your ear.

If you’ve never shot wild duck, at least you’ve eaten them. Charles
Lamb may extol roast pig, but, as Victor says, “Pigs can’t lay eggs,
nor can dey fly.” I doubt if the genial essayist ever ate wild roast
duck, done to a turn, with sage dressing, plump bellies and legs
trussed, hung for a day or two before being dressed, well basted while
cooking, and sent to table hot, with apple sauce. Plutarch says that
Cato kept his household in health, when the plague was rife, by dieting
them on roast duck. Can anything be finer than the mellow sniff that
steals up the nostrils from a tender roasted one, that you’ve shot
yourself?

The end of the hunting season is the ducks’ Thanksgiving Day. What
tales they must hiss and stories they must quack of shots escaped; and
of nervous marksmen down whose very gun-barrels they stared and quacked
out defiance. How the veterans of the season must brag, and the Gascons
of two put on airs, and be envied as the heroes of many battles! How
they must raise their wings and show their scars, and be looked up to
as ducks of valor and experience!

[Illustration]

PADDLES AND PALETTES.

BY EDWARD L. CHICHESTER.

Concluded from page 510.

A few miles below Seneca Falls the river forks. One branch, flowing in
a northeasterly direction, is used as the canal; the other, probably at
one time the only course of the river, turns southeast toward Cayuga
Lake. A loose pile of rocks, forming an irregular wall, keeps the water
from entirely forsaking the commercial channel, but enough gushes over
and through the barrier to form a very respectable stream that eddies
off between its own banks with a kind of jolly flow of freedom, like a
boy escaped from school.

On reaching this fork, we lifted the canoes over the obstruction and
joined our fortunes with the runaway, much preferring its adventurous
course to the one laid down by the State.

Large trees hung over the water, and an occasional rock or snag,
crowned with a matted mass of eel-grass that floated back on the
surface like a mermaid’s hair, lifted its head in front of our bows
and seemed to rush toward us. The stream, though far from being rapid,
was at first swift enough to give us plenty of occupation to avoid
obstructions, but, like some people, gained both breadth and repose as
it neared its end.

The village of Cayuga is built on a gentle slope near the foot of
the lake by that name. A railroad passes through the place and turns
abruptly west, carried over a mile or so of water on a trestle. North
of the trestle extends the foot of the lake, very shallow here, and
full of weeds that end in a bank of cat-tails, stretching away toward
Montezuma. The outlet cuts a broad swath in the flags and winds slowly
northward, now widening into a reedy lake and again narrowing, till the
current becomes perceptible enough to bend the rushes at its sides.

As we glided quietly along our course through the outlet, an occasional
duck darted among the rushes, or a big blue heron lifted himself from
the water and flew slowly overhead, preserving his air of dignity in
spite of the long, bare legs sticking out behind. Bass and sunfish,
lying close to the surface, shot away from our bows, streaking the
water with little wakes. As the day advanced, we looked anxiously about
for a place to camp, and at last came to an island that lifted itself
like a whale’s back from the surrounding swamp.

To be sure, it was rather bare--a stony ridge, growing mullen stalks
and teasels, and inhabited by some retired army mules, whose gaunt
forms stood black against the sky; but it was a relief to see something
higher than the flags, and we gladly landed at the first opening and
pulled the boats well up on the shore.

We had a visit here from a genuine son of the soil, if such a country
could be said to possess a soil. He sauntered down to the camp before
we were well settled for the night, and frankly gave us his opinion of
the boats and our other belongings.

He was a queer youngster, not more than fourteen years old, with
innocent blue eyes and the modest air of a little child when he asked
questions, but changing instantly to the most reckless braggadocio when
he referred to his own experiences. He was born, he said, at Montezuma,
pointing to a distant spire, and hoped some day to jump from the
Brooklyn Bridge. It has been a query in our minds ever since, whether
the mere fact of being born on a flat would gender such ambitions.

Below this island the stream flows under the aqueduct of the Erie
Canal, and putting waterproof blankets over our heads we shot under
a dripping arch, coming out dry, but with decks glistening with the
shower-bath. The river widens here, becomes very shallow, and at last
spreads out in all directions like a huge Delta. It was often difficult
to find the current, and the air seemed loaded with the heaviness of
the swamp.

Acres of water-lilies spread before us, small flowers of a waxy
whiteness gleamed among patches of sagittaria, and the interminable
walls of reeds were weighted down with a plant resembling the hop-vine,
and bearing clusters of pink blossoms, that added their perfume to the
heaviness of the air.

[Illustration:

A bit of Clay
]

[Illustration]

Slowly we worked our way through this strange region, the paddles
after every stroke coming up laden with dripping plants, while we were
kept anxiously alert lest we should lose our way in the labyrinth.
We occasionally stood up in the boats in vain efforts to see where
we were. At one spot the _Sybaris_ moored herself in a lush mass of
lily-pads and grasses, from which the soft mud oozed as her keel
pressed it down, while Simpson, who had been exerting himself manfully,
ceased his efforts in disgust. I took advantage of his experience to
avoid the slough, and as I paddled past, heard him remark, as if to
himself: “Query, is this land or water?”

But, like Bunyan’s pilgrims on the enchanted ground, we “made a good
shift and wagged along,” and before night struck a _State ditch_--not
a canal, but a broad channel dug to drain the region--a channel with a
current that bore us along with scarcely an effort on our part.

We were glad enough to escape, even through a ditch. This was our last
day spent in a swamp, for the country soon became more broken, the
water clearer, and the air lost its malarial heaviness and blew fresh
over green hills. Even the mosquito stayed behind.

One evening Simpson was sitting by the fire, having arrived at a good
camping-place and put the _Sybaris_ in order for the night before I
had come up. He was frying potatoes, holding the spider in one hand
and running his eye over a letter that had reached him through the
Weedsport post-office. He had laid a stone on the letter to prevent
its being blown away, and occasionally his eye would wander from the
closely-written page to the graceful lines of the canoe, whose jauntily
striped tent was flapping back and forth in the breeze.

In addition to these occupations he was singing something about his
“Bonny over the Ocean,” and his voice, which is not unmusical, came
floating up to where I had moored the _Rena_, and was trying to catch a
sunset effect. The musical cadence fell in with the place and hour, and
I found myself humming the air while I worked; but suddenly it stopped,
and I paused a moment in my drawing, thinking I heard thunder.

Certainly there was a roar, though there was no sign of a storm
overhead. I put my sketch under the deck, pushed off the boat, and
paddled down toward the camp.

On rounding a point I caught sight of Simpson, running toward the water
with the _Sybaris_ clasped in his arms. She would weigh fully ninety
pounds with her tent and bedding, and I was astonished to see him lug
her along in that reckless manner; but in a moment a bull tore through
a hedge and bore down upon him. The canoeist had a good start, and in
another moment had run into the river, plunged head-first into the
boat, leaving his heels sticking out from under a torn tent-flap as he
floated away, while the bull stopped short on the shore, pawing and
bellowing.

[Illustration: Entrance to Montezuma Swamp

Cross Lake]

When my friend’s head emerged from the cockpit the boat was some rods
away, and the bull had turned his attention to the potatoes. It was
only by means of a red Jersey flaunted on the end of a paddle that the
animal’s attention was diverted from the camp long enough to rescue the
duffle. I diverted him, as Simpson flatly refused to again assume that
rôle.

Nothing was injured but the letter, which had been trampled in the mud.

I naturally felt elated at escaping with so little loss, but Simpson
was grumpy all the rest of the evening.

From Weedsport to Cross Lake the Seneca River winds through a rich,
rolling country, and we were delighted with views of farm-yards with
weather-beaten barns and stacks of grain. Fine cattle stood in shallow
places in the stream, chewing their cuds and lazily switching of the
flies, and herds of colts tossed their heads and galloped away as we
came suddenly upon them. A settlement of old houses clustered about
the end of a bridge bore the name of Mosquito Point. Though the place
provided us with excellent bread and butter, we did not want to remain
there, notwithstanding the inhabitants stoutly asserted that the
village bore a misnomer. “It’s nawthin’ to Montezumy,” remarked one
gray-bearded citizen, whom we took for the oldest inhabitant, and we
believed him. They told us a legend here of the Great Swamp.

The story ran, that a single pair of mosquitoes had their abode there,
and these specimens were so large they would devour an Indian without
taking the trouble to peel off the canoe, much as a pig would eat a
beech-nut. In time, the tribes grew restive under this annoyance, and
organized a grand hunt, which resulted in the destruction of their
enemies; but while rejoicing over the victory, myriads of a smaller
breed rose from the carcasses, and have infested the country ever since.

One of the pleasantest spots along the whole course of the Seneca River
is Cross Lake, a beautiful sheet of water crossed by the stream. Here
we remained some time. The camp was made on a gravelly beach not far
from the village of Jordan. The scenery had that peculiar quality found
in an uneven, partially cleared country.

It composed well.

Some buttonwood grew near us on a side hill. A strip of swampy shore
stretched away to the south, and above us some bars, opening through a
rickety fence overhung with bushes, led into a pasture beyond.

[Illustration: “ASTRIDE THE DECK.”]

The owner was going to fix the fence, but had not “got round to it.”
We were glad he had not. Early in the mornings we were awakened by
the shrill cries of the tip-ups that fed in the marshy spots with
the woodcocks and schytepokes, the last-mentioned a brown-backed,
wading bird, resembling at a distance a crook-necked squash on stilts.
Simpson was fond of shooting at this fowl with his revolver, for,
though holding the views promulgated by the Audubon Society, he said
he had not signed the pledge to abstain from wearing the feathers of
non-edible birds--“besides,” he argued, ignoring this point to make
another, “we could eat a schytepoke.” We did not try it, however,
mainly because he never hit one.

On the last night of our stay here we neglected to button down the
tents and were well-nigh drowned out by a storm; but the rain ceased
with the first streak of dawn, and the grand panorama that was
disclosed as we stepped out into the fresh wind was worth hours of
discomfort to witness. The clouds, though still black and threatening,
were whirling off in ragged masses, and the lake stretched a steely
gray plain, seamed with the dark lines of its waves, and reflecting the
first dull glow of the morning.

The freshness of the air and the sense of conflict felt in a storm
made one want to shout, while the wild grandeur awed one to silence. It
did not clear until late that afternoon, and the wind that blew all day
in wet gusts carried us swiftly down the river.

We found the current more rapid as we advanced, and the stream wound
between rocky and, at times, precipitous banks.

At one point a blasted oak stood white against the forest behind, and
then flashes of sunlight lit up stretches of stony pasture or revealed
the wet roof of a barn hidden among the trees. As we bowled along under
full sail, I let out the trolling-line and captured some fine black
bass and a pike before we reached Baldwinsville, eight miles away.

Onondaga Lake empties into the Seneca River through a narrow outlet,
scarcely a mile long, and when we reached the mouth of this stream we
turned and paddled against the current. As we entered the lake the city
of Syracuse loomed in sight, looking a smoky purple in the distance.

On the left rose the high chimneys of the salt-works of Liverpool,
making the village look like a huge burying-ground dotted with the
monuments of a former industry. We secured supplies at this place, and
wandered through some of the buildings, now falling to decay.

In some places nature had tried to soften the outlines of ruin with
grass and creeping vines; but tall brick chimneys do not readily lend
themselves to decoration, and there is something in rusting machinery
that reminds one of unburied bones, a kind of skeleton in chains doomed
to be a blot on the landscape so long as the gallows stands.

Half a day’s paddle from the lake brought us to the village of Clay, or
New Bridge, as it is commonly called. This place was old and ruinous,
but presented a most picturesque aspect as we came suddenly upon it,
perched on the hillsides on either side of the river.

The unpainted houses, stained a dingy gray by the weather, were
embowered in thick masses of apple and plum trees, and down by the
water stood a forsaken warehouse with a sunken canal-boat before its
doors. We spent a Sunday within a mile of the town, and rainy weather
kept us some days longer in the vicinity, so that we had a fine
opportunity to study the old place. “God forsaken,” the farmers called
it. It was a sort of supply depot for passing canalers and certainly
not a flourishing port, but perhaps possessed an artistic interest in
proportion to its ruin.

“If you want any good eatin’ apples, you’ll find ’em under them trees,
an’ there’s green-corn in the garden beyond; help yourselves.” This
hospitable remark was made by a farmer who came to see our sketches,
and it was accompanied with a handful of ripe tomatoes and cucumbers.

[Illustration: “LANDED FOR SUPPLIES.”]

This sort of open-handedness had become a feature of the cruise, and
on our last day on the river we gave a lock-tender a goodly supply of
superfluous vegetables. In fact, our living expenses were made so small
by the bounty of the people on whose land we camped, that we felt like
distinguished foreigners who had been given, not the liberty of the
town, but of the whole country.

A few miles below Clay the Seneca unites with the Oneida River, the two
forming the Oswego at Three River Point, and by following this broad
stream we reached the milling town of Phoenix. We were delayed here by
a short portage, but again in the canoes the stream carried us on, now
heaving under the boats as its deep volume eddied over hidden rocks, or
spreading out into placid stretches that seemed to have no perceptible
current.

At one point we were whirled through an eel-weir rift and well
spattered with spray; and again, while passing under a bridge, a sunken
pier caught one of the canoes as a submerged monster might snatch a
fly, but fortunately with no damage to the boat. A muskrat, drawing a
long line across the stream, ended it suddenly with the quotation mark
of his tail as our bows came almost on him. Then the river grew broad
and still, and paddling on we entered the canal at Fulton. I had an
embarrassing adventure here. I had landed for supplies, and was again
getting into the boat that lay some four feet below, when the uneasy
craft slipped under the docking, carrying my feet with her, leaving me
hanging by the elbows and shouting for Simpson, who was some distance
away.

The muddy water of the canal never seemed less inviting than during
those anxious moments, as I hung with my arms gradually slipping,
certain, if the _Sybaris_ did not come quickly, of going in head
foremost. But fortunately she came quickly and I was rescued dry.

Below Fulton lies the historical spot known as Battle Island, the
theatre of some exciting events of the war of 1812. Near this island
the river is obstructed by a dam, and here we lowered the boats over
with ropes.

The _Sybaris_ went first, and, once over, shot off through a stretch of
rapid water.

Simpson, in his efforts to guide her, broke his paddle, and was
obliged to jump overboard in order to keep her off the rocks. He came
back dripping to help me with the _Rena_, and told me exactly how to
steer when I was cast adrift; but in rapids a little experience is
certainly worth more than a good many directions; and once started I
found it useless to try to recall a word he had said. The sensation of
being carried through a rift is certainly peculiar. With the attention
so closely exerted to avoid danger, the boatman has no opportunity to
watch the shores, and, as the Irishman expressed it, “see himself go
by.” On the contrary, he must fix his gaze forward, and soon has the
feeling of standing quite still, while the rocks bob up in front of him
and rush at his boat. As I whirled along, a formidable line of boulders
rose at my left and swung steadily around to embrace me. Work as I
would, they came nearer and nearer, then there was an ominous grating,
a rattle of iron (I carried the pots and kettles), and the _Rena_
stuck fast, with the water surging and boiling round her. I expected
she would roll over, but she lay wedged just where she struck, and
observing there was no change, I pulled off my shoes, and, taking hold
of the combing, raised myself out, and sat down astride the deck just
back of the cockpit.

[Illustration: “NOT EXACTLY A PADDLE.”]

I had not calculated the effect of this change of position on the
boat, for her stern dropped instantly, and rearing like an impatient
sea-horse she dashed forward, while I clung on as well as I could,
feeling like an amateur Neptune, or “a water imp,” as Simpson said. But
I was really a little nervous at the time and much relieved to reach
still water in safety.

Lower down we landed, and my friend mended his paddle, and then
stretched himself out in the sun and read “Lorna Doone” till his
clothes were dry. Then we went on--gliding under overhanging trees,
passing bare sand-banks crowned with sumac, and catching glimpses
of little gullies full of poplars, and fence corners yellow with
golden-rod. Some houses and barns strung along the hill-top marked the
outskirts of Bundy’s Corners, and later we heard the roar of a fall,
down at Minetto.

When we reached this village we found another high dam with a wooden
apron below.

We inquired particularly about the channel: Was it deep under the
dam? Did boats ever go over?--Questions the people who came down to
see the canoes answered readily. It _was_ deep on the other side, and
_flat-bottom_ boats _had_ gone over. “Then we can go,” said Simpson,
and pushed off with his paddle.

I followed, and we skirted the upper edge of the dam, cautiously
working across the river. The water overflowed the obstruction in one
thin sheet, and fell spattering among piles of ugly-looking stones,
until we reached the extreme east end; here a breach had been made and
a heavy stream poured itself through, tumbling into a great white,
seething pool some ten feet below. We landed and surveyed the place
thoroughly, then removed the sketches, together with a pail of milk and
some eggs from the _Sybaris_, when Simpson entered the boat, worked a
few rods back, and rested on his paddle.

Slowly the little craft moved forward, then her speed increased as
she felt the resistless drawing of the current, and in a moment her
delicate bow was trembling on the brink. She seemed to hesitate an
instant--then plunged!

As her keel struck the apron she turned on one side, and the same
instant the rudder bearings caught some obstruction and whirled her
bottom up. A dark hull and a weather-stained felt hat bobbed about,
making two blots in the white foam that swirled and tossed under the
fall; then the hat moved toward the boat, and in less than a minute
Simpson’s broad shoulders emerged, hauling the _Sybaris_ toward the
bank. Two fishermen, catching caddice-worms for bait a short distance
below, hastened to the rescue, and came up in time to help in bailing
out; and before I was ready to follow with the _Rena_ the canoe
was again afloat, uninjured, but with a slightly damaged cargo. I
considered the situation very carefully, and in view of the fact that
it was late in the afternoon and the only spare dry suit of clothes
between us was stowed in my boat, decided, for Simpson’s sake (who, I
remembered, had a slight cold), to go round through the canal.

I did so, and the fishermen carried my craft down to the river.

This caution on my part proved quite unnecessary, so far as Simpson
was concerned. I left him an hour later, clad in my best suit and with
sails unfurled to dry; but the wind gradually drew the boat off, and
when he discovered her she was well out in the river. Of course, in the
absence of the other canoe, there was nothing to do but run for it, and
when I returned it was to find him steaming by the fire. We stayed in
this, our last camp, for some time. It was only four miles from Oswego,
and we lingered, reluctant to leave the river we had followed so long.
In the cool evenings we would sit by the fire and watch its flickering
blaze reflected in the water, or strolling along the shore would
startle the fish that had come up into the shallows.

The season was approaching Indian summer, and all nature seemed hushed
and expectant. Some mornings the sun rose in a burst of splendor,
converting the whole earth, wet with dew, into a vast sparkling mirror.
Again a bank of fog made it seem as if our point were the end of the
earth, projecting into space, till the light in the east glowed through
and showed us the forms of trees and houses looming up like phantoms
across the river. A kindly old man living near often came to see us,
and seating himself on a camp-stool would give long accounts of the
country in the early days. But one morning we pushed off and took our
last voyage on the Oswego, drifting down through its broad mouth into
Lake Ontario, where, putting the canoes on board a steamer, we sailed
for Charlotte.

The passengers were most of them from the Thousand Islands, one of
those well-mixed companies. There was the jaunty girl who read a
novel all the way, and actually looked stylish in a hat as forlorn
as Simpson’s. And the aggressive old gentleman with convictions, who
hammered his theories of government into the self-satisfied senator
from Maryland--the latter a large English-looking man, with sandy hair,
a tweed suit and green necktie, who listened with an air of amused
patience.

The lake was very quiet, and the steamer left a long, shining wake in
the greenish-gray expanse, while the smoke rolled back till it settled
into a haze on the darkening horizon.

Gradually the colors faded from the sky. The groups on deck drew their
wraps about them and moved closer together. It grew quite dark, then a
bell clanged--we moved slower.

Lights flashed, people started to their feet. We had reached Charlotte,
and our cruise was over.

[Illustration]

“EELIN’ OFF GOOSE P’INT.”

BY SCOTT CAMPBELL.

A large dory, old and weather-beaten--as weather-beaten as the
sunburned faces of the three fishermen who sat motionless upon the
thwarts--it was a mud-stained, patched old hulk, battered by hard
knocks, scraped by harder rocks, beaten by harsh waves. Three men sat
silent, thoughtful, absorbed, with grim countenances portraying sombre
reflections; a little child--a boy of scarcely ten years--seated alone
in the bow, his small brown hand clutching the rail on either side; a
child with a round, rosy face, and great dilating blue eyes, opened
wide, and a timid, awe-impressed look--all floating upon a wide creek
of placid water, unruffled by a breath. All slowly, silently drifted
on the ebbing tide, out toward the broader waters of the distant bay,
down toward a long, low, narrow point of mainland--Goose Point--which
stretched out into the sea like a huge index finger directing attention
to the thin silver crescent of the new moon, hovering for one last
moment on the western horizon.

The tide had well-nigh ebbed; the dusk of the early evening was fast
fading into darkness; the cooling dampness of the summer atmosphere had
begun to gather in the form of dew.

Almost motionless the cumbrous boat floated upon the surface of the
sluggish and devious waters; from the unplied oars, extended to either
side, silver drops now and then fell to disappear into the darker
depths below. A solemn silence reigned--a silence unbroken save by the
faint, dull, far-away note of the frogs from the distant meadows, or
the cry of some night-bird wafted over the marsh-land.

The moon slowly sank from the view of the silent sitters; the narrow
line of quivering, silvery light disappeared from the surface of the
waters; one by one the stars came out in the cloudless heavens. The
child in the bow of the boat, awed by his sombre surroundings, awed
by the death-like silence, awed by the faces before him, gazed mutely
aloft at the star-lit dome above him.

At length the impressive silence was broken.

The child started quickly, and his eyes were turned from the heavens
to gaze at the grizzled, wrinkled neck and broad back of the speaker.

“So thet wear the vardict, wear it, Nathan?” The tone was solemn--as
solemn as the expression upon the aged face of him who asked the
question; and the hands which held the oars were raised till the broad,
dripping blades again parted the dark waters.

The man addressed selected a long, wriggling worm from a rusty tin pail
between his feet, and calmly wound it with a piece of strong thread
upon the “eel-bob” in his hand.

“Aye, thet wear the vardict, Abram; he air to be detained pendin’ the
investigation.”

“Pendin’ the investigation,” slowly repeated the other, dubiously. “An’
what might be the ackerite meanin’ o’ thet, Nathan?”

“Well, ez nigh ez I can come to’t, he air to be jailed till the woman
be found, or suthin’ definite larned consarnin’ her.”

“And thet wear the decision at the perliminary examination, wear it?”
asked the third man, speaking now for the first time.

“Aye, it wear, Seth.”

There was another spell of silence. Abram Skellet, who held the oars,
pulled one sturdy stroke, which sent the heavy boat away from the dark,
thatch-grown mud-bank it was approaching, out into the deeper water of
the creek; and again they floated silently on toward the low point of
land, which, in the increasing darkness, now appeared only as a dim
irregularity in the line of demarcation between the sea and sky.

After a few moments--

“What wear the evidence, Nathan, agin’ the man?” asked Seth Skellet,
dangling an “eel-bob,” composed of a round ball of mingled thread and
worms, over the side.

“It wear bad--’tarnel bad; though the man mout not be guilty for
all o’ thet, ez he wear not seen to do the woman any harm; an’ the
evidence air all what they call suckumstantial. Thus it wear, in a
nutshell: night afore last he wear seen to meet her on the old bridge
ez crosses the herrin’-brook, beyond the parsture to the suth’ard o’
Parson Greenleaf’s ten-acre lot. She wear obsarved to be waitin’ there
for a long time afore he come--John Jenkins’s son seen her; an’ bein’
supplied with more natural curosity than air gen’rally ’lowed to a
male, an’ wonderin’ what she wear doin’ out there all alone, he kind
o’ hung round to see. She mout hev been there a half-hour, when Paul
Gramley come hurryin’ across the fields an’ jined her. They hed some
sharp words--leastwise so young Jenkins says; an’ arter awhile they
walked off together. Thet air nuthin’ in itself; any two air prone to
hev hard words at some time or ’nuther; but, ez ye all know, the next
mornin’ the parson’s darter, Hetty Greenleaf, wear missin’, an’ a sarch
high an’ low didn’t reveal her. Then young Jenkins come to the front
with his story; an’ on the strength o’ thet Paul Gramley wear arrested
an’ examined, bein’ ez it wear that he wear the last pusson ez is known
to hev seen her.”

“It hev a dark look, Nathan,” remarked Seth, as the narrator paused
long enough to dip into the rusty tin pail for another worm.

“Aye, it hev so. But Paul Gramley declares thet he left her not a
hun’ed feet from her own door, an’ jest ez the village clock wear
strikin’ nine. An’ he swears thet the last he see of her she wear
movin’ slowly toward the house; but the parson, on the other hand,
claims thet she wear not in the house arter seven o’clock--an’ the
parson’s word air ez reliable ez the gospel. An’ thet air the evidence
agin Paul Gramley; an’ he air detained pendin’ the investigation.”

“Ez I obsarved afore, it hev a dark look,” muttered Seth, shaking the
water from his “bob,” and turning in his seat to gaze earnestly in the
direction of the Point, toward which they were drifting.

“Nathan, what air your opinion?” asked Abram Skellet, leaning upon the
oars. “You air putty well acquainted with young Gramley.”

“Aye, Abe, so I be; for he hev boarded at my wife’s house ever since he
come to this ’ere town, twelve months agone. He air a hot-headed young
buck, an’ one ez is prone to gay company, an’ the like o’ thet; but,
harkee to me--he hev a heart in his bosom ez big ez the heart of an ox,
an’ ez soft ez a woman’s; an’ he loved Hetty Greenleaf; every throb o’
thet great heart o’ his beat for her; an’ the man ez says he harmed a
hair o’ her head, lies, boys! I tell ye, he lies! for I know ’twan’t
in him!”

And the wrinkled old man, loud in his vehemence, brought his brawny
fist down upon the thwart beside him with a blow that made the old boat
quiver from stem to stern.

And the eyes of the child opened wider.

“What do Paul Gramley say hisself?” asked Seth, with a nod of approval.

“Nary a word, save to say that he air innocent o’ meanin’ her harm. I
know how he loved her, lads, for I hev obsarved him, when he thought
he wear alone by hisself; all the love in his heart wear given to her.
He air a stranger among us, an’ little enough we know about him or
his; but when a man hev lived under my roof for a year, I calkerlate
thet I larn suthin’ about him; an’ I tell ye, boys, thet Paul Gramley
air a better man to-day than them ez hints at him ez Hetty Greenleaf’s
murderer--if so be she air dead, which no one knows. He wear a
young man yesterday, full o’ life an’ hope; to-day he air old an’
broken--more so than years o’ wind and weather would a done; for his
heart air turned to ice--an’ I know it.”

“Wear he home night afore last?”

“He wear--about midnight; an’ he says he wear walkin’ alone by the
sea-shore, arter he left her. I believe him!”

The old man made the assertion as if he wished to hear no opposition;
and for a few moments they floated on through the silent night. All
three men were gloomy and thoughtful, for Paul Gramley was a favorite
with all who claimed his acquaintance.

“Pull on your right oar, Abe.” The command came in a low tone from Seth
Skellet’s lips. “We air too nigh the flats for the best o’ the eels.
Steady--that’ll do. Youngster, drop over the anchor.”

The child in the bow moved again, and taking a large stone from the
bottom of the boat, dropped it over the side. It fell with a splash
into the black waters; the cumbrous craft rocked to and fro, swayed
here and there, then swung in toward Goose Point, and finally came to
rest.

“Youngster, light the torch.”

The child searched in his pocket till he found matches, and taking a
pitch-pine brand from beside him, applied the fire. The wood spluttered
and crackled and burst into a flame.

“Here, change seats with me.”

Mutely the child did as he was bidden, and took his place upon the
seat which the oarsman had occupied.

“Now, hold the light out over the water--and hold it still.”

Without a word the child obeyed; and fixing himself as comfortable as
was possible, gazed from one to the other of those about him, then down
upon the water, where the three balls of mingled, tangled thread and
worms bobbed up and down upon its surface in the light of that flaming
torch.

A weird scene to those wondering blue eyes.

The glories of the soft summer night were lost upon him; the enchanting
stillness of the breathless heavens had no charm; the tranquil sea,
dark mirror of a myriad of burning stars, claimed not his attention.
His one hand held the blazing brand out above the black waters; upon
his other rested a chubby chin, close to the boat-rail; and his eyes
were fixed upon the circle of bright light cast by the flaming torch--a
circle fading away in the near distance, till its circumference was
lost in dim and dark shadows.

The faces of the three men were grim visages, now clearly defined,
white and ghastly, now faint and spectre-like, as the smoking flame
rose and fell.

For a long time there was silence. Despite the gloom that was on them,
the three men were pursuing an habitual occupation--“Eelin’ off Goose
P’int.”

About the bobs, which rose and fell on the water, dark, writhing
objects came and went, now plainly seen, now lost again; and ever and
anon a white hand would jerk a bob from the surface, and take therefrom
one, and sometimes two, of the slimy, wriggling forms and cast them
into a basket.

Then a faint ejaculation would escape the lips of the child; he would
look up for a moment at the struggling, squirming creatures; then turn
his intent gaze back again on the waters.

“What air your opinion ez to where she mout be, Nathan?” asked one of
the fishermen, who could keep neither mind nor tongue from the subject.

“Wal, thet air hard to tell. She mout hev left town, but, in thet
case, some one or nuther would likely hev seen her; she mout hev met
with a mishap ez yit undiscovered. There air many things ez could hev
happened.”

“She mout be in trouble,” ventured Seth, timorously; “though thet air
not likely, bein’ ez how she air a parson’s darter,” he added, half
apologetically.

Nathan bowed gravely, to Seth’s surprise; and, after a moment, said
slowly:

“Parson’s darters air human, the same ez the rest o’ we worms o’ the
airth. Seth, ye hev hit the nail o’ my own idee on the head. They hev
passions, godly or ungodly, an’ air ez prone to yield ez the weakest
among us. She wear in love with Paul Gramley, and he wear in love with
her; there air no doubt o’ thet. Whate’er may be the outcome o’ thet
love, or the obstacles agin it, I know not. But this ’ere I believe,
she hev left the town alive, or else she air in it--wal, if she air in
it, God knows how she be!”

And the child heard, but he did not understand.

“Ye do not think he harmed her?”

“I hev said my say on thet p’int,” replied Nathan, gravely. “Men air
not prone to harm those ez they love with all their soul. It air my
opinion she will be found afore many days--God knows where, or how.”

The eyes of the child were fixed upon the grim waters. Without
comprehending the meaning of what he heard, he was impressed by their
solemn tones and miens, and a tremor ran through his slender frame, and
a chill, like the chill that curdles young blood at ghost-legends told
in the twilight.

And he thought he observed a strange change in the waters, whereon he
was gazing; he imagined he saw in the depths a white, ghastly face--the
face of a woman, with wide-staring eyes, and parted lips where the
teeth could be seen, and long, dishevelled hair, in which the green
sea-grasses were intertwined. He thought that the deathly face, with
its awful, fixed smile, was rising toward his own so close to the
water--rising, as if to press those cold, chilled lips to his--rising,
nearer and nearer, till the staring eyes were close to the surface,
where the hair and grasses now floated.

His hand clutched harder than ever the flaming torch; he was frozen
by fear; he was chilled into silence; he saw, as one sees in a dream,
vaguely and doubting, for in all of his experience he never had seen
such an apparition as that which now appeared in the waters.

A wild, hoarse, terrified cry broke the tranquil stillness of the
night, and resounded far over the sea; the old boat quivered and
trembled as the man in the bow suddenly sprang to his feet.

“’Fore God! what is that?”

“What?--Ha! Reach me the hook--there! by ye feet, Seth! Air ye turned
into stone, man? It air the hand o’ God, raisin’ the dead out o’ the
depths, and sendin’ a light through the darkness!”

But Nathan himself was obliged to get the boat-hook, for Seth Skellet
was palsied.

And the child’s blue eyes, not wondering, but terrified now, saw the
three men lift the cold, dead form into the boat and lay her dripping
before him; and the torch fell from his grasp and its flame expired, as
her life’s flame had, in the black, choking waters.

Through the darkness they rowed to the shore--an hour of darkness, when
it seemed that even the stars were dimmed and withheld their accustomed
light--an hour of darkness, while the child stared, fascinated, at the
void eyes, which were staring at him, and his innermost soul shrieked
in fear for _it_ to move and ease the horrible spell that held him.

“Youngster, run to the village store an’ tell ’em we hev found it.”
They were hoarse words from Seth Skellet’s lips, spoken as she was
borne, by strong, tender hands, away from the rippling waters that sang
upon the beach, and laid upon the grass-land which her feet had often
trod.

And the child obeyed; turned and fled, across fields and meadows--fled
from that awful presence, which, to him, was and was not--fled, and
paused not till he stood in the village store, where some half-dozen
loungers were sitting.

And one man there was who saw in the terrified face the shadow of
death; and he cried:

“My life! my Hetty!”

“Dead! drowned!” gasped the child. And he saw the man--tall and grand,
with curling hair and warm, dark eyes--spring to his feet, with a cry
of anguish; saw him grasp the clothing above his heart, then reel,
totter, and fall--fall, as if shot, face downward upon the floor.

* * * * *

A few days after, the boy heard the bells tolling; saw a sorrowing
throng pass through the village street; followed, and saw two forms
laid near together in a quiet corner of the country churchyard. He
heard the weeping people speak of love, of retribution, of mercy; heard
them speak of a wife, _his_ wife--who had been thought dead, but lately
discovered--discovered, when _his_ love was another’s; heard them speak
of a heart, _his_ heart, broken by anguish; heard them speak of a
child, _his_ child and _hers_--a child, who had died when _she_ died.

And the boy heard, but he did not understand.

* * * * *

Do not ask me where Goose Point is, nor in what year these foregoing
episodes occurred, for I would prefer not to tell you; but, hearing
with the ears of a child, seeing with the eyes of a child, I relate
their sadness in the language of a man; for their impressive stamp,
undimmed by time, is still vivid upon the tablets of my memory.

[Illustration]

THE TRAINING OF A UNIVERSITY CREW.

BY FREDERIC A. STEVENSON,

Captain of the Yale Crew, ’88.

Very few among the many thousands who witness the annual boat race
between the universities of Yale and Harvard on the Thames at New
London, appreciate what the preparation for that event means. Of
course, nearly every one has heard that the crews have been in
training, and from the newspaper articles that come thick and fast
about the time of the race, has formed certain vague and often
erroneous ideas as to how that training is effected.

The winning crew is most elaborately praised: their stroke was
perfect, their backs rose and fell in unison, they worked like a
piece of well-oiled machinery. On the other hand, the losing crew is
characterized in terms no less strong: their work was ragged, such a
man in the boat gave out, the men were not properly trained. Thus, by
reading the usual newspaper reports of a race is the general idea of
a boat race and the work required for it formed. How well the average
correspondent can be relied on for authentic and accurate information
was well illustrated this year at New London. The day before the
Yale-Harvard race, one paper published an article praising the Harvard
stroke, speaking of “the perfect stroke of the Harvard eight.” The
result of the race entirely changed the tone of the next article. The
same paper then described the same stroke of the same crew, thus: “The
rowing was of the most ragged kind, and their style abominable.” This
was scarcely true and was most certainly very unjust. It would surely
have been impossible for a crew to go backwards to that extent in a
single day. The fact is that both articles were greatly exaggerated,
the first as badly in one direction as the second was in the other.

Let us see if we cannot come right down to hard facts concerning
training and ascertain what it really means in the case of a university
crew.

One race is but just over when the work for the next begins. The
summer’s work, however, is mainly confined to the captain, for he must
during that time make a careful study of the manner of coaching, of
the theory of the stroke, and of the styles of rigging a shell, in
preparation for the year’s work. Then, too, the truly enthusiastic
oarsman endeavors as much as possible to improve during the summer,
mainly in getting thoroughly acquainted with the feeling and motion of
the water.

But now autumn is with us again, the university is open, and once more
another college athletic year is begun. The first event in the rowing
department is the fall regatta. In this only the class crews take part,
and the training is short and not so severe as in the spring. But
these fall regattas, unimportant as they may seem to an outsider, are
really a great factor in the university crew work, and should never be
neglected.

The class crews are the main feeders of the university crew, and it is
all-important that they should get as much practice as possible, so
that they be taught the regular university crew stroke. The members of
the past year’s crew act as coaches. This is doubly advantageous, for
it both instills the right principles into the crew, and teaches the
coach not only to think about the stroke and to see faults, but also
to learn how they may be corrected, which is of immense advantage to
him when his own work begins.

After the class races the men start work for the university crew. The
captain selects from the class crews the men whom he considers fitted
to train. To this number are added some who, though they may never have
rowed, yet seem to have in them suitable material, and the old crew men
who are not playing football. The work is light, consisting of a daily
short row, and lasts only so long as the water is open.

After the Christmas recess, the real work begins. All through the fall
the “weeding-out” process has been in operation. Now the ranks are once
more filled, mainly with those who have been playing football during
the fall, so that the number of candidates who begin the real training
will be between twenty-five and thirty. Now is the time, therefore,
to ask the questions of what does the training actually consist? what
are the requirements for a crew man? and how are the standards of
excellence to be applied?

We will consider first the training itself. The work will take from
two to three hours a day. During the winter, the men assemble at the
gymnasium at some fixed hour; their clothes are quickly changed,
knickerbockers, running shoes and “sweaters” being substituted, and
the work of the afternoon begins. After a few moments’ work in the
gymnasium, a short run is taken, outside if the weather permits; if
not, inside on the canvas-covered track. A distance of five or six
miles is covered at a pace varying from a fast walk to a sharp trot,
according to the fancy of the captain. On the return to the gymnasium,
after cooling off somewhat after the run, the men in a body go through
a series of exercises designed to limber up the rowing muscles.
Then the men are taken in squads of eight and set to work on the
rowing-machines, or, what is far better, in a tank. A well-built tank
is as much superior to the ordinary rowing-machine as the modern racing
shell is to the old-style racing boat.

A few words will describe a tank. The only one that I know of is at
Yale, and is used by the university crew in their winter work. A wall
a little over three feet in height encloses a space about fifty feet
in length to thirty feet in width in the basement of the gymnasium.
The bottom and sides are cemented and it contains water to the depth
of about two feet. A barge, securely fastened at both ends, lies in
the water. This is of full size and regularly rigged to suit the men.
The blades of the oar have to be either of less width or have a hole
cut in the centre of the blade to diminish the great pressure. The
tank is arranged so as to accelerate the current of water as much as
possible as it is driven by the oars. This current is guided by means
of the curved corners of the tank and by partitions running parallel
to the barge over which the shank of the oar passes. By the stroke,
the water is driven toward the stern outside the partition, _i. e._,
in the channel farthest from the boat, and flows back toward the bow
on the inside. These side partitions come just above the surface of
the water, while a partition about two-thirds as high as those at the
sides runs beneath the boat and practically divides the tank in half,
giving two distinct and separate circular currents. The theory is that
the oarsman’s strength is expended in driving the water round where
ordinarily it is used in sending the boat ahead.

The crew is now seated in the boat, oars in hand, ready for the real
work of the afternoon. The captain or the “coach” stands on the edge of
the tank. At the command “Get ready!” off come the “sweaters,” and the
men come up into position ready for the catch. The coach runs his eye
quickly along the boat, straightens up the men, and satisfies himself
that everything is right. The rowing is now begun and lasts from a half
to three-quarters of an hour. The coach goes completely round the boat
on the edge of the tank, correcting faults, explaining points, often
stopping the crew, and making individual men practice certain difficult
points. At the close of this work the men take a shower-bath, and after
being rubbed down are ready, with hearty appetites, for the supper at
the training table.

Such is the general afternoon’s gymnasium work during the winter. When
spring comes, the tank gives way to the harbor and the gymnasium to the
boat-house. Then the entire time is spent on the water, and the men are
carefully watched by the coach from a steam launch.

The question of the selection of the men is the most difficult point
that the captain and coach have to decide. Of course, certain physical
traits are essential for a crew man, and he must have perfectly sound
heart and lungs. This must be decided by a doctor’s examination. He
must be tough, strong and enduring, and this is shown by the work he
can stand.

But more is required for the modern university crew man. The day of
“beef” and mere strength is past; for rowing has kept up with the
times and it is now the era of skill in rowing. Brain-work is just
as necessary in crew-rowing as muscular exertion. Neither is of use
without the other, the two carefully combined give the winning crew.
So nowadays the crew candidate has to undergo a mental as well as a
physical examination. In passing judgment on these qualifications the
greatest care must be used. Only those men can be selected in whom not
only the captain and the coach, but every man in the boat has full
confidence. This man may not always be the most skillful individual
oarsman, but the fact that the ideal is a _crew_, and that eight must
be chosen who will work as one man, must constantly be kept in mind.
How can a crew row a hard race when there is a feeling that there is
one man in the boat whose “sand” will give out when the final test
comes? Every good crew man must be an enthusiast, a hard and faithful
worker, a conscientious trainer, and a man who feels at all times that
the honor and glory of his university are entrusted to his care.

Too much stress cannot be laid on the subject of harmony in a crew. All
must work with the same will, with the same ideal in view. Often a man
must take the coach’s word for what seems to him in his inexperience
like a fatal blunder. Where there is mutual confidence between crew
and coach, a strict adherence to what is believed to be the right
principles, and honest, faithful work, defeat will come but seldom,
disgraceful defeat never.

Such are the men who make up the university crews of to-day. How these
men are regarded in college may be judged by a remark made this year by
the Dean of Yale. He said, “The rowing men are the best class of men in
college, the men with whom the faculty have the least trouble.”

In conclusion, I would like to say a word in reply to the oft-repeated
question, whether it is beneficial to take part in college athletics.
If I may be permitted to express an opinion after four years of
rowing, I will most certainly answer, yes, for that branch of college
athletics builds a man up physically as every one admits. It does not
prevent a man from standing well in his studies. The men who are most
relied on in a crew are, as a rule, those who make a good showing in
the recitation room. The training a man undergoes as a member of the
university crew sends him out into the world not only with a sound,
healthy body, but also with the habits of regularity, promptness,
obedience, self-control and self-restraint thoroughly ground into him;
in short, with all the personal characteristics that combine to make
a successful man fully developed. I have never found a crew man who
regrets the time and labor he gave to it. Every one loves it with an
affection that only a crew man can understand, and looks back upon it
as one of the most pleasant as well as most profitable parts of his
college course.

[Illustration]

HOW TO TAKE A TRAMP TRIP.

BY LEE MERIWETHER.

Author of “A Tramp Trip; or, Europe on Fifty Cents a Day.”

[Illustration]

When I wrote my book I did not imagine any one would care to take a
Tramp Trip except on paper, hence the brevity of the chapter on “Hints
to Tramp Tourists.” The publication of each new edition, however,
brings forth letters from young men in all parts of the country
requesting further hints and suggestions as to the manner in which
one should set about taking a pedestrian tour, not on paper, but _in
propria persona_ among the people of Europe, as I did. These letters
of inquiry have become altogether too numerous to permit individual
replies. I shall, therefore, try to answer them here, and give, as
briefly as I can, an outline of the way to plan and carry out a
pedestrian trip through Europe.

The first thing, of course, is to decide on the countries to be
visited. “If I cannot see all Europe, which portion shall I see?”
Undoubtedly, Italy, by reason of its history, ruins, art, scenery,
and picturesque people, stands first of all. My own preference would
then take me to Switzerland, next to Germany, then to France, Austria,
Hungary, and so on, to the far East. England I place last on the list,
because, in comparison with the other countries mentioned, it is almost
like America. When I landed at Folkestone after a year on the Continent
and in Asia Minor, the English faces, English language, English cities,
all seemed American--they were so much more American than any of the
things I had been accustomed to. To the student always, and to the
traveler, if fresh from America, England is novel and interesting.
But it is not half so novel or interesting to the mere sightseer as
Continental Europe, hence it stands last on the list.

Assuming that the candidate for pedestrianism agrees with me as to
beginning his tour in Italy, the first step should be to familiarize
himself with Roman and Italian history. He who has read Tacitus and
Gibbon will look with far greater profit and pleasure on the palace of
Nero, the Caprian villas of Tiberius, the rugged walls of Stamboul,
than will a stranger to those authors. As to language, the better the
tourist’s command of Italian, the greater his profit and pleasure;
but he need not be discouraged if without such command, for Italian
is not difficult. A few months’, or even a few weeks’, study of the
grammar, capped by a three-weeks’ voyage to Naples or Palermo in an
Italian steamer, surrounded by Italians, will enable the traveler to
“get along” fairly the first day he lands; and as he proceeds on his
tour, being careful to avoid American consulates and tourists’ hotels
where English is spoken, he will find his command of the language equal
to all ordinary occasions. The dialects in the Neapolitan states, in
Tuscany, Venice, etc., differ one from the other, but not so much so as
to embarrass the traveler who has followed the course indicated above.
He will, unless deficient in acquiring languages, find after the course
I have mentioned that he knows enough to make himself fairly understood
in Naples, Rome, Florence, Venice, or any other Italian city.

Many people have an idea that French is the most essential language for
the traveler in Europe. It is for all except the tramp traveler. In
Spain, Italy, Germany, Russia, Turkey--in short, in any part of Europe,
French is spoken in your five-dollar-a-day hotels, but in workingmen’s
inns it is of little use outside France and French Switzerland. The
most important languages for the _tramp_ traveler are Italian and
German. German, of course, is all that is needed in Germany, Austria
and German Switzerland; in addition it will often be found serviceable
in Belgium, Western Russia, Sweden, and in the southeastern European
States, as Hungary, Servia, Bulgaria and Roumania. Italian is of use,
not only in Italy, but all along the Mediterranean, from Gibraltar
to the Bosporus, and even in the Black Sea ports of Russia, where
Italian commerce has made the people familiar with Italian sailors
for centuries past. My guide and interpreter in Constantinople was a
young scamp of a Turk, who had picked up a colloquial knowledge of the
language from Italian sailors.

It is far more difficult to acquire German, and unless the tramp has
some previous acquaintance with that language, I fear he will fare
badly in the Fatherland. I was fortunate in having some knowledge of
German, acquired by long residence with a German family in America. But
for this I do not think my tramp through Germany and Austria would have
been half so enjoyable and profitable as it was.

As to outfit, little can be said more than is already said in the final
chapter of my book. A knapsack can be bought for two dollars; into
this pack a change of underclothing, a woolen shirt, a note-book, and
a few etceteras, and you are ready for the trip. It is not advisable
to carry fire-arms. The most serviceable weapon is a heavy club or
walking-stick. The possession of a revolver may incur untold trouble in
an Italian _dogana_, and is really of no use, since no one is in the
least likely to attack so shabby a person as the tramp tourist becomes
after a voyage in the steerage across the Atlantic.

The tramp tourist, not having and not requiring much money, need not be
bothered with letters of credit or bills of exchange. Bank of England
notes can be bought in New York for from $4.84 to $4.90 the pound,
according to the rate of exchange. Buy about a hundred Italian lire
($20.00) for immediate use, and put the rest of your funds in English
bank notes, which, for safe keeping, should be buttoned or sewed in
some well-secured inner pocket. These notes can readily be exchanged
anywhere in Europe for the money of the country in which you happen to
be, and as several hundred dollars value can be carried without even
making a lump in the pocket, they form a convenient and reasonably safe
way of carrying one’s funds.

Having arrived at Naples, Palermo, or some other Italian city, the
reader of my “Tramp Trip” will, nine chances to one, say something not
suited to polite society, and not flattering to my veracity. For,
notwithstanding my repeated expositions of Italian trickery, the tramp
fresh from America will overlook some loophole, and the first days of
his arrival, before he is taught by his own experience as well as by
mine, will in all probability be charged, or rather overcharged, as
much as though he were going first-class, with glasses slung over his
shoulder and a red guidebook in his hand. I recall one of my first
experiences in Naples. At a restaurant, before taking a seat, a certain
sum was stipulated upon for a dinner. When it came to settling, the
Italian charged just double the amount agreed on--_perche_? “Because,”
and the rogue shrugged his shoulders as he said it--“because, signore,
you took _two_ pieces of meat instead of one.”

Of course it was a mere cheat, but what can you do? At first you pay,
as I did; later, when you see such things are going to occur, not once
but twenty or a hundred times a day, you lay down the right sum and
walk off.

The tomb of Virgil is a few yards without one of the gates of Naples.
Within the walls cab drivers are limited in their charges by a
tariff--without, they charge what they like, or what they can get. I
knew this, and so when I started for the poet’s grave, I bade the Jehu
stop just inside the gate, where I meant to get out and walk the few
yards to the tomb. But when we reached the gate Jehu drove on through,
despite my remonstrance, saying he wished to let his horse stand
outside in the shade of the wall. On this slight ground he built an
outrageous charge, four times as much as the tariff rate to the gate.
When he had driven me back to the city and I offered him the correct
fare, he fumed like a Turk, swore he would have me arrested, that he
had taken me into the country, into the _campagna_, and that he didn’t
mean to let himself be cheated by a base foreigner. And all the while
he danced and jumped about me, shaking his fist like a madman. When
my curiosity was satisfied, I threw the right fare, one lira, on the
ground, and walked off. Instantly there was a transformation that would
have done credit to a veteran comedian. The cabman, seeing I did not
mean to be cheated, ceased his fierce antics, stooped and picked up the
silver, and waved me an “addio” with a smile as pleasant and as fresh
as a May morn.

In Vienna I stepped into a money-changer’s to buy Turkish money.
“Wait a few minutes,” said the manager, “I must send to the Börse to
see what the exchange is to-day.” I took a seat. In ten minutes the
money-changer came to me with the Turkish gold, and I rose to go. But
in passing out the door a man stopped me and demanded a gulden. “For
what?” “I went to the Börse to find out the exchange.” His going to
the Börse was none of my affair; I refused to pay him forty cents for
running the money-changer’s errand. Then followed a curious scene.
The man threatened to invoke the power of the entire Empire unless he
received his gulden. I told him to invoke. An excited crowd began to
gather and block the narrow street.

“Young man, you are wrong,” shouted one in the crowd. “He went to the
Börse; you must pay him.”

“The law is on his side; you will have to go to jail,” shouted another.
Whereupon I sprang on a box that stood in front of the money-changer’s
window, and harangued the crowd in the best German I could command. I
told them I was traveling to see strange sights; that nothing would
interest me more than an experience in a Vienna jail. “That,” I said,
“will be something to tell my countrymen and make them stare. Come, I
am ready; take me to jail.”

The man who wanted a gulden looked puzzled, but finally made up his
mind to brave it out. Summoning a gendarme, he made his complaint, and
I was placed under arrest. Away we went, followed by a hooting, jeering
crowd, some of whom tried to shake my determination by shouting out the
horrors of an Austrian dungeon. But the gulden not being forthcoming,
there was no change in the line of march, and at length we brought up
at the police station. Here the accuser spoke to me in a low tone,
and said if I would pay half a gulden he would withdraw his charge.
No. Well, ten kreutzers, five--anything, and finally nothing! For,
unwilling or unable to deposit the necessary security for the costs of
the case should he fail to prove his charge, he at length strode away
sullen and furious because he had failed either to frighten or to cheat
me.

I mention these incidents that the reader may understand what
fifty-cents-a-day traveling means. The majority of tourists would
have paid that gulden, and other similar guldens, and thus run their
expenses up to five or ten dollars a day. Perhaps they would rather it
should be twenty dollars than go through such scenes. It all depends
upon one’s “point of view,” as Henry James says. For my part, I
refused to pay that cheating messenger not so much to save my gulden,
as for the sake of the scene. That surly, disappointed churl, the
mob, the scene at the station before the stern gendarmes afforded me
more enjoyment than I could have bought with twenty guldens. I would
advise none to take a tramp trip who cannot, if necessary, enter such
scrimmages with a feeling of positive delight. If you have not that
disposition--if you cannot enjoy this close contact with and study of
the lower classes--stay at home, else will your trip be one not of
delight, but of petty humiliations and counting pennies.

One of the most frequent questions put to me by my inquisitive
correspondents is: “How is it possible to find cheap lodging-places the
_first_ night in strange cities? and if you don’t find them, if you
must go, even temporarily, to a first-class hotel, how is the per diem
to be kept within fifty cents?”

The reason this question is so often asked is because the writers
have never been to Europe, and have never traveled as tramps. They
are thinking of their occasional trips to New York or Philadelphia,
when, with a heavy valise in their hands, they are compelled to go
straightway to an hotel. Different is it with the tramp tourist abroad.
He has nothing but a cane in his hand; his knapsack now fits like
another garment, and is unnoted. So accoutred, he arrives in town,
walks about, sees the sights, and when he sees also the legend “_casa
locanda_” over a door, he stops to investigate. If prices do not suit,
off he goes again, looking until he finds one that does suit. When
that is done he will do well, in stipulating a price, to say over and
over again, “_Tutti compresso_”--everything included--else will he be
obliged to pay not, indeed, more than the five soldi agreed on for the
room, but twenty, thirty, one knows not how many soldi more for the
candle, or the furniture, or the soap, or the water and towels, or
_something_ that was not agreed on. In Verona, home of Juliet, I had
a pitched battle (of words) with a landlord who wanted to charge two
lire (forty cents) extra for the candle, when I had bargained for the
room “_tutti compresso_” for _una mezza lira_ (ten cents). But for that
magic phrase he might possibly have succeeded in his demands--possibly
only, for I had then been in Italy some months, and was not so easily
“squeezed” as the day when first I stepped on her historic soil at
Genoa.

A question sometimes asked is, whether one could work one’s way should
funds give out. I think not. In the first place, labor is so poorly
paid; in the second place, a foreigner could scarcely get work at any
price. I met a Philadelphia cigarmaker in Italy. He had tried in vain
to secure work at his trade--in vain, because he was not a member of
the necessary guilds, or unions. At home he could travel to his heart’s
content, finding work in New York as well as in San Francisco, in St.
Paul as well as in New Orleans. But in Europe he could not get a chance
to make even the forty cents a day that European cigarmakers are able
on the average to earn. It is the same with other trades. I advise the
pedestrian, therefore, not to depend in the least degree on making ends
meet by work anywhere in Europe.

In Eastern Europe pedestrianism is not advisable; the roads are poor,
the villages often few and far between. West of Vienna there are few
districts where the traveler will fail to find excellent roads and
villages every few miles. Indeed, except in places like the Black
Forest in Germany, the Higher Alps in Switzerland, the Pontine Marshes
in Italy, you no sooner leave one village behind you than another
appears in sight before you, so there need be no anxiety about being
overtaken at night “in the woods.”

Baedeker’s Guide-Books are, in my opinion, the best. Besides much
historical information, they contain minute maps and directions as to
finding one’s way about a country. So minute and accurate were the
directions in the Handbook for Switzerland, I was able to find my
way over the most solitary mountain paths without other aid. Meier’s
Guide-Books are cheaper than Baedeker’s, and almost if not quite as
good, but they are printed only in German. Baedeker should be bought
in New York, and carefully studied on the voyage across the Atlantic.
It will prepare the traveler for many necessary details which would
otherwise be learned only by troublesome experience. Be sure to cover
the Baedeker with a quiet-colored cloth or paper, else will its flaming
red binding betray that you are a tourist, and involve you in all of a
tourist’s troubles.

These few hints will, I hope, suffice to start the traveler on his way;
and in concluding I can make him no better wish than that he may derive
as much enjoyment from his journey as I did from my “Tramp Trip.”

[Illustration]

COURSING IN IRELAND.

THE “ENCLOSED” MEETING ON THE MOURNE MOUNTAINS.

BY ROBERT F. WALSH.

In the autumn of last year, I was enjoying a holiday at Rostrevor, in
County Down, Ireland. One bright morning a friend woke me early and
proposed a visit to the Mourne Park Coursing Meeting.

Two hours later we were “on the ground” in Lord Kilmorey’s beautiful
park on the Mourne Mountains. On the road from Rostrevor we had met
numberless sporting people, and men, women and children of all sorts
and conditions on their way to see the fun. I must say the variety of
class that comprised that living stream was almost outrivaled by the
variety of modes of conveyances. Everything, from the common “butt”
or cart, drawn by an old horse whose visit to the tannery was almost
due, to the coach-and-four of the Earl, was brought into requisition to
carry these lovers of sport. There were lords and beggarmen, betting
men and priests, ladies and work-girls, old and young, athletes and
cripples. It was a curious crowd, but most good-humored. All seemed
determined to enjoy their drive through the beautiful scenery of Mourne
and to forget care while the deity of the leash catered for their wants
and amusement. On the ground were collected several thousand pleasure
seekers and sporting men, and about two hundred and fifty beautiful
greyhounds, well cared for and covered with heavy “clothing.” Some of
these dogs, I was told, were worth from $5,000 to $10,000 each, and
many of them had been brought from England and Scotland.

On a gentle slope of the mountain there is a large meadow walled in
on two sides. One end is fenced, but the bottom is open and partly
secured so as to allow the hares to get away from the dogs if they are
lucky enough to reach this “escape.” At the other end of this large
field (nearly half a mile away) there is a V-shaped fence with several
sliding shutters at the bottom. About twenty yards from the point
of this V (in the field) is a screen made of branches, behind which
the “slipper” stands with the brace of dogs ready to be slipped from
the leash when a hare is driven through one of the shutters I have
described.

Some days before the meeting, several hundred hares are driven from
the mountains into the shrubbery or “enclosure” directly behind the
V-shaped fence. This enclosure is about forty acres in extent, and when
the sport begins, the hares are collected near the shutters.

When the dogs are handed over to the slipper and all is ready, the
“slip-steward” signals to the beaters and opens one shutter, which is
immediately closed again when a hare appears. Then begins the fun. The
hare is allowed nearly one hundred yards start before the dogs are
slipped. When the slipper is certain that both dogs have sighted their
fleet-footed prey, he pulls the string and off they go. Picture two
beautiful dogs, with straining necks, careering headlong after a little
hare which knows they are seeking her death. On they go at almost
lightning pace, and as they near the hare, one shoots ahead and makes
a drive at the “quarry”; but “puss” is too cunning and suddenly turns
from her pursuers. Then the dogs get closer and closer. Sometimes one
leads, sometimes the other; but puss doubles as often as they get close
to her “scut,” and so the hunt continues until the death or escape of
the hare.

The onlookers are breathlessly intent as they watch and count the
“points” scored by each dog in the course. Then, finally, madame
escapes or one dog “drives” right into her and kills; or, perhaps, in
her endeavor to turn from the leader, she is caught and killed by the
dog behind.

At the Mourne Park Coursing Meeting, I learned that it was not always
the dog which killed that won the course. It was explained to me in
this way: The “run up” to the hare, that is, the first dog that “turns”
or causes her to swerve to one side or other, counts one or two points
according to whether the hare is turned on the inside or outside of the
line of the course. Every turn after this counts one point.

A “go-by,” that is, where the second dog passes the first by one clear
length after the first turn, counts two, and the death counts one point
off the other dog’s turn, or two off the turn of the dog that kills.
In this way, a clever dog may often beat a much faster one, as was the
case when Snowflight won the Waterloo Cup--“the blue ribbon of the
leash.” The “Cups,” “Plates,” or “Purses” are all run off in ties. The
names of all the dogs entered for each stake are placed in a hat the
evening before the meeting, and are drawn out one by one. The first and
second drawn run the first course, and so on until the entire number
are drawn. Then, as is the case in most games or sports where matches
are contested for in ties, the winner of the first course runs against
the winner of the second, the winner of the third against that of the
fourth, etc., until only two dogs remain. And then is run the final
tie, on the result of which, in an important meeting, many thousands of
pounds are bet.

The sport seemed to me to be much more exciting than horse-racing.
I noticed also that the betting fraternity have much more scope for
their “trade” at a coursing meeting than on a race-course. Along the
fence were hundreds of “book-makers” placing their bets and incessantly
yelling their changes in “the price” of each dog as the vagaries of the
hare made it more difficult to decide which would win.

But the principal betting takes place on the evening before the
meeting, when the “draw” has been arranged. The chairman (usually a
nobleman and president of the club) calls out the names of each dog.
Then _vive voce_ bets are offered and taken, and repeated by the
chairman, first at “long odds” on the chance of an individual dog
winning the stake, and afterwards on the individual courses. The “long
odds” betting ranges from even money on a favorite to five hundred
to one against an outsider or unknown contestant. The betting on
the individual courses is, naturally, much closer. At meetings like
Waterloo, Gosforth Park Gold Cup Meeting, or at Epsom, where the prize
for the winner has often been $50,000--upwards of $1,000,000 change
hands on the different results. Report says that ten times that amount
has been invested about the Waterloo Cup, months before the meeting
takes place.

In my description of the sport I have almost forgotten to tell the
impression it produced on me. It is truthfully this: I was fascinated
by its excitement and uncertainty, and so thoroughly pleased was I with
my first day’s coursing that I traveled many a mile to be present at
other meetings before I left the Green Isle.

[Illustration]

YSLETA.

BY E. HOUGH.

’Pache and I were tired. There was not any question about that. Fifty
miles since morning, without getting out of the saddle, either one of
us--though ’Pache always tried to get out of the saddle every morning,
and sometimes nearly did.

’Pache was my horse. At least he was before Bill Stitt’s gang stole
him. Now, why did they ever steal ’Pache, I wonder? The ugliest horse
on earth without doubt, the dirtiest clay-bank that ever was, and the
most simple, ingenuous, unexpected, naïve bucker! But ’Pache had the
black streak down his back which plainsmen prize; and for a long goer
he was hard to beat. Farewell, ’Pache! God bless you, you miserable
india-rubber demon, wherever you may be now!

’Pache and I were tired. No question of it. And hungry? ’Pache took
a piece out of my leggings once in a while, to testify to that. And
thirsty? Yes, pretty thirsty; but we knew it was forty miles between
water-holes, so we loped on, heads down, joints loose; loppity-lop,
loppity-lop, loppity, loppity, lop, lop, lop.

’Pache struck a trot at the foot of the long climb up the Sierra
Capitan divide. In and out among the cañons, winding around where it
was easy to get lost--for by only one combination of these cañons was
it possible for a horseman to cross this divide--and going up all the
time. ’Pache coughed; it sounded dull. I tried to whistle; it sounded
as small as a cambric needle.

The black piñon hills hustled and huddled and crowded up together,
frightened by the threatening fingers of the Capitans--a lonesome
range, the Capitans--a lonesome, waterless range. Spirits and demons
in these hills, said the natives. The biggest cinnamon bears on earth
in them, said the hunters, and black-tail deer so old they wore
spectacles; and elk, and maybe plesiosauri and mastodons, for aught I
know.

Tradition said there was a lake of water up on top of the highest peak.
Tradition said you could find pieces of smoky topaz up there as big as
your fist. Tradition said there was a cave over in the middle of the
range, painted blue inside, and walled up in front, and with the whole
interior covered with strange characters. Tradition said that one Señor
José Trujillo had found, not far from this cave, a large piece of stone
covered with sign-writing no one could read--a second Rosetta stone.
Tradition said that Señor Trujillo dwelt in a little _placita_ hidden
somewhere back in the Capitans.

’Pache and I topped the divide. Did anybody say we were tired? Did any
one believe that for a minute? That was a mistake. Why, when you throw
off this chrysalis of pain and grief, when you drop your poor, sad
mockery of a body, and pull up over the Range, you’re not going to be
_tired_, are you? Are they tired on Pisgah? Are wings going to be tired
like legs and arms and brains? No. Because--well, ’Pache knew that much.

A soft breeze from the south reached us upon the crest, and at its
touch there hummed through ’Pache’s head the words of Goethe’s song in
“Wilhelm Meister,”

“Ein sanfter Wind vom blauen Himmel weht;”

and the refrain,

“Kennst du das Land?”

And, verily, the Italy for which Mignon sighed might have been this
that lay before us, stretching on and on in long lifts and falls of
hills and valleys; in architecture of the ribs of eternity; in color
the sum of Nature’s grand and simple touch. You can’t mix that! You
can’t paint in royal purple, argent and aurum run together in one
liquid, unburning fire! Take it up on a knife-blade, and perhaps it
wouldn’t drop off. It wouldn’t run. But spread on by the brush of
the Eternal hand, mellowed in the middle distance, softened in the
background by the rays of the evening sun--there was color, above art,
above description, above talk, above thought almost, fit to make ’Pache
and me despair.

Off in the other direction, to the northwest, stretched the black
foothills, and beyond them the brown and level plains, waterless,
endless. That way--home lay that way, once. But if ’Pache and I should
gallop night and day, we wouldn’t be as far as we see, and we wouldn’t
have reached the nearest water-hole.

Tired? Why, we were on the crest of the divide, on the uplift of the
earth, above the earth and its ailments. I could feel ’Pache’s wings
under the saddle-flaps!

And ’Pache lifted up his head, whereon the mane was lightly blowing,
and pitched his ears forward and neighed loud and cheerily. And some
Valkyr steed behind a flat rock heard him and laughed at him, and so
did another, and so did many others; and spirits came out and jeered at
’Pache, and small demons afar off mocked at him, and trumpet-calls for
the assembly of the spirits of the mountains echoed and called back to
us, fainter and fainter, passing on to the regions of the inner range.

They might have had the Holy Grail in there in those wild heights,
those spirits of the Capitans. I do not know. There might be better
than ’Pache and I to send for it!

Down the long reaches on the other side we rattled, in and out,
loppity, loppity, loppity; down into cañons which grew darker as the
sun went down. ’Pache didn’t mind it now. He knew where he was, and
into his wise, yellow head came visions of a pint of hard, blue Mexican
corn, and a whole _rio_ full of water. Happy ’Pache!

But what made the creature stick his ears forward so, and throw
his head up, and look around at me out of the corner of his eye?
Anything to make a fellow hitch his belt around a little? Ah! There
it was. Piñon smoke! The faint, pungent odor came up the cañon quite
unmistakably now, and ’Pache and I knew that someone had gone into
camp down on the _rio_, more than a mile below. We had expected to
camp there that night ourselves, though it wasn’t plain what we’d
have to eat, outside that one pint of Mexican corn, unless Providence
should favor a pin-hook, or send a cotton-tail our way. So ’Pache and I
scrambled up out of the cañon, at a shallow place, and reconnoitered a
bit.

Greasers--a man and a boy--a bull-team--empty--going home from the Fort.

’Pache turned up his nose in disgust. How he did hate Greasers!

We scrambled back into the cañon, and came down the trail on a run, in
great style, to show the Greaser outfit that, though we had traveled
far, there was still some life in us. ’Pache stopped short at the edge
of the wagon, and fell to stealing corn, while his rider threw the
bridle down and advanced to the campers, saying, “_Como l’va?_”

“_Como la va, Señor?_” said the elder Mexican; and soon he added,
seeing that I did not ride on, “_Que queres?_”

“_Quero comar_,” said I, briefly and to the point--which is to say, “I
want to eat.”

“_O, si, muy bien!_” said he, smiling gravely, and with a real dignity
handing me the camp frying-pan, and then poking the embers up around
the coffee-pot. They had just finished their supper.

What there was in that frying-pan I never knew. I only know there was
less when I got through than when I began. I dared look at it only
once, and then saw a greenish-looking semi-liquid which would have
done to tell fortunes over. I suspect _chili verde_ and sheep; maybe
cotton-tail, perhaps flour--_possibly_ onions.

After supper I led ’Pache down to drink. He would have died of thirst
before he would have left off stealing corn. It was a matter of
principle with him!

It was a beautiful place, this wild little mountain spot, and the big
clumsy _carro_ and the broad-horned oxen hardly detracted from the
picturesque, neither did the half-wild teamsters who lay stretched out
on the ground. The stream, troutful and delicious, poured melodiously
by, just big enough to hold one-pounders. The cañon walls swept
widely out into a perfect amphitheatre, back of which rose the solemn
Capitans, now of a wondrous, mournful purple in the dying sunlight.
The evening chill was coming on. The big stars were showing. The _rio_
babbled vaguely, whispering of cold, black mountain depths beyond;
grieving, maybe, that no man had ever been found good enough to attain
the Holy Grail.

Alone, ’Pache and I would not have been lonesome. We would have lain
down there with our one blanket and slept the sleep of the ingenuously
wicked, as calmly as two babes. But now the two-legged gregariousness
came out. The Greasers were yoking up their cattle. They were going to
pull out. It would be lonesome. We would go too.

No, it didn’t matter where. The trip to the Fort might wait. _Mañana.
Poco tiempo._ After a while. What was the difference?

I approached the elder Greaser, as with much liquid, beautiful Southern
profanity he labored with his lead yoke. I did not offer him money
in return for his supper, for I knew he would not take it under the
circumstances. There are a few gentlemen in the mountains, though they
are mostly getting killed off.

“_Yo vamos_,” said my Mexican, smiling and showing a good set of teeth.

“_Quantos milas a placita?_” (How many miles to the village?) I asked,
boldly, guessing that he couldn’t be far from home, since he was
starting out with a full team at that time of day.

“_Sies_,” said he, soberly and politely, as one who says,
“Good-evening.” Indeed, he soon added, “_Adios!_”

But I made _mille gracias_ for my supper, and begged a thousand
pardons, too. And could I not accompany him to the _placita_? Consider,
it was late, it was far to the Fort; I had no _serape_. Moreover, I was
most anxious to learn of one Señor José Trujillo, who had found a stone.

The Greaser brightened up, smiled, and said that though there was not
Señor Trujillo, there were plenty of stones in the _placita_, which,
_por Dios!_ I might buy. Stones through which one could barely see; as
well as some of blue. _Oh, Si._ I might _vamos tambien_.

These half-savage hill people are not fond of having Americans come to
their villages; but they cannot resist the fascination of exchanging
smoky topaz and turquoise for silver _pesos_. I said nothing further,
but set out with my new companions, not caring much how far we went, or
where. One leaves his senses at the edge of the Capitans.

We pulled down along the _rio_ a half mile or so, half in half out
of the water, slipping on the stones, swishing in the stream which
whispered up to ’Pache and me not to go on, and clanking over stones
which sent up dull, grating objurgations at us through the water. Then
we left the stream and entered a black-mouthed cañon which tunneled
sharp north, right into the Capitans.

The wonderful Southern moon swam stately up the blue sky and silvered
the hills above us, and once in a while shed its light into the cañon.
The bull-team plodded and coughed. The big _carro_ creaked and groaned.
The Greaser swore musically.

The moon climbed higher; lit up the cañon, glorified the peaks beyond,
softened and melted the rocks along the trail into white, trembling
heaps of silver. I dismounted from ’Pache, and tied him at the end of
the _carro_. As a matter of courtesy, I hung my belt and .45 over the
pommel of the saddle; but, as a matter of fact, I kept a tidy .41 in
its usual dwelling-place. In case of any foolishness, I thought the
.41 would do. It is always well to be polite; but it is always well
also to have a reserve fund when you are dealing with human nature,
Greaser or white, in mountains or city.

“_O toros_, sons of infants of sin, name of the devil and twelve
saints, bowels of St. Iago, can ye not _vamos_, then? It is late.
_Vamos_, refuse of the earth, _vamos_!”

I inferred that my host was a domestic sort of Greaser. I heard him say
that their being so late would cause the _madre_ to be in wonder. And
the boy replied, “_Si; y Ysleta._” (“Yes, and Ysleta also.”)

Ysleta? What a pretty name! Then I laughed and winked at ’Pache.
Ysleta would be thirty years old, and would weigh 230 pounds. Bah! You
couldn’t fool ’Pache and me!

We groaned into the placita somewhere before midnight. ’Pache sat up
all night and stole corn, but I rolled in under the wagon, dead tired,
and was asleep in a minute.

II.

I awoke in Palestine.

There was the broken, bare-hilled country I had seen in the pictures
pored over when I was a child. There were the short, black, scrubby
trees, just as I had pictured them on the Mount of Olives. There were
the low, flat-roofed, earth-covered houses. There were the flocks,
attended by the shepherds. There was Esau, shaggy, swart and fierce.
And there--why, _buenas dias_, Rebecca! But who would have expected to
see you at the well so early in the day, Rebecca?

_Olla_ on her head, the Mexican girl walked down to the well. Walked,
did I say? We have but the one word for it. It means, also, the stumpy
stumble of our deformed American women. Let us say that this girl did
not walk, but swam upright over the ground, as angels do in a fairy
spectacular, with a wire at the waist, scorning the ground.

At the well the girl rested the big jar on the curb, and stood looking
toward the east, falling into poses of pure grace and beauty as
naturally as a shifting scene of statuary--the poses of a noble, grand
and normal physical life, ripe and untrammeled for centuries. That they
were not poses for effect, or at least for the spectator under the
wagon, was very plain, for when I crawled out and appeared, the girl
screamed, left her water-jar, and ran into the house near by. “So, this
is Palestine,” thought I. “I wonder where is Jacob?”

The inhabitants of the little placita, fifty or sixty in number,
perhaps, turned out _en masse_ to see the _Americano_. Doubtless there
were those among them who had never before seen a white man. I do not
think curiosity was altogether mingled with approbation, though no
positive distrust was shown beyond a black look or two.

It was not altogether a comfortable situation. I could assign, even to
my own mind, only the flimsiest reasons for my intrusion; and it did
seem almost as much an intrusion as if I had forced my way into a home
uninvited. I sighed at my own foolishness, made my morning salutations,
bought three pieces of turquoise, and then coming swiftly to the point,
said I was hungry. ’Pache didn’t say anything. He wasn’t hungry. He bit
an occasional piece out of an unwary dog, but he just did that for fun.
He wasn’t hungry.

With that grave courtesy which is coin sterling the world round, the
centuries through, these simple people asked me into a house, invited
me to sit upon a sheepskin mat, and brought me what they had.

After breakfast I found that the little crowd had dispersed, though
where they went was not apparent. Many of the men, Italian fashion,
followed the business of wood-cutting in the hills, and quite a little
troop of pannier-laden burros could be seen moving down the trail bound
for the Fort with their big burdens of piñon wood.

I wandered about the little place, which soon sank into apathy again,
and approached several houses under pretense of wishing to buy some
smoky topaz. As I stopped at the door of one I heard an exclamation--

“Ysleta! _el Americano_.”

I waited at the door till I was invited by a stout and wrinkled dame to
enter. I did so, and found two other women within; one a young woman of
no especial noteworthiness; the third--Ysleta--the most beautiful woman
I ever saw or expect to see. She was the girl at the well; the Ysleta
spoken of by my companions of the night before.

Where this girl got her wonderful dowry I do not know. Beauty is not
common among the lower caste Mexicans, though good eyes, hair and teeth
are the rule. Yet here was a beauty faultless at every point, a royal
beauty which would have become a queen, and with it the queenly grace
and superiority which beauty arrogates as of right unto itself, no
matter who may be its possessor, or in what land it may be found. And
well it may. There is nothing really nobler than a grand human form,
just as God thought it. Conscious of the sins of our ancestors still
alive in our own misfit forms, we are ashamed and humbled before the
fruit of unhurt nature, and we reverence it, appeal to it, almost dread
it.

But if Ysleta knew, consciously or unconsciously, that she was
beautiful, she was as yet unspoiled by flattery, and, moreover, there
appeared in her air a certain humility, a gentle dependence. Advanced
thinkers among women will labor a long time before men cease to love
this in a woman--no matter what they may theoretically conclude.
Taken as she was, this half-wild creature would cause in New York or
Washington society a stir which no “professional beauty” has ever yet
approached.

Seated on the floor, clad in the lightest attire, Ysleta was a model
such as painters do not often find. It seems to me almost sacrilege
for a man ever to attempt a description of a beautiful woman. It isn’t
quite right. There is something wrong about it. Especially is it wrong
where justice is impossible; and that is the case here. I know that
the girl’s hair was very long and silky, quite free from the usual
Mexican coarseness, and her eyes were very clear and soft. Her half
sitting, half reclining position showed every supple line of a perfect
figure: such a figure as in three generations would make reform schools
needless, churches only half so needful, and doctors a forgotten thing.

Ysleta sat on the floor. In her arms she held a young child. As the
stranger entered, she, with some slight confusion, started and turned
half about, looking up with wondrous, wondering eyes. But in a short
time she was again absorbed in the infant, which she now rolled and
caressed as if it were a kitten, and now regarded thoughtfully, with
a wondering, puzzled look, half awed, and with so great a mother-love
shining in her eyes as made one almost hold his breath. Ysleta left me
to the others. What time had she for aught else in life, when here, in
her arms, was this strange and most wonderful gift--moving, living,
crying, laughing?

Ysleta held up the child before her face. In her gaze was all the
melancholy of youth, all the infinite sadness and mystery of love,
and all the immeasurable tenderness of the maternal feeling. The poor
girl’s face was so tender, so innocent, so dependent! I think the
Recording Angel has more than one tear for Ysleta’s fault. With face
illuminated she gazed at the child. Her eyes softened, swam, fairly
melted--nay, they did melt.

“_Muchachito!_” she murmured; “_muchachito mio! Ah, carissimo mio!
Americano mio!_”

“My American!” Then Ysleta broke into a storm of sobs, and rocked her
boy in her arms, with a big cry for something which she didn’t have.

Perhaps the sight of a white face, even though that of a stranger,
touched some tender spot. As quickly as I could, and with a feeling
that Providence hadn’t got all the kinks out of the world yet, I went
away.

This is Ysleta’s story, as her father, the _carretero_, told me.

“It was one day at the _fiesta_ in the large town. Ysleta had not been
from the _placita_ before that day.

“Ysleta had not made any sin, but she felt sad, as if she had made
a sin. Therefore she went to the _padre_. The _padre_ was busy with
others, richer, and Ysleta must wait. Ysleta had not made any sin, but
she was sad. She stood at the door of the church. All was new to her.
She was afraid.

“There came to Ysleta, so she has said, an _Americano_. He was not as
the men of this country. His skin was white, his hair yellow, his eyes
blue. Ysleta thought he was more than a man. Perhaps he was less than a
man. She loved him, doubtless. Such things are. Why? _Quien sabe?_”

“Was Ysleta married to _el Americano_? Señor, I am a man of travel and
of knowledge. I have been twenty _leguas_ from this spot. Therefore, it
is plain that I know easily what marriage is. But Ysleta--Ysleta is a
hill girl. It is not alike. I asked of Ysleta if she was married, and
she said, ‘_Si_,’ for that she loved, and would love no other. Is that
marriage? Who knows? I believe Ysleta thinks so.

“There is no mother here who loves a child as Ysleta loves hers. It is
not good, so much to love. But Ysleta loves no man. ‘I am _esposa_,’
says Ysleta.

“_El Americano?_ It is not known. He disappeared. He never came back.
Ysleta has of him a picture, not painted as the saints in the church
are painted. And she has a paper; but what the paper may say we do not
know here. He is gone. And Ysleta grieves. And because Ysleta grieves
and will not love any young man, the young men will kill you to-night,
since you, too, are _Americano_.”

“Thanks!” said I, as this last information was calmly conveyed.
“Thanks, awfully; but, excuse me, I believe I will _vamos_. Sorry to
inconvenience your young gentlemen, but really--!” And I exchanged a
glance of intelligence with ’Pache, who nodded and winked in reply.

I gave my watch-chain to Ysleta and the little fellow; and which
admired it more I could not say. I further divided my few _pesos_ among
the simple folks, and rode away with such store of smoky topaz that I
wouldn’t have liked a hard run down the cañon with it behind the cantle.

I rode away, thinking of the most beautiful woman I ever saw; perhaps
the saddest, also. Poor girl! Born to a wealth the wealthiest woman on
earth would envy, she was a beggar in happiness. A child of nature, a
creature of the outer air, an Undine-woman of the hills, she suffered
and lost her simple joy forever, when, at the touch of what we call
a higher civilization, she felt the breath of what we call a higher
love, and groaned at the birth in her heart of what we call a soul.
As in some quiet court, sheltered from every wind, and turned always
to the rays of the stimulating sun, some rare fruit, waxy-cheeked and
tender, ripens and swells into full perfection, knowing no reason for
its access save the unquestioned push of nature’s hand--as this fruit
shrinks and shivers at the breath of a fence-breaking northern wind, so
Ysleta, thoughtless as a fruit, as ripe, as sweet, as soulless, shrank
and shivered at the marauding breath of feelings new to her--the breath
of the mystery and the sorrow of a lasting love. I wondered about this.
I wondered about it one day as I rode up where, morning, noon and
night, spring, summer and autumn, the broad, white, snowy arms of the
undying Holy Cross lie stretched out on the Sangre de Christo range. I
wondered if those arms didn’t stretch over the poor hill-girl as much
as over the _Americano_ who, with tinkling spur, and light song on his
lips, rode out through the hills, up through the cañons, up to the
gate of the little valley--Launcelot bringing the curse to the Lady of
Shalott!

“’Pache,” said I, “I’m disgusted. What does all this civilized life
amount to? It only brings curses with it. Let us go into the hills. Let
us run wild, and never be heard of again. Let us forget a world whose
business it is to forget us as fast as it can. Come. There are two of
us. We’re not afraid. What do you say? Shall we go back?”

But ’Pache shook his head.

I yielded with a sigh; and so I went on out through the Capitans,
overruled by ’Pache. I don’t believe ’Pache liked the Mexican corn.

Out from the Capitans, which still rose grim, mysterious, silent,
unexplored--out from the spirits which guard the Holy Grail. ’Pache and
I couldn’t find it. I think--I feel sure--that no man will ever find
it. But I believe that if Ysleta came and sought it, the demons and
spirits of the Capitans would cease mocking, and stand hand on mouth. I
believe the wide gates would open; that the white-garmented angels of
the inner shrine would draw back to let Ysleta by, and that the Grail
would glow red and pure and warm to let itself be taken in her hand.

’Pache and I went down the cañon; heads down; loppity-lop, loppity-lop.
’Pache, you clay-colored, india-rubber angel, God bless you, wherever
you are!

A RAINY DAY.

The clouds have darkened down again,
And all the world is sad with rain,
As if the dead of many years
Were all awake and shedding tears.
Before the window-pane I stand
And gaze upon the reeking land,
Till I am cold and damply blue,
Dejected quite, and shivering too.
Roll up, thou blesséd luxury,
Thou ample arm-chair made for me!
Roll up before the open fire,
Whose merry flames leap high and higher.
I’d rather watch these devils play,
Than see the angels weep all day!
Bring me my pipe, whose ample bowl
Is filled with that which cheers the soul;
Soft comfort’s very essence lies
In the weed which only fools despise!
Bring, too, a glass with taper waist,
Broad, shallow, and demurely chaste;
Meet vessel for the quickening wine
That knoweth not chill sorrow’s brine!
The clinging smoke curls lovingly
About, as if caressing me;
And with a most entrancing pop,
The wine flows forth with gems atop,
Which, sparkling, burst in tiny spray
As if small sprites were there at play.
The dreary drip I cannot see--
I sip my “Clicquot” cozily,
And need no further joy than this,
Together with my meerchaum’s kiss.
The weather’s just as bright for me,
As if the sun were high and free!
So what care I for all the rain?
I’m happy till it shines again!

_H. J. Livermore._

[Illustration: Editor’s Open ~Window~.]

~Outing~ begins another volume under the most favorable
auspices. The twelfth volume inaugurated many changes. Baseball was
made a feature, the Records were restored, the art work was greatly
improved, the variety of each number became the object of special
study, and so the volume grew in improvements with each successive
issue from April to September. The present number speaks for itself.
~Outing~ does not make fair promises simply to break them.
Its present management believes in the performance rather than
in the pledge. When the changes were inaugurated last spring, no
startling announcement heralded a new era. The improvements were not
even pointed out from month to month. The remarkable superiority of
~Outing’s~ constituency over that of general sporting papers is
an acknowledged fact. Our readers exact a high standard of excellence,
and ~Outing~ proposes to reach that standard.

The rapidly growing interest in sport and athletics broadens the field
for ~Outing~ considerably. Clubs are organizing daily, and it
is difficult indeed to serve all sections of this vast and growing
country as well as all the rest of the English-speaking world without
neglecting here and there, at times, this or that particular sporting
body or game--but in the end ~Outing~ will cover the field,
and no organization entitled to representation in this magazine shall
long have reason to complain of neglect at the hands of a management
determined ere another volume is begun to have all fair-minded people
acknowledge as the ~World’s~ best illustrated magazine of
recreation, our own beloved ~Outing~.

* * * * *

~Outing~ is delighted to find its esteemed contemporary, the
_Canadian Sportsman_, so thoroughly appreciative of the excellence
of the August number as to reprint entire the article “A Rare Fish”
under the _original_ title, “The Famous Winninishe.” Unfortunately,
the _Canadian Sportsman_ forgot to tell its readers that the article
originally appeared in the pages of ~Outing~.

* * * * *

THE RICHMOND BICYCLE TOURNAMENT.

The bicycle tournament to be given at Richmond, Va., under the auspices
of the Old Dominion Wheelmen, October 23d and 24th, promises to be an
interesting affair. The races will be on a new half-mile track, now
being laid by the Mechanical and Industrial Exposition of Old Virginia.
The program of races, eighteen in number, is varied and includes nearly
all classes of bicycle riding. The prizes are sufficiently tempting
to attract all lovers of the wheel, professionals as well as amateurs.
Entries must be made to Alexander H. Meyers, 601 East Broad Street,
Richmond, Va., on or before October 20th.

* * * * *

BOWLING.

The bowling season began last month. Although it has hardly yet got
into full swing, the indications are that bowling is increasing in
popularity. The outdoor season of all kinds of sports just now drawing
to a close has been remarkably successful. It is a healthy sign that
gentlemen, and, for that matter, gentle women are becoming more and
more impressed with the necessity of taking exercise. No better
stimulant can be indulged in than a half-hour’s exercise in a good ball
alley and a tussle at bowling.

* * * * *

[Illustration: SETH GREEN.]

Seth Green, whose name will be associated with pisciculture as long as
the artificial reproduction of fishes is known, died at his home in
Rochester, August 20, in the seventy-second year of his age.

To those who knew personally, as the writer did, the strong, rugged,
gray-headed and grizly-bearded man, whose appearance seemed to
indicate a longer life of usefulness, the announcement came like
a shock. But it had been known to others for some months that the
grand old “Father of Fishes,” as he was sometimes called, was lying
hopelessly ill, and that his precious charges at Caledonia Springs--the
little fishes--would know him no more. Mr. Green had from his early
youth the tastes of the sportsman, and, with the proper education,
would have made a great naturalist. He had great powers of observation;
even in ascertaining such minutiæ as whether fishes can hear.

In 1864 Mr. Green bought a piece of property at Caledonia Springs, near
Rochester, and his success in raising trout there was so great as to
lead many others to embark in the business in different parts of the
State. Dr. Theodatus Garlick had preceded him in the successful raising
of trout, but not to a sufficient extent to detract from Mr. Green’s
fame as a great trout breeder.

As a pisciculturist, however, Mr. Green will be best remembered for
his discovery that the eggs of certain sea fishes, particularly the
shad, require a continuous motion of the water to prevent the eggs
from adhering to each other. The floating shad-box which bears his
name, was the result of this discovery. Although it was superseded by
the invention of Mr. Fred Mather, and later by the hatching jar of
Colonel McDonald, Fish Commissioner of the United States, the credit
of the discovery belongs to Mr. Green. Mr. Green was at one time Fish
Commissioner of the State, with the Hon. Horatio Seymour and the Hon.
R. B. Roosevelt. Of late years, however, he had been Superintendent of
the State Fish Hatchery at Caledonia Springs.

He was a voluminous writer on the subject of fishes. He edited the
Angler’s column of the _American Angler_, and wrote, in conjunction
with Mr. Roosevelt, a charming little book called “Fish Hatching and
Fish Catching.”

~F. Endicott.~

* * * * *

YACHT RACING RESULTS.

Whether yachting is an expensive pastime or not, it certainly is
popular and growing in favor every year. The waning season of 1888
shows a marked increase in the American pleasure fleet over that of
1887, with a proportionate number of new yacht owners--not all owners
of new yachts, however, for there are plenty of old ones fast enough
and shapely enough to satisfy the average business man, who does not
care to order a new boat. So versatile are our yacht designers and
builders of the present day, that one can have his order filled at
short notice for a sloop or schooner, while just as fine a cutter of
the most pronounced type may be had without crossing the Atlantic.

Although the first half of the season gave us but little racing worth
chronicling, the latter half, beginning with the New York Yacht Club’s
cruise, gave promise of some lively work, and, what is better, some
surprising results.

It is an acknowledged fact among yachtsmen who witnessed the races for
the Martha’s Vineyard cups, and the two following, where the schooners
_Sea Fox_, _Sachem_ and _Grayling_ did such remarkably close sailing,
that it was the finest schooner racing for the distance ever seen in
these waters. Moreover, the victory of the old cutter _Bedouin_ over
the new sloop _Katrina_ has brought the “keel or centreboard, cutter or
sloop” question to the front again, with odds a good deal in favor of
the cutter.

The events of the cruise have shown us that there is quite as much
genuine sport in schooner racing as there is in big sloop contests, for
two new schooners, the _Alert_ and _Sea Fox_--the first a heavy keel
cruising boat, the second a light centreboard craft, built for racing
purposes--have, by their recent performances, shown themselves to be
very dangerous antagonists to their class rivals. The _Marguerite_,
_Elma_, _Enone_, _Tampa_, and other new schooners of this year, have
not been entered with the crack yachts of their class, so no fair
estimate can be formed of their stability or speed, but among the
new sloops and cutters the results have been very satisfactory. The
_Puritan_ and _Mayflower_ have fought it out nobly to windward and
leeward, the _Genesta’s_ rival proving more than a match for the
_Mayflower_ under some conditions. In the smaller classes, the old
sloop _Bertie_ easily disposed of her class-mates, and, the _Pappoose_,
that famous little cutter from Boston, outsailed everything in her
class in all conditions of weather.

The season thus far has given the sloop men and the cutter men plenty
of food for thought, and the results bring them back to the question,
“Will the English challenge for the cup next year; and if so, with what
yacht?”

It is safe to say that an International contest for the Cup in 1889
is a certainty, and that a compromise cutter of Watson design, and
one that will sail in our 60-foot class, will be the challenger. Mr.
Ralli’s _Yarana_, for instance, the handsome cutter that ever since her
_début_ last spring has been winning races from the _Patronilla_ and
the famous _Irex_, might, if she were sent over, prove a good match for
our _Shamrock_, _Titania_, or _Katrina_. Of course we believe that when
Burgess or Carey Smith or Ellsworth are called upon to design a sloop
to beat the world, each of them will produce something very fast, but
it is nevertheless a fact that Watson’s latest production has all the
beauty of the _Thistle_, with none of her faults, and plenty of speed
both to windward and before it. So if the public have been disappointed
because they saw no international race this season, they may be sure of
one next that will amply repay them for waiting.

With commendable enterprise, the New York Yacht Club has decided to
have a fall race every season. The first one will be sailed late in
this month, when strong breezes and fine racing may be looked for; at
any rate, it will bring together most of the new and old fliers, and
probably give us better results than the spring regattas have.

~J. C. Summers.~

* * * * *

CANOEING.

THE NINTH ANNUAL A. C. A. MEET AT LAKE GEORGE.

Canoe building is becoming quite as much a science as yacht building.
The boat that won nearly all the sailing races and made the highest
record ever attained at an A. C. A. meet was built by the same man
who turned out Dr. Rice’s paddling canoe, which won the paddling
championship--Ruggles, of Rochester. M. V. Brokaw, of Brooklyn, who
sailed the _Eclipse_, did excellent work, but no better than Paul
Butler, who sailed canoe _Fly_ beautifully. Never before has so fine
a lot of canoes been at the meet and sailed in the races. A large
proportion of the canoes that entered the races were well built,
perfectly finished, smooth, clear and clean, and very lightly, yet
strongly, rigged. The influence of Mr. Barney’s success in canoe
_Pecowsic_ in 1886 and 1887 was very clearly seen in the rigs at the
meet this year. It will be remembered that the _Pecowsic_ had five
sails, all of different sizes, laced to the masts, incapable of being
reefed, only two of which were used at one time, or in one race. The
power of the wind at the start governed the selection of the two most
fitting for the particular day. Once started in the race, no changes
could be made. Many canoes this year carried the standing rig, notably
_Eclipse_. The standing rig is a bad thing, more especially if the
sail cannot be folded up easily and stowed, as was the case with many.
Butler and the Lowell men had by far the best sails in camp--reefing
sails, well cut, neatly bent, all of one piece of cloth, with no bites
in them, so the muslin spread a perfectly smooth surface to the wind
when flattened down by the sheets for work, on trim and scientifically
shaped spars.

One lesson Mr. Barney taught the canoeist which has come home very
forcibly to the many, and will not soon be forgotten--the very great
advantage of lightness in masts, spars and rigs generally, as well as
in the canoes themselves, especially lightness aloft. A very general
movement in this direction has set in, and many very clever devices
were noticeable at the meet to gain this point without loss of strength.

The perfect sailing canoe and rig have not yet been made. The
improvements and progress each year only serve to put the goal still
higher and keep showing larger possibilities all the time. Methods of
building have been wonderfully improved, and the metal fittings that
are now used are marvels of mechanical skill. The secret of it all is
the very great rivalry in canoe sailing, and the many minds continually
working out improvements to attain greater speed.

The racing this year in some ways, was a marked advance over that of
last year--the boats of the fleet sailed better. No one has yet equaled
R. W. Gibson’s sailing at any A. C. A. meet--that was true science.
Butler did the best sailing this year, and showed a knowledge of the
finer points in making and rounding buoys without loss of time, headway
or a foot. Brokaw sailed wonderfully well and showed pluck in the heavy
weather. Where there was luck he had it--as in the cup race, when
Butler led, and the wind fell to a breeze best suited for the sails
Brokaw had; and again, in the Barney cup race, when he caught up to
and passed the _Jabber_ in _If_ by a lucky fluke, _If_ lying becalmed
all the time, or nearly so. Brokaw is one of the very few strong men
and good paddlers who does any sailing. This fact gave him a chance to
accomplish what has never been done before--win the highest possible
number of points on the record. He first won the unlimited sailing
race (3 miles) in a fleet of thirty-three canoes, twenty-one of which
completed the course. He scored ten points for this. Next he won his
class paddling race (Class IV.), beating four others. His luck helped
him here also. His boat in beam was 29¾ inches, the very lowest limit
in the class; but, more than this, both Dr. Rice and Johnson (the best
paddlers in the A. C. A.) raced in Class III., so he did not have to
meet them. In the combined race (1½ miles paddle, 1½ miles sail) there
were six men against him, and he won by strong paddling, quick work in
hoisting and stowing sail, and fast sailing with no luck or flukes.
Three races, ten points each, thirty points. The second man on the
record was E. Knappe (Springfield, Mass.), three races, 16.95 points.
The third, fourth and fifth men, all prize winners, got, respectively,
15.50 (Leys, Toronto), 14.60 (Patton, Yonkers), and 13.70 (Quick,
Yonkers) for two races each.

The Lowell men won the club race, securing the club championship flag,
and they well deserved it. Seldom has a meet witnessed such excellent
boats, plucky sailing, and genuine club fellowship as existed among its
members. Butler won the club race in _Fly_, and took the individual
prize. He won the same race last year, when no prize was given to the
winner, and when his men did not give him the support they did this
year, for the club flag then went to Brooklyn.

A tournament was added to the program at the meet and greatly
interested the spectators, canoeists and visitors to the camp; also a
tug-of-war--four men in two canoes, paddling in opposite directions,
with the boats securely tied together, end to end, with a stout rope.

Walter Stewart, who came from England to race for the Trophy, and take
part generally in the meet, did not win a race. He is the holder of the
Royal Canoe Club championship challenge cup, won on Hendon Lake, both
in 1887 and 1888. His canoe _Charm_ beat Baden-Powell and other English
canoeists in each race. In 1886, when Stewart was out here before,
it will be remembered Powell came with him, and defeated him in the
sailing races. Stewart entered three record races, won 13.35 points,
and thus got sixth place, missing the fifth record place (and prize)
only by 35-100 of a point. Before returning to England he will sail
again for the New York Canoe Club challenge cup on New York Bay, now
held by C. Bowyer Vaux.

No review of the canoe meet would be complete without a mention of the
paddling done by Dr. Rice, who won the championship flag. He proved
conclusively that fast paddling can be done gracefully, and without
any body or back movement. His arms alone do the work, while he sits
firmly on the seat with his back well braced. Johnson paddled the class
races, sitting high up in his boat, as usual, and with his old-time
reach forward at every stroke. Rice, however, beat him. In the mile
championship race, Johnson paddled standing up, a feat never before
seen at an A. C. A. meet, though it is not unknown in Canadian races
when the double paddle is used. As the race was down the wind this may
have been a slight advantage. Rice and Knappe won the tandem race in
fine style against three other crews. They paddle in the same manner,
keep perfect time, and work like machines, so regular is their stroke.

One feature of the camp must not be overlooked. The men seemed to think
much more of dress than is usual at the meets, no doubt on account of
the many ladies who camped on what in former years was known as Squaw
Point. The nearness of hotels made it very easy for lady visitors to
appear in camp daily, and during the racing days they were everywhere.

As a Canadian commodore was elected for 1889, the next meet will be
held on the St. Lawrence, or somewhere in Canada once again.

~C. Bowyer Vaux.~

* * * * *

THE POLITICS OF CYCLING.

~Outing’s~ mission is to entertain and instruct, to elevate and
encourage legitimate outdoor sport and recreation, to the end that the
manhood and womanhood of its clientèle may benefit thereby in mind and
body.

Occupying this high place, and having selected this noble part as our
particular field of enterprise in the world, we have always deemed it
best to take little active, and positively no partisan, interest in the
politics of the League of American Wheelmen. We are content to leave
the exclusively cycling press in undisputed possession of that field
which treats of League offices and the doings of League officials.

Sometimes, when scanning the brilliant editorials of our weekly cycling
contemporaries, we have grown envious and have been sorely tempted
to take a hand and out with our opinions. The legislative wisdom
that bristles on our pen point, however, has been restrained by the
knowledge that we appear before the wheel-world but once a month,
when the question under discussion has often been disposed of by the
weeklies before we go to press.

We, along with all who have the best interests of cycling at heart,
have been greatly interested in the arguments, pro and con, concerning
the new League constitution. As we are minded to jot down these few
remarks, there lies before us copies of the _Wheel and Cycle Trade
Review_ and copies of the _Bicycling World and League Bulletin_.
Apropos of the subject under discussion there is, to say the least, a
“friendly difference of opinion” between them.

“Rings,” “wire-pullings,” “gangs,” etc., are openly talked of, and
dark hints lurk between lines and words. Some of the remarks and
insinuations indulged in are refreshingly frank, and yet the impression
is left, that the pens of the writers have been held under restraint,
so as not to reveal the depth of their inmost thoughts. It is, or
appears to us to be, almost a case of “you have” and “we swear to you,
by all that’s holy, we have not--so there!” not to say “you’re another!”

It is in such moments as these that ~Outing~ takes unto itself
much solid comfort in the reflection that, as a non-combatant and a
mutual friend and well-wisher, it can take the non-partisan stump and
out with a word or two of timely wisdom to the rank and file of the
League, whilst the rival champions are fighting it out.

Whether ringsters, wire-pullers and gangs have really taken possession
of the politics of the L. A. W. is a matter that every member of the
organization should judge for himself from the evidence advanced. The
League is not made up of children, nor of dotards, but, for the most
part, of intelligent young men capable of knowing their own minds and
forming their own opinions.

~Thomas Stevens.~

* * * * *

BASEBALL.

The League pennant race during August was made intensely interesting
to the New York patrons of the game by the continued success of the
New York team, and the fact that they finally gained the lead during
that month. The falling off in the Detroit team was also a noteworthy
feature of the month’s campaign, while Chicago, too, lost their
previous winning pace. The surprise of the month was the brilliant
rally made by the Boston team after their demoralizing experience of
July. Chicago went to the front in May, after Boston’s April spurt,
Boston being second and New York third. By July Detroit had pushed
Boston to third place, while Chicago still kept in the van, New York
having dropped to fourth position. Before the end of July, however,
New York had not only taken Detroit’s place as third in the race, but
by the end of the month they had reached the front and had pushed
Chicago back to second place. The last week in August saw New York
at the head of the list with a percentage of .663 to Chicago’s .579
and Detroit’s .527, Boston being fourth with .516, and Philadelphia
fifth with .500, the other three being entirely out of the race. The
last week in August, however, saw Boston rally for a higher position
in brilliant style, three straight victories over New York at the Polo
Grounds being one of the noteworthy events of the month, no other club
having been able to win three straight games from the New York team
during the season before this. This left September’s campaign the most
interesting of the season, as on the games of that month would depend
the virtual settlement of the championship question, though the season
would not end until the middle of October. The fact that New York would
finish its season at home, from September 28th to October 16th, greatly
favored the anticipations of the club, and the close of August left
them confident of ultimate success in winning the pennant.

A feature of the early Fall campaign in the League arena was the
contrast between the Boston club’s record of victory and defeats
in July, and their August record. During July the Boston team lost
seventeen games out of twenty-two, while in August--up to the
30th--they had won fifteen out of twenty. New York’s records in June
and that in July were almost as striking in their contrast. In June
that club’s team only won thirteen games out of twenty-three, while
in July they won eighteen out of twenty-three. On the other hand,
the falling off in the play of the Chicago team in July as compared
with their June record was equally surprising; as in June they won
fourteen games out of twenty-two, while in July they lost fourteen out
of twenty-three. But the worst series of defeats of the season was
that sustained by the Detroit team in August, when they lost sixteen
games out of twenty-two, after winning fourteen out of twenty-four in
July. These changes are all in accordance with the uncertain character
of the national game, which gives it much of its attraction to our
chance-loving sporting public.

In the American arena the contest for the pennant still being confined
to the four leading teams of the St. Louis, Cincinnati, Athletic and
Brooklyn clubs, lost much of its interest to the metropolitan patrons
of the game, owing to the unexpected collapse of the Brooklyn team,
which, from its occupancy of first position on July 15th with a
percentage of .676, with St. Louis second with .639, and Cincinnati
with .600, fell within one month to fourth place. By the last week in
August they had only a percentage of .585, while the Athletic team
had worked itself up ahead of Cincinnati into second place with a
percentage of .625, Cincinnati being third with .608, and St. Louis
first with .701, with a fair promise of ultimate success in winning
the pennant. The New York League team, when they themselves took up
their leading position, had hoped to see the Brooklyn team keep pace
with them so that the two might eventually compete for the world’s
championship honors, as they well knew that in such a series of
contests the Brooklyns would draw thousands of spectators where the St.
Louis would only attract hundreds. It is almost a certainty that St.
Louis will win, while the struggle for second place will be between
Brooklyn, the Athletics and Cincinnati, the other four being completely
out of the race. Bad management lost Brooklyn the chance of winning the
pennant, as they unquestionably had the material at command to have
kept the lead.

~Henry Chadwick.~

[Illustration: ~The Outing Club.~]

THE OPEN GAME SEASON IN CANADA.

The season for shooting woodcock in Canada commenced August 15th, and
birds may now be shot till the 1st of January. Grouse, pheasants,
partridges, snipe, rail, golden plover, ducks of all kinds, and all
other kinds of water-fowl, excepting geese and swan, may also be
lawfully killed from the first of September until the first of the
year. The open season for geese and swans runs from September 1st to
May 1st. The quail season does not begin until October 15th, and quail
must not be killed after December 15th. The deer season begins October
15th and ends November 20th. Moose, elk, reindeer or caribou are
protected entirely until the year 1895.

PONY RACING.

A sport which has attained great dimensions in England of late years,
and has to some extent been popularized in America, is pony and
galloway racing. It is, in fact, this sport which has revived the
word “galloway,” which was falling quite out of use, and never seen
except occasionally in an auctioneer’s catalogue. The word is defined
by “Stonehenge” as applying to “full-blooded ponies which are bred
in the south of Scotland and which show more Eastern blood than the
Highlanders.” He goes on to say that they “seldom exceed fourteen
hands, and are described as possessing all the attributes of a clever
hack.” That the sport has a real use no one can doubt, for the breeding
of ponies had become an industry sorely in want of an impetus, which
it now has in the extra inducements offered to breeders by the high
prices obtainable for really speedy animals. In proportion to size, a
pony is a better animal than a horse, and can do far more work “for
his inches.” The improvement of speed and better development of the
various breeds is therefore a highly desirable object. The sport is
a great favorite among military men in India, and, according to all,
it is a truly wonderful sight to see what welter weights a small pony
will carry without apparent distress. In America the recruits for
the sports of the East, whether racing or polo, are largely obtained
from the West. From the improved stock which is now brought in large
quantities to New York and other eastern towns every year, judicious
selection can obtain really first-class material. Though the ponies
are usually “in the rough” when they arrive, careful handling and good
stable management will soon reduce them to such shape that, were it not
for the tell-tale brand on the quarters, no one would recognize them as
specimens of that much-maligned class, “cow-ponies.”

FROM KANSAS ON A WHEEL.

Mr. Elmer E. Junken, of Abilene, Kansas, has made a long ride on a
52-inch “Expert” Columbia. He left his home May 16th, and arrived in
this city August 18th. He traveled the whole distance on his wheel, and
with the exception of being sunbrowned and travel-stained, appeared
nothing the worse for the wear and tear of his journey. The route
lay through Kansas City, St. Louis, Ill., along the National Road
to Terre Haute, Indianapolis, Richmond, Ind., Springfield, Dayton,
Columbus, Cleveland, O., along the Ridge Road to Buffalo, through
Rochester, Syracuse, Utica, the Mohawk Valley to Albany, thence through
Pittsfield, Northampton, Ware, Worcester to Boston and to New York. The
journey was made for pleasure and sight-seeing, and for this enjoyment
Mr. Junken covered over two thousand miles. The roads he describes as
variable, and he gives credit to Ohio and Indiana for having the best.
His outfit consisted of a change of underwear, a serviceable cyclist’s
suit, and a rubber coat. Mr. Junken will make the return journey home
partly on his wheel, with an occasional lift on the cars.

MANHATTAN’S VICTORIOUS ATHLETES.

The Manhattan Club team returned from England, August 12th, after an
absence of ten weeks, during which time its members won a half dozen
championships in the national games at Crewe and the international
games in Dublin. The team, when it went away from here, consisted of
G. A. Avery, T. P. Conneff, H. M. Banks, Jr., and Frederick Westing,
who were joined on the other side by Thomas Ray and C. V. S. Clark,
English resident members of the club. From Queenstown Conneff went to
Belfast, and won the four-mile Irish championship run. From that time
the team’s career was a series of victories. The men went into training
at the grounds of the London Athletic Club, and soon had themselves in
excellent trim. Besides winning his four-mile race, Conneff won the
English one-mile and the international one-mile championship races.
He also beat Carter in a five-mile match race. Thomas Ray won the
pole-vaulting championship, and Westing carried off the honors in the
100-yard race at Crewe, besides winning at the international races in
Dublin at the same distance. Westing’s time in the latter race was
ten seconds. Clark, another member of the team, completed the list
by winning the seven-mile walk at Crewe. Gold medals were awarded in
each event. Westing has challenged Great Britain for the 100-yard
championship of the world, the race to take place on the Manhattan
Athletic Club’s grounds. Messrs. Ritchie and Woods have accepted the
challenge. A similar challenge by Conneff for the mile championship has
been accepted by Messrs. Hickman and Leaver. When these championship
events come off they will excite great interest.

THE TRIP OF THE CHICAGO BALL-PLAYERS.

The Australian tour of the Chicago Baseball Team, which is now in
everyone’s mouth, is a novel scheme, the credit of which is due to Mr.
Leigh S. Lynch, the well-known theatrical manager. During his travels
in Australia Mr. Lynch perceived how great was the love of outdoor
sports displayed by the Anglo-Saxons of that rising young continent.
He also noted the complete ignorance of baseball which prevailed. The
outcome of his observations was the undertaking of the Australian tour
by Mr. A. G. Spalding. Mr. Lynch was dispatched to make arrangements,
and on his return in the spring the work of organizing two teams was
undertaken. Not content with instructing the people of Australia in
the art of baseball, Mr. Spalding has determined to take with him men
capable of playing cricket and football also. The work of selection has
resulted in the choice of the following teams: A. C. Anson, (captain),
E. Williamson, F. Pfeffer, T. Burns, J. Ryan, F. Flint, M. Sullivan,
R. Pettit, M. Baldwin and T. Daly, and this team is to be known as
“The Chicagoes.” The second bears the name of “The Picked Club,” and
comprises: John M. Ward (captain), M. Kelly, Boston; F. Carroll,
Pittsburgh; M. Tiernan, New York; Wood, Philadelphia; E. Hanlon,
Detroit; Fogarty, Philadelphia; Comiskey, St. Louis; while it is hoped
that the services of Caruthers, of Brooklyn, and McPhee, of Cincinnati,
will also be secured. John A. Rogers, of the Peninsular Cricket Club
of Detroit, has been made captain of the cricket team. All players
are bound by strict contracts as if they were playing in a league or
association club.

After a series of farewell games in America, beginning in October at
Chicago and continuing in Milwaukee, Des Moines, St. Paul, Minneapolis,
Omaha, Denver, Salt Lake City, Stockton, Los Angeles and San Francisco,
they will embark on November 17 at the last-named place. S. S.
_Alameda_ has been chartered, the owners agreeing to do the trip in
twenty-five days. The foreign campaign will begin at Honolulu, where
two games will be played, one with a local club, the other between the
two teams. It is hoped that King Kalakaua will honor the field with his
august presence. The first antipodean city visited is Auckland, then
Sidney, and hence the route lies to Melbourne, Adelaide, Brisbane and
other cities. Altogether it appears likely that the tour will prove a
phenomenal success.

POLO.

The season of outdoor sports is once more on the wane, and soon the
morning papers will no longer teem with reports of sports of every
kind, from the baseball which interests all, down to the small and
ragged urchin who can scarcely toddle, to aristocratic polo, with its
select clique of followers. Each has its own field to fill, but to each
is vouchsafed the mission of strengthening and filling with robust
health the systems of its votaries.

Polo is, and except under very exceptional circumstances always must
be, the game of the rich. Unless it be in a community where each man
has for part of his stock-in-trade horses and ponies, none but the
wealthy can afford to keep the necessary ponies, and none but they care
to run the risk of damage to their stock involved in this sport. In
its original home, India, its nimble exponents certainly often manage
with but one pony each, but the result of this appears in the way in
which English officers, inferior in skill, by the superiority of their
horseflesh, succeed in beating the native players.

In its limited circle Polo has, however, taken firm root, as the
papers testify, and though the crack players are not elevated to the
questionably pleasant position of popular heroes, to be lauded to the
skies one day, and the next hissed and hooted, they are to a few
select admirers little short of demi-gods. In spite of the ardor,
however, with which this game is now pursued in America, competent
judges dare to hint that it has not yet reached the English standard.
Again, it is sure that in England there are few who can emulate the
dexterity of the natives of India. In the American game, a certain lack
of vigor in the strokes is especially noticeable, and but few seem to
have mastered the difficulties of the sweeping overhand stroke.

With such a basis as the game has attained, it is only a matter of time
and practice for a high pitch of excellence to be reached. Let us hope
that in the course of but few years the exponents of this fine and
manly sport may become masters of all the skill they can desire.

RETURNING THE BALL IN LAWN-TENNIS.

A correspondence which has been going on in the columns of the English
sporting paper, _Land and Water_, has elicited the following remarks
from the editor, which seem to contain such an important point that
they are well worth reproduction:

“The majority of gentlemen make their best drives by taking the ball
when near the ground. This is undoubtedly the best way to ensure
accuracy and certainty, combined with severity; but it has the
disadvantage of giving the opponent plenty of time to get into position
and recover his composure. Besides accuracy and severity, rapidity of
return is a very important factor against the best players, who all of
them possess great aptitude in covering the court. The deadliness of
the volley, of course, lies in the fact that the ball is returned so
soon after it has passed the net, calling for redoubled exertion on
the part of the muscular and mental faculties employed. What applies
to the volley also applies to the ground-stroke, and players who
recognize this in practice endeavor to return the ball with as little
delay as possible, when circumstances are favorable, as is generally
the case with high-bounding second services, when the ball is taken at
elbow-height, and even higher. With beginners and indifferent players
no practice is more to be condemned than that of running in to meet
the ball, and in doing this lies the secret of the failure of so many.
But if one watches the play of those at the very top of the tree he
will find that they never lose an opportunity of getting at the ball as
soon as they can safely do so. Mr. H. F. Lawford is especially good at
this tactic, and he has explained in print that he considers the time
gained to be more than a recompense for the risk run of losing some of
his accuracy. Mr. E. Renshaw takes the ball, under the circumstances,
overhanded; but both Miss L. Dod and Mrs. Hillyard (to mention only
the case in point) manage to get over it, returning it at great speed.
To take the ball in this way with proper effect is difficult of
accomplishment, which is the reason why we mention the circumstance.”

THE AMERICA’S CUP ONCE MORE.

The prospects are that next season will see another comer from across
the ocean in American waters to offer battle for the America’s Cup. The
new visitor will probably be Mr. Paul A. Ralli’s new cutter _Yarana_, a
vessel designed by G. L. Watson, the designer of the famous _Thistle_
and the almost equally well-known _Irex_. The _Thistle_ we know from
her performances in American waters last season; the _Irex_ we only
know from her honorable record in British contests. The _Yarana_ is
a cutter 66.08 feet long on the load water line, and has a 14.08 feet
beam. Her draft is not given. This craft has been in all the principal
British regattas since her _début_, May 22d, in the Thames Yacht
Club event, and her performances have all come up to her designer’s
expectations. In fifteen matches with the _Irex_--and the _Irex_ is
one of the crack yachts of old England--the _Yarana_ won nine and the
_Irex_ four. Two of the races must not be taken into account, as the
_Irex_ ran aground. Last year the _Thistle_ had nine to her account
against the _Irex_, but when it is remembered that the small boat is
not put on an equal footing with the large sloop by any rule of time
allowance now in use, the record of the _Yarana_ may be fairly said
to prove that Mr. Watson has improved on his previous creations. If
the _Yarana_ comes here she will be welcome as a visitor, and equally
welcome as a challenger for a trophy which has a reputation the world
over. The advent of a smaller boat competing for this much-valued prize
will prove beneficial. It will create more interest among yachtsmen
generally, as it will give a chance for the smaller boats to enter the
lists. The owners of the _Shamrock_, _Titania_ and _Katrina_ have great
faith in their craft. Possibly they might have a chance next season to
measure speed with the new Britisher. Let us hope so; and may the best
boat win, be she American or English!

AMATEUR OARSMEN AND THE NATIONAL ASSOCIATION.

Henry W. Garfield, President of the National Association of Amateur
Oarsmen, in the annual communication to the organization, thus
discourses on rowing matters in general and what constitutes an amateur:

The conditions which brought the National Association into being may
be well known to some, but are hardly appreciated by those boating
men whose interests in aquatic sports commenced at a later date. In
1872 there was in the United States no generally accepted definition
of an amateur oarsman, and the constant formation of new clubs, and
consequent increase in racing, made the adoption of some uniform
definition eminently desirable. A convention of boating men was
accordingly called to meet in New York city, and then and there was the
National Association of Amateur Oarsmen organized. In the following
year its first regatta was held in Philadelphia. The merits of the new
definition were early seen, and the value of its Laws of Boat-Racing
soon recognized, until both have since been generally adopted and
followed by every amateur rowing association and club.

When, however, the Association attempted to enforce its rules and to
discipline offenders, it was for several years sturdily opposed by
powerful clubs from one or two localities. The attempt was made to
prejudice the minds of some by alleging that your Executive Committee
had in several instances misused its great powers for the punishment
of those who were personally inimical to some of its members, or
seemed dangerous antagonists of their clubs. But the gentlemen to
whom you delegated authority had full confidence that their laborious
and, at first, thankless efforts, would in due season be appreciated,
and so they patiently bided their time. We feel that whatever errors
of judgment your successive Executive Boards may have committed,
the work the Association has accomplished through them is generally
recognized. We believe the Association to be worthy the hearty
loyalty and undivided support of every section. Under its fostering
care and encouragement other associations have sprung up and grown to
vigorous strength, both in the East and the West. In their prosperity
we cannot but rejoice, and we have always found in them important and
influential allies, ever willing to assist in any movement tending to
advance our mutual interests, the promotion of rowing among amateurs.
It still continues important that some central authority should
adjudicate disputed cases, conduct annual meetings for the decision of
championships, revise laws when desirable, and endeavor not only to
retain the results of a persistent and long continued warfare for the
purification of aquatics, but to still further advance the lines, so
that in every State may be seen an increase in the number of active
boating men, assured that they will be asked to compete only with their
equals.

As a further step in this reform we have taken pleasure in following
your mandate of a year since, and have submitted to the clubs for
action here tonight an amendment to Article III. of the Constitution,
reading as follows:

We further define an amateur to be one who rows for pleasure or
recreation only, and during his leisure hours, and who does not abandon
or neglect his usual business or occupation for the purpose of training.

Of course, it is not by this intended to forbid legitimate training
during vacation periods, or to exclude those who, more fortunate than
their fellows, have a competency and can devote time to training
which, in the case of others, would be irregular. It is intended
to reach men who (to the detriment of legitimate amateur sport and
the discouragement of those rising oarsmen who, following business
pursuits, have limited opportunity to practice) spend a whole summer
on the water and are undesirable participants at nearly every race
meeting. Their number is not so large, but the injury they are able to
accomplish is unquestionable. The interpretation of the law must be
left to the discretion of prudent men, and if your present Board does
not merit your confidence in this particular, we would gladly give
place to worthier men who do.

THE BUFFALO DOG SHOW.

One of the attractive features of the Buffalo Exhibition was the Dog
Show. Much interest, from the time it was first announced, was felt in
its success. The National Dog Club, at the meeting of its executive
committee, voted to give fifteen bronze medals as special prizes
for the best American bred dog or bitch of the following breeds:
Mastiffs, St. Bernards, deerhounds, English setters, Irish setters,
Gordon setters, pointers, toy dogs, sporting spaniels, pugs, collies,
fox-terriers, greyhounds, bull-dogs and terriers (except fox-terriers).

HOW CROWS EAT FISH.

The _Allgemeine Sport Zeitung_ published a letter from a correspondent
recently which gave a curious account of the manner in which crows
eat fish. He stated that during a visit to the country for sporting
purposes he found the estate largely under water from long-continued
rains. At the edge of the retreating waters were large flocks of crows
engaged in eating the half-stranded fish fry. They evidently did not
confine their attentions entirely to the small fry, for he found the
skeleton of a trout which must have weighed a pound at least, picked
quite clean.

[Illustration: ~Among the Books~]

We are pleased to call the attention of our readers for once to a book
which will actually fill a gap in the literature of athletic sports.
It is the second volume of the ~Outing~ Library of Sports,
“Janssen’s American Amateur Athletic and Aquatic History. 1829-1888.”
(New York: ~Outing Co.~, 239 Fifth Avenue.) As Mr. Janssen says
in the preface, on undertaking the work of compilation, he planned
a small pamphlet. The result has, however, spread it to a portly
volume required by the real extent and scope of the subject, and we
have before us a book that will have a larger circulation and prove
of greater value than any other contribution to athleticism. In the
opening of the book are given the champion and best amateur records of
America and England, and these are supplemented on the last page by
the records of 1888, bringing the book down to the moment of going to
press. In all other respects the same thoroughness characterizes the
work, and every one who inspects the book will agree with the author in
saying that “if any organization, record or champion has been omitted,
it has simply been from either lack of reliable information, or for
want of interest on the part of those communicated with.” The volume is
such that no athlete will be without it. It is indispensable as a book
of reference, but it is also a book worthy of diligent study.

A book which should be on the shelves of every sportsman, is “Names and
Portraits of Birds which Interest Gunners,” by Gurdon Trumbull. (New
York: Harper & Brothers. 1888.) The best explanation of the purport of
the book is found in the continuation of the title, “with descriptions
in language understanded of the people.” The author’s method is to
give the scientific name of a bird, and describe its appearance,
measurements, habitat, etc., with illustrations of male and female, and
then to give the ordinary name applied, locally or otherwise. The sole
disappointment in connection with the volume is to find that the birds
mentioned are only those of the eastern half of the United States.

We note with pleasure that Messrs. Macmillan & Co. have published a
cheap edition of that most excellent novel, “Mr. Isaacs,” by F. Marion
Crawford. It is a great blessing to the public to be able to obtain
such literature at a moderate rate, instead of having to weary brain
and eye with badly-printed “penny awfuls.”

Another book which has become accessible to the traveler by land or
water, is Andrew Carnegie’s “An American Four-in-Hand in Britain.” (New
York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.) In connection with recent events, it is
just now of special interest.

Marvelous as every one knows the improvements to be that have been
effected in the illustrative art of late years, nobody will see the
photogravure series issued by Messrs. Nims & Knight, of Troy, N. Y.,
without genuine delight. In them one would say that the limit has
been reached, for anything more delicately beautiful in this line of
illustration is inconceivable. Four of the series are from photographs
by S. R. Stoddard, and each one of them is as near perfection as
possible.

“Lake George Illustrated” is described on the title-page as a book of
pictures. This is, we think, too much modesty, for such are the powers
of the reproductive process used that this and each volume possesses
the charms of a perfect sketch-book. Not only are the views of the
lovely scenery exquisite, but the decorative efforts to complete the
pages are most beautiful in result. A second of the series is “The
Adirondack Lakes,” and this is in no whit inferior. Except one saw the
exquisite delineation of details due to photography, he would imagine
that the lovely effects produced were in sepia by a master hand. With
eager avidity, every lover of the beautiful in nature will turn to
the rest of the series. The next is “The Adirondack Mountains,” and
again wonder arises at the effects produced. Especially beautiful are
the effects of water, which show a delicacy and truth to nature most
fascinating. In the fourth of the series to which Mr. Stoddard’s name
is attached, “The Hudson River,” we have a succession of lovely views
of the grand river from its source to its mouth.

In “Bits of Nature,” Messrs. Nims & Knight have published ten gems of
the photogravure process. Of these the pick seems to us to be the view
in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, in which the light and shadow effects and
the water are very charming, while in the illustration entitled “Road
to Grand Hotel,” the effect of the rugged bark on the tree in the
foreground is beautifully reproduced. In the smaller series, “Corners
in the Catskills,” we have some lovely pieces of Nature.

In the “Log of the _Ariel_,” illustrated by L. S. Ipsen, the same
publishers have reproduced in most artistic form the log of a trip on a
steam yacht on the Gulf of Maine. The illustrations are clever, and the
whole is produced with exquisite taste.

~Messrs. Nims & Knight~ have also published a volume of poems,
“The Two Voices: Poems of the Mountains and the Sea,” selected by John
Chadwick, which is a fitting handbook to go with the above volumes. It
contains choice morsels of poetry culled from the best sources.

Worthy of mention among its host of contemporaries, is the midsummer
number of _The Richfield News_. While professedly “devoted to the
interests of American summer resorts,” it possesses a genuine interest
for a wide circle of readers with its chatty, pleasant style. The
general appearance of the paper and its illustrations is most
wonderfully effective. We are looking forward with pleasure to the
early reappearance of its twin sister, _The St. Augustine News_.

[Illustration: AMENITIES.]

[Illustration: HOW BASEBALL WILL PROBABLY BE PLAYED 100 YEARS HENCE.]

[Illustration: ~Cabby~ (_who has been paid his bare fare before
hiring_): Bring yer box in? What, I leave my young ’oss a-standin’ ’ere
of hisself!--(_with determination_)--No, I can’t leave my cab! Spozin’
he runs away, ’oos to pay for the damage, I should like to know?]

[Illustration: ~Our MONTHLY RECORD~]

~This~ department of ~Outing~ is specially devoted to paragraphs
of the doings of members of organized clubs engaged in the
reputable sports of the period, and also to the recording of the
occurrence of the most prominent events of the current season. On
the ball-fields it will embrace _Cricket_, _Baseball_, _Lacrosse_
and _Football_. On the bays and rivers, _Yachting_, _Rowing_ and
_Canoeing_. In the woods and streams, _Hunting_, _Shooting_ and
_Fishing_. On the lawns, _Archery_, _Lawn Tennis_ and _Croquet_.
Together with Ice-Boating, Skating, Tobogganing, Snowshoeing,
Coasting, and winter sports generally.

Secretaries of clubs will oblige by sending in the names of their
presidents and secretaries, with the address of the latter,
together with the general result of their most noteworthy contests
of the month, addressed, “Editor of ~Outing~,” 239 Fifth Avenue,
New York.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

_All communications intended for the Editorial Department should
be addressed to “The Editor,” and not to any person by name.
Advertisements, orders, etc., should be kept distinct, and
addressed to the manager. Letters and inquiries from anonymous
correspondents will not receive attention. All communications to be
written on one side of the paper only._

AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY.

~The~ Hartford Camera Club had an agreeable outing in August
over the Meriden, Waterbury and Connecticut River Road. The club
frequently makes trips of this character. Among those who participated
in the excursion were: James B. Cone, president; Mr. and Mrs. E. M.
White, Mr. and Mrs. W. J. Hickmott, Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Kinney, Mr.
and Mrs. F. O. Tucker, Mr. and Mrs. A. F. Woods, Mr. and Mrs. F. A.
Thompson, Henry Fuller, Lawrence Cody, W. G. Abbott, A. L. Butler, J.
C. Hill, H. O. Warner, C. F. Butler, T. S. Weaver, Miss Helen Cody,
Miss Abbott, Miss Sarah Green, Miss Mary Green, Miss Harbison, Miss
Weaver, Mrs. W. P. Marsh and Misses Mills, all belonging in Hartford.

The Meriden party who accompanied them were: Mr. and Mrs. Geo.
Rockwell, T. S. Rust, C. S. Perkins, G. L. Ellsbree, A. Chamberlain,
Rev. A. H. Hall, A. S. Thomas, J. M. Harmon, G. A. Fay, E. Miller,
Jr., Dr. Mansfield, Supt. Crawford. A pleasant stay at Highland Lake
was made, and several pretty views were taken of the scenery in the
neighborhood.

* * * * *

~The~ fifth annual convention of the Photographers’ Association
of Canada was held in the rooms of the Ontario Society of Artists, at
Toronto, Canada, July 31 to August 2. Among the exhibits the following
were noteworthy: C. A. Tenjoy, of Collingwood, fine large pictures and
cabinets; S. J. Dixon, of Toronto, large prints of unusual merit; S.
D. Edgeworth, of St. Louis, a fine collection from various sources;
W. F. Johnson, of Pictou, a large exhibit of excellent work; R. D.
Bayley, Battle Creek, Mich., fine cabinets; Guerin, of St. Louis,
some splendid work in cabinets. H. Barraud, of London, Eng., had a
fine exhibit, also his relative and namesake, of Barrie, Ontario. E.
Poole, of St. Catherine’s, had one of the largest exhibits and of the
first order. Brockenshire, of Wingham, also exhibited some very fine
bromides and enameled pictures. T. J. Bryce, of Toronto, exhibited a
number of large, fine Rembrandt effects and some excellent cabinets.
E. D. Clarke, of Guelph, showed colored bromides that called forth
much admiration. Poole and Robson, of Port Perry, also had a good
exhibit. William Davison, of Brampton, exhibited a number of pictures.
W. Mecklechwaite, of Toronto, also had a very good exhibit. Zybach, of
Niagara Falls, Ontario, had a magnificent exhibit of large photographs
of the Falls, both in winter and summer.

ATHLETICS.

~The~ Board of Managers of the Amateur Athletic Union held
a meeting at the new club-house of the New York Athletic Club, on
Travers’ Island, August 25. A resolution intended to put a stop to any
conflicting claims to athletic jurisdiction in the United States, and
to prevent any minor organizations from holding championship field
meetings, was passed. The resolution unanimously adopted by the board
is as follows:

_Resolved_, That any amateur athlete competing in any open amateur
games in the United States not governed by rules approved by the
Amateur Athletic Union shall be debarred from competing in any
games held under the rules of the Amateur Athletic Union. This
resolution shall take effect immediately.

This wholesale legislation was deemed necessary on the part of the
board, and it is thought it will be productive of perplexing results.
The Manhattan Athletic Club of this city, it is said, will virtually
be the only sufferer by the new arrangement, as it is the only club
hereabouts giving games under rules other than those approved by the
union. It will be compelled either to recognize and adopt the rules of
the union, or to create a new field of athletics, as far as its track
members are concerned. Of these the Manhattan Club has about fifty,
and as it is supposed they will not submit to being debarred from the
privileges of competing in games given by the various clubs in and
around New York, the club, it is asserted, will have to adopt the
union’s rules. The Manhattan Club, it is claimed, is leaning too far
toward professional methods.

The Board of Managers also considered the case of the Staten Island and
the New Jersey athletic clubs, each of which advertised a carnival of
athletic sports for Labor Day, Sep. 3. The Staten Island Club was shown
to have the right to the day by reason of priority of announcement,
and the New Jersey Club was censured for choosing a date that directly
conflicted with that of a sister club in the union.

The Investigating Committee reported on the cases of J. Cunningham
and P. Cahill. Cunningham was disqualified by a unanimous vote, and
Cahill’s case referred back to the Committee, with instructions to
investigate his fight with Robinson. The board decided to investigate
the amateur status of E. Hickey and J. J. Sampson, both of whom are
under suspicion.

The delegates at the meeting were: President, Harry McMillan, of
Philadelphia; secretary, Otto Ruhl, of New York; treasurer, Howard
Perry, of Washington; Jas. E. Sullivan, of New York; F. W. Janssen, of
Staten Island; Edward Milligan, of Philadelphia; W. O. Eschwege, of
Brooklyn. John F. Huneker, of Philadelphia, represented the Detroit
Athletic Club, and Daniel G. French that of Chicago.

* * * * *

~William J. M. Barry~, of the Queen’s College Athletic Club,
Cork, Ireland, holds the world’s championship in throwing the 16-lb.
hammer. August 11 he succeeded in putting the hammer, on his fifth
throw, the unprecedented distance of 129 ft. 3¼ in. G. M. L. Sachs,
C. C. Hughes, and L. E. Myers were the judges of the performance.

* * * * *

~The~ Orange Athletic Club will hold an athletic meeting October
6, and one and two mile bicycle races will be prominent features. The
meeting is open to all amateurs, and some of the best athletes in the
country are expected to compete.

* * * * *

~The~ Philadelphia Clan-na-Gael Association held its annual
games at the Rising Sun Park, Philadelphia, August 13. It is estimated
30,000 people witnessed the games. The events resulted as follows:

Putting the 16-pound stone--George Ross, 44 ft.; J. A. MacDougall, 43
ft. ½ in.; P. J. Griffin, 41 ft. 9½ in.

Standing long jump--John F. Hartnett, 13 ft. 6 in.; P. J. Griffin, 12
ft. 9½ in.; Con. J. Sullivan, 12 ft. 6 in.

150-yard dash--First, S. J. Farrell, 16s.; second, M. C. Murphy; third,
Thos. Aitken.

Throwing 16-pound hammer--J. A. MacDougall, 100 ft. 2 in.; Philip
Cummings, 99 ft. 4½ in.; George Ross, 89 ft. 7 in.

Running long jump--Con. J. Sullivan, 20 ft. 9 in.; David Ader, 20 ft.
8½ in.; Wm. Henderson, 20 ft. 4 in.

Members’ 150-yard dash--First, John Flynn, 17½s.; second, Philip
Cummings; third, Patrick Lyons.

Throwing 56-pound weight, between legs--Philip Cummings, 26 ft. 10 in.;
John A. MacDougall, 25 ft. 2 in.; P. J. Griffin, 25 ft. 1 in.

Half-mile race--First, S. J. Farrell, 2m. 10s.; second, E. Case; third,
T. C. Riordan.

Running hop, step and jump--Con. J. Sullivan, 46 ft.; William
Henderson, 45 ft. 8 in.; Thomas Aitken, 45 ft.

150-yard sack race--First, John Cahill; second, William Irvine; third,
Thomas Aitken.

Putting 63-pound weight--George Ross, 22 ft.; Patrick Lyons, 21 ft. ½
in.; Philip Cummings, 21 ft.

Standing high jump--P. J. Griffin, 5 ft. 6 in.; John Hartnett, 5 ft.
5¾. in.; Archie Scott, 5 ft. 5 in.

Three standing jumps--P. J. Griffin 39 ft. 6 in.; John F. Hartnett, 38
ft. 9½ in.; Archie Scott 36 ft. 9 in.

150-yard dash, boys--First, Thomas Pierce; second, Thomas Harrington;
third, William Washington.

Half-mile dash, members--First, John Lyons, 3m. 28s.; second, P. Lyons;
third, Lawrence O’Dea.

Running high jump--Thomas Aitken, 5 ft. 10 in.; second, 5 ft. 9 in.,
tie between Archie Scott and William Henderson.

Throwing 56-pound weight, for height--Philip Cummings, 13 ft. 9 in.; J.
A. MacDougall, 13 ft. 8¾ in.; third, George Ross, 13 ft. 6 in.

Running high jump, amateurs--First, J. E. Terry, Schuylkill Navy
Athletic Club; second, William Haar, Turner’s Club, Philadelphia.

One-mile race, amateurs--First, W. H. Morris, colored, Young Men’s
Christian Association, 5m. 20s.; second, Thomas Crawford, Caledonian
Club.

Putting 16-pound shot, amateurs--James Kane, Jr., Schuylkill Navy
Athletic Club, 35 ft. 1 in.; J. K. Shell, same club, 34 ft. 8¾ in.

Standing hop, step and jump--John F. Hartnett, 35 ft. 7 in.; Archie
Scott, 35 ft. 3 in.; P. J. Griffin, 34 ft. 1½ in.

One-mile race--First, E. Case, 4m. 48s.; second, James Grant; third, T.
C. Riordan.

Pole vault--Archie Scott, 10 ft. 1 in.; Thomas Aitken, 10 ft.; William
Henderson, 9 ft. 11 in.

Hitch and kick--George Slater, 9 ft.; Archie Scott, 8 ft. 11 in.;
Daniel Aider, 8 ft. 10 in.

Three standing jumps, members--Lawrence O’Day, 35 ft. 11½ in.; P.
Lyons, 34 ft. 5 in.; Philip Cummings, 34 ft. 2 in.

150-yard hurdle race--First, M. C. Murphy; second, P. J. Griffin;
third, Archie Scott.

Throwing 56-pound weight between legs, members--Philip Cummings, 25 ft.
9 in.; John O’Day, 23 ft. 8 in.; P. Lyons, 22 ft. 4 in.

Five-mile race--First, James Grant, 28m.; second, Edward Case; third,
T. C. Riordan.

The final heat of the tug-of-war was won by the Napper Tandy Club--John
McLean, F. Corrigan, William Reed, Joseph Hughes, Hugh Scullen, Harry
Kearney, F. Mullen, E. E. Hackett, John Dillon and Frank Coxe. The
prize was $500 and an emblem.

* * * * *

~The~ Pavilion Pastime Club--another notable addition to
Brooklyn’s large list of outdoor societies--was organized last month
with the following officers: Dr. H. O. Rockefeller, President; Messrs.
J. A. Cruikshank, vice-president; A. H. Weston, secretary, and Charles
E. Bevington, treasurer. A Governing Committee was formed by the
election of Messrs. Webster, Pattison and Hollister, Mrs. Weston, Mrs.
Bevington, and Misses Nellie Molloy and Phœbe Crawford.

Suitable grounds have been obtained on Arlington Avenue and Jerome
Street, directly opposite the headquarters, and the work of leveling,
grading, rolling and enclosing is now in progress at a cost of several
hundred dollars.

Lawn tennis, archery, croquet and other games and sports are to be
indulged in during the summer, while later on lacrosse, football, and
later still tobogganing will be introduced. The club-house is now
crowded with working paraphernalia, and it is the intention of those
in charge to increase the initiation fee to $10.

* * * * *

~The~ American Legion of Honor held its decennial celebration,
August 29, at the city Colosseum in Jones’ Wood, New York City. About
10,000 people were present during the day. The athletic games, which
were the chief attractions of the day’s festivities and for which
handsome prizes were provided, resulted as follows:

100-yard run--T. J. Lee, first; E. C. Bauman, second. Time, 10 4-5s.

Half-mile run--A. Bair, first; W. F. Beck, second. Time, 2m. 20s.

One-mile “Go-as-you-please”--F. Howell, first; T. Curran, second. Time,
9m.

100-yard three-legged race--J. J. O’Brien, champion light weight
wrestler of America, first; T. Gillan, second. Time not taken.

Half-mile run, for members’ sons under sixteen years of age--W. E.
Garrity, first; P. Fanning, second. Time, 2m. 30s.

One-mile walk--S. F. Moen, first; J. J. Barker, second. Time, 8m.

High jump--D. J. Cox, 5 ft. 5 in., and B. Kline, 5 ft. 3 in.

Broad jump--T. J. Lee 17 ft. 4 in.; W. R. Hooper, 17 ft.

Tug-of-war, four each side--Won by the Turn Verein Society’s team.

Five-mile “Go-as-you-please,” for professionals only--I. E. Regan,
first; P. J. McCarthy, second. Time, 27m. 30s.

The judges were Thomas Namack and Gus Guerrero. P. J. Donough was
referee.

* * * * *

~The~ programme of events proposed for international competition
by the team of the Gaelic Athletic Association, who are to visit this
country shortly, is as follows: 100, 220, 440 and 880 yards and one
mile races, 120 yards hurdle race, running long jump, running high
jump, running hop, step and jump, standing hop, step and jump (or
three leaps instead), with weights; standing long jump, with weights;
throwing 14-pound weight, under Gaelic A. A. rules; putting 16-pound
shot, 7 ft. run, no follow; pushing 56-pound weight from shoulder, G.
A. A. rules; throwing 16-pound hammer, G. A. A. championship rule,
unlimited run and follow, and American style.

* * * * *

~The~ Orange Athletic Club has finally determined upon October 6
for the date of its fall games.

* * * * *

~The~ Executive Committee of the National Association Amateur
Athletes of America decided to postpone the Championship Meeting
announced for September 15th to October 6th.

It will be held on that date, at the Manhattan Athletic Club Grounds,
Eighth Avenue and 86th Street, New York City.

This postponement will enable the athletic team from England and
Ireland, which is expected to arrive in New York about October 1st, to
participate, and will make the meeting an international one.

* * * * *

~The~ Staten Island Athletic Club had a great celebration Labor
Day. The attendance exceeded expectations. The first event was the
final tennis contest in singles and doubles. Mr. J. W. Raymond, of the
Twenty-third Regiment Tennis Club, won the singles, by defeating J. C.
Elliot. In the doubles, E. P. McMullen and C. Hobart beat Elliot and
Smith.

One hundred and twenty yards run--The starters were M. W. Ford, S. I.
A. C.; R. T. Hussey, S. I. A. C.; M. Bishop, S. I. A. C.; S. Toch, S.
I. A. C.; George Popham, S. I. A. C,; S. E. Corbett, S. I. A. C.; H. W.
Partridge, S. I. A. C., and F. A. Errington, S. I. A. C. The final heat
was won by Ford in 12 4-5s.

Half-mile run--Won by W. T. Thompson, in 2m. 5s.; Stewart Barr, second.

Running high jump--R. K. Pritchard and M. W. Ford, each cleared the bar
at 5 ft. 10¼ in. in the running high jump. Pritchard won by a toss.

Weight throwing--C. A. J. Queckberner won, covering a distance of 26
ft. 4¾ in., beating his best previous record 1½ inches.

Two-mile bicycle race--Won by A. B. Rich, in 6m. 58 1-3s.

Running broad jump--Won by A. A. Jordan, 21 ft. 11 in. Mr. Ford, 21 ft.
7 in.

Two hundred and ten yards run--Won by W. C. Dohme, 21 3-5s.

One-mile steeple-chase--Won by W. T. Thompson, in 4m. 50 3-5s.

Lacrosse game--This match between the Staten Island team and the
Druids, of Baltimore, was won by the Staten Islanders. Result, 7 goals
to 2.

Eight-oared shell race--Six boats competed in this race. The course was
one mile straightaway, and resulted in a dead heat between the Passaic
and the Schuylkill Navy Crews. Time, 5m. 28½s.

* * * * *

~The~ first fall field-meeting of the New Jersey Athletic Club
was held on September 3 at Bergen Point. It was successful and the
attendance was large. The events were as follows;

One hundred yards run (handicap)--Forty starters and seven trial heats,
winner in each heat and winner in second men’s second trial running
the final. Won by Charles Hagemeyer, P. A. C.; in 10½s.; H. Luersen
second.

One-mile bicycle race (novice)--Won by F. N. Burgess, of Rutherford, in
3m. 9 4-5s.; M. S. Ackerman, of Plainfield B. C., second.

One-mile walk--Won by W. R. Burkhard, P. A. C., in 6m. 28 4-5s.; W. F.
Pohlman second.

Three hundred yards run (handicap)--Three trial heats, first and second
in each in final heat. Won by C. Devereux, M. A. C., in 33s. A. W. S.
Cochran, N. Y. A. C., second.

Eight hundred and eighty yards run (handicap)--Won by J. A. Byrne, P.
A. C., in 1m. 58 4-5s.; F. J. Leonard, B. L. C., second.

Relief race (one hundred yards, each man carrying his mate half the
distance)--Won by C. T. Wiegand and F. H. Babcock, N. Y. A. C., in 20
2-5s.; J. T. Norton and A. F. Copeland second.

One-mile bicycle handicap--Won by E. P. Baggot, N. J. A. C., in 3m.
1-5s.; L. H. Wise, L. I. W., second.

Two hundred and twenty yards (handicap hurdle, first and second in each
trial in final)--Won by F. H. Babcock, N. Y. A. C., in 27s.; E. A.
Vandervoort, M. A. C., second.

One-mile run (handicap)--Won by P. C. Petrie, O. A. C., in 4m. 38
4-5s.; A. S. McGregor, Brighton A. C., second.

Potato race (10, two yards apart)--Won by W. H. Roberts, B. A. A., in
51 1-5s.; J. Nurberg, P. A. C., second.

Quarter-mile run (club championship)--Won by A. D. Stone, in 58s.; H.
H. Hatch second.

Mile bicycle race (club championship)--Won by W. H. Caldwell, in 3m.
3s.; S. B. Bowman, second.

Senior four-oared shell race (one mile with turn)--Newark Bay course of
N. J. A. C.--Won by Varuna B. C., Brooklyn, in 4m. 15s.; New Jersey A.
C. second.

Tandem paddling--Won by F. A. Beardsley and Alexander Oliver, in 4m.
19½s.

Single paddling--Won by Thomas Garrett, in 4m. 38½s.; F. A.
Beardsley second.

Hurry-skurry race--Won by Alexander Oliver, with J. P. Wetmore second.
No time.

The prizes were valuable gold and silver medals. The Pastimes carried
off the banner, scoring 24, or ten more than the next highest club--the
New York Athletic Club.

In the baseball contest, the Hilands, of Philadelphia, were whitewashed
by the New Jersey Athletic Club, who scored three runs and played an
errorless game. The home club gave a hop in the evening at the La
Tourette House.

* * * * *

~The~ annual fall games of the American Athletic Club took place
September 1, at the baseball grounds of the old Metropolitan Club. The
track was new and slow.

There were over sixty entries in the hundred yards dash. The final
winners in this event made a magnificent struggle, all coming in in a
bunch with R. T. Hussy, of the Staten Island A. C., first, in 10 2-5s.;
C. Wood, of the New York, second, and L. Oppenheimer a close third.

The 300-yard handicap was run in three heats, with a final dash for the
winners. W. S. Dingwell came in first, in 33 3-5s., with Thomas Namack
and C. Devereux a close second and third.

The one-and-a-half-mile race was uninteresting. It was won by W. H.
Pohlman, who received a handicap of a minute and twenty seconds, in
11m. 46s.; E. D. Lange second.

The 220-yards hurdle race was amusing, inasmuch that the leader left
the hurdles down for his followers. W. Schwegler won, in the slow time
of 28s.; C. T. Wiegand and G. Schwegler second and third.

M. Mundle won the half-mile run, in 2m. 35s.; F. J. Leonard second, and
J. S. Paxton third.

The one-mile novice race was won by W. R. Hooper, with W. J. Carr
second, and H. L. Spencer third.

The one-mile run was won by J. T. McGregor, with 100 yards start, in
4m. 37s.

* * * * *

~The~ New Jersey Athletic Club, of Bergen Point, N. J., has
now over 500 members, and gives promise of becoming one of the
largest athletic clubs in the country. Its features embrace baseball,
bicycling, rowing, yachting and canoeing, to which lawn tennis,
lacrosse, gymnastics, etc., are to be added. The grounds of the club
are located on Avenue A, in the city of Bayonne.

BASEBALL.

~The~ close of the August campaign in the League championship
arena left New York well in the van, with Chicago a good second and
Detroit third, Boston being fourth. August proved to be a disastrous
month for Detroit, while it was the very reverse for Boston. Pittsburgh
made a good rally in August, in the hope of getting a position in
advance of Boston; but the latter’s recovery from their temporary
demoralization put an end to that. Chicago fell back somewhat during
August, and New York’s successful career was checked, but not to any
damaging extent. Philadelphia more than held its own and improved its
position, while Washington managed to push Indianapolis into the last
ditch. The first two weeks of September saw several important changes
made in the positions of the contestants. During this period the
Eastern teams began their last tour westward, and while New York held
its own well, Boston fell off badly, Detroit pushing the Bostons back
to fourth place after they had lost third a week before. Indianapolis,
too, reversed positions with Washington, the latter being forced into
the tail-end place. Chicago began a good rally to overcome New York’s
lead, but it was too heavy up-hill work for them. The full record up
to the 10th of September left the eight clubs occupying the following
relative positions:

A: New York.
B: Chicago.
C: Detroit.
D: Boston.
E: Philadelphia.
F: Pittsburgh.
G: Indianapolis.
H: Washington.
I: Victories.
J: Possible victories.
K: Played.
L: To play.
M: Per cent. of victories.

------------+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--++---+---+---+--+----
~Clubs.~ |A |B |C |D |E |F |G |H || I | J | K |L | M
------------+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--++---+---+---+--+----
New York |--| 4| 8|12|14| 7|13|11|| 69|103|106|34|.651
Chicago | 8|--|10| 9| 8| 9|12| 6|| 62| 93|109|31|.569
Detroit | 5|10|--| 5| 7| 9|11|10|| 57| 91|106|34|.538
Boston | 8| 7| 6|--| 6| 5|10|15|| 57| 89|108|32|.528
Philadelphia| 5| 5| 5| 9|--|12| 7|10|| 53| 88|105|35|.505
Pittsburgh | 3|11| 7| 7| 4|--|13| 6|| 51| 85|106|34|.481
Indianapolis| 4| 5| 8| 4| 4| 6|--|10|| 41| 70|111|29|.369
Washington | 4| 5| 5| 5| 9| 7| 4|--|| 39| 72|107|33|.364
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--++---+---+---+--+----
Games Lost |37|47|49|51|52|55|68|70||429| | | |
------------+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--++---+---+---+--+----

The American pennant race, which during the summer promised such an
interesting contest between the Athletic and Brooklyn teams, at the
finish had its aspect materially altered by the result of the August
campaign, during which the Brooklyn team lost so much ground that they
were driven from first place down to fourth. During early September,
however, they rallied successfully to recover a portion of their lost
ground, and by the 10th of that month they had got back to third place,
and were pushing the Athletics for second place.

In the interior, the St. Louis team had almost secured a firm grasp of
the pennant, they being ten victories in advance of Brooklyn and nine
ahead of the Athletics, which team occupied second place, Cincinnati
falling off badly in September. By the 10th of September, too,
Cleveland had got ahead of Baltimore, and Louisville was being pushed
into the last ditch by Kansas City.

The Eastern teams began their last Western tour in September, and on
the result of that tour would depend the championship. Before the
middle of September, the St. Louis Club began making arrangements to
take part in the World’s Championship series of 1888, so sanguine were
they of ultimate success in the race. But “there is many a slip between
the cup and the lip” in baseball contests. Here is the full record up
to September 10, inclusive.

A: St. Louis.
B: Athletic.
C: Brooklyn.
D: Cincinnati.
E: Cleveland.
F: Baltimore.
G: Louisville.
H: Kansas City.
I: Games won.
J: Per cent. of victories.
K: Possible victories.
L: Games played.
M: Games to play.

------------+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--++---+----+---+---+--
~Clubs.~ |A |B |C |D |E |F |G |H || I | J | K | L |M
------------+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--++---+----+---+---+--
St. Louis |--| 8| 7| 6|14|11|12|12|| 70|.673|106|104|36
Athletic | 6|--| 7|10| 8|11|13|12|| 67|.644|103|104|36
Brooklyn |10| 8|--|11|11| 7|11| 8|| 66|.595| 95|111|29
Cincinnati | 7| 6| 5|--| 8|12|11|11|| 60|.571| 95|105|35
Cleveland | 3| 6| 4| 6|--| 7| 9| 9|| 43|.413| 79|104|36
Baltimore | 4| 4| 7| 5| 7|--| 8| 9|| 44|.405| 76|108|32
Louisville | 2| 4| 6| 3| 6| 9|--| 9|| 39|.364| 72|107|33
Kansas City | 2| 2| 9| 4| 7| 7| 4|--|| 35|.333| 70|105|35
+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--++---+----+---+---+--
Games Lost |34|37|45|45|61|64|68|70||424| | | |
------------+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--++---+----+---+---+--

* * * * *

~In~ the amateur arena, the contests between the four clubs
of the New York Amateur League are the only events worthy of special
mention. The addition of the Orange Athletic Club, of Rosewell, N.
J., to the League has harmonized things since the New Jersey Athletic
Association took their team out of the League, and the new member has
done some good work in the field this past month. The Staten Island
Athletic Club nine is thus far in the van, with the Staten Island
Cricket Club team second, and that of the Brooklyn Athletic Club third.
Here is the record to August 31.

A: Staten Island A. C.
B: Staten Island C. C.
C: Brooklyn A. C.
D: Orange A. C.
E: Victories.
F: Games played.
G: Per cent. of victories.

--------------------+--+--+--+--++--+--+----
~Clubs.~ |A |B |C |D ||E |F | G
--------------------+--+--+--+--++--+--+----
Staten Island A. C. |--| 3| 7| 3||13|17|.813
Staten Island C. C. | 2|--| 4| 2|| 8|14|.571
Brooklyn A. C. | 0| 2|--| 3|| 5|16|.312
Orange A. C. | 2| 1| 0|--|| 3|11|.272
+--+--+--+--++--+--+----
Defeats | 4| 6|11| 8||29| |
--------------------+--+--+--+--++--+--+----

~Note.~--For report of the A. C. A. Meet see Editor’s Open
Window.

BOWLING.

~The~ semi-annual meeting of the Progressive Bowling Club was
held on August 12, in the Y. M. H. A. Hall, Plane Street, Newark, N.
J. The following were elected officers: Leon M. Berkowitz, president;
Philip Bornstein, vice-president; Harry Leucht, secretary; Nathan
Straus, financial secretary; E. Schloss, treasurer and assistant
captain; D. R. Block, captain; M. Mendel, scorer.

CANOEING.

~The~ interest in canoeing is on the increase in Maine. The
number of canoes afloat in the neighborhood of Bath has increased
from eight in 1887 to nearly thirty at present. The Star Canoe Club,
recently organized, has the following list of officers: Captain, W. B.
Potter; mate, H. O. Stinson; secretary and treasurer, H. H. Donnell;
steward, C. B. Coombs.

* * * * *

~The~ Washington Canoe Association, which is composed of the
Washington and Potomac Canoe Clubs, gave a complimentary “Camp Fire”
to its many friends on the night of Thursday, August 22. The usual
success of the association’s entertainments was quite eclipsed on this
occasion. The grounds selected were in a half-cleared glen on a wooded
side of Arlington Bluffs, and a vastly pretty picture was presented
by the white tents and pretty lanterns among the trees, while in the
midst a giant bonfire lit up the surrounding shadows. The weather was
all that could be desired, and a pleasant breeze obviated the too great
heat of the huge fire. The trip to the rendezvous on the steamer was
delightful, and the supper provided was all that could be desired.
After the meal fun reigned rampant, and what with songs, stories and
music, the party passed a delightful evening. At length the return trip
was reluctantly begun, and the eyes of the returning merry-makers, on
approaching the Canoe-house, were greeted with the pretty sight of that
structure illuminated throughout with lanterns.

* * * * *

CRICKET.

~The~ Arapahoe Cricket Club is the title of a new club recently
organized in Denver, Col. Its officers are David D. Seerie, president;
Robert D. Macpherson, field-captain; Robert Findlay, secretary and
treasurer.

* * * * *

~Two~ cricket matches were played at Central Park on Saturday,
August 18; one between the New Yorks and Cosmopolitans, and the other
between the Amateur League and the Claremont Cricket Club of New
Jersey. In the first named match, Mr. Hammond, of the New Yorks, was
severely hurt. The Cosmopolitans won by a score of 56 to 36. In the
other match, the New Jersey visitors defeated their opponents with
ease. The Claremonts scored 50, while the Amateurs were only able to
make 13 runs.

* * * * *

~The~ Manhattan Cricket Club gave the Kings County Club a
terrible thrashing at Prospect Park on August 18. After putting the
Kings County out for 41 runs, the Manhattans ran up 189 for five
wickets. J. G. Davis, 69, not out; M. R. Cobb, 40, and G. Robinson, 30,
hit very hard for their runs, especially the latter, who made a hit for
seven.

* * * * *

~The~ Albion Cricket Club easily defeated the Brooklyn Club at
Prospect Park, August 18. The scores were: Albion, 111 runs; Brooklyn,
22. Only one inning was played.

* * * * *

~Two~ teams, composed of junior members of the Seabright Cricket
Club, one under the captainship of Mrs. Herman Clark and the other
headed by Miss L. Shippen, played a match at Seabright, August 18. Mrs.
Shippen’s side won by a score of 116 to 107. Mrs. Clark distinguished
herself by making a fine hit for three runs in her score of seven. Miss
Shippen made four runs in good form.

* * * * *

~A record-breaking score~ was made at Boston in September by the
Longwood Club Eleven, in their match with the Thornton Club Eleven, of
Rhode Island, the score of the Longwood’s first innings reaching the
unprecedented figures of 412, the largest single innings score yet made
in America. A feature of the innings was George Wright’s individual
contribution of 120 runs, the highest score ever made in a match in
Boston by any one individual cricketer. Of the Longwood Eleven in this
contest, nine of the batsmen contributed double figures, Mudie’s 47
being the next best score to George Wright’s. No less than 376 runs
were made off the bat, the extras being 36. There were 758 balls bowled
by the eight bowlers of the Thornton Eleven during the four and a half
hours the Longwoods were at the bat, Asling being the most successful
bowler of the visiting eleven, he taking 5 wickets for 77 runs. On the
other side, Chambers took 7 wickets for 7 runs, and George Wright 1
wicket for 9 runs, the Thornton eleven being disposed of for 18 runs
only. The full score of this remarkable game is appended.

LONGWOODS.

Caton, b. Asling 39
G. Wright, c. and b. Asling 120
Bixby, c. and b. Asling 6
Chambers, c. Vine, b. Asling 12
S. Wright, b. Guy 1
L. Mansfield, c. R. Beastall, b. Guy 24
H. C. Tyler, b. R. Beastall 34
Mudie, b. Dove 47
F. Mansfield, c. North, b. Asling 30
Burton, not out 31
Hubbard, run out 32
Byes, 19; leg byes, 11; wides, 4; no balls, 2 36
---
Total 412

THORNTONS.

Oborne, b. Chambers 4
Guy, b. Chambers 2
Dove, c. G. Wright, b. Chambers 2
North, b. G. Wright 0
Asling, b. Chambers 1
Collett, c. L. Mansfield, b. Chambers 6
Burton, b. Chambers 0
C. Beastall, c. G. Wright, b. Chambers 1
R. Beastall, not out 0
Vine, did not bat 0
Davidson, did not bat 0
Byes 2
--
Total 18

BOWLING ANALYSIS.

LONGWOODS.

Balls. Maidens. Wickets. Runs.

Dove 194 5 1 85
R. Beastall 96 1 1 50
Guy 96 2 2 50
North 78 1 0 47
Asling 168 3 5 77
Oborne 90 3 0 38
Vine 24 0 0 14
C. Beastall 12 0 0 15

Guy bowled 3 wides and Asling 1, and the latter and North each bowled a
no ball.

THORNTONS.

George Wright 24 1 1 9
Chambers 24 0 7 7

~The~ return match between All Canada and the Gentlemen of
Ireland took place at Toronto, September 1. It resulted in a draw, but
slightly in favor of the Canadians, who scored 172 to their opponents’
65 for seven wickets. The Irish distinctly wished it to be understood,
however, before playing the return game, that it was simply a “scratch”
game, and the result either way would not have counted in the record of
the tour. Stratton, Saunders, Jones and Gillespie all played well for
their runs, especially the first named, who played with great judgment.
Ogden, near the call of “time,” bowled with great effect. The fielding
was sharp and clean. The Irishmen did not, however, play with much
spirit, but went in for hit or miss style, and in this manner lost
seven wickets for 65 runs, when stumps were pulled.

* * * * *

~Two~ teams of the juniors of the Seabright Cricket Club played
an interesting match, September 1. Mrs. Herman Clark captained one and
Miss G. Shippen the other. Mrs. Herman Clark’s team won by a score of
213 to 212, with two wickets to spare. Mrs. Clark played an excellent
innings.

CYCLING.

~The~ Capital City Bicycle Club was organized recently
in Trenton, N. J., with a membership of twenty active racers.
The following officers were elected: President, Frank S. Warren;
vice-president, Charles D. Gandy; secretary and treasurer, Schuyler C.
Fell; captain, Howard M. White; lieutenant, George Watson.

* * * * *

~About~ a dozen members of the Orange Wanderers left the
club-house at 6.30, August 18th morning for a run to Greenwood Lake,
which they reached about noon. The rest of the day was passed in
fishing, bathing and boating. Early in the evening they started for
home, part of the trip being made by moonlight.

* * * * *

~On~ the quarter-mile cinder track of the New Jersey Athletic
Club at Bergen Point a series of prize bicycle races, open to all
amateurs, and to be contested four successive Saturdays, were begun
August 18. W. H. Caldwell, New Jersey Athletic Club; S. B. Bowman,
New Jersey Athletic Club, and Hudson County Wheelmen, and J. E. Day,
Hudson County Wheelmen, all started from the scratch in the first
event, distance one mile. Caldwell led throughout, and won by nearly
one-eighth of a mile. Time, 3m. 6s. Day never challenged Bowman for
second place. In a two-mile race, S. B. Bowman and Capt. E. P. Baggott,
of the Hudson County Wheelmen, started from the scratch. Baggott set
the pace for the first mile, making the distance in 3m. 19s. Bowman
then went to the front and won by five yards. Time, 6m. 24¼s. The
last quarter was made by Bowman in 42¼s.

* * * * *

~A Bicycle~ meet of importance was held on the track of the
Imperial Trotting Horse Company, Chadinka Grounds, Moscow, Russia, July
11. The festival was opened by a parade, in which twenty-three bicycle
and tricycle riders appeared in racing dress. The score was as follows:

One-mile race (for amateurs who have never won a prize)--H. Davis, 1st;
L. E. Barusdin, 2d; M. W. Nowomlinsky, 3d. Time, 3m. 54½s. The track
was soft, and through this slow times were made.

One-mile tricycle race--N. P. Oboldnew, 1st; S. W. Dokutschaew, 2d.
Time, 5m. 39½s.

Six-mile race--F. W. Bjeloussow, 1st; M. W. Nowomlinsky, 2d. Time, 27m.
10s.

One-mile safety race--K. Kossonrow, 1st; D. G. Engel, 2d. Time, 4m. 47s.

Two-mile race--F. Zemlicka, 1st; F. F. Schukow, 2d. Time, 7m. 16s.

One-mile tricycle race (ladies only)--E. L. Zemlicka, 1st; A. A.
Skworzowa, 2d; A. S. Sosnina, 3d. Time, 8m. 35½s.

One-mile championship race--F. Zemlicka, 1st; H. Davis, 2d; M.
Nowomlinsky, 3d. Time, 3m. 38s.--_Cyclist._

* * * * *

~A Bicycle Tournament~ was held at Riverside Park, Binghamton,
August 2, which resulted as follows:

Half-mile, scratch--W. W. Windle, Lynn, 1m. 18s; J. F. Midgley,
Worcester, second; E. E. Budd, Elmira, third.

One mile, novice--C. J. Iven, Rochester, 3m. ¼s. Chas. Perley, Deposit,
second; L. E. Edgcomb, Cortland, third.

One mile, State championship--W. S. Campbell, Niagara, 3m. 16 2-5s.; H.
C. Hersey, Elmira, second by a long way; E. Budd, Elmira, third.

Two miles, 6.45 class--C. J. Iven, Rochester, 6m. 21¼s.; W. E. McCune,
Worcester, second; E. L. Shefter, Williamsport, 0; E. Budd, Elmira, 0.

Half-mile heats between Mesdames Von Blumen and Oakes.--Heat 1--Von
Blumen first, after a desperate struggle. Time, 1m. 51s. Heat 2--Von
Blumen first; Oakes nowhere. Time, 2m. 1½s. Heat 3--Von Blumen
first; Oakes, 0. Time, 1m. 52¾s.

Half-mile, junior club wheel championship--W. Loveland, 1m. 43¼s.;
W. Schultz, second; F. Newing, 0; H. Nicholl, 0.

One mile, scratch--W. Windle, 2m. 52¼s.; W. S. Campbell, second; J. F.
Midgley, third. Won easily.

One mile, Binghamton club wheel championship--F. S. Cox, 3m. 20s.; J.
Cutler, second; A. French, third; S. W. Newton, fourth.

Three miles, handicap--W. Windle, scratch, 8m. 57¼s.; J. F. Midgley,
second; J. Cutler, third. Handicaps not reported.

One-mile safety race--J. B. McCune, 2m. 53¾s.; J. F. Midgley second.

One-mile team race--Windle and Midgley, of Worcester, first.

One mile, consolation--C. J. Connolly, Rochester, 3m. 8¾s.

The judges were S. B. Vaughn, Kingston, Pa.; Geo. A. Jessup, Scranton,
Pa.; W. H. Stone, Binghamton Wheel Club. Timers, W. D. Cloyes,
Cortland, N. Y.; H. C. Spaulding, Elmira, N. Y.; W. J. Stephenson,
Binghamton, N. Y. Scorers, C. C. King, Pittston, Pa.; M. C. Craver,
Binghamton Wheel Club; and the referee, Henry E. Ducker, Buffalo, N. Y.

* * * * *

~The~ programme of races for the Bicycling Tournament at
Richmond, Virginia, October 23 and 24, will be as follows:

FIRST DAY.

One-half mile, novice, open, value of two prizes, $40.

Two miles, amateur, “Rovertype Safety,” open, one prize, gold watch and
chain, value $75.

One mile, professional, open, one prize, $100 in cash.

One mile, Virginia Division L. A. W., championship, two prizes, valued
at $50.

Two miles, team, lap (three men each team), open, three medals, valued
at $50.

One-half mile, without hands, open, one medal, valued at $25.

One mile, tandem tricycle handicap, open, two prizes, valued at $60.

One mile, Old Dominion Wheelmen, championship, one prize, valued at $20.

One-half mile, consolation, one prize, valued at $25.

SECOND DAY.

One-half mile, novice, Virginia Division L. A. W., two prizes, valued
at $50.

One mile, amateur handicap, open, prize, Star or Crank racing machine.

One-half mile, ride and run, amateur, open, two prizes, valued at $40.

Three miles, professional, lap, one prize, $100 in cash.

One mile, team, lap (teams of three men each, Virginia Division L. A.
W. only), one prize, consisting of three medals and a cup, valued at
$65.

One-half mile, steeplechase (any kind of a wheel), two prizes, valued
at $35.

One-half mile, amateur, open, gold watch, valued at $75.

Three miles, Virginia Division L. A. W., championship, two prizes,
valued at $50.

One-half mile, consolation, one prize, valued at $20.

* * * * *

~The~ Huntington, L. I., Bicycle Club races took place August 3,
and resulted as follows:

Half-mile dash--F. G. Brown, K. C. W., 1m. 29¼s. W. T. Murphy, K. C.
W., second.

One mile, novice--F. W. Lincoln, Mercury W. C., 3m. 14s.; Frank Asbury,
Q. C. W., second.

Two miles, 6.45 class--H. P. Matthews, B. B. C., 7m. 2½s.; H.
Quortrop, Q. C. W., second.

One mile, open--F. G. Brown, K. C. W., 4m. 3½s.; H. B. Matthews, B. B.
C., second.

One mile, Huntington Club championship--S. C. Ebbets, 3m. 21½s.; Chas.
B. Scudder, second.

Three miles, handicap--H. P. Matthews, B. B. C., 25 yards, 12m. 12s.;
W. T. Murphy, K. C. W., 25 yards, second.

One mile, consolation--J. G. Ebbets, Huntington B. C., 3m. 37½s.; J.
Magee, Q. C. W., second.

* * * * *

~The~ Seventh Annual Tournament of the Toronto Bicycle Club took
place on the Rosedale grounds, August 13--weather fine, wind fresh,
track in fair condition. The summary is as follows:

One mile, green; first round--First heat, J. H. Gerrie, W. B. C., 3m.
5 1-5s.; R. S. Peniston, W. B. C., second; B. W. Woods, W. B. C.,
third; W. J. Moody, W. B. C., fourth; H. Wood, T. B. C., fifth. Second
heat--G. C. Willmott, T. B. C., 3m. 21 2-5s.; J. A. Knight, St. Louis,
second by two lengths; C. W. Hurndall, T. B. C., third; A. Bryant, T.
B. C., fourth. Final heat, first three in first heat and first two in
second heat to start--Gerrie, 3m. 18 3-5s.; Woods, second by ten yards;
Knight, third by a yard; Willmott, fourth; Peniston did not finish.

Half-mile--W. Windle, Lynn, Mass., B. C., 1m. 21 2-5s.; W. S. Campbell,
Niagara Falls, N. Y., second; L. B. Cooper, Belleville, third; W. M.
Carman, Norwich, fourth.

Two miles, club--W. M. Carman, Norwich, 6m. 33s.; M. F. Johnston,
second, by three yards; F. J. Whatmough, third, by ten yards.

Fancy riding--N. Campbell, Niagara Falls, did many difficult feats, and
rode a quarter of a mile on one wheel in 1m. 5 2-5s.

One mile, handicap--W. Windle, Lynn, Mass., scratch, 2m. 56 4-5s.; W.
S. Campbell, Niagara Falls, N. Y., twenty yards, second, by ten yards;
B. Woods, W. B. C., 150 yards, third, by three yards; L. B. Cooper,
Belleville, forty yards, fourth; W. A. Lingham, Belleville, forty
yards, fifth; F. Midgley, Worcester, Mass., fifty yards; C. R. Fitch,
Brantford, fifty yards, and W. M. Carman, Norwich, seventy-five yards,
did not finish; F. J. Whatmough, T. B. C., seventy-five yards, fell.

One mile, 3.20 class--W. H. Brown, W. B. C., 3m. 15 2-5s.; W. M.
Carman, Norwich, second, by two lengths; W. A. Lingham, Belleville,
third, by half a wheel; C. R. Fitch, Brantford, fourth.

Five miles--W. Windle, 15m. 52 2-5s.; W. S. Campbell quit at 4½ miles;
C. R. Fitch quit at half a mile.

Quarter-mile combination race--The competitors drew their bicycles 110
yards, rode with one foot 110 yards, lifted them over a hurdle, pushed
on one wheel and then on two wheels to the finish. C. W. Hurndall, 1m.
12½s.; A. G. Peacey, second; C. J. Lowe, third; G. C. Willmott, fourth;
R. T. Blackford, fifth; A. Bryant, sixth.

Three-mile roadster race--F. Midgley, Worcester, Mass., 9m. 58
2-5s.; J. H. Gerrie, W. B. C., second, by 200 yards; W. A. Lingham,
Belleville, third, by twenty yards; J. A. Knight, St. Louis, fourth; L.
B. Cooper, Belleville, did not finish.

One mile, Safety machines--M. F. Johnston, T. B. C., 3m. 11 2-5s.;
T. Fane, W. B. C., second, by fifty yards; R. S. Peniston, W. B. C.,
0; W. J. Moody, W. B. C., 0. F. Midgley wished to ride a Springfield
roadster, and, though ruled off by the referee, started and finished
first.

* * * * *

~The~ widespread influence of cycling is well shown by the
publication _La Révue du Sport Vélocipédique_, the official cycling
organ of France. It is a brightly conducted paper, and will do much to
advance the cause of wheeling among our French brethren.

* * * * *

~The~ tournament at the Buffalo Exposition proved very
successful. It commenced September 4th, extended over several days,
and closed on the 10th. H. E. Ducker officiated as general director;
Howard P. Merrill, referee; T. J. Kirkpatrick, George R. Sidwell, W. S.
Bull, Charles H. Potter, Harry H. Hodgson, C. H. Luscaub and Charles A.
Payne, judges; George M. Hendee, starter; J. H. Isham, C. H. Kimball,
W. N. Watson and H. D. Corey, timekeepers. The following is a record of
the races:

One mile, tandem, professional--F. W. Allard and Jack Lee, England,
first, in 3m. 16 3-5s.; Jules Dubois, Paris, France, and W. F. Knapp,
Denver, Col., second, by twenty yards.

One mile, amateur, novice--Kenneth Brown, Cambridge, Mass., first, in
3m. 3 3-5s.; Robert W. Jameson, Rochester, second, by two lengths; W.
B. Milley, Buffalo, third; F. N. C. Jerauld, Niagara Falls, fourth.

Ten miles, L. A. W. championship--Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., first,
in 31m. 37 1-5s.; H. R. Winship, Chicago, second, by fifty yards.

One mile, professional--H. G. Crocker, Newton, Mass., 10 yds. start,
first, in 2m. 43 2-5s.; W. F. Knapp, Denver, Col., 20 yds., second, by
thirty yards; Sidney Eastwood, Denver, 100 yds., third.

One mile, amateur, 3.10 class--Bert Myers, Peoria, Ill., first, in 2m.
54 4-5s.; A. C. Barker, Pittsburgh, second, by thirty yards; E. O.
Rasicoe, Woodstock, Ont., third.

Two miles, amateur, N. Y. State championship--W. S. Campbell, Niagara
Falls, first, in 6m. 22 2-5s.; H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, N. Y.,
second, by five yards; C. J. Iven, Rochester, third.

Three miles, amateur, tandem--W. E. Crist and P. S. Brown, Washington,
D. C., first, in 9m. 48 2-5s.; A. C. and W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa.,
second, by fifty yards; C. P. Adams, Springfield, and H. E. Ducker,
Jr., Buffalo, third.

Two miles, professional (rovers), handicap--F. W. Allard, Coventry,
Eng., 10 yds. start, first, in 6m. 20s.; Jack Lee, Nottingham, Eng.,
scratch, second, by three feet; George Seymour, 150 yds., third.

Three miles, team race--This was between teams representing Buffalo and
Rochester. In the first mile, Charles P. Forbush, of Buffalo, took a
header and broke his wrist, in consequence of which the race went to
Rochester by default.

One mile, tandem--A. C. and W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., first, in
3m. 1-5s.; H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, and R. H. Davis, Cambridge,
Mass., second, by twenty yards; P. M. Harris and Val. H. Muller, New
York, third.

SECOND DAY, SEPT. 5.

Two miles, novice--Kenneth Brown, Cambridge, Mass., first, in 6m.
25 2-5s.; F. M. Brinker, Buffalo, second, by a yard; W. B. Milley,
Buffalo, third; Robert W. Jameson, Rochester, fourth.

Half-mile, special unicycle--W. H. Barber, Rochester, first, in 2m.
22s.; Marshall, second.

Half-mile, professional--W. F. Knapp, Denver, first, in 1m. 23 4-5s.;
William A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., second, by six inches; Ralph Temple,
Chicago, third; H. G. Crocker, Newton, Mass., fourth.

Five miles, N. Y. State championship--W. S. Campbell, Niagara Falls,
first, in 18m. 26s.; H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, second, by thirty
yards; Theodore W. Roberts, Poughkeepsie, third, three yards away.

Three miles, professional--William J. Morgan, Chicago, 400 yds. start,
first, in 9m. 5s.; H. G. Crocker, Newbury, Mass., scratch, second, by
twenty yards; Ralph Temple, Chicago, 60 yds., third; William A. Rowe,
Lynn, scratch, fourth.

Three miles, amateur (rovers), roadster--R. H. Davis, Cambridge, Mass.,
150 yds., first, in 9m. 57 4-5s.; P. J. Berlo, South Boston, 160 yds.,
second; W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., 150 yds., third.

One mile, team race--Chicago Club won, with 20 points; Washington Club,
second, 10; Rochester Club, third, 6. W. H. Van Sicklen, Chicago, was
first home, in 2m. 58s.; H. K. Winship, Chicago, second, by three feet;
W. E. Crist, Washington, third.

Five miles, tandem, professional--H. G. Crocker and Robert Neilson, 120
yds. start, first, in 16m. 20 1-5s.; J. Dubois and W. F. Knapp, 300
yds., second, by ten yards.

Five miles, tricycle, L. A. W. championship--W. E. Crist, Washington,
D. C., first, in 21m. 47s.; Fred Foster, Wanderers’ Club, Toronto,
Ont., second.

Two miles, tandem, open--A. C. and W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa.,
first, in 6m. 51s.; R. H. Davis, Cambridge, Mass., and H. J. Hall, Jr.,
Brooklyn, N. Y., second, by thirty yards; P. M. Harris and Val. H.
Muller, New York, third.

One mile (rovers), professional--F. W. Allard, England, scratch, first,
in 3m. 4 3-5s.; Jack Lee, Nottingham, Eng., scratch, second, by three
feet; Jules Dubois, Paris, France, 40 yds. start, third.

One mile, amateur, handicap--H. L. Kingsland, Baltimore, Md., 70
yds. start, first, in 2m. 47 2-5s.; Bert Myers, Peoria, Ill., 100
yds., second, by three yards; H. R. Winship, Chicago, Ill., 100 yds.,
third; N. H. Van Sicklen, Chicago, Ill., 90 yds., fourth; Will Windle,
Millbury, Mass., scratch, fifth.

THIRD DAY, SEPT. 6.

Three miles, L. A. W. championship--Will Windle, Millbury, Mass.,
first, in 9m. 27s.; A. E. Lumsden, Chicago, Ill., second, by thirty
yards; H. R. Winship, Chicago, third.

Two miles, amateur (rover), open, road wheels--H. R. Davis, Cambridge,
Mass., first, in 6m. 59 3-5s.; P. J. Berlo, South Boston, Mass.,
second, by twenty yards; W. E. Crist, Washington, D. C., third.

Five miles, amateur, 16.00 class--A. C. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., first,
in 17m. 50s.; W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, second, by half a length,
the latter having three broken spokes in his wheel; S. W. Merrihew,
Wilmington, Del., third.

One mile, tandem, professional--H. G. Crocker and Robert Neilson,
scratch, first, in 2m. 58 3-5s.; Jules Dubois, Paris, and W. F. Knapp,
Denver, 50 yds. start, second, by ten yards; F. W. Allard and Jack Lee,
England, scratch, third, thirty yards away.

Half mile, amateur, tandem--A. C. and W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa.,
first, in 1m. 26 2-5s.; R. H. Davis and H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, N.
Y., second, by thirty yards; W. E. Grist and Phil S. Brown, Washington,
D. C., third.

One mile, amateur--Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., first, in 3m. 5s.;
Fred Midgley, Worcester, Mass., second; William J. Wilhelm, Reading,
Pa., third.

Five miles (rovers), professional--F. W. Allard, Coventry, Eng.,
scratch, first, in 17m. 51 1-5s.; Jack Lee, Nottingham, Eng., scratch,
second, by a foot; H. G. Crocker, Boston, Mass., 40 yds., third, by
over two hundred yards.

Two miles, amateur--H. R. Winship, Chicago, Ill., 250 yds. start,
first, in 6m. 9 3-5s.; A. E. Lumsden, Chicago, 175 yds., second, by
thirty yards; A. C. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., 250 yds., third.

Three miles, tricycle, professional--Jack Lee, Nottingham, Eng., first,
in 12m. 7 3-5s.; F. W. Allard, Coventry, Eng., second, by twelve feet;
H. G. Crocker, Newbury, Mass., third, ten feet behind.

One mile, championship of Buffalo--W. B. Milley, Buffalo, first, in
3m. 22 1-5s.; F. M. Brinker, Buffalo, second, by thirty yards; J. B.
Milley, Buffalo, third.

On the fourth day, September 7, there was a run from Buffalo to Niagara
Falls. On the fifth day, the track races were postponed on account of
the weather, but the road race took place as follows:

One hundred miles, on the road, Erie to Buffalo--Frank M. Dampman,
Honeybrook, Pa., first, in 9h. 52m. 29 3-5s.; Frank McDaniels,
Wilmington, Del., second, in 9h. 55m. 23 4-5s.; Frank G. Lenz,
Pittsburgh, Pa., third, in 10h. 4m. 44 4-5s.; G. A. Tivy, St. Louis,
Mo., fourth, in 10h. 8m. 21 3-5s.; S. W. Merrihew, Wilmington, Del.,
fifth, in 10h. 10m. 52 4-5s.; Roy S. Blowers, Westfield, N. Y.,
sixth, in 10h. 25m. 45s. The start was made in the midst of a severe
rain-storm, the roads were bad all the distance, and the contestants
suffered greatly from the weather.

On Monday, Sept. 10, the races were ridden on the one-mile trotting
track, which, though heavy, was not as soft as the cycling track.

One mile, tandem, open, road wheels only--W. E. Crist and P. S.
Brown, Washington, D. C., first, in 3m. 46s.; A. C. and W. D. Banker,
Pittsburgh, Pa., second, by thirty yards; R. H. Davis, Cambridge,
Mass., and H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, third, a length away.

Half-mile, amateur--Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., first, in 1m. 22
3-5s.; W. S. Campbell, Niagara Falls, second, by thirty yards; A. E.
Lumsden, Chicago, Ill., third, two yards away.

Two miles, professional--W. A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., scratch, first, in
5m. 54 3-5s.; Ralph Temple, Chicago, Ill., scratch, second, by a yard;
H. G. Crocker, Newton, Mass., scratch, third, by five yards; W. J.
Morgan, Chicago, 250 yards start, fourth, a length behind.

Ten miles, amateur--A. E. Lumsden, Chicago, Ill., 400 yards start, in
32m. 15s.; H. R. Winship, Chicago, 600 yards, second, by twenty yards;
W. J. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., 600 yards, third, beaten off.

One mile, tandem, amateur--A. C. and W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, 120
yards start, first, in 2m. 47s.; P. M. Harris and Val H. Muller, New
York, 300 yards, second.

One mile, amateur--E. O. Rasicoe, Woodstock, Ont., first, in 3m. 2s.;
Bert Myers, Peoria, Ill., second, by a yard; C. J. Iven, Rochester, N.
Y., third, by the same distance.

One mile, tandem, professional--H. G. Crocker, Newton, and R. Neilson,
Boston, Mass., scratch, first, in 2m. 56 1-5s.; J. Dubois, Paris, and
W. F. Knapp, Denver, 30 yards start, second, by five yards; F. W.
Allard, Coventry, and J. Lee, Nottingham, Eng., third.

One mile, amateur, open--Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., first, in 2m. 58
4-5s.; W. J. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., second by five yards; W. E. Crist,
Washington, ten yards off.

One mile, professional (rovers)--Jules Dubois, Paris, France, 40 yards,
first, in 2m. 51 3-5s.; F. W. Allard, Coventry, Eng., scratch, second,
by two yards; Jack Lee, Nottingham, Eng., scratch, third, ten yards
behind.

One mile, amateur, consolation--E. P. Cochran, Leroy, N. Y., first, in
3m. 9s.; C. J. Connelly, Rochester, second, by five yards; R. T. M.
McLaren, Adams, third, one hundred yards away.

Professional races for the world’s championship--First heat, three
miles: H. G. Crocker, Newton, Mass., first, in 11m. 7 2-5s.; W. A.
Rowe, Lynn, Mass., second, by three yards; W. F. Knapp, Denver, Col.,
third, close up. Second heat, five miles: W. A. Rowe first, in 18m. 43
1-5s.; H. G. Crocker second; Robert Neilson, Boston, third; W. F. Knapp
fourth. Ralph Temple finished first, but was disqualified for fouling
Rowe. Final heat, one mile: Rowe first, in 2m. 52 3-5s.; Crocker
second, by five yards; Knapp third, twenty yards behind; Neilson fourth.

FOOTBALL.

~The~ last of the football games was played August 18, between
the St. Paul and Thistle clubs of Minneapolis, and resulted in a
victory for the latter by eight goals to one. This finished the series
and gave the pennant or Shaw cup to the Thistles. The teams were as
follows: _St. Paul._--Goal, J. A. Jenkins; backs, L. Owen and A.
McCulloch, “captain;” half backs, J. Wilson, J. Brown and S. L. Titus;
forwards, L. A. Shirley, W. Pollock, G. Douglas, C. Murphy and J. B.
Darling. _Thistle._--Goal, J. Henry; backs, K. Henry and Wm. Pringle,
“captain;” half backs, Andrew Gray, D. McMillian and A. Richmond;
forwards, G. Anderson, J. H. Barry, J. McKendrick, J. Emslie and R. H.
Teeple. Below is given the summary of the four clubs belonging to the
“Twin City Hall Association”:

_Played._ _Won._ _Lost._

Thistle 5 4 1
St. Paul 5 3 2
Tam O’Shanters 2 0 2
North Star 2 0 2

_Goals scored._ _Lost._

Thistle 23 4
St. Paul 11 8
Tam O’Shanters 1 7
North Stars 0 16

~The~ football season in New England opened at Fall River,
Mass., with an exhibition game between the Rovers, who hold the
championship of the American Association, and the Olympics, who hold
the local Bristol County championship. The match was finely played, and
the Rovers won, 1 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ announcement comes from London that the Canadian football
team, September 1, defeated the County Antrim Irish team in a match by
six goals to two.

KENNEL.

~President Belmont~, of the American Kennel Club, at a meeting
of the club recently, appointed a committee, consisting of C. J.
Peshall and A. P. Vredenburg, to draft a circular to be sent to all
breeders of the country. The object of this document is to set forth
the history of the A. K. C., its aims and also its ineffectual attempt
to consolidate all existing registers into one stud-book, and to
explain and thoroughly set forth the meaning and animus of its enemies
who are working against it.

* * * * *

~The~ third annual bench show of the American Fox Terrier Club
was held at Saratoga, August 22, 23 and 24, and in point of quality
excelled its predecessors, though the number of entries was not as
great as that of the preceding years. The following is a list of the
awards:

Champion Dogs--1st, the Blemton Kennel’s Lucifer (as _in præsenti_, by
Splinter, out of Kohinoor); 2d, the Blemton Kennel’s Bacchanal (by the
Belgravian, out of Bedlamite).

Champion Bitches--1st, the Blemton Kennel’s Rachel (by Result, out of
Heather Bell); 2d, the Blemton Kennel’s Diadem (by Dugdale Joe, out of
Diamond Dust); V H C, the Blemton Kennel’s Marguerite (by Brokenhurst
Spice, out of Daisy).

Open Class--Dogs--1st, the Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Rubicon (by
Regent, out of Rachel); 2d, the Blemton Kennel’s Dusky Trap (by Dusky
Splinter, out of Spider); 3d, Mr. Jno. E. Thayer’s Raby Mixer (by
Raby Mixture, out of Richmond Olive Bud); 4th, Mr. Jno. E. Thayer’s
Reckoner (by Regent, out of Nita); V H C, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton
Volunteer and Blemton Coronet, Mr. Jno. E. Thayer’s Luke; H C, T. L.
Drayton’s Blemton Sentinel; C, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Volunteer, H.
P. Frothingham’s Mugwump and Clarence Rathbone’s Beverwyck Tippler.

Open Bitch Class--1st, the Blemton Kennel’s New Forest Ethel (by
New Forest, out of Auburn); 2d, Jno. E. Thayer’s Richmond Dazzle
(by Raby Mixture, out of Richmond Puzzle); 3d, the Blemton Kennel’s
Blemton Consequence (by Result, out of Diadem); 4th, Jno. E. Thayer’s
Princess (by Venetian, out of Lurette); V H C, Jno. E. Thayer’s
Fraulein Mixture; H C, the Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Dahabiah; C, Mr. C.
Rathbone’s Blemton Arrow.

Dog Puppies--1st, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Rubicon (by Regent--Rachel);
2d, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Coronet; 3d, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton
Volunteer; V H C, reserve, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Grumbler; V H C,
Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Calculus; V H C, Mr. F. Hoey’s---- by Lucifer,
out of Regent Virtue; C, Jno. E. Thayer’s Hillside Monk.

Bitch Puppies--1st, Blemton Consequence (by Result, out of Diadem); 2d,
Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Rainbow (by Regent, out of Rachel); 3d, H. P.
Frothingham’s Fidget (by Faust, out of Blemton Lottery).

Novice Class--1st, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Rubicon (by Regent, out
of Rachel); 2d, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Coronet (by Result, out of
Diadem); V H C, reserve, Jno. E. Thayer’s Princess, Blemton Kennel’s
Blemton Calculus and Blemton Rainbow; H C, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton
Dahabiah; C, H. P. Frothingham’s Mugwump and Blemton Lottery, Jno. E.
Thayer’s Raby Chance, R. S. Ryan’s Linden Splint and Fred Hoey’s----
(by New Forest, out of Regent Virtue).

Selling Class--1st, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Grumbler (by Lucifer,
out of Garuma); 2d, Jno. E. Thayer’s Sly Mixture (by Mixture, out of
Shame); V H C, Blemton Pepper.

Wire-haired Champion Class--1st, Mr. Samuel Insull’s Bristles (by
Pincher, out of Squish).

Open Dogs--1st, Jno. E. Thayer’s Dare Devil (by Surprise, out of
Vixen); 2d, Jno. E. Thayer’s Rat Trap (by Surprise, out of Vixen); V H
C, Samuel Insull’s Pinwire.

Puppies--1st, Charles W. Cornwell’s Miss Bristle (by Broxton Tantrum,
out of Champion Bristles); other prize withheld.

Welsh Terriers--1st, Mr. Prescott Lawrence’s Which; 2d, Mr. Prescott
Lawrence’s T’other.

Irish Terriers--Dogs and Bitches--1st, Mr. Thomas Wise, Jr.’s, Badger
Boy; 2d, Mr. Thomas Wise, Jr.’s, Gypsy Maid (by Dushing, out of Gypsy
Girl); 3d, Mr. Thomas Wise, Jr.’s, Gypsy Girl; H C, Mr. Thomas Wise,
Jr.’s, Dan.

English Terriers--Mr. O. H. P. Belmont’s Diamond Spark (by Diamond, out
of Juno); 2d, Mr. O. H. P. Belmont’s Lonely (by Spring, out of Lady
Florence).

Bedlington Terriers--Dogs and Bitches--1st, Mr. E. D. Morgan’s Tees
Rock.

Hard-haired Scotch Terriers--1st, Mr. E. D. Morgan’s Highland Laddie
(by Charlie, out of Flossie).

Dandie Dinmonts--1st, John H. Naylor’s Cromwell (by Shern, out of Queen
of the Border).

Bull Terriers--1st, W. F. Hobbie’s Cairo (by Champion Max Marx, out of
Champion Mistress of the Robes); 2d, W. F. Hobbie’s Bonnie Princess (by
Silver King, out of Kettering’s Maggie); V H C, George House’s Duchess
of York and Grabbler; C, Frank F. Dole’s My Queen.

Bull Terriers under 30 lbs.--1st, Frank F. Dole’s Nell Bright (by
Bendigo, out of Daisy); 2d, Frank F. Dole’s Sensation (by Bulrush, out
of Fancy); V H C, Marion Randolph’s Peggy; H C, Fannie W. Ogden’s Gypsy.

Puppy Class--1st, Fannie W. Ogden’s She (by Grabbler, out of Gypsy).

Rough-coated Toy Terriers--1st, withheld; 2d, Frank F. Dole’s Napper
(by Little Wonder, out of Bella).

Selling Class, any variety except fox terriers--1st, F. F. Dole’s Nell
Bright; 2d, John H. Naylor’s Cromwell.

* * * * *

~John S. Wise~, President of the Richmond, Va., Bench Show,
writes that the entries for the October fixtures will be large. The
entries of fox hounds will be particularly large.

The Virginia A. M. & T. Exposition offers the following special prizes
for the best kennel, to consist of not less than four, and at least two
kennels to compete, each kennel to be owned by one exhibitor.

Class A--For best kennel English setters, $25.

Class B--For best kennel of pointers, $25.

Class C--For best kennel of collies, $25.

Class D--For best kennel of fox hounds, not less than six, $25.

They also offer the following specials:

Class E--For the best setter dog or bitch of any breed in the show that
has run in a field trial, $20.

Class F--For the best pointer dog or bitch in the show that has run in
a field trial, $20.

Class G--For the best blue-mottled fox hound dog or bitch exhibited,
$20.

The American Fox Terrier Club offers:

Class H--For the best exhibit of fox terriers, $20.

A Friend of Beagles offers:

Class I--For the best brace of beagle bitches, owned by one exhibitor,
$25.

The American Gordon Setter Club offers:

Class K--A special prize of a solid piece of silver, valued at $25, for
the best Gordon setter dog or bitch in the show, $25.

The Collie Club of America offers:

Class L--Its club medal, or $10 in cash, for the best collie bred and
owned by a resident of any Southern State, Maryland included, $10.

LACROSSE.

~The~ deciding game in the series for the championship of the
National Amateur Lacrosse Association of Canada was played in Montreal,
August 18, by the teams of the Shamrock and Brockville clubs, the
former winning by a score of three goals to one.

* * * * *

~The~ Brooklyn Lacrosse Team played the Jersey City Club at
Oakland Park, Jersey City, August 25. Each side made two goals in a
contest lasting over an hour.

LAWN TENNIS.

~The~ Lawn Tennis Tournament at Narragansett Pier, August 4th,
resulted as follows: Preliminary Round, singles--W. R. Weeden beat
Elliott, 6-3, 8-6; F. Hill beat H. C. Phillips, 6-1, 6-2; F. Warren
beat S. Smith, 6-3, 6-2; R. B. Hale beat F. Keene by default; E. T.
Lynch beat J. Weeden by default; H. W. Slocum, Jr., beat S. M. Colgote,
6-0, 6-1; M. Graham beat A. O. Taylor by default. First round, Weeden
beat Hill, 6-3, 6-2; Hale beat Warren, 6-2, 3-6, 6-1; Slocum beat
Lynch, 6-0, 6-0; J. A. Ryerson beat Graham, 6-1, 6-1; C. A. Chase beat
T. S. Tailer, 6-2, 6-0; O. S. Campbell beat L. Saltus, 6-2, 9-7; H.
Post beat E. Wilbur, 6-0, 6-0; Q. A. Shaw, Jr., beat J. Bryant, 6-0,
6-2; C. E. Smith beat W. Billings, 6-0, 6-1; D. G. Snow beat J. S.
Brown by default; P. V. Lansdale beat W. Smith, 6-0, 2-6, 6-0; L. H.
Dulles beat S. P. Griffin, 6-3, 6-4; A. E. Wright beat W. R. Graham,
6-0, 6-3; H. W. Cozzens beat G. H. Gilman, 6-1, 9-7; H. A. Taylor beat
J. Colgate, 6-0, 6-4; S. Hodge beat T. J. Stead, 11-9, 6-3. Second
round, Slocum beat Ryerson, 6-2, 3-6, 6-3; Shaw beat Post, 7-5, 4-6,
6-0; Smith beat Dulles, 6-2, 6-1; Wright beat Cozzens, 6-1, 6-1; Snow
beat Lansdale, 4-6, 7-5, 6-1; Hale beat Weeden, 5-7, 6-4, 6-4; Chase
beat Campbell, 4-6, 6-1, 6-3; Taylor beat Hodge, 7-5, 6-3. Third
round, Slocum beat Hale, 6-1, 6-3; Smith beat Snow, 7-5, 7-5; Taylor
beat Wright, 4-6, 6-1, 6-3; Shaw beat Chase, 6-2, 6-4. Fourth round,
Slocum beat Shaw by default; Taylor beat Smith, 6-1, 6-1. Final round,
H. A. Taylor beat H. W. Slocum, Jr., 6-4, 8-6, 7-5. Second prize: H.
W. Slocum, Jr., beat S. Colgate, 9-7, 6-1. Preliminary round, mixed
doubles, Miss A. Robinson and Mr. H. Taylor beat Miss M. Colby and
Mr. S. Colgate, 6-3, 6-4; Miss E. C. Roosevelt and Mr. O. Campbell
beat Miss Satrope and Mr. Post, 7-5, 7-5; Miss G. W. Roosevelt and Mr.
Wright beat Miss Lynch and Mr. Garrett, 4-6, 6-2, 6-2. First round,
Miss Roosevelt and Mr. Campbell beat Miss Roosevelt and Mr. Wright,
6-3, 6-3; Miss Robinson and Mr. Taylor beat Miss Stoughton and Mr.
Slocum, 6-3, 6-4. Final round, Miss Roosevelt and Mr. Campbell beat
Miss Robinson and Mr. Taylor, 6-2, 6-2, 4-6, 6-3. In the final, for
second prize, Miss Robinson and Mr. Taylor beat Miss Roosevelt and Mr.
Wright, 6-4, 8-6.

The ladies’ singles were won by Miss A. Robinson defeating Miss E. C.
Roosevelt in the final round with the greatest of ease, 6-0, 6-1, 6-0.
The second prize was won by Miss E. C. Roosevelt over Miss Colby, 6-2,
6-1, 6-0.

* * * * *

~Cooperstown, N. Y.~, August 15.--The third annual Lawn Tennis
tournament was given on the courts directly back of the Cooper House.
None of the “cracks” were entered, as in previous years. In the final
round of the gentlemen’s singles, Mr. R. M. Wright defeated R. R.
Perkins, 7-5, 8-6, 6-3. In the gentlemen’s doubles, H. C. Bowers and
H. G. Trevor were victorious over their opponents, C. Metcalf and J.
McKim, defeating them easily in three straight sets, 6-3, 6-1, 6-1.

* * * * *

~Greenwich, Conn.~, August 16.--The tennis courts at Greenwich
were crowded on the above date by spectators who had come to witness
the second annual lawn tennis tournament of the Greenwich club. The
fair sex never played better, and fairly outdid themselves. Miss
Rathborne and Miss Mason won the ladies’ doubles, receiving two very
handsome lace pins. In the singles Miss Moore easily defeated all her
opponents and received first prize, a handsome silver bangle.

* * * * *

~Bar Harbor, Me.~, August 16.--In the final round of the
gentlemen’s singles, Morton S. Paton, of New York, defeated L. Bonsai,
6-3, 6-2, 6-4, and challenged R. L. Beeckman, winner of the cup last
season. On the following day the match was played, resulting in a
victory for Mr. Beeckman. The score stood 6-1, 6-2, 6-4. This makes Mr.
Beeckman the holder twice in succession, and if he succeeds in winning
it a third time next season the cup will become his own property. The
gentlemen’s doubles, which were handicap, were won by Paton and Robbins
over the Cushman Brothers by the following score: 5-7, 6-2, 6-3, 6-4.

* * * * *

~The~ tournament to decide the Lawn Tennis championship of the
United States for singles, at Newport, R. I., August 20, resulted as
follows: Preliminary round, singles--H. W. Slocum, Jr., beat C. A.
Chase, 4-6, 6-2, 1-6, 6-2, 6-3. First round, J. S. Clark beat F. L.
V. Hoppin, 6-3, 3-6, 6-1, 6-2; J. Dwight beat F. W. Taylor, 6-3, 6-1,
6-2; E. Tuttle beat C. E. Stickney by default; C. P. Wilbur beat C.
Beatty, 6-3, 6-3, 9-7; O. S. Campbell beat W. Waller, 7-5, 6-3, 6-2;
M. Fielding beat Fiske Warren, 6-1, 6-2, 6-3; A. E. Wright beat G.
F. Brown, Jr., 6-2, 6-3, 6-3; G. W. Lee beat A. R. Weeden, 6-4, 7-5,
6-2; P. S. Sears beat W. L. Jennings, 6-2, 6-3, 6-2; B. B. Lamb beat
A. L. Rives, 6-1, 6-2, 6-1; H. A. Taylor beat F. Kellogg by default;
R. B. Hale beat G. M. Brinley by default; A. L. Williston beat V. G.
Hall, 6-4, 6-8, 7-5, 3-6, 6-2; J. A. Ryerson beat A. Hubbard, 8-6, 6-3,
3-6, 6-0; P. S. Presbrey beat T. S. Tailer, 19-21, 8-6, 1-6, 6-3, 6-4.
Second round, Dwight beat Tuttle, 6-1, 6-0, 6-1; Campbell beat Wilbur,
6-2, 6-1, 6-3; Wright beat Fielding, 6-2, 1-6, 6-1, 6-1; Sears beat
Lee, 6-2, 6-0, 6-1; Ryerson beat Lamb, 6-2, 6-0, 3-6, 11-9; Taylor
beat Hale, 6-1, 6-1, 6-1; Williston beat Presbrey, 4-6, 6-4, 6-4, 6-4;
Slocum beat Clark, 6-3, 6-2, 6-2. Third round, Campbell beat Wright,
4-6, 6-3, 1-6, 8-6, 6-2; Sears beat Ryerson, 5-7, 6-3, 6-2, 6-2; Taylor
beat Williston, 6-2, 6-3, 7-5; Slocum beat Dwight, 4-6, 6-2, 6-0, 6-3.
Fourth round, Slocum beat Campbell, 6-2, 6-3, 6-4; Taylor beat Sears,
5-7, 6-4, 6-2, 6-2. Final round, H. W. Slocum, Jr., beat H. A. Taylor,
6-4, 6-1, 6-0. By defeating Mr. Taylor, this makes Mr. Slocum the
champion of America, since Mr. Sears was prevented by sickness from
defending his title. In the consolation prize, F. L. V. Hoppin won over
W. L. Jennings in the final, 6-2, 4-6, 6-2. And this ended one of the
best tournaments ever held on the Casino grounds.

* * * * *

~The~ Rochester Lawn Tennis Club held its annual open tournament
Tuesday, September 18, and the following days. The prizes offered
were as follows: First prize, singles, value, $100; second prize,
singles, value, $40; first prizes, doubles, value, $60; second prizes,
doubles, value, $30; first prize, singles, veterans’ class, value, $30.
Entrance fees for singles, $3; for doubles, $4 for the two players.
The veterans’ class was open to players forty years of age and over. A
bisque was given for every two years over forty-five. The rules of the
U. S. National Association governed the games. Wright & Ditson’s balls
were used. Except in the finals, matches were the best two in three
sets. In the finals, the best three in five. All sets were deuce and
advantage. David Hoyt was chairman of the tournament committee.

* * * * *

~Lenox, Mass.~, September 4.--The Annual Lawn Tennis tournament
of the Lenox Club was won by L. A. Shaw, Jr., defeating W. E. Glyn,
the English player. In the finals the score stood: 5-7, 6-0, 8-6, 6-2.
Mr. Glyn before his defeat was looked upon as a sure winner, since on
the previous day he had defeated with such ease P. S. Sears (younger
brother of the champion), who is considered a better player than Mr.
Shaw. In the final doubles, P. S. Sears and L. A. Shaw, Jr. won over
their opponents, Fowler, a lad of only sixteen, and his partner, Mr.
Worthington, by the score of 6-1, 6-3, 7-9, 6-1. The second prize in
the singles was captured by Mr. Glyn, who defeated Mr. Trevor, 2-6,
6-1, 6-2. Both the courts of Miss Furniss and the one at the Lenox
Club-house were used. Among the numerous spectators who applauded
were Prince Henri d’Orleans, Count Artchot, Count Sala, and other
distinguished guests of the cottagers, including Admiral Temple. The
tournament was, without doubt, the best ever given.

* * * * *

~All~ the blue blood of Newport collected at the Casino,
September 1, to witness a court tennis match between Mr. Foxhall Keene
and O. M. Pettitt, and Boakes, the Canadian champion, and Hickey.
There was a splendid contest and some good play. The winners gave half
thirty. Keene and Pettitt won, 3-6, 6-2, 6-3, 6-4.

POLO.

~The~ Polo grounds at Newport, R. I., were filled with
carriages, September 1, to witness the last match for the Handicap Cup.
The blues were S. S. Sands, Jr., J. L. Kernochan, Thomas Hitchcock,
Jr., and W. K. Thorne, Jr. The yellows were H. Keene, A. Belmont,
Jr., S. Mortimer and E. C. Potter. Three innings were played. Keene
and Belmont for the yellows and Hitchcock and Kernochan for the blues
scored one each in the first. In the second innings Kernochan and
Hitchcock each scored for the blues and Mortimer for the yellows. In
the third innings Mortimer scored after a well-contested game. The
yellows won the match.

ROD AND GUN.

~The~ recently elected officers of the St. Lawrence River
Anglers’ Association, are W. W. Byington, president; H. S. Chandler and
Garanca M. Skinner, vice-presidents; W. H. Thompson, secretary, and R.
P. Grant, treasurer. An executive committee of twenty-one members was
also named. The object of the association is the prevention of illegal
net-fishing so threatening to the permanence of the St. Lawrence River
as a fishing resort.

* * * * *

~The~ last copy of the London _Field_ received tells of great
but lawful slaughter of game throughout Great Britain during the second
week of August. At Hunthill, Forfarshire, 279 brace of grouse were
killed by six guns, and at the same place on the next day 265 brace
were killed by five guns. An average of a half of 106 birds to a man
for a day’s shooting would be considered remarkable good luck in any of
the older parts of the United States.

The next largest bag reported was at Retreats, in Forfarshire, when, on
August 13, 207 brace were killed by five guns.

The subject of limiting by law the number of grouse which a man may
kill in the course of a season or in the course of a day, and also of
limiting the shipments of grouse by express companies in some such
way as deer are now controlled, has been freely discussed in many
associations of sportsmen, but nothing has come of it. If some one
should bring in a few bags such as those reported in England, there
would be a renewal of the discussion that might lead to a change of the
present law.

* * * * *

~The~ Cumberland Valley Game and Fish Association, of
Mechanicsville, Pa., recently elected the following officers for the
year: President, A. G. Hade; secretary, Robert Wilson Short; treasurer,
Jess D. Muller; executive committee, A. B. Rupp, F. S. Mumma and John
S. Weaver. The association has in course of construction a club-house,
which, when finished, will excel any building of a similar organization
for completeness, etc. The members of the association have, during the
past three months, placed 50,000 brook trout fry in the trout streams
of Southern Pennsylvania.

ROWING.

~A match~ between four-oared crews, representing the Bradford
and Riverside Boat Clubs, the latter being the champions of the New
England Amateur Rowing Association, was decided on the three-mile
course on the Charles River, August 11. Weather pleasant, water
rough. Time, 21m. The opposing crews were made up: Riverside--William
Kivlin (bow), William Balmer, Thomas Riley, Eugene Sullivan (stroke).
Bradford--John Cumming (stroke), J. D. Ryan, D. H. McPhee, Joseph
Skelton (bow). The Bradford won easily with fifteen lengths to spare.
Time, 21m.

* * * * *

~A single-scull~ race, open to members of the New York Athletic
Club, for the Osborne Trophy, was rowed over the new course near
Travers Island, August 25. The contest resulted in a victory for F.
McDougall, with F. Rodewald second and R. W. Rathborne third.

* * * * *

~The~ third annual regatta of the Long Island Amateur Rowing
Association came off at Bowery Bay, L. I. Course, a not guaranteed mile
and a half straightaway. Weather lowering, wind fresh, water lumpy. The
following is the record:

Single-scull gigs--G. Freeth, Varuna B. C., 10m. 54s.; A. P. Walker
second.

Junior single-scull shells--J. M. Douglas, V. B. C., 10m. 29s.; R.
Hillman, Nautilus B. C., second; G. S. Muhling, V. B. C., and M. D.
Hettrick, U. B. C., quit at a half-mile.

Senior four-oared shells--Seawanhaka B. C., A. Rave (bow), J. J.
Fogarty, R. H. Pelton, C. G. Ross (stroke), 8m. 24s.; Varuna B. C.
second.

Four-oared gigs, with coxswains--Nautilus B. C., S. Manly (bow),
C. Sutton, L. M. Mullaney, D. Voorhees (stroke), J. Schallenberg
(coxswain), 8m. 43s.; Varuna B. C. second; Seawanhaka B. C. third;
Ariel B. C. fourth.

Junior four-oared shells--Nautilus B. C., A. S. Oswald (bow), A.
Petersen, H. S. Ayers, A. Hillman (stroke), 8m. 37s.; Pioneer B. C.
second, and Varuna crew third.

Double-scull shells--Varuna B. C., G. E. Laing (bow), T. Heild
(stroke), first; Nautilus B. C., A. H. Beckwith (bow), B. J. Johnson
(stroke) second.

Senior single-scull shells--A. Rave, S. B. C., first; J. F. Hettrick,
N. B. C., finished first, but was disqualified for fouling Rave; G.
Freeth, V. B. C., did not go the correct course.

Eight-oared shells, with coxswains--Passaic B. C., H. P. Cashion
(bow), A. J. Stephens, J. Chambury, B. Van Clief, Jr., C. A. Lunjack,
F. Freeman, J. Weldon, M. Quigley (stroke), E. L. Rodrigo (coxswain),
first; Union B. C., P. Schile (bow), J. W. Bell, R. Haubold, G. W.
Kuchier, E. Weinacht, M. B. Kaesche, G. W. Eliz, R. Schile (stroke),
H. Roche (coxswain), second, by half a length; Nonpariel R. C., G.
Bates (bow), J. Hannon, J. M. Miller, W. Talbett, T. F. Wade, H. C.
Boedecker, J. Canavan, I. Maas (stroke), H. W. Nelson (coxswain),
third, by half a length; Pioneer B. C., A. Kuhn (bow), M. Muldener, R.
Whitney, W. A. Boger, J. F. Caldwell, W. Tucker, T. Sanderson, W. Zaiss
(stroke), G. L. Thatcher (coxswain), fourth, by a length; Atalanta
B. C., A. Davenport (bow), O. Fuchs, M. Lau, W. H. Van Milligen, J.
Mullen, W. Lau, E. H. Patterson, B. Jackson (stroke), E. P. K. Coffin
(coxswain) fifth.

* * * * *

~The~ second annual regatta of the Duluth Boat Club took place
at Duluth, August 18, with the following results:

First race, pleasure boats, for Bement cup, between B. F. Myers, John
Chisholm, Duncan McLeod, W. E. Perry and Tom Moore; Myers and Chisholm
won by a length and a half; Perry and Moore second.

Second race, single-scull--H. Pearson and W. B. Silvey; won by Pearson
by one length.

Third race, four-oared--first crew, F. D. Banning (stroke); W. B.
Silvey, third; H. W. Pearson, second; H. L. Mahon (bow).

Second crew--Dean Burke (stroke), F. A. Lewis third, McLeod second, W.
B. McLean (bow). Won by first crew with 15 seconds handicap.

Fourth race, single-scull, for novices, between J. L. Hopkins, Raymond
Moore, W. B. McLean. Won by Moore, with Hopkins second.

Fifth race, double-sculls--J. L. Hopkins and H. S. Mahon; H. D. Pearson
and Raymond Moore. Won by Pearson and Moore.

* * * * *

~The~ Chicago Navy held its second annual regatta on Lake
Calumet, at Pullman, Ill., August 11. Course, one and a half miles and
return, except for the canoe races, which were one mile straightaway.
The day was cool and the water rough. The following is the summary of
the events:

Junior four-oared shells--Pullman Athletic Club Crew No. 1, Wm. Fleeman
(bow), L. Haas, A. Banderob, Wm. Henderson (stroke) defeated Crew No.
2, same club, who swamped.

Tandem canoes, one mile--Tippy Canoe Club, A. W. Kitchen and W. M.
Dunham, first; Pappoose Canoe Club, R. P. McCune and W. B. Lavinia,
second; Social Athletic Club, A. Gundelach and F. J. Essig, third.

Double-scull training boats--Delaware Boat Club, John F. Korf and
William Weinand, first, in 11m. 10s.; Pullman Athletic Club, Harvey
Madden and Ed. Fraser second, in 11m. 41s.

Class B canoes, one mile--Wm. M. Dunham, Tippy Canoe Club, first; R. P.
McCune, Tippy Canoe Club, second.

Single-scull training boats--Wm. D. Hills, Ogden Boat Club, first, in
12m. 52s.; Elmer E. Beach, Delaware Boat Club, second; T. W. Reading,
Catlin Boat Club, third; Edwin D. Neff, Ogden Boat Club, fourth.

Senior four-oared shells--Farragut Boat Club, G. B. Jennison (bow), H.
C. Avery, Ed. Hunter, Chas. G. Plummer (stroke), first, in 10m. 18s.;
Pullman Athletic Club, J. M. Price (bow), J. Henderson, Ed. Fraser,
Harry Madden (stroke), second, in 10m. 26s.

Senior double sculls--Delaware Boat Club, E. C. Goff, William Weinand
(stroke) rowed over alone.

Junior single sculls--E. C. Brown, Farragut Boat Club, first, in 12m.
9s.; W. S. McDowell, Iroquois Boat Club, second, in 12m. 10s.; Ed.
Fraser, Pullman Athletic Club, third; Harry Madden, Pullman Athletic
Club, fourth; L. M. F. Whitehead, Iroquois Boat Club, fifth.

Class A canoes, one mile--A. W. Kitchen, Tippy Canoe Club, first; A.
Gundelach, Social Athletic Club, second; Will Lavinia, Pappoose Canoe
Club, third; F. J. Essig, Social Athletic Club, fourth.

Senior single sculls--John F. Corbett, Farragut Boat Club, scratch,
first, in 13m. 5s.; W. S. McDowell, Iroquois Boat Club, 15s. start,
second, in 13m. 20s., actual time.

Upset canoes, 150 yards--P. M. Cune defeated A. Gundelach.

Four-oared gigs--Union Boat Club, S. P. Avery (bow), F. C. Avery, G. A.
Wheeler, Wm. Avery (stroke), F. Avery (coxswain), first, in 10m. 43s.;
Catlin Boat Club, H. C. Michaels (bow), C. T. Goff, H. A. Cronin, T.
W. Reading (stroke), H. P. Hallinan (coxswain), second, in 10m. 53s.;
Delaware Boat Club, J. J. Cummiskey (bow), J. F. Reedy, L. Zimmerman,
M. Hartnett (stroke), A. J. Pedersen (coxswain), third; Pullman
Athletic Club, J. Dunner (bow), J. Allen, J. W. Walpole, T. Chadwick
(stroke), W. McDonald (coxswain), fourth.

Tub race--G. B. Jennison, first; A. T. Fake, second; Guy McLean not
finishing.

Referee, E. M. Schenck; timekeepers, W. F. Fowler, E. D. Neff and T.
P. Hallinan; judges, L. B. Glover, G. A. McClellan and George Lunt; at
turn, Fred Wild and C. B. Beach.

* * * * *

~The~ Institute Boat Club, of Newark, held its tenth annual
regatta on the Passaic River, September 1. The distance in all the
races was a mile straightaway.

The single-scull race was won in 8m. 59s. by F. Colburn.

Three crews were entered for the double-scull gig race, which was won
in 10m. 50s. by the crew composed of James T. Smith, T. Crane and P.
O’Toole.

The six-oared gig race had two entries. It was won in 7m. 22s. by J.
Monahan, J. J. Kelly, J. Behan, H. Hoey, W. Dempsey, O. F. Conlon and
J. H. Knowles.

J. J. Kenny and E. J. Carney won the double-scull shell race in 7m. 32s.

There were five entries in the swimming race, which was won by P. J.
O’Toole. The officers of the day were F. R. Fortemeyer, referee, and F.
P. Crane, judge at the finish.

SWIMMING.

~The~ annual contests for the amateur swimming championship of
the United States took place August 25, on Long Island sound, under the
auspices of the New York Athletic Club, in front of that organization’s
new home on Travers Island. The weather and water conditions were
favorable. The result of the contests were as follows:

100 yards--Herman Braun, Pastime Athletic Club, first, in 1m. 16 1-5s,
thus beating the American record for the distance; H. E. Touissaint,
New York Athletic Club, second, close up, the finish being the same as
it was last year.

One mile--Herman Braun, Pastime Athletic Club, first, in 26m. 57s.;
William Brice, West Side Athletic Club, second, in 28m. 11s.; F. T.
Wells, New York Athletic Club, third, in 28m. 16s. Braun led from the
start.

* * * * *

~Jack Williams~, the Canadian natator, August 12, swam down
the Mississippi River from Alton, Ill., to St. Louis--twenty-five
miles--with his hands strapped to his sides and his legs bound
together. The current was running at the rate of three miles an
hour, and he accomplished the journey in a little over eight hours,
propelling himself by working his legs, and swimming the entire
distance on his back.

* * * * *

~The~ first swimming tournament of the Young Men’s Christian
Association took place on the Harlem River, September 1. Captain
Connell, of the Dauntless Boat Club, acted as referee.

The first was the half-mile race for members, and brought out the
following: W. Kennell, N. Johnson, C. Curtiss and F. C. Schwartz.
Kennell won easily in 14m. 41s.; Johnson second.

For the mile race only three competitors put in an appearance: Chas.
Holdeman, a one-legged man; C. Bell, Pastime Athletic Club, and R.
Ruhl. The race was virtually a walk-over for Bell, who made the mile in
27m. 14s.; Holdeman second in 28m. 21s.

Nine men competed in the 100-yard swimming race. At the word “Go” all
dived simultaneously. Al Cammacho cut out the work, with W. C. Johnson
second, and the rest strung out in a straggling line. Cammacho won,
after a hard struggle with Johnson, in 1m. 17 2-5s.

TRAP.

~The~ New York Suburban Shooting Grounds Association is a
corporation recently organized under the laws of the State of New
Jersey. At a recent meeting it elected the following officers:
Charles Richards, president; August Schmitt, vice-president; Charles
M. Hathaway, treasurer; O. E. Morton, secretary. Board of directors:
Charles Richards, August Schmitt, Charles M. Hathaway, O. E. Morton,
Charles Tatham, Hugh O’Neill, Charles B. Reynolds, J. P. Dannefelser
and David Ellis. The grounds of the club are located at Claremont, N.
J., on the Central Railroad of N. J., close by the depot. It takes but
eighteen minutes to reach them from the foot of Liberty Street.

This association is not a club in the ordinary sense of the word,
but a business enterprise, which the originators believe is certain
of success from the start, as it is a well-known fact that there are
thousands of gun owners in this city alone who have no convenient place
to shoot, and who for many reasons do not care to join an ordinary
gun club, where, in most cases, a few ruling spirits monopolize all
the prizes, and make their expenses in shooting sweepstakes at the
cost of the majority who are less proficient. It is believed that
these grounds offer special inducements to the beginner and to those
who wish to improve themselves in marksmanship. It is the object of
this association to elevate the standard of this sport, and make
trap-shooting one of the popular amusements of the day.

YACHTING.

~The~ Larchmont Yacht Club gave its annual oyster-boat regatta
August 18. It came off with its usual success. The following is the
official summary:

CLASS 1--CABIN SLOOPS OVER 35 FEET.

_Start._ _Finish._ _Elapsed._ _Corr’d._
H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S.
Watson 12 30 33 5 44 20 5 13 47 5 12 17
Lizzie D. Bell 12 28 34 5 47 11 5 18 37 5 13 22
C. D. Smith 12 34 34 6 11 02 5 36 28 5 36 28

CLASS 2--CABIN SLOOPS UNDER 35 FEET.

Jennie Baker 12 29 44 5 55 00 5 25 16 5 19 16
Allie Ray 12 30 31 5 57 12 5 26 41 5 24 26
Bertha 12 28 39 5 59 52 5 31 13 5 31 13
Lucy Neal 12 30 47 6 14 10 5 43 22 5 40 16
Alice B. 12 29 40 6 18 29 5 48 49 5 42 57
Maggie Holly 12 28 45 6 22 26 5 53 41 5 43 56

Annie K., 12 33 38, Puritan, 12 29 33, and Eliza Bird, 12 29 57,
did not finish.

CLASS 3--OPEN SLOOPS OVER 30 FEET.

Loon 12 32 20 6 19 28 5 47 08 5 47 08

CLASS 4--OPEN SLOOPS UNDER 30 FEET.

Jennie A. Willis 12 36 33 5 59 25 5 22 52 5 19 15
Addie B. 12 36 44 6 03 10 5 26 26 5 21 11
Delphine 12 31 53 6 02 33 5 30 40 5 26 10
Minnie S. 12 31 42 6 02 00 5 31 18 5 27 18
Emma C. 12 30 15 6 02 50 5 32 35 5 27 50
Florence May 12 28 52 6 02 40 5 33 48 5 33 48

Georgie B., 12 29 44, Curlew, 12 32 11, and Frou-Frou, 12 36 05,
did not finish.

CLASS 5--CATRIGGED BOATS.

Joke 12 32 05 6 27 48 5 55 43 5 43 58
Fannie M. 12 32 24 6 50 28 6 18 04 5 57 19
Barthenia 12 28 27 6 49 09 6 20 42 6 20 42

* * * * *

~The~ Cape Cod Yacht Club sailed the sixth race of the club
off Orleans, August 11, in a light southeast wind. The courses were
triangular 6½ miles for first and second classes and 4⅞ miles for
third class. There were fifteen entries, and the winners were _Madge_
in the first class, _Mischief_ in the third class. The second class is
to sail over again August 18. Summary:

FIRST CLASS.

_Actual._ _Corr’d._
H. M. S. H. M. S.
Madge, Cummings & Howes 1 43 23 1 21 21
Percy Allen, F. S. Allen 1 46 20 1 22 27
No Name, A. Lake 1 57 54 1 32 07
Fawn, J. Smith 2 08 01 1 46 55

SECOND CLASS.

Mystery, George Dinnell 1 56 23 1 27 20
Leola, L. E. Nickerson 1 58 00 1 29 20
Pemigewassett, W. M. Crosby 2 11 17 1 30 34
Carrie L., George Clark 2 08 15 1 36 46

THIRD CLASS.

Sachem, A. A. Hurd 1 41 42 1 18 55
Mischief, E. Snow 1 46 17 1 29 00
Prince, P. Doane 1 54 38 1 33 59
Susan, J. Ryder 2 15 53 1 42 59
Rob Roy, H. Hewins 2 09 49 1 43 20
Tempest, E. Smith 2 11 39 1 46 40

Una, George Paxton, withdrew.

* * * * *

~The~ annual regatta of the Jersey City Yacht Club was sailed,
August 18, in a light southerly breeze. The course was from a line
between the judge’s boat and Bedloe’s Island; for class A to and
around buoys 11 and 16 and return, keeping buoys on the port hand; for
classes B, C and D, to and around buoy 15 and return, finishing at the
club-house; for class E, to and around Ellis’ Island, twice over the
course, and class F, to and around Robbins’ Reef bell buoy and return.
The time allowance was one minute to the foot. The chief interest
centred about the _Naushon_ and _Gertrude_, but they were not able to
finish. The following table gives the result:

CLASS A.

Gertrude, 1 53 50, and Naushon, 1 55 00, did not finish.

CLASS B.

_Start._ _Finish._ _Elapsed._ _Corr’d._
H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S.
Eleanor 12 41 00 5 26 20 4 45 00 4 42 50
Mary 12 44 00 5 35 00 4 51 00 4 51 00

CLASS C.

Knight Templar 12 45 06 4 02 00 3 17 54 3 17 54
Psyche 12 52 35 5 37 00 4 45 25 4 41 25

CLASS D.

Bessie 12 43 00 4 03 10 3 20 10 3 20 10
Jessie G. 12 41 05 Did not finish.

CLASS E.

Emma 12 17 00 1 53 00 1 36 00 1 36 00
May E. 12 16 00 1 55 00 1 39 00 1 37 00

CLASS F.

Alanta 2 25 30 3 30 00 1 04 30 1 04 30
Fannie 2 25 00 Did not finish.

* * * * *

~The~ Newark Bay Yacht Club had an interesting race August 13.
The course was a triangular one, twice round, making ten miles in
all. There was a strong northwest wind blowing and a chop sea on. The
following is the official record of the race:

CLASS 4.

_Start._ _Finish._ _Elapsed._ _Corr’d._
H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S.

Lizzie V. 3 19 04 4 57 30 1 38 26 1 37 31
Ada B. 3 16 30 4 56 00 1 39 30 1 37 50
Smuggler 3 15 00½ Disabled.

CLASS 5.

Annie C. 3 18 00 5 03 20 1 45 20 1 45 20
Daisy 3 17 18 5 07 48 1 50 40 1 48 36
Gala-Water 3 17 00 5 08 02 1 51 02 1 51 27
Juliette 3 15 00 Withdrew.

The Smuggler led round the course first round, when she was
disabled, and had to give up.

* * * * *

~Sixty-four~ boats started in the third open regatta of the
Beverly (Mass.) Yacht Club, sailed off Marblehead, Mass., on August
25. At the start the wind was light and unsteady from the south. The
performances of the yachts were but ordinary. The winners were: Second
class, J. Bryant’s _Shadow_; third class centreboards, C. C. Hanley’s
_Mucilage_; third class keels, H. Babson’s _Mignon_; fourth class
centreboards, C. L. Joy’s _Sea Bird_; fourth class keels, Hall and
Johnson’s _Thelga_: fifth class centreboards, F. L. Dunne’s _Mabel_;
fifth class keels, C. H. W. Foster’s _Mosca_; sixth class, H. M.
Faxon’s _Rocket_; jib and mainsail class, G. Hutchins’ _Eureka_.

* * * * *

~The~ Canarsie Yacht Club held a race from off their club-house, in
Jamaica Bay, to Rockaway Inlet buoy and return, August 25. The weather
was fine, with a fairly good west wind, and the half dozen boats
participating made excellent time over the course. They turned the
outer mark in the following order: _Birdie W._, _Kate_, _Lizzie R._,
_Belle_, _Americus_ and _Klam_. They retained these positions all the
way home, the _Birdie W._ taking the prize of $50 and 25 per cent. of
the sweepstakes.

* * * * *

~The~ annual regatta of the Corinthian Yacht Club, of Boston,
took place August 18, off Marblehead. The winners were: special class,
E. C. Neal’s _Magic_; first class keels, W. P. Fowle’s _Saracen_; first
class centreboards, C. C. Hanley’s _Mucilage_; second class keels,
Everett Paine’s _Brenda_; second class centreboards, Aaron Brown’s
_Black Cloud_; third class centreboards, W. Abbott’s _Coyote_; fourth
class keels, Rufus Benner’s _Vesper_; fifth class centreboards, W. P.
Tave’s _Alpine_.

* * * * *

~The~ American Yacht Club, of Newburyport, Mass., held a second
open regatta on August 14, the courses being respectively fifteen,
twelve and eight miles. Results: First class, _Mignon_ first, in 2h.
44m. 12s.; _Hazard_, second, 2h. 49m. 2s., corrected time. Second
class, _White Cloud_ first, 2h. 29m. 58s., corrected time; _Climax_
second, 2h. 31m. 26s. Third class, _Alpine_ first, in 1h. 36m.,
corrected time; _Pert_ second, 1h. 40m. 6s.

* * * * *

~The~ annual fall regatta of the Larchmont Yacht Club took
place September 1. A light wind prevailed at the time of starting,
but dark clouds in the southeast looked as though they held more
wind than water. The breeze continued to freshen, and before eleven
it looked as if it would remain. The wind, however, disappointed all
expectations, and after enticing the fleet over the starting-line left
the yachts to finish in the “doldrums.” The following is the award of
the regatta committee, announcing the winners. In class E, the schooner
_Agnes_ won; in class 4, the _Mischief_ or _Anaconda_, subject to
remeasurement; in class 7, the _Baboon_ first and _Nymph_ second; in
class 8, _Iseul_ beat her competitors; class 9, _Amazon_ captured the
prize; class 11, _Lackshmi_ won; class 12, _Sirene_ was a victor, and
in class 16, _Ione_.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

[_This department of_ ~Outing~ _is devoted to answers to
correspondents seeking information on subjects appertaining to all
sports._]

_Fox-terrier, Brooklyn._--There is no great difficulty in removing
warts from a dog’s eyelids. Take a forceps and a sharp penknife; then
raise the wart with the forceps and cut out the wart, afterwards
touching the wound with nitrate of silver. The other question is more
difficult to answer, for, without seeing the dog, it is hard to say
whether he is suffering from distemper or not. Your safest course is to
consult a good veterinary surgeon.

* * * * *

_Transatlantic, Washington, D. C._--All kinds of cures have been
suggested for sea-sickness, and in cocaine the doctors seemed to
think they had found the long-sought relief. Nothing, however, to the
best of our experience, can equal good champagne and cracked ice as a
preventive. The _Perrier-Jouet_ of Messrs. Du Vivier & Co., 49 Broad
Street, New York, and the _Great Western Champagne_, sold by H. B. Kirk
& Co. (see page xv.), are wines we can heartily recommend.

* * * * *

_Druid, Cleveland, O._--There is to be an International University
boat-race next year between England and America. The details are, we
believe, not yet settled; but it is much to be hoped that the winner of
the Yale-Harvard race will meet the winner of the Oxford-Cambridge race.

* * * * *

_Amphibious, Long Branch._--You will find that the unpleasant condition
of your skin and head, which you describe, is undoubtedly the result
of too much salt-water bathing. This is best remedied by taking
fresh-water baths, and using a soap of good hygienic properties, such
as Packer’s Tar Soap. You can obtain this at most druggists’, or if
not, from the Packer Mfg. Co.

* * * * *

_Sportsman, Baltimore, Md._--We think you will find that the prejudice
against machine-loaded cartridges has entirely vanished from the
public mind. This has been in a great measure brought about by the
excellence of the Peters cartridge. It is agreed now that for pattern,
penetration, and absence of recoil this cartridge is unexcelled,
while, whatever may be the chemical constituents of the Peters wad,
no cartridge loaded with black powder leaves the barrel so clean and
unfouled. In every respect it compares more than favorably with the
hand-loaded crimped shell.

* * * * *

_Sprinter, Detroit, Mich._--C. H. Sherrill, New Haven, Conn., on June
15, 1888, made a record of 15s. for 150 yards, and on the same day, 25
4-5s. for 250 yards. These are, we believe, the latest amateur records
for those distances. The Secretary of the Chicago Amateur Athletic
Association is George L. Wilson, 241 Lake Street.

* * * * *

_Horse-master, Charleston, S. C._--The breast-strap is seldom used in
England in place of the collar. It is in some measure no doubt due to
the fact that English people use much heavier vehicles than are in
vogue in America. With at all a heavy weight, the breast-strap confines
the shoulders.

* * * * *

_Tennis Enthusiast, Boston, Mass._--(1) H. W. Slocum and Howard A.
Taylor are graduates of the rival Universities. Mr. Slocum graduated
from Yale in the class of ’83, and Mr. Taylor from Harvard in ’85. (2)
Mr. Taylor is the junior by some three years. (3) Mr. Taylor plays with
his left hand.

* * * * *

_G. B. T., Fellowcraft Club._--Fishes Eddy is on the New York, Ontario
& western Railway, 154 miles from New York, with two trains each way
daily. It has one small hotel. It is located on the East Branch of the
Delaware. The country is wild, mountainous, and abounds in game both
large and small--deer, black bear, partridge and woodcock. The trout
fishing in the small streams and lakes is excellent. Guides can be had
for about $3.00 per day.

* * * * *

_A. L. M., Boston, Mass._--The recent high commendations given to
Californian brandy by the medical journals would seem to point to its
decided superiority to French products. The brand which we should
specially recommend to your notice is the Royal Grape Brandy, furnished
by the California Vintage Company, 21 Park Place, N. Y.

* * * * *

_Bird Hunter, Washington, D. C._--Audubon explains the “drumming” of
the cock pheasant as follows. After telling how the bird struts and
plumes itself on some decayed trunk, he continues: “The bird draws the
whole of its feathers close to its body and, stretching itself out,
beats its sides with its wings in the manner of the domestic cock, but
more loudly, and with such rapidity of motion, after a few of the first
strokes, as to cause a tremor in the air, not unlike the rumbling of
thunder.” Indeed, this seems to be the only method vouchsafed by nature
for the cock to summon his mate in the early spring, during the period
of incubation.

* * * * *

_Amateur Photographer, Albany, N. Y._--You can procure the outfit you
require from the Rochester Optical Company, who are perfectly reliable
dealers.

PRINCETON HEARD FROM.

~The~ following communication from W. L. Hodge, of Princeton, is
given a place in ~Outing~ with a view to making as perfect as
possible the data of college baseball. No intention to do Princeton an
injustice was intended by Mr. Chadwick, whose interest in the progress
of the game with which his name is so honorably associated is now as
great as it was in years gone by when the game and the veteran were
younger. ~Outing~ is ever ready to correct an error as well as
to vindicate the truth.

_To the Editor of_ ~Outing~:

~Dear Sir~,--I have just this moment finished reading an
article in the August number of ~Outing~ entitled “Baseball
in the Colleges,” by Henry Chadwick, and beg leave to correct
several mistakes which he makes, and by which he does Princeton
gross injustice. At the close of the article he gives a summary of
the championship matches played between 1880-88, inclusive, and
says Harvard won the championship in 1882. Now, if he will refer
to his tabulated summary, he will find that instead of Harvard
winning the championship in that year, she was third in the race,
winning five and losing five games, while, if I remember rightly,
Princeton and Yale tied for the championship, and Yale won the tie
game played in New Haven. Yale has never lost the championship but
once, and that was in 1885. Again, he says that Princeton was third
on the list during the whole period from 1880 to 1888, inclusive.
Now, if Mr. Chadwick will refer to his summary once more, he will
see that Harvard has held that honorable position quite as often
as Princeton, for in 1888 Princeton was a close second, tried for
second place in 1881, and won the second place in 1882 and 1883,
Harvard being a bad third. In 1885 Princeton and Yale tried for
second place, and Princeton won the “play-off” game at New Haven by
the score of 15 to 13. I simply mention these facts to do Princeton
justice.

Yours,
~W. L. Hodge~, Princeton, ’88.

* * * * *

~As~ we go to press we hear with great pleasure of the victory
of our lawn tennis correspondent, Mr. V. G. Hall with his partner Mr.
O. S. Campbell in the double championship tournament at Staten Island.

OUR PREMIUM.

=~Outing~ readers, not regular subscribers to the magazine,
will find it to their advantage to consult the advertising pages xx.
and xxiv. Subscribers to other publications should consult our Clubbing
Rates on p. xx.=

* * * * *

=During the approaching Australian Baseball Tour (see advertisement
page), Mr. Harry Palmer, the noted baseball writer, will act as the
special correspondent of OUTING. Mr. Palmer will accompany the party
throughout the trip, from October 15, the date of the start, and
will regularly send full and interesting accounts, to appear in the
different issues of OUTING. We feel sure that our readers will take a
keen interest in these articles. In OUTING for November will appear an
article by him giving the intended program of the teams as they proceed
on their long westward journey, besides many interesting details of the
personnel of the party.=

[Illustration:

Painting by J. Carter Beard. Engraved by W. H. F. Lyouns.

WASHINGTON AND HIS HOUNDS.]

~Outing.~

~Vol. XIII.~ NOVEMBER, 1888. ~No. 2.~

OUTDOOR LIFE OF THE PRESIDENTS.

BY JOHN P. FOLEY.

[Illustration]

I. ~George Washington.~

The great cities have not yet given the country a President. From
Washington to Cleveland the chief magistrates have all come from great
Southern plantations, lonely Western farms, rural towns or villages,
scattered up and down the Republic. The early Virginia Presidents were,
as a rule, more fortunate in the circumstances of their birth than
any of their successors. Washington’s infant eyes opened amid scenes
of rare natural beauty. The home of his parents was on the banks of
the Potomac, one hundred miles below Mount Vernon. It was a large,
comfortable cottage, filled with all the luxuries which a wealthy
planter of that period could command. From its lawn could be seen a
wide expanse of the majestic river, ten miles broad at that point, and
on the opposite shore the forest-crowned hills and plains of Maryland.
Thomas Jefferson was born on the handsome estate of his father, in
Albemarle County, part of which he afterward inherited. Madison’s
father, too, was a large landed proprietor, the owner of slaves, and
the possessor of a fortune sufficient to gratify his ambition. James
Monroe was equally fortunate. His father lived in a fair Virginia home,
surrounded by all the semi-feudal splendor of that distant slave era.
To complete the group of the Revolutionary Presidents the name of John
Adams must be added. In his youth his prospects in life were as cold
and hard as his native New England hills. His father was poor, and
had to strain every pecuniary nerve to send him to Harvard College.
When he left that institution he was compelled to earn his living as a
teacher. The story of the deeds of these five men in the cabinet, the
field, and the halls of legislature has been written by many pens and
told in many tongues. Their fame is one of the precious inheritances of
the Republic whose foundations they so materially helped to lay, and
to whose magnificent structure of popular government they contributed
perhaps more than any other five leaders and statesmen of the
Revolution. But it is with their private home life, and that of their
successors, we are now concerned.

Washington is the most stately figure in our history. It requires
an effort of the imagination to think of him except, as it were, in
full-dress. He is ever the commander-in-chief, mounted on a spirited
war-horse; serene in the hour of victory; undaunted in adversity;
full of hope and confidence when all others are in gloom and despair.
Again, we love to picture him as the majestic President, ceremonious
as the most imperial of monarchs, provoking the harsh criticism of
enemies by what they termed his mimicry of foreign potentates--of
the English court and king whose political fetters he had shattered.
And, still again, he towers up in our imagination as the American
Cincinnatus, laying down the sword and the sceptre, retiring from
the pomp and power to which he had been so long accustomed, to his
picturesque home in the Virginia woods, leaving behind him an example
of lofty patriotism without a parallel in all human annals. But there
was another Washington whom we seldom see except in stray glimpses,
when the curtain rises before the scene is fully set, or when the side
wings hitch and halt in their grooves. His biographers tell us that
his military propensities were early developed; that when a boy he was
in the habit of forming his school companions into military companies,
who paraded, marched, and fought mimic battles, and that he showed
his genius for command by being always the leader of one of the rival
parties. He was fond of athletic amusements; of running, jumping,
tossing heavy bars, and other feats of agility and strength. “Indeed,”
says Mr. Sparks, “it is well known that these practices were continued
by him after he had arrived at the age of mature life.”

[Illustration: WASHINGTON SKIPPING THE ROPE FOR EXERCISE.]

This story is told of him while he was commander-in-chief of the
Continental armies: Colonel Timothy Pickering, to whom Washington was
very much attached, had a negro body-servant named “Primus.” Washington
visited Pickering’s quarters one day, and found him absent.

[Illustration: WASHINGTON GIVES THE COLT HIS FIRST LESSON.]

“It does not matter,” said General Washington to Primus, “I am greatly
in need of exercise, and you must help me to get some before your
master returns.”

Under Washington’s directions the negro tied a rope to a neighboring
tree, about breast high, and Primus was ordered to stand at some
distance and hold it horizontally extended. Washington ran forward and
backward for some time, jumping over the rope as he came and went,
until he expressed himself satisfied with the exercise. It is said
that he frequently visited Primus and amused himself in this primitive
fashion.

He learned fencing when he was quite young; his teacher being an old
soldier who had seen service with his brother in the Indies. His
stone-throwing feats across the Rappahannock, over the Palisades, and
to the top of the Natural Bridge in Virginia, are mentioned by nearly
all his biographers. Charles W. Peale, the artist, tells us that when
he was at Mount Vernon in 1772, painting Washington’s picture, he saw
him toss a bar very much farther than the most athletic and expert of a
number of young men who were, on one occasion, testing their strength
in that way. He was then forty years old, and proudly remarked, “You
perceive, young gentlemen, that my arm yet retains some portion of the
vigor of my early days.” He was a good wrestler, and many stories of
his prowess in this respect are told.

[Illustration: LORD FAIRFAX’S COTTAGE.]

General Washington was a splendid horseman. There was no animal he
could not master, and he never lost his seat in the saddle. The
well-known hatchet dialogue between his father and himself is suspected
to have no better foundation than the imagination of the Rev. Mr.
Weems. The following incident in his young life, and the subsequent
interview between his mother and himself, rest on more substantial
historical data: Lady Washington owned a fine span of gray horses, in
which she took very great pride. One of them had never been broken
to the saddle. It entered into the heads of some young friends of
Washington to give the colt his first lesson in this particular
branch of his education. The animal resisted their efforts, and would
not allow any one of them to mount him. George, although one of the
youngest of the party, managed to pacify the terrified creature and
to bestride him. Then came a battle royal between horse and boy. All
the animal’s efforts to free himself from his rider were vain, and
he started to run. Washington gave him free rein. The horse never
stopped till he fell prostrate beneath his young master. George, as
may be imagined, was very much alarmed at what had occurred, but he
immediately told his mother. “I forgive you,” she replied, “because you
have had the courage to tell me the truth at once.”

Washington loved a good horse, and long before the war of the
Revolution his blooded stock was not inferior to any in the country.
Fox-hunting was one of his favorite amusements, and at the “meet”
few of his planter friends and neighbors were better mounted than he
was. All his hunting paraphernalia was imported from England. His
costume was made by the best tailors in London. It consisted of a
blue cloth coat, scarlet waistcoat, buckskin breeches, with velvet
cap, and admirably became his splendid form and figure. He usually
rode a large, fiery animal of great endurance, called “Blueskin.”
The names of some of his other horses were “Chinkling,” “Valiant,”
“Ajax,” and “Magnolia.” “Will Lee,” his huntsman, was famous through
the province as a daring rider. “Mounted on Chinkling,” we are told,
“this fearless horseman would rush through brake and tangled wood in
a style at which modern huntsmen would stand aghast.” Washington’s
kennel was an excellent one. When a mere boy he rode to the hounds
with Lord Fairfax, who brought a pack from England, the only one, it
is said, in the country at the time. Washington, therefore, knew what
a good pack should be, and “it was his pride,” says Lossing, “to have
it so critically drafted as to speed and bottom that, in running, if
one leading dog should lose the scent another was at hand immediately
to receive it, and thus, when in full cry, to use a racing phrase ‘you
might cover the pack with a blanket.’” Here are the names of some
of the dogs: “Vulcan,” “Ringwood,” “Singer,” “Truelove,” “Music,”
“Sweetlips,” “Forester” and “Rockwood.” Lafayette sent Washington some
hounds after the close of the war, but he had then given up hunting.
Previous to that he hunted in the season two or three times a week.
He is candid enough to admit, in his correspondence and diary, that
the foxes nearly always escaped, but he philosophically consoled
himself with the reflection that the main end in view--excitement and
recreation--had been achieved.

During the Presidency he sometimes drove six horses to his carriage
in New York and Philadelphia. His servants wore livery, for which
Tom Paine bitterly attacked him, and he was often accompanied
by outriders. George W. Parke Custis, his adopted son, in his
“Recollections and Private Memoirs of Washington,” gives an interesting
account of the management of the stables when the seat of government
was at Philadelphia. “The President’s stables,” he says, “were under
the direction of ‘German Tom,’ and the grooming of the white chargers
will rather surprise the moderns. The night before the horses were
expected to be ridden they were covered entirely over with a paste,
of which whiting was the principal component part; then the animals
were swathed in bed-cloths and left to sleep upon clean straw. In the
morning the composition had become hard, and was well rubbed in, and
curried and brushed, which process gave to the coats a beautiful glossy
and satin-like appearance. The hoofs were then blackened and polished,
the mouths washed, the teeth picked and cleaned, and the leopard-skin
housings being properly adjusted, the white chargers were led forth
for service.” When Washington rode out he was always accompanied by
his servant “Bishop.” This was his favorite exercise in New York and
Philadelphia while he was President. He sometimes walked, however,
and around the Battery, then a fashionable promenade in New York, and
now given over almost entirely to immigrants from all quarters of the
world, was the direction he most frequently took in this city. He
frequently drove and rode what was then called the “fourteen miles
around.” This route was up the old King’s Bridge road to McGowan’s
Pass, at 108th Street, thence across on a line with the Harlem River to
Bloomingdale, and down on the west side of the island to the city.

[Illustration: MOUNT VERNON.]

Fowling was another favorite amusement of the first President. His own
estates and the country around them abounded in game of all kinds. A
century and a half ago, and, we suppose, long before that time, the
waters of the Chesapeake were the resort, as they are now, of the
incomparable canvas-back and other wild-duck. Tradition has it that
Washington was a good shot. He knew the favorite feeding-places of
the finest flocks, and he could steal a march on them as secretly
as, in after years, it was his wont to surprise the fortified camp
lines of the British redcoats. Although Washington loved to follow
his own game-birds and bring them down when he could, he rigorously
prohibited other people from breaking in on his preserves. His
principal biographer has preserved a story from oblivion which
illustrates his sentiments in this respect together with his personal
courage and resolution. A lawless person was in the habit of crossing
the Potomac opposite Mount Vernon in a canoe, and, concealing himself
in the woods, filling his game-bag at Washington’s expense. Repeated
warnings to desist were sent him, but, poacher-like, he was a believer
in the doctrine that game is common property and belongs to him who
can capture it. Washington was determined to stop the raids upon his
birds, and the poacher’s end at last came. Hearing a shot one day, and
suspecting who had fired it, Washington mounted his horse and rode in
the direction of the sound. The poacher discovered his approach, and
had time to enter his canoe and push a few yards from the banks before
the master of Mount Vernon appeared in view. When Washington, with
anger in his eye, became visible, the poacher raised his gun, cocked
it, and took deliberate aim. Washington did not betray the slightest
sign of alarm or timidity. He strode into the water, seized the canoe
and pulled it ashore. Disarming his antagonist, Washington gave him
so severe a chastisement that he never again ran the risk of meeting
a similar reception. Washington in the latter part of his life was
something of a fisherman. There is an entry in one of his diaries,
while the Federal Convention was in session in Philadelphia, telling
of a fishing party near Valley Forge. While President, he also drew in
a codfish with his own hand on the fishing banks off Portsmouth, New
Hampshire.

[Illustration: WASHINGTON CHASTISING THE POACHER.]

No one of the presidents lived so much in the open air as Washington.
With the exception of the eight years in the Presidency, he was almost
constantly in the field, the woods, the wilderness, or the farm. His
first occupation was that of a surveyor, upon which he entered when he
was sixteen years of age. During his last summer at school he amused
himself by surveying the grounds around the school-house. The adjoining
plantations then became the field of his experiments, and their angles
and boundaries were all marked down by him with the most minute
detail. At this time he thought of going to sea. His brother Lawrence
obtained a midshipman’s warrant for him, but his mother objected, and
an admiral, perhaps, was lost to the navy of the English king whose
most famous general he was destined to defeat. He then received a
commission to survey the western lands of Lord Fairfax. This led him
across the first range of the Alleghany Mountains into the wilderness.
He was accompanied on this expedition by George, the eldest son of
William Fairfax. They endured much hardship and privation, but the
trip, in all probability, was the means of laying the basis of the
splendid physical health which Washington enjoyed all through life. The
country was almost uninhabited. The dwellings, mere huts at the best,
were few and far apart. Storms very often swept away their tents, and
frequently they were compelled to sleep with no roof except the skies.
Three years, the severe winter months excepted, were spent in this
work, which, like everything Washington undertook, was well executed.
His success led to promotion. He received an appointment as official
surveyor, which enabled him to make his entries in the county offices.
The lands surveyed lay on the south bank of the Potomac, seventy miles
above the present Harper’s Ferry. Washington did not foresee that in a
short time he would have an opportunity to turn to very great advantage
in the public service the knowledge he was then acquiring of this
comparatively unknown region. But, nevertheless, the French-Indian war,
in which he bore so conspicuous a part, was not far distant. In 1751,
the western boundaries of the colony of Virginia were so harassed by
the Indians that measures had to be adopted for their protection. The
country was divided into districts, to one of which Washington was
appointed inspector with the rank of major. He was now a soldier. In
1755, when he was only twenty-three years of age, the command of the
Virginia troops was given to him. He resigned his commission in 1758
and the following year he was married.

Washington was barely twenty-seven years old when this interesting
event took place, and when he may be said to have settled down to
lead the life of a country gentleman. He was in every sense of the
term what is called a favorite of fortune. Rich, honored, loved,
married to a beautiful woman of distinguished family and large wealth,
the possessor of a splendid estate, which he had just inherited, of
handsome person and superb health, with more fame than falls to the
share of most young men at his period of life, a keen relish for the
good things of the world with the means to obtain and the capacity
to enjoy them--the prospect before him was, indeed, an alluring one.
Mount Vernon was one of the loveliest homes in the country and the
landscape around it unrivaled on the continent. Through its hospitable
gates came the governors and leading men of old colonial Virginia as
the friends and guests of its master. Gay hunting parties, with hounds
and horns to rouse the fox in his hill-side cover, gathered on its
spacious lawns. Stately dames talked over the latest society gossip
from the colonial capitals and across the seas on its broad verandas
and under its overarching trees. To speak of more material things,
there was a small army of slaves to employ, to clothe, to feed, to
watch and to attend, for Washington was one of the most humane of
masters. Thousands of broad acres awaited cultivation and improvement,
while flocks and herds innumerable claimed protection from winter
storm and summer heat. Into this manifold life, with all its cares
and responsibilities, Washington entered with the keenest zest. His
ambition in a public way seemed to have been satisfied with the fame he
had won in the French war. But, whatever may have been his thoughts or
aspirations, he set himself to the task of cultivating and adorning his
property. Mount Vernon consisted of five farms, each one of which had
its own appropriate set of laborers under the direction of an overseer.
Washington visited them all daily and gave instructions for the day
following. He was one of the most methodical of men, rising at a
regular hour in the morning, and retiring at a fixed time at night. He
loved his stock, and paid particular attention to their comfort. Prize
cattle shows and exhibitions had not then come into fashion. If they
had existed at the time it is very certain that the name of the young
soldier-planter would have headed the lists of exhibitors, and that he
would have filled Mount Vernon with cups and premiums testifying to
his pre-eminence as a breeder. He had an attachment even for the lower
animals, and never destroyed life when there was no necessity for it. A
gentleman, who at one time lived in his family as secretary, tells us
that, as he was walking one day with Washington in his grounds, a snake
of a harmless species started up in front of them. The secretary lifted
his heel to crush the reptile, when Washington caught his arm and
exclaimed, “Stay, sir! Is there not room enough in this world for you
and that harmless little reptile? Remember that life is all--everything
to the creature--and cannot be unnecessarily taken without indirectly
impugning its Creator, who bestowed it to be enjoyed with its
appropriate pleasures through its own natural term of existence.”

He was the model farmer of his time. Though not a student in the
ordinary acceptation of the term, he read a good deal on agricultural
and kindred subjects, investigated the nature and character of his
soils, and grew his crops on a scientific basis. Fond of flowers and
trees, he was never weary of ornamenting his estate with the choicest
specimens, native and foreign, that he could find. Life for him had
flowed along in this tranquil way during a period of fifteen years when
the first mutterings of the Revolutionary storm were borne to Mount
Vernon. He was as eager to do battle for the rights of his country as
any gentleman within the boundaries of the thirteen colonies. The war
came, and he was chosen commander-in-chief. Before he departed for the
scene of operations in New England, he gave his superintendent minute
instructions in regard to the management of his property while he was
absent. During the progress of the long struggle, he corresponded
with him as frequently as possible, and an immense number of letters,
written from the camp and his ever-shifting headquarters, many of them
before and immediately after important engagements, attest the deep
interest he took in the smallest matter connected with his beloved
home. The manager is told what crops to sow in different fields; the
precise spots on which young trees of different families should be
planted, and what old and decaying ones should be cut down. We can see
in these curious and interesting letters how deeply he was attached
to every animate, and indeed inanimate, object on his estate, and
how he yearned to be restored to them. Only once in the long eight
years did he visit Mount Vernon. He was then on his way to lay siege
to Cornwallis at Yorktown, and finally receive the sword of the best
English general in America. To describe his outdoor life while in the
army would be to re-tell the story of the Revolution.

At last the end came, and the foremost commander of his age, the
liberator of his country, was again a private citizen and a country
gentleman. Mount Vernon had suffered severely from his long absence,
for his instructions had been imperfectly carried out. The soil was
in many places exhausted by successive crops of tobacco, while the
necessity for extensive repairs confronted him on every hand. He was
fifty-one years of age. The work of restoring his estate to its former
splendid condition was at once begun. He plunged into agriculture
with all the ardor of his youthful days. In a letter to Lafayette,
he describes his feelings at this time. “At length,” he writes, “I
am become a private citizen on the banks of the Potomac, and, under
the shade of my own fig-tree, free from the excitement of the camp
and the busy scenes of public life, I am solacing myself with those
tranquil enjoyments of which the soldier, who is ever in pursuit of
fame, the statesman whose watchful days and sleepless nights are spent
in devising schemes to promote the welfare of his own, perhaps the ruin
of other countries (as if this globe were insufficient for us all), and
the courtier, who is always watching the countenance of his prince in
hopes of catching a gracious smile, can have very little conception.”
Troops of friends and admirers visited him in his retirement and were
entertained in a most hospitable manner.

In the autumn he began on a systematic plan to renovate his worn-out
fields; each parcel of land was numbered, and the precise crops to
be planted in it were set down several years in advance. This method
proved so successful that he adhered to it during the remainder of
his life. He next turned his attention to his grounds. Early in the
spring he began with the lawn. To it he transferred the choicest
trees in his forests, setting them out with evergreens and flowering
shrubs intermingled in such a manner as to produce the most pleasing
effect. The removal and replanting of each one received his personal
attention, and from day to day he watched them with the greatest
solicitude, keeping in his diary the record of their life or death.
Next came the replenishing of his orchards and gardens. Fruit-trees of
rare and valuable varieties were procured at whatever cost. Flowering
shrubs were planted in abundance--in fact, nothing that could add
to the beauty and decoration of Mount Vernon was left undone. The
pruning-knife now took the place of the sword, and he never tired of
wandering among his plants, cutting away useless branches and shoots
which marred their beauty or hurt their growth. There was no law on the
statute book against foreign contract labor, and he imported skilful
gardeners to enable him to carry out his plans of improvement. His
habits were most regular. He was out of bed with the sun, and the hours
until breakfast were passed in his study, writing letters or reading.
Breakfast over, his horse was ready at the door to take him on the
round of his farms. If his guests wished to accompany him, or to make
excursions into the surrounding country, horses for them also were led
out. Returning from his fields, he again shut himself up in his study,
where he remained until three o’clock, when dinner was announced. The
remainder of the day and evening was given to his guests until ten
o’clock, when he retired.

The repose of this fascinating life was not destined to be of long
duration. With the close of the war the young confederacy found
itself confronted with new difficulties and dangers. To meet them,
and bring order out of the political chaos, there assembled that
body of patriotic and illustrious men who, as the result of their
deliberations, gave the world the constitution of the United States.
Washington presided over their deliberations, and, in due time, his
election to the Presidency followed. It was hard to be compelled again
to leave Mount Vernon and to abandon all his cherished plans for its
improvement. This entry is found in his diary in the summer of 1789:
“At ten o’clock I bade adieu to Mount Vernon, to private life and
to domestic felicity, and with a mind oppressed with more anxious
and painful emotions than I have words to express, set out for New
York, having in company Mr. Thomson and Colonel Humphrey; with the
best dispositions to render service to my country in obedience to
its call, but with less hope of answering its expectations.” He was
loath to leave home for many private reasons, chief among which was
his desire to pursue the system he had matured for the improvement of
his estate. Since the war he had procured from England the best works
on agriculture, and was impatient to put his ideas and theories into
practical operation. Now all had to be given up, at least for four
years, when, he hoped, the term of his second servitude in public life
would come to an end. But what was to be done in the meantime? The seat
of government was hundreds of miles away, and roads next to impassable
except at certain seasons of the year, made communications tedious and
difficult. He did the best thing possible, namely, to appoint a manager
and leave with him instructions in writing for his guidance.

These instructions throw a strong light on the character of Washington,
a light for which we might search in vain among the many volumes of
his State papers, public addresses and private correspondence. His
dearest interests were involved in the management of his property, and
he naturally wrote with a freedom, directness and emphasis concerning
it which he scarcely could have employed on any other occasion. In
these simple memoranda, made when he was on the eve of assuming the
highest honor his country could confer--an honor all the greater
because of the transcendent ability and character it was supposed the
position demanded--we can see, that while the world was ringing with
the fame of his achievements, his innermost thoughts were occupied
with those beloved fields on which he had lavished so much care. He
intended that everything should run along in his absence precisely as
if he were present. There is a military ring in the following sentences
which reveals the old commander-in-chief: “One thing I cannot forbear
to put in strong terms. It is that whenever I order a thing to be
done it must be done; or a reason given at the time, or as soon as
the impracticability can be discovered why it cannot be done, which
will produce a countermand or a change. But it is not for the person
receiving the order to suspend or dispense with its execution; and,
after it has been supposed to have gone into effect, to be told that
nothing has been done in it; that it _will_ be done or that it could
not be done--either of these is unpleasant and disagreeable to me,
having been all my life accustomed to regularity and punctuality.
Nothing but system and method are required to accomplish any reasonable
requests.” Due notice that he will expect every man to do his duty at
Mount Vernon while he is in New York is given as follows: “To request
that my people must be at work as soon as it is light; work until it is
dark, and be diligent while they are at it, can hardly be necessary,
because the propriety of it must strike every manager who attends to
my interests, or regards his own character, and he, on reflecting,
must be convinced that lost labor is never to be regained.” His plan,
or system, was very comprehensive. It contained instructions what to
plant and where to plant it, not only for the year but for many years
in advance. Every one of the five overseers was required to make a
minute weekly report concerning the operations on the farm he had in
charge. This was given to the manager and by him sent to the President.
The work performed by the laborers and their condition, whether ill or
well, were to be noted. The slightest incident or accident connected
with everything on the estate--the stock, the crops, the trees, the
fences, the farming implements--was to be made known to him. And, no
matter how public business pressed, time and opportunity were found or
made, during all the eight years of the Presidency, to consider and
attend to the affairs of Mount Vernon. Each weekly report was closely
examined and answered, sometimes at great length.

[Illustration: “STAY SIR! DO NOT KILL THAT REPTILE.”]

This extract from one of his communications shows how closely he
watched his slaves and how well he was acquainted with them personally:
“What sort of sickness is Dick’s that he should have been confined
with it for weeks? And what kind of sickness is Betty Davis’s that it
should have a similar effect upon her? If pretended ailments without
apparent causes or visible effects will screen her from work, I shall
get no service out of her, for a more lazy, deceitful and impudent
huzzy is not to be found in the United States than she is.” In another
letter, he refers to a young negro whom he wished to have trained as a
house-servant. “Put him in the house,” he says, “give him good clothes,
so as to make him self-respecting, and a stout horn comb. Make him comb
his hair, or wool, so that it will grow long.”

What a many-sided character Washington possessed! No President ever
held the helm of state more firmly than he did during those eight years
while the young Republic was beginning its career as a nation. The
ablest men in our history as a people were then in public life, but he
was the master of them all. He was supreme in a cabinet containing two
men of such vast acquirements as Hamilton and Jefferson, and he ruled
them as completely as he governed “Dick” and “impudent Betty Davis”
down at Mount Vernon.

The summer months were usually spent on his estate, though not
invariably. During the Presidency, he traveled a good deal in different
parts of the country--Long Island, the Eastern States, and down South
and out West. No man of his time probably knew the geography and
topography of the country better than he did. As we have pointed out,
the French-Indian war led him across the Alleghanies, and he twice
again visited that region, less known then almost than the middle of
Africa is to-day. He explored the middle of New York with De Witt
Clinton, penetrated to the very centre of the Dismal Swamp, and took
the field once more when the Whisky Insurrection broke out.

After the expiration of his second term, he again returned to the
banks of the Potomac and resumed the occupations he laid down eight
years before. Writing to a friend soon after his arrival, he tells
him that he “began his daily course with the rising of the sun and
first made preparations for the business of the day. By the time I
have accomplished these matters breakfast is ready. This being over, I
mount my horse and ride around my farms, which employs me till it is
time to dress for dinner, at which I rarely miss to see some strange
faces, come, as they say, out of respect for me.” The farm was over
eight thousand acres in extent, and these rides averaged twelve or
fifteen miles in length. This description of Washington at the time was
given by young Custis to a gentleman who had inquired for him: “You
will meet with an old gentleman riding alone, in plain drab clothes, a
broad-brimmed white hat, a hickory switch in his hand and carrying an
umbrella with a long staff which is attached to his saddle-bow. That
person, sir, is General Washington.” Another call to duty came in the
threatened war with France. Washington was made lieutenant-general, but
the storm soon blew over.

He was now sixty-eight years old, and the end of all was coming. He
rode out as usual one morning in December, caught cold, and died in a
few days. The trees he planted in his youth bend above his grave on the
banks of the Potomac.

THE PROGRESS OF ATHLETISM.

BY C. TURNER.

[Illustration]

Athletism is one of the distinctive forces of the nineteenth century,
and of all the forces, acting upon the social, moral and physical life
of the century, it is probably destined to be the most permanent in its
effects. No impulse has had a swifter or a wider scope. While other
forces of aggregation have welded together peoples having a common
ethnological origin into a nation, such as Italy, and consolidated
independent states into a system, such as Germany, it has been
the function of athletics to unite in a common interest the whole
(Anglo-Saxon) world. America and Australasia have felt its influence,
and passed under its discipline, in no less degree than the scattered
colonies and dependencies of “Greater Britain.” Remarkable as it may
at first sound, it is true, that no fact to-day “flashed round the
girdle of the globe” would excite so widespread a curiosity, or so much
personal interest, as that an amateur athlete had succeeded in covering
one hundred yards of space in one second less than the recorded time of
the great classic contests of the century.

[Illustration: THE HURDLE RACE AT CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY.]

In the United Kingdom, Ministries may come and Ministries may go,
Governments may wax and wane; such news will interest few but the
inhabitants of Great Britain. In America contests of deep interest
may rage round a Presidential Election and rend public opinion, but
the very knowledge of the contest will be confined largely to the
American continent. The fiercest controversies in science and religion
may rise and subside, the whole current of ecclesiastical thought may
change, whilst the “Tracts for the Times” will remain a mere phrase to
the millions who are keenly alive to the more cosmopolitan questions
involved in athletism. On the remote sheep-farms of Australia, in
the cattle ranches of Texas, on the pampas of South America, amongst
the snows of the Himalayas, round the kraal fires of Southern Africa
and in the busy marts of China and Japan, there will be auditors who
will gather with keener interest to hear of the battles of pluck and
endurance by the Isis and the Cam than would be displayed about any
contest for dominion among the powers of the world. In the island home
of its birth, and the land of its most earnest adoption, no system of
news, in its ingathering and dispersion, is so regular, systematic and
universal, or so anxiously scanned as the sports of the Queen’s Club
Grounds, or the progress of the baseball nines of New York, Boston or
Chicago. It puts into operation a system as perfect and as rapid as if
the fate of nations hung in the balance.

[Illustration: WINNING THE HUNDRED YARDS.]

Whence is all this? Partly, it may be, that the subject dealt with
and the competitors involved touch the most abiding and deep-seated
instincts of our common nature, carrying us back, by their very
mention, to those halcyon days when we too marked the scudding form or
joined in the thrilling race.

“Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise;
We love the play-place of our early days,
The scene is touching, and the heart is stone
That feels not at that sight, and feels at none,”

sang one of our early English poets, and again:

“The pleasing spectacle at once excites
Such recollections of our own delights,
That, viewing it, we seem almost t’ obtain
Our innocent, sweet simple years again.”

But how came the natural aptitude and expertness of the Saxon in
outdoor sports to be so totally obliterated, as undoubtedly it was,
up to within the past forty years? That England, above all, with her
old Viking blood, should have lain torpid and effeminate; that that
“hard gray weather,” which, as Kingsley says, “makes hard Englishmen,”
should have become barren in results, is one of the most puzzling
facts of a now happily remote past. It was not ever thus; the early
poets teem with allusions to training and skill in manly sports and
outdoor pastimes, but the records of the eighteenth century as surely
point to their almost universal eclipse. Read Cowper’s “Timepiece,”
written in 1783, and more especially his “Tirocinium; or, a Review of
the Schools,” written in the following year. What a picture do they
present! The tavern and the play-house, cards and the race-course,
license and riot, fill the terrible picture of the youth of the period,
the product of the school and college. Study languished, emulation
slept, and virtue fled, is his uncontested verdict.

“See womanhood despised and manhood shamed,
With infamy too nauseous to be named;
Fops at all corners, ladylike in mien,
Civeted fellows, smelt ere they are seen.
Else coarse and rude in manners, and their tongue
On fire with curses and with nonsense hung,
Now flush’d with drunkenness, now with excess pale,
Their breath a sample of last night’s regale,
Designed by nature wise, but self-made fools;
All these, and more like these, were bred at schools.”

[Illustration: THE TRINITY HALL CREW, CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY.]

It certainly is a picture which, thank God! could not be painted now.
Nor could it be written of the well-to-do youth of the nation, as
was written by South and quoted by Dr. Johnson in his Dictionary in
illustration of the word “athletick”--“strong of body, vigorous,
robust,” that “seldom shall we see in rich families that athletick
soundness and vigor of constitution which is seen in cottages where
nature is cook and necessity caterer.” The youth of “rich families”
have now, happily become the very pink of the “strong of body,
vigorous, robust,” and a practical refutation of such an opinion, in
every English-speaking land.

[Illustration: WINNING THE HIGH JUMP.]

It was fitting, though singular, that the revival of outdoor sports,
which received its first check from the narrow fanaticism and
repressive bitterness of the puritanical period, that saw Beelzebub in
the quarter-staff and Satan in a foot-race, should have received its
first impulse into new life largely from the disciples of “Muscular
Christianity,” of whom Canon Kingsley may perhaps be taken as the
type. Yet so it was; they fanned into life the embers in which still
burnt the hidden fire, and rekindled the dormant passion for rural
sports into more than its old vigor with a new purity and with a force
which, ere half a century had passed, was to restore athletism to its
legitimate sphere throughout the Anglo-Saxon world.

Many other things combined to help the movement. Not the least of these
was the dawning belief that Juvenal’s oft quoted “_mens sana in corpore
sano_,” contained a fallacy, and that the healthy body must precede
and render possible the healthy mind. This doctrine, in “the forties,”
was feebly struggling for recognition, but is now recognized as lying
at the very root of social and moral regeneration. England’s danger
in the period of the Crimean war, tended to turn the minds of men to
the seriousness of our national position, and to the advantages of
systematic training to resist hardship. The volunteer movement, with
its platoon exercises and its outdoor drills, often on the old “Butts
Green,” which the wisdom of our forefathers had provided for their day
and generation, drew further marked attention to physical training. All
this tended to create in the rising generation an inclination to return
to our older, more natural, and more healthful custom of outdoor life.

Whatever were the causes, and whether this enumeration of them
be either accurate or complete, certain it is that in the early
“fifties” athletism took a new and marked departure. As was natural,
that departure received its concrete form in the two ancient English
universities “where students most do congregate.” In athletics it can
with truth be said, “the boy is father of the man.”

For all the higher interests of athletism this was fortunate. In those
two centres the young plant was at least in a soil with materials for
its growth, and in an atmosphere where its grosser forms could scarce
take root, and where that parasite, the professional blackleg, could
certainly not develop. Thus it has transpired that those concomitant
evils which at one time threatened even the existence of cricket have
been kept from the field of amateur athletics. The watchful eye, the
timely warning, the friendly aid of authority, which, without crushing,
silently regulated the mode and conduct of these sports, has enabled
them to spread a beneficent and not a corrupting influence. That there
were evils, inherent, latent, and which might have become powerful, all
will admit; that they were surely and deeply rooted and ineradicable
was the fear of many; that they showed a tendency at first to develop
is a matter of record, but that they no longer affect athletism, where
it is conducted by gentlemen for gentlemen, is equally certain and
satisfactory.

That the development of athletism, regulated and purified as it soon
became, was a distinct advance on the antecedent pastimes is perfectly
clear. Athletics soon obtained a recognition and a warm welcome from
the public. Let those who are old enough cast back their minds thirty
years and recall the scenes of brutality which filled the columns
of public newspapers, the very existence of which is now almost
forgotten. Turn even to the _Times_, and it will be found that in that
exclusive journal and great reflex of the age, “prize fighting” holds
quite a significant space. But the work unostentatiously begun in the
universities, and spreading to the schools, was preparing a public
which would become interested in the more scientific development of the
human frame for higher and nobler purposes.

To Oxford belongs the honor of initiation in the Athletic Club of
Exeter College founded in 1850. Five years later the sister university
followed Oxford’s example; but, as is her habit, though slower to
the influence of innovation than Oxford, when once she has accepted
an idea, she makes more rapid progress. St. John’s College led the
van; Emmanuel, and one by one the rest, followed. So rapid, indeed,
was the development, that within two years the whole of the seventeen
colleges and halls were ready for a “federation,” and in 1857 the first
intercollegiate sports were held. Three years after, Oxford, too, was
ready for its extended sphere, its “United States” constitution.

Naturally, the existence of these two friendly yet rival corporations
led to a trial of strength between them. Cambridge challenged Oxford
to a friendly tournament, and in 1864 the first of those since famous
meetings of the students of the two universities was held. Nothing can
be more significant of the then position of athletism than the manner
of its announcement. In an obscure corner of the _Times_, crushed
almost out by the more engrossing incidents of the German-Danish war
and of the American Rebellion, still may be seen the two small lines
announcing: “Athletic Games.--The athletic games between Oxford and
Cambridge will take place on the 5th March at 12 o’clock.” But small as
was the space, it was a clear indication that athletism had become a
subject of national and not entirely of local interest. From this event
may be measured all the subsequent career. “The events took place in
Christ Church new cricket ground, in the presence of a vast number of
persons, including many of the college authorities, and some hundreds
of ladies, who took a very keen interest in the proceedings,” says the
_Times_. But even more interesting is the fact that at the baptism of
these inter-university sports there should have been the sponsorship of
official recognition. Of the two judges, one was the Rev. A. H. Faber,
of New College, Oxford; the other was the Rev. H. Mortimer Luckock, of
Trinity College, Cambridge (now Canon of Ely Cathedral), whilst the
office of referee was filled by the Rev. Leslie Stephen. As Oxford “had
gathered there her beauty and her chivalry” as spectators, so amongst
the competitors were no mean representatives of the universities at
their best. Oxford had her Gooch and Darbyshire, and Cambridge that
very paragon of all graceful power, C. B. Lawes (who has since enriched
sculpture by so much that is admirable in art). What son of Cambridge
who saw Lawes is ever likely to forget him? He was a sight for the
gods!--a very athletic “Admirable Crichton.”

Emulation and imitation, that sincerest form of flattery, quickly
produced followers; the flame which the universities had lit, raised
to a beacon’s height by the _Times’_ reports, spread like a wildfire.
Trinity College, Dublin, Eton College and Wellington, before the year
was out, appeared in the lists, and were quickly followed by those
nurseries of the universities, Harrow and Winchester, Rossall and
Cheltenham, Westminster and Charterhouse, whilst Sandhurst and Chatham
added to the list the military students, and the “United” Hospitals the
students in medicine. Nor was the agitation confined to one side of the
Atlantic, for within an extremely short period, the foundation of that
now world-renowned association, the New York Athletic Club, was laid.

Is it to be wondered at that this sudden, simultaneous, and widespread
movement should have raised grave apprehensions, and anxious, if not
bitter, critics? The first warning voice was raised against the alleged
existence of gambling and against the debasing influence of money
as prizes. It is singular to remember, under present circumstances,
the fact, which has almost passed from memory, that at the first
inter-university sports the prizes were given in money. Nor was the
friendly yet apprehensive critic alone in the field. Mr. Wilkie
Collins, the novelist, with less knowledge and more animus, mixed gall
and wormwood with his criticism and produced in his “Man and Wife” a
caricatured monster so overdrawn as to be, fortunately, ineffective.
Even so good an authority as Mr. Leslie Stephen was apparently ranged
against the child of his adoption (for he was the first referee); but,
as a matter of fact, he was merely tempted to use the athlete as a
“bogey” to frighten “the characteristic doctrine out of the university
Tory;” but having to invoke a “bogey” for his purpose he was compelled,
by the exigencies of the case, to draw the university athlete in
language more forcible than elegant. This having served its purpose,
may now well be charitably consigned to oblivion. The Hon. Edward
Lyttleton, following suit to Mr. Stephen, urged the aid of “variety in
education” as a corrective to the engrossing attractions of the sports.
The fears which haunted Mr. Lyttleton, and still find expression, were
born of a too contracted view of the facts. To him, the enervating
effect was its growing popularity. He saw the increasing multitudes
flocking once a year to see the public exhibitions, in which but few
students competed, and he forgot the thousands who plodded, day after
day, month after month, through the weary details of practice, for the
development of their frames, or in private contests.

Nor were the tutor, the schoolmaster and the novelist alone in their
onslaughts; a far more dangerous attack came from certain medical men,
of whom Dr. Richardson may be taken as the type. To them the athlete
was a man doomed to a premature decay, a broken and exhausted wreck.
Budding athletism had the good fortune to secure, in Dr. E. Morgan,
of Manchester, a champion whose exhaustive labors and conclusive
deductions from authentic facts, made short work of the adverse theory,
and established, beyond future cavil or dispute, that the death rate
amongst those who had passed the most trying ordeals was 30 per cent.
lower than the national average.

The combination of assaults on lines like these, and the anxieties
generated in maternal minds, led the university authorities
to discourage the spirit of rivalry which, it was feared, the
inter-university contests might develop to excess. Cambridge was
staggered, in 1867, by an official prohibition against the Oxford and
Cambridge sports taking place within the precincts of the university.
No other step could so certainly have produced the very results which
it was aimed to prevent. Driven from Cambridge, where the contests
might long have continued comparatively subordinate, under the
immediate guardianship of the official eye, they were forced into the
extended, and by no means preferable, area of the London world, of
which they have since formed an important annual fixture.

Athletism rose triumphant over these as over the many other
difficulties and dangers which surrounded its early path. The
varying “uses” of distant and conflicting schools were reconciled,
the barnacles of corruption cleared off, and the authority firmly
established of that great central governing body the Amateur Athletic
Association.

Cambridge, which by its early example did so much to popularize
athletics, has had a long succession of faithful, loyal and patriotic
sons to carry her colors through many a hard-won fight and many
a stubborn fray. Who that has seen her career through the past
quarter of a century cannot recall, with all the glow of rekindled
satisfaction, her champions, from the day, in 1865, when R. E. Webster
(now the learned attorney-general) twice lowered Oxford’s colors
by defeating the Earl of Jersey for the mile in 4m. 44¼s. (on a
slow, wet ground) and for the two miles in 10m. 38½s. down to W. C.
Kendall’s exciting “odd event” jump this spring? Between these dates
what memories crowd the scene! Pitman and Ridley, Churchill and R. H.
Macaulay (now head-master of Rugby), who covered the quarter of a mile
in 1881 in 50 1-5s.; I. L. Stirling, “three stride Stirling,” of 1870,
over his 120 yards and 10 flights; A. B. Loder, who, in 1876, plucked
the honors from Upcher, the very classic of the hurdlers, in 16s.; S.
Palmer, lithe as a leopard, who, in 1883, carried the “light blue”
through in the same time; phenomenal E. J. Davies, short and spare of
build, who, with his second thrust in midair, covered 22 ft. 10 in. in
the broad jump; F. B. Roberts, who, in 1886, covered 21 ft. 9 in., and
W. C. Kendall’s winning jump of 1888; W. W. Hough, lean and light of
foot, who put the three miles behind him in 15m. 1 1-5s.; the mighty
hammer throws of G. H. Hales, in 1876, 138 ft. 3 in. and E. O’F. Kelly
putting the weight--these and hundreds more flit across the mind.

And who that has seen thirty generations--for each year brings its new
generation--of under-graduates “strip” can have failed to recognize a
distinct, general improvement in the average physique, in build, in
carriage, and even in the quality and condition of the flesh. It is
undoubted and palpable even to the casual eye, and it has, singularly
enough, within the past few months, received confirmation from an
authority anything but casual. Dr. Sargent, of Harvard, in his
“Physical Proportions of the Typical Man,” has proved with mathematical
accuracy and from reliable and exhaustive measurements, that “man
cultivated both in mind and body along the lines of least resistance
shows that the tendency of the race is to attain the perfect type, the
order of growth is regular towards it.” Nor is it necessary at this day
to elaborate the point that this physical advance is not only no injury
to, not only compatible with, but a promoter of moral and spiritual
benefits, as well as a direct aid to withstanding the wear and tear
of modern business. The Universities’ missions to South Africa and
China, abroad, Toynbee Hall, the White Cross Society, and other like
efforts at home, are a standing testimony on the one hand, while on the
other the presence “thick as autumn leaves in Vallombrosa” of old-time
champions in the high offices of state and in every walk of science,
art, enterprise and commercial life, is a ready and complete answer.

An author, whose modesty conceals his name, but whose good sense
justifies the quotation, has well summed up the situation. “Athletism
may not have crowned all its votaries with the laurels of social
heroism, but it has disseminated a thoroughly healthy and energizing
taste among our young men. It has taken them away from the smoking and
the billiard rooms at unreasonable hours and stamped out that physical
and moral malady, which was once powerfully described by the author of
‘David Copperfield’ as the ‘dry-rot in men.’”

In her physical training of the youth of the nation, those “trustees
for posterity,” may its motto long express the universal verdict
“_Floreat Cantabrigia_.”

~Comparative Table of Amateurs’ Records.~

[Illustration: AVTVMN]

Shrill cocks salute the tardy dawn
That glimmers o’er the landscape blurred;
Somewhere upon the barren lawn
Is piping one lorn little bird--
A robin red-breast, loath to leave,
Although he only stays to grieve.

The thresher’s flail rings clear and loud
All day long from the open barn;
The pigeons on the rafters crowd,
Torn is the spider’s silvery yarn.
The frosts have left their ghostly prints
Upon the meadow’s russet tints.

Beneath the sunset’s lurid light,
The pinewood holds its plumes of black--
The pilot moon brings in the night,
His white boat in a windy track--
One tall, far spire across the land,
In warning lifts a fiery hand.

November, born to poverty,
The winds are mournful with her prayer;
A vagrant, pleading charity,
And yet her hands are always bare;
And still within her clouded eyes
Are lurking dismal prophecies.

Too late for Autumn’s golden wealth,
The harvest-dance, the merry stir;
Too soon for Winter’s lusty health,
And yet our fond hearts welcome her;
For ’tis her cold breath that first lights
The happy household fire o’ nights.

_Susan Hartley Swett._

A DAMP JOURNEY ON A DOWN GRADE.

BY RALPH K. WING.

Time was when a trip into the woods meant “roughing it.” Nowadays it
may mean anything. An arm-chair in the stern of a skiff, propelled by
a backwoods laborer, who lugs your boat from one lake to another over
the highways of such travel--this is the ordinary type of the modern
Adirondack voyage. The tourist languidly views the scenery through his
eye-glass, and returns to his city friends to rapturously descant upon
the perils and hardships undergone, and the bravery required for a
sojourn in this “uncombed” region.

We had never taken an outing in such a manner. It was our intention to
“do” the North Woods on business principles, take a tent, shun hotels,
keep away from the usual paths of travel, carry our own canoe, do our
own paddling, and, in fact, get the real benefit of genuine wild life
in wild places.

Our canoe was at Blue Mountain Lake; and thither Will Maynard, my chum,
and I made the thirty-mile stage ride from North Creek, the terminus
of the railway. We reached the lake in the afternoon; and desiring
to avoid the necessity of stopping over night at any of the hotels,
we immediately looked around for a wagon to start us on our way. Our
objective point was Rock Lake, about seven miles from Blue Mountain
Lake, and a mile off the regular road. This pond gives rise to the
Rock River, which flows into the Indian River, which again makes a
junction with the upper Hudson far back in the remote wilderness. These
water-courses we desired to follow, and continuing on the Hudson River
to a few miles below the village of North Creek, portage over into
Schroon River, from which Lake George, our ultimate destination, could
easily be reached.

Good luck brought us an empty returning wagon, and it was soon engaged.
About sunset we were landed at an inn at a point a mile and a half from
Rock Lake. We discussed the feasibility of packing our boat and luggage
this distance over a trail not too good and entirely unknown to us,
before darkness settled down. Meanwhile we ate our supper, and then cut
the Gordian knot by hiring two backwoodsmen to help us.

As, lagging somewhat behind our guides, we emerged from the end of the
path we met them returning noiselessly, motioning to enjoin silence.

“What is it?” we whispered.

“Hist! Keep quiet. There’s a bear about the camp. Perhaps we can get a
shot.”

We tiptoed after them. They had their rifles and I my revolver. The
fading light glimmered faintly across the lake and over the open,
swampy margin. We peered eagerly through the gloaming; but, strain eye
and ear as we might, we scanned the landscape in vain. Bruin wisely
concluded not to do battle at such great odds against him. A few shots,
that provoked hollow, lonesome echoes from the wilderness, we fired in
the direction in which the bear had last been heard.

We turned to look at our surroundings. On the verge of the woods, a few
hundred yards from where the path terminated at the lake, was a very
small log cabin, with one window, breast high, and a low door. This was
to be our quarters for the night. Our friends, quickly starting a brisk
fire at the front, sat down for a few minutes’ chat before they began
their dark, and, to less practiced persons, uncertain journey home.
We took occasion to glean all the information we could regarding our
proposed route. Great were our astonishment and dismay at their replies.

“Well,” remarked one, “when I hear’n that you fellows were going down
the Rock and Cedar rivers, I just said right out loud to myself, ‘They
can’t do it.’ Do you know how far you will get to-morrow if you begin
work early in the morning and work all day just as hard as you can?
You won’t go no farther than six miles below--to where the Cedar River
comes in. There ain’t enough water, and it’s rough and rocky all the
way. When you get down to Cedar River there be some still water; but it
is all filled up with logs. There isn’t no paths, and the woods be too
thick for you to carry your things around any of the bad places. You
will have to drag your boat over the rocks a smart bit of the way, and
you stand a mighty good chance of getting it smashed.”

“Would you advise us to take our outfit back to the road and wait for
some team to take us to North River?” we inquired. “The water is deep
enough there, is it not?”

“I wouldn’t say what I think you ought to do ’cept as you ask it. We
ain’t trying to frighten ye; but I don’t think any of the boys livin’
up this way, unless they had a blamed good reason, would think to try
what you said you wanted to do. It’s too late to get back through the
woods to-night. I would stay right here on this pile of balsam boughs
in your shanty till morning, then carry your things back to the road,
and wait until an empty wagon comes your way. But we’ve got to get
home, so good-night!”

Maynard and I built up the fire with green wood to make smoke and drive
off the insect pests, universal in these dense woods; and each crawling
into his sleeping bag, made by sewing several blankets together, slept
until long after sunrise.

I stepped over to a little brook that dashed by our camp to take my
morning’s wash. A large flat stone was lying in the middle of the
stream. On this I stood, and while making a liberal lather, discovered
on another rock only three feet away a big green bullfrog, staring
at me with a fixed, immovable, owl-like gaze. After several efforts,
which did not seem to alarm him in the least, I finally succeeded in
landing some soapsuds in his eyes. This made him relax sufficiently
to wink violently two or three times, but not enough to change his
posture or the glassy gleam of his optics. With no better effect I
again anointed him, but the third time I gave him such a nasty dose
that he deliberately waddled down to the water, put his head under, and
removed the objectionable foreign substance. Then he ambled back to his
old roost, composedly resuming his position in a way which seemed to
say, “Keep it up if you want to; it don’t hurt me any.” I laughed till
I was tired, and left this genuine humorist of nature in undisturbed
possession.

After breakfast we very leisurely carried our canoe and equipment back
to the road. We reposed under the trees, waiting for “something to turn
up,” but as hour after hour slipped by, we found it very monotonous. We
had almost reconciled ourselves to staying where we were for the night,
when with joy we saw a wagon coming our way.

The driver, who intended to make an all-night journey to the railroad
terminus, was an employé of one of the Blue Mountain Lake hotels.
He was a native of the district, well versed in all the stories and
traditions of the wilderness, and was evidently glad of an audience. He
told of the last of the Indians in that region; of the deer and bear
that had been shot at different points as we passed; the uselessness
of attempting to farm on the rocky precipitous slopes; and, now that
the section was open to competition with the products of more fertile
localities, the dependence of the inhabitants on the summer tourists.
Despite the talk, the banter, and the songs, our not over-soft seats on
the bow of the canoe and the sides of the springless wagon became no
easier. As the result of our two days’ severe work and the lateness of
the hour, we would find ourselves dropping off into a short doze, to
awake just in the nick of time to avoid falling out of the wagon by a
desperate grab at the first available support. The small hours of the
morning overtook us: still the wheels rolled on in their dusty course,
still the horses trotted down a decline to toil panting up the crest
of the next hill; still the dim shadows ahead would, as we approached,
disclose the faintly outlined forms of rocks, stumps and trees; still
the mountains bathed their feet in the fogs of the valley and in their
sable garments draped the scene in mourning. Soon black, threatening
clouds shut out the small remnant of light that the giant mountains
failed to obscure. Presently we heard a deep muttering, as if these
Titans roared in anger to each other, then the illuminating flashes,
as if they exchanged shots with one another, proclaimed more certainly
than a weather bulletin that it would become moist in our vicinity.
Rubber coats afforded us as good protection as could be expected in the
postures we were obliged to assume.

But soon the stars reasserted their sway; then the first glimmer of the
river, as after its long _détour_ through the virgin forest, it once
more approached the highway, could be caught through the trees from the
hill we were descending. Then a house or two appeared, and we rattled
up in front of the inn at North River, a hamlet about six miles above
North Creek, the terminus of the railroad.

Very thankful we were to see a light burning. Our elation was but
short-lived, for we were told that every room in the house was
occupied. We were, however, more prepared for emergencies than the
ordinary traveler, and carrying our blankets into the barn, we were
easily convinced, and not for the first time, that a haymow has its
advantages as a sleeping-place.

Before launching next morning we repaired to the only store in the
place to make a few purchases. In this remote country store, surrounded
by a well-nigh uninhabited and inaccessible region, we did not expect
to find anything to remind us of the teeming marts of trade from which
we had recently come. Judge then our surprise when upon entering the
place we found the proprietor cornered by the everlasting, ubiquitous
drummer. This particular specimen was not carrying a general line,
but was a specialist, traveling for a soap powder. I expressed my
astonishment, and was informed by the storekeeper that there had been
already ten salesmen in there that day. Probably these fellows had an
idea that in a place so remote from the ordinary routes of travel, if
the storekeeper wanted anything in their line, he would take a large
amount. Be that as it may, it furnished a striking illustration of
American business enterprise.

In the store was a child, not over three years of age, complacently
smoking a full-sized cigar. This was the proprietor’s son, and it
seemed to give the father much pleasure to exhibit the little wretch’s
accomplishment. “He uses tobacco just like a man,” he beamingly
remarked. “He takes to it naturally. He chewed a piece of my fine-cut
before he was out of the cradle, and he is now never without a cigar,
pipe, or quid. He can take his little toddy, too, without winking,
just like his old man,” and the unnatural parent fairly gloated over
the precocious depravity of his offspring. It must be said, though, in
favor of this “infant prodigy,” that he seemed to survive the treatment
with remarkable success. A sturdier young sinner, with rosier cheeks,
would be hard to find.

Directly across the road, opposite the hotel and the few houses
comprising the hamlet, flowed the river, which at this point was much
contracted, booming and roaring for half a mile in a not insignificant
rapid. As soon as it became noised about that we intended to embark
at the head of this, the place was on the tiptoe of expectation. The
inhabitants were accustomed to nothing but rowboats, and could not
appreciate the advantages possessed by a canoe in lightness and in
the ability of the occupant to see his course as he proceeds, so
many skeptics were found. As we loitered about, making purchases and
getting things in shape, the number of doubters increased, some of them
being unkind enough to hint at a lack of “sand” on the part of “them
city dudes.” This was our first rapid of the season, and it must be
confessed that as we shoved off we did not feel exactly stiff in the
knees.

We made directly for the centre with our quickest, most powerful
strokes, and sooner almost than thought itself the banks were whizzing
past us, and we were plunging in the midst of the foam and the billows,
dodging the rocks as they sought our frail craft, and zigzagging from
one side of the stream to the other in quest of a channel. We had
hardly time to get frightened, hold our breath hard, and receive a few
dashes of spray before we found ourselves in comparatively smooth water
at the foot of the run.

The distance to North Creek, six miles, was, in the high state of the
river, very easily and most enjoyably made. The sun was shining, the
water clear, the current swift but free enough from dangerous stretches
to allow us to give our full attention to the charms of the landscape,
rendered doubly attractive by the rain of the previous night. The road
ran close to the river. The driver of a conspicuous red wagon, drawn by
a team of spirited horses, going in our direction, became filled with a
desire to show us the greater expedition of his method of travel. With
this end in view he lashed his horses up hill and down, speeding them
to the best of his ability. Not being in the racing mood, we enjoyed at
our leisure his manifest desire to leave us in the lurch, finding that,
aided by the swift water, we were able to keep the lead by the exercise
of only ordinary effort.

In less than an hour we had traveled the six miles to North Creek.
While there it rained heavily, to the relief of my chum, who utilized
the time by flirting with the pretty post-mistress. Female charms
must always be recognized as dangerous, especially when placed in the
vantage-ground of a post-office. Owing to the indiscretion of Uncle Sam
in placing this maiden in a position to practise her seductive wiles
on my susceptible friend, our departure was delayed till late in the
afternoon, so bringing upon us a catastrophe before the day was done.

Although it was five o’clock before we started, we judged from the
quick and easy run that we had already made, that the ten miles to
Riverside, the point at which we intended to leave the Hudson, could
readily be made before darkness overtook us. The road had now turned
off from the river, and for the nonce we plunged once more into the
primitive wilderness.

Forests overhung the water on both banks, and no landing for our boat,
much less a camping-place, could be found. This deprivation of a last
resort, obliging us in any case to continue, we soon found to be a
most serious matter. Rapids began to be frequent, presenting many
undesirable features. Angular boulders of immense size threatened to
monopolize the current at these points, while we were forcibly reminded
of that great feature of the Hudson, the lumber traffic, by enormous
piles of logs. These had drifted on the rocks in the freshets, and
had been left high and dry far above us, blockading the channel and
shutting off the view of what lay before us. Our hands were in now, and
recking little of what was concealed, we plunged boldly in, paddling
fast even in the swiftest water, and trusting to experience and
intuition to get us through.

The mountain air grew cool in the lengthening shadows; but coats, vests
and hats were thrown aside. Amidst the boom and surge of the rushing
water, one interval of white, foam-crested waves succeeding another in
almost unbroken succession, we shouted to each other in the din and
plied our paddles from side to side, now backing with heavy stroke or
desperately shoving ahead on the opposite quarter. Our blood was on
fire with excitement and the spirit of battle pervaded every nerve.

The rocks thickened, the current quickened. White water appeared at
the beginning of a bend, and we made right for it with the confidence
born of recklessness. As we slid on to the dancing billows, we were
coolly discussing the relative merits and demerits of decked and open
canoes for running rapids, when on turning the point such a sight
was presented as made even our madcap hearts pause in their tattoo
against our ribs. For half a mile extended a toboggan slide of water,
with all element of smoothness omitted. Rocks were piled in confused,
broken heaps as in the crater of a volcano; and between, round and
over them rushed and plunged, like an aqueous cannon-ball, the deep
contracted, resistless tide. No escape: the alternatives were to
get through on our muscle or die game. We became self-possessed from
desperation. Onward and downward, like a descent into a maelstrom, we
dived and tossed. To attempt to shape our course to suit ourselves
was almost useless: the depth and volume of the narrowed flood was
too great. Suddenly the broad stream became a funnel, and tumbling
down a miniature cascade of some three feet, swept over a partially
submerged flat rock a few yards below the middle of the plunge. Toward
this we were irresistibly drawn. The bow of the canoe was higher than
the stern when we dived down the incline, so the prow glided over
the obstruction, the bottom gave a sharp rasp, and the stern was
lifted high upon the rock. At once we shoved our paddles against the
unyielding surface to push off ere our predicament was made worse. The
boat would not budge; the water was driven hard against it, threatening
by its force alone to tear the wood apart; the craft, balanced nicely
on the end of its heel, tipped violently with the slightest movement,
several times admitting water.

We calmly discussed the situation. There seemed to be little hope for
us. Maynard was in the stern, I in the bow. In a hoarse, deliberate
voice, he said, “If we capsize here we are both lost. I am going to
attempt to get out on the rock and pull her loose. If I succeed you
will go down alone, stern first, but you may get through all right. It
is our only hope.”

Carefully rising, gathering his strength, he made a leap. He landed
on the rock. Pressing his foot against a projection, by a succession
of powerful efforts he got the boat loose, and before it had time to
take the momentum of the water and be swept from his hands, he made
a desperate grab at the gunwales as far forward as he could reach,
drawing himself off of the stone and out of the water, and resumed his
paddle before the canoe had a chance to drift broadside.

The sweat of exertion and terror stood out on our brows--but the worst
was over; a few more vigorous strokes and we floated where we might
again feel moderately secure.

The sun was just sinking. We thought anxiously of camp, and to our
great relief, a house appeared. It must be near Riverside, so we
landed. The dwelling was close to the bank, and a few cultivated fields
lay around it, another habitation appearing in the distance. With
these exceptions all was wild. However, a glorious blaze on the beach
soon dried our wet garments. The moon was full, and as no signs of
human proximity were visible, by its light we proceeded to investigate
the house. A tumble-down fence and a rankly overgrown garden betokened
a neglect which was soon explained by a deserted home. We shoved our
dark lantern through all the windows, and being satisfied that the
house was vacant, and we would not be disturbed, we produced our
bedding and wrapping ourselves up on the porch were soon lost in our
dreams. So ended an eventful day, the scenes of which in our slumber
were re-enacted with terrifying variations. The house, fences, trees,
moon, and the solid earth seemed to have an insecure, tumbling,
rolling tendency; and as the roar of an actual rapid below where we
landed filled the air and was echoed to our sleeping ears, one of us,
as a corner of a blanket covered his mouth, would fancy that he was
taking his last plunge into the cold, hurrying waters, and wake with a
suffocating gasp.

The dawn found us stirring. It ushered in a day so full of queer
circumstances as to seem like a chapter from “Alice in Wonderland.”
After a breakfast of dried beef, bread, hot chocolate and oatmeal,
which we thoroughly appreciated, our first solicitude was to find
a wagon to convey our canoe to Loon Lake, via which and its outlet
we intended to reach the Schroon River. This was an occasion of the
mountain coming to Mahomet; for we had hardly finished our breakfast
when three men bent on a swim, and attracted by the revolver practice
in which we had been indulging, made their appearance. Living at a
distance from any improved road, they had no wagon suitable for our
purpose, but a neighbor who was to be found nearly a mile across
country, might be able to satisfy our wants. Maynard made the quest;
and after an hour or so of weary waiting, beguiled by the conversation
of the granger delegation, I spied a box lumber wagon coming slowly and
carefully through the fields. The duffle and the light little boat were
soon aboard and snugly lashed down.

Now began a journey of seven miles by land, requiring as much care,
but lacking the excitement of the previous day’s river trip. We took
turns walking, the man on foot keeping behind to see that the craft
did not lurch over to one side so that the delicate cedar would be
chafed against an uneven board or protruding nail. Listening to our
driver, alternately trudging and riding, picking berries, telling
stories, singing and declaiming, we made our portage. Along the borders
of Loon Lake we passed for about half a mile to a spot where our guide
informed us we could obtain a meal. Carrying our outfit down to a
beautiful sandy beach, and leaving all ready for a launch, we stormed
the house. Though it was in the afternoon, the prospect of earning a
little money was sufficient inducement to these frugal folks to quickly
produce a dinner in which that inevitable last resort of a remote
farmhouse--fried pork--largely figured.

We swept rapidly through the lake, a small body of water. Paddling down
the narrow outlet, we soon reached the dam, which marked its terminus.
A boom of logs on the near side of the structure, and the lack of an
available place to land after the obstruction was passed, said plainly
to boatmen, “No thoroughfare.” We dragged the canoe through a clump
of willows uncomfortably close to a pig-sty, and much to our chagrin,
frightened away two pretty girls who stood farther down on the path.
We were soon at the dam, only to find by glancing below that the
water supplied to the mills on the brook down which we had expected
to float had been almost entirely shut off. We were in a quandary
how to proceed. Inquiring, we learned that a mile below the stream
received a tributary, and that beyond the junction we would probably
find water enough to float. We tried the Adirondack plan; and one of
us shouldering the boat and the other carrying as much as he could of
what remained, we let down bars and climbed fences, cutting across
fields in approved style, to strike the road at the most direct point.
Perspiring, but persevering, we pushed on. The sky now began to darken.
A thunder-storm was evidently rapidly approaching.

A desire for sleeping under a wooden roof took possession of us.
Carefully concealing the canoe in the bushes by the brookside, we made
for a farmhouse near by. We had taken a solemn oath not to sleep in
beds. To get the concession of spending the night in the barn, we used
diplomacy. After telling who we were, what we were doing, where we were
going, and producing our canvas “Saratoga” in proof of our statements,
we would say, “If you will allow us to sleep in your barn we will not
smoke nor light any matches,” that being the regulation bugbear of the
average farmer. Generally, as in this case, the granger had become
intensely interested in our adventurous journey by field and flood,
and would warmly press upon us the hospitalities of his home. This
invitation we invariably declined.

“At peep of dawn we brushed, with hasty steps, the dews away,” and
trudging across the meadow, found the small stream now deep enough
for our purposes. We moved slowly through beautiful, fresh meadow
land along the winding stream, the water clear as the air above it,
and varying from five to fifteen feet in width, and of a depth just
sufficient for our purpose. The bottom was covered with sawdust from
the mill, over the yielding beds of which, as occasion required, we
could easily pole our craft. The banks were now open and lined with
rushes, ferns and sweet-smelling grasses, and again rose crested with
thickly crowded trees, overhanging and enclosing the thread of silver.
The brook was in charming harmony with our diminutive bark, affording
us uninterrupted enjoyment.

Continuing several miles in this manner, making, it is true, slow but
delightful progress, we arrived about dinner-time at Chestertown,
a village which, though ten miles from any railroad, is surrounded
by beautiful drives, and is on the turnpike to famous Schroon Lake,
and other of the less wild and most fashionable resorts of the
Adirondacks. It is itself possessed of several fine hotels, containing
not a few rich city people, who are content to spend their summers
in simply breathing the pure air of this region, and occasionally
making a carriage excursion to some of the fine fishing ponds in the
neighborhood.

We saved the time necessary for preparing food by making a savage
inroad on a civilized hotel dinner, much to the terror of the other
guests and the holy horror of the landlord. I believe we paid before
sitting down, otherwise, judging from the merits of the case, we should
have left with purses as light as our meal had been heavy.

The stream now led through the village, and we were viewed by the
inhabitants with as much curiosity as if we hailed from the spirit
world. After flattening out for several low bridges, and posing as the
“only greatest show on earth,” we found ourselves once more free from
the confines and criticism of people and society.

Then we immediately found ourselves surrounded by thick woods.
Occasional open vistas showed gently rising hills clothed in harmonious
proportions with timber and pasture, and disclosed a fine perspective
of lofty mountains in the background, marking the untraveled
wilderness. The forest continued for a number of miles--in fact, until
we emerged into the Schroon River. Occasionally a duck would fly up
just out of reach of the eager revolver, or an animal of some kind
would manifest itself by scurrying off through the thick undergrowth
before we had a chance to get a glimpse of its form.

Suddenly we came to an obstruction which occupied a large part of the
small stream, and though in an alluvial bottom appeared to be a large
rock. As we came up with it, to our unbounded surprise this boulder
became endowed with motion, and resolved itself into a turtle of huge
dimensions. In spite of a shot fired excitedly with rather uncertain
aim, it managed to disappear in the water. Although the stream was
so shallow, a thorough probing of the bottom failed to reveal the
hardshell’s retreat.

Higher ground on the immediate banks of our brook, and a rift which
obliged us to wade and float the canoe, warned us that we were nearing
the Schroon River. This was entered so very abruptly that we at first
supposed it to be a sudden lake-like expansion of the diminutive creek
which we had been following.

The Schroon is known among the lumbermen as “Still River,” to
distinguish it from the Hudson. At first it seemed to justify this
local designation. It flowed sluggishly, the banks were of a rich,
loamy soil, and immense forest trees grew close to the water’s edge,
or had been undermined by the erosion of the light earth by the
slow-moving current.

Soon we were undeceived. An ominous thunder broke upon our ears, at
first nothing but a murmur, then for a while it was lost altogether,
only to grow louder as we turned a favoring bend, until finally the
heavy, sustained roar warned us that we were getting dangerously near
to a genuine cataract. We landed, forced ourselves through the impeding
fringe of thick, young growth, and carefully making our way out in
the stream on a succession of half-submerged rocks, found the fall to
be about eight feet high. The descent was at somewhat of an angle,
and at one place, a few feet wide, there seemed to be enough water to
float a steamboat. But so great was the force, and so problematical our
ability to shape our course over this particular spot, and the memory
of our recent narrow escape so fresh in our minds, that after due
consideration we wisely made a portage.

The sun was now throwing his copper-colored lance of light upon the
tops of the highest hills. Another mile was made, a large lumber mill
was discerned, and pulling out on to a closely cropped meadow at the
foot of a loudly-talking rapid, we prepared to spend the night. The
air was mild. We determined to dispense with a tent, and pulling our
blankets closely round us, lulled by the silvery gurgle of the rushing
water close by our heads, we slept as birds must sleep after a day’s
free flight into the untrammeled recesses of the air.

A quarter of a mile carry, a brief sojourn at a store which we found
locked, and the proprietor at work in an adjoining field, and once more
we started on to turn the leaves of the book of fate. The river now
showed constant current, and the landscape much diversity and beauty.
Again the low, portentous monotone of a waterfall caught the ear. This
one, like that of the day previous, was just possible, but not very
inviting. It consisted of three low falls, not far apart, and, though
the volume of the water was ample, the sinuosities of the channel, and
particularly the sight on the rocks at the foot of the third, of a
skiff crushed to the fineness of kindling wood, sufficed, not, perhaps,
to dampen our ardor, but to prevent it from getting dampened.

After hauling our things around, we had barely paddled away from the
all-pervading din, when, as that sound grew less, the noise of another
rush of water took its place. This, as we advanced, possessed the air,
and disclosed its source in an apparently unbroken line of white water.

We were by this time rather ashamed of having backed out so frequently.
A man whom we saw just at that moment was interrogated with regard to
what lay below.

“I calkerlate you fellows can’t run it,” he drawled, “leastwise in that
bit of a thing. The big lumber skiffs do sometimes go to pieces down
thar. No, they ain’t no falls,” he added in a reply to our inquiry,
“but you be like to find two miles of as stiff rapids as you ever see.”

Rather than undertake such a long, laborious carry, we determined to
take our chances. The morning was now well advanced, and the sun so
warm that we could dry our things that might get wet. Elevating all our
belongings above the bottom of the canoe, so as to get them out of the
way of the waves we anticipated would wash in, and lashing everything
firmly into position, we headed with misgiving hearts directly for the
most available opening.

What a glorious run that was! A storm at sea, with massive walls
of mountainous waves making clean breaches over flooded decks, a
cavalry charge, the rattle of musketry, the groans of the wounded
and the dying, the shouts of the attacked and of the assailants, the
impetuous momentum of the gigantic missile of flesh and blood--all
these might seem tame to those who have been through them, as they
lose themselves in the ecstasy of the wild rush over foam-crested
billows and the plunge down the rock-studded declivity with a speed too
great to realize. The waves bounded in fine style. Half way down we
encountered an eddy, and taking advantage of it, ran the boat up to the
rocky shore, and clinging desperately, made a hasty inspection of our
condition.

We were kneeling in water. Where was the sponge? It was not to be
found. It must have been left at the head of the rapid. While Maynard
held the boat I made my way at my best speed to where we recollected
having landed. Although walking my fastest, it took me twenty minutes
to go and return. The passage by water had occupied hardly two. We
accounted ourselves most fortunate in getting as far as we had. I
wielded the stern paddle, and it was agreed that, upon my saying left
or right, as the case might be, Maynard was to paddle on the side
indicated. Shoving off, we were at once in the fray again. The earth
and everything solid seemed to reel and revolve. The waves of rapids
are not uniform undulations--they roll and curve in all directions. As
we were thrown high into the air, twisted sideways or backwards, jerked
hither and thither, shot forward into a yawning depression, nothing
seemed stationary--we had apparently nothing by which to be guided.

Instead of our going toward the rocks they appeared to be moving,
like spent cannon-balls, right up stream. We dodged these to the
best of our ability. The fun waxed fast and furious. The immediate
surroundings, the channel just ahead, and the course far below, had
all to be considered at once. The combination had to be worked like a
mathematical puzzle, but it must needs be solved instantly. The mental
and physical acrobatics proved nearly too much for me. I could not
speak my own name. I wanted Maynard to make certain moves, but was
utterly unable to utter the words--I could not tell left from right.

My companion remembered our understanding. Until told, he did not
intend to make a stroke. We whizzed straight for a rock. I could not
avoid it unassisted; and Maynard, not knowing my intentions, did not
try to keep off. Luckily, it was of a gentle slope, and not much above
the surface, so the canoe, instead of hitting it a fair blow, was
simply lifted clean out of the river by the tremendous force of the
current and launched in the water on the lower side of the obstruction.
A few more spasmodic strokes, a little more spasmodic steering, and we
found ourselves out of the vortex. The river that erstwhile shook its
rumpled mane in anger, looked with eyes of gentle peace again. We swept
through a narrow channel past a beautiful island, and, turning a bend
at its foot, found ourselves in a gentle current, and in the bright
sunshine of a pastoral scene, the angry roar of furious waters replaced
by the sweet melody of birds.

“You fellows did pretty well to come out of that all right,” said a man
who had come up behind us. “It’s no fool trick to get through there.
Last summer there was a young millionaire blood that came up from
Warrensburg, just for the fun of running these rapids. He had a fine
cedar boat that cost him considerably over $100, and he was skillful
enough to go to everlasting smash just a half mile above here.”

After a hearty dinner we spent the afternoon in getting through some
minor rapids, eventually, just at dusk, pulling out to portage round
a bit of water that was absolutely impassable. Our route lay over a
hill, on the crest of which we paused to drink in the inspiriting scene
made by the river as it leaped, bounded and reverberated through the
perpendicular cañon at our feet. A house, a green meadow with a barn in
the centre, made the end of the carry a most inviting spot for camping.

The next day was one of hard work. We had reached the quiet part
of Schroon River. The shores were now entirely alluvial. The valley
broadened and the stream wound in and out in snake-like curves.
Trees, swamps and sand-bars constituted the scenery. The banks were
uniformly low, and any mile, like one of a block of city houses, was a
counterpart of every other.

We had been afloat that morning at seven o’clock. By unremitting labor,
at eleven ~A. M.~ we had covered the distance of twenty-two
miles to the village of Warrensburg. This beautiful place lies
scattered in wide, shaded avenues, fine houses and attractive gardens
close along the river, as if fearful lest the stream in its winding
course might escape from those who prize it so highly.

Our trip was now practically ended. Lake George lay but six miles to
the eastward. At the lower part of the village, a few miles before the
Schroon joins the Hudson, is a rapid with an ugly reputation. We were
anxious to stir our blood once more by a farewell wrestle with the
river demon that had been so long slumbering. Engaging a conveyance
to meet and carry us from the foot of the rapids to Lake George, I
put the canoe upon my back, and marching ceremoniously through the
business thoroughfare, a crowd followed us to the huge wood-pulp paper
mill, at which point began our half-mile run. Well-nigh unanimous was
the testimony regarding our inability to do what we had announced. An
ominous shaking of all heads proclaimed that it was generally expected
that we stood a better chance of getting to the bottom of the river
than the bottom of the rapid, and made us feel half fool and half
hero, filling us with a strong desire to act the part of neither by
taking the land route out of the difficulty. However, having committed
ourselves, we threw the town and people over our shoulders by slipping
out into the stream. It was like a salmon ladder--all zigzag. We had a
very good aquatic representation of broncho riding:

A forward plunge,
A sidelong lunge,
A dash, a splash,
A just-missed smash;
The paddles fly,
The waves run high.
The end is reached
Without a breach.
We pull ashore,
Our journey’s o’er.

[Illustration]

ON THE CONNECTICUT.

Delicious is it, of a day in fall,
Your native river to be drifting down,
To turn your back upon the clumsy town,
That is so crooked and so stiff withal
That to the water’s edge it scarce can crawl;
While like a child that in its mother’s gown
Takes refuge, comforted from soul to crown,
Betwixt green bank you slip and gray stone wall;
Past here a plume and there an entire patch
Of golden-rod submerged or islanded,
Past many a bit of color hard to match,
But which the swift stream tempers to its mood,
To bind it all together with a thread
Of its own weaving, as a poet would.

_Lucy C. Bull._

THE RIFLE IN THE SACRAMENTOS.

BY WILLIAM H. JOHNSTON, JR., U. S. A.

There has been so much said and written of hunts phenomenally
successful and so little of those phenomenally unsuccessful, that it
occurs to me to record a few memories of a recent hunt of the latter
class, a hunt which could by no charitable figure of speech be termed
successful. It has, however, left recollections to be cherished with
pleasure, as the sailor looks fondly back to a storm outridden, or the
soldier to an engagement won.

From our little fort on the Rio Grande, but a few yards from sunny
Mexico and its tropical climate, the distant mountains to the
northeast, crowned with snow, were until this hunt a fairyland. Beyond
their confines all the wonders and delights of a Northern winter might
be found--and perhaps more, for snow and ice and frost, glaciers
perhaps, and slides, almost within the tropics, were indeed loadstones
to the adventurous and curious. All these “delights” of a Yankee
Christmastide we found, and this is the way it happened.

Late in November Mr. X. and I were granted leave of absence for
twenty days for the purpose of hunting. Several days were devoted to
preparations for the expedition, which promised as much success and
glory, content and happiness, as the average candidate for office and
solicitor of votes. Sufficient guns, knives, ammunition and general
hardware were procured to establish ourselves in business, as my cook
expressed it, “on an expensive scale,” while our provisions, clothing,
bedding, tents and equipage would have kept a polar expedition in
comfort for years. We had to travel more than one hundred miles over
sand-flats before reaching the first water--the Sacramento River--so we
deemed it wise to go prepared to live on our mess-chest rather than “on
the country.”

The first wagon, called through courtesy and time-worn custom an
ambulance, carried us, with two soldiers, a driver and a cook, and
“Grover Cleveland.” The last mentioned name refers, by the by, not to
the Commander-in-chief of our Army and Navy, but to a dog of the setter
type and lazy variety, who, though of good blood, from want of training
was only valuable as a watch-dog. If he should not prove of much use
in hunting deer or retrieving a few elk, it was thought he might scare
away wolves, “lions” and wildcats, or do noble service with the lizards
and field mice scented on the way. In the hope that he might not care
for all the interior of the wagon, we threw into it a general stock
of rifles, shot-guns, ammunition, canteens, belts, field glasses,
overcoats, etc. Our hope was vain. Grover could cover more territory
than a litter of less distinguished dogs. Changing base frequently
from our shoulders to the doorstep, and from the front seat to the
lunch-basket, he was very largely an element of the party. Two men rode
on the heavy wagon, loaded down as it was with grain for eight mules,
two barrels of water, tents, bedding, rations and camp implements.

With as much noise as possible we drove through the main streets of the
little city adjacent, to excite the envy of those at home. We moreover
procured a few delicacies for our mess until the skies should rain
venison steaks and turkey giblets.

Even on dress occasions Texas is not intensely interesting. For scenery
one could as well go to sea. Indeed, the endless “flats” so abundant in
its western portion, seemingly bounded by watery limits--mirages--might
well be thought oceans by travelers more than half sober. Their vast
expanses are covered with sand and dry bunch-grass or cactus, with
occasional patches of a few miles of alkali or gypsum. On our first
day the sand came almost to the wagon’s hubs, and in six hours we had
gone only eighteen miles. The first camp was dry--quite so, as most
of the water hauled had leaked, and the rest had been given to the
mules, though the animals could live without it for three days. For
fuel we had “soap weed,” the fibrous root of the cactus, called Spanish
bayonet, which we gathered near camp. Its odor is disagreeable, and
food cannot be broiled over it, but in a Sibley tent stove it “comes
out strong” for warmth and comfort. With a supper characteristic of a
soldier’s prodigality on ration day, pipes, cards and chips, we were
able to forget even the ills of Texas sand for an evening. The city
tenderfoot wedded to sheets and pillows knows not the solid comfort to
be found in a bed of blankets under canvas and in the sand. Nothing
more delightful can be imagined than waking before daylight, after an
eight hours’ sleep, to hear the camp-fire puffing and cracking and the
fresh meat broiling and sizzling over the coals, as the cook prepares
a starlight breakfast. Here is a perfect cure for dyspepsia, and no
charge is made for the prescription.

We commenced our second day’s march without a drop of water, while
the coffee that morning, either because of a surplus of sediment or
scarcity of dilution, would have surprised the average boarding-house
customer by its strength. But during the morning we found hope and
water at once and in a barrel. A label attached warned off all poachers
in this language:

“Tip Whyo owns this.
Let it alone,
Dam yer soles.
By order of the V. C.”

Trusting to luck and the absence of Mr. Whyo and the V. C., we sampled
his water; so did the mules, and we now look suspiciously at persons
likely to bear such uncanny names.

At noon we came to some bare rocky peaks on both sides of the road,
and finding some stagnant rain-water at the base of one, camped. These
were the Hueco Tanks. Any shallow rock that will hold rain-water is
called in this country a tank. It may be only a few inches deep and
fewer feet in circumference, but it is a tank. From the level of the
plain to the height of two hundred feet we discovered numerous tanks,
some holding soil and good water. The summit of each great mass of
boulders was capped with a stone monument to indicate to travelers
the presence of water. As on the same day we had to dig up mesquite
roots for fuel, we realized the truth of the proverb, that in Texas
one climbs for water and digs for wood. With great care and labor we
scooped up enough stagnant rain-water to fill our kegs, and next day
resumed the drive, with sixty-five miles still between us and the
Sacramento. The country improved, grass in tufts succeeding the sand,
and rolling prairie, called “jumps” by the natives, following level
deserts. At Owl Tanks the water had gone, so we depended upon our kegs
again, with green grass and soap-weed for the fires. No game had come
to cheer us, but the blue outline of the wooded Sacramento was dotted
with white patches of snow, and we could almost scent the victims of
our guns. On the fourth day we came to the foot-hills and walked ahead
of the teams to keep deer and elk from the mules and to learn the way.
Our road, on which we had not met a single team since leaving the
vicinity of El Paso, had dwindled to a mere cattle trail, and at times
this scattered into several, each leading up a different cañon. It was
absolutely necessary to cross this first range to reach the river--the
only permanent water in the country.

At dark we came to the river. It should have been labeled, for only
a shrewd detective would have believed that the dry line of rocks at
the bottom of the cañon had ever seen water. After the fashion of most
rivers in this portion of our prairie land, the Sacramento had sunk in
a few miles above its “mouth,” if such eccentric streams may have a
mouth, possessing a range of ten miles or more.

However, we found a well, a house, and some log fences. So, with water
from the first, wood from the last, and hay from the barn, we camped
with all the comforts of the season. Finding no one at home, we excused
the host and helped ourselves. “Home” was a log cabin by the side of a
hill, but in the choice language of Lincoln County (we had then reached
New Mexico), it became a “chosy,” from the Spanish _casa_, a house.
When its owner, Mr. Shorthorns, a typical cowboy, appeared, we took him
in to supper, and gained his good will and permission to help ourselves
to everything in sight. If soldiers ever neglect such an invitation,
they must be quite unworthy of their calling. I think Sacramento
fences will average less in height than was once fashionable, and that
potatoes and turnips will be scarce for a season. But I can testify
that no “slow deer” (calves, sheep and goats), were killed by our
party.

Shorthorns assured us that in the Piñon country turkeys grew on the
trees, deer ranged with cattle, and elk were lassoed for sport and
released. We dreamed of game all night, and imagined ourselves climbing
the ladder of fame over the backs of monster bucks and sailing through
life on turkey wings and elk antlers.

Next morning we chose an objective in the Piñons and entered the
theatre of war.

At daylight Mr. X. and I, followed by the light wagon, with a teamster
and cook, our blankets, mess-chest and a keg of water, led the attack.
“Grover Cleveland” was scout, and his black and white hair was ever
seen where snow-birds and robins, lizards and rabbits, were thickest.
We on foot as the vanguard preceded the light wagon up a cañon toward
Piñon Tanks, while our heavy troops--that is, the heavy wagon--remained
at the “chosy.”

At noon we had walked eight good country miles, and established our
first foothold in the enemy’s territory. Not satisfied, we left the
cook in command of the garrison (four mules and the dog), and selecting
divergent lines of operations, reconnoitred the hostile country. In
military parlance, this country was close--close in all possible
constructions of the expression. The stunted piñons were close to
the ground and to themselves, ravines and draws were quite numerous,
thorns, cactus and sharp rocks were uncomfortably close to one’s feet
and shins, and after walking on a seemingly straight, though really
circuitous course, one would turn up close to camp. Each column of
troops--or troop--carried a rifle, shot-gun, two ammunition belts, and
enough implements to care for the dead and wounded of the enemy. Each
column advanced and retreated, marched and countermarched, deployed
and rallied, charged and halted, and when at dark all assembled at the
base of operations for rations and rest, the enemy seen consisted of
one jack rabbit, at which I had almost fired, and one “sign.” This word
is here inserted to indicate the professional training of our troops.
Always used in the singular, it means the mark of anything sought--in
this instance, a deer’s footprint. Had Longfellow been versed in
mountaineer dialect, his great men might leave sign, rather than
footprints in the sands of time.

But if we could not hunt, we could certainly eat. As we rallied
about our Chief Commissary, and toasted bacon on long switches,
drinking coffee right from the coals, we agreed that dining was our
favorite occupation. Our fire would have filled a fair house, and was
replenished at intervals by entire cedar trees, shooting flames up high
into the stars, apparently, and defying the deer and elk. We had heard
that game would approach a bright fire by night, so we rather hoped to
see pairs of anxious eyes peering through the trees. If they did, it
must have been after we retired. To retire meant literally to bivouac.

It was grand to sleep, wrapped in blankets and tent-flies, with one’s
feet to a roaring fire, gazing at the same stars which shone down upon
countless deer, elk, lions, wolves, and so on. It was a little less
grand to wake in the night with a chill, and to renew the fire with a
piñon tree. And it was far from grand to wake at daylight and find the
fire quite out and frost all over our blankets.

Sunrise found our expedition of the day before on the march. Game
has never been hunted with closer adherence to all the rules and
superstitions, yet two-thirds of our force failed to establish even a
speaking acquaintance with the animals which we had been led to believe
existed in such abundance. The other third, Mr. X., saw two deer, but
as he had been accustomed to shooting game in the same county only, he
did not hit either. So we changed base to the river within striking
distance of Shorthorns’ fence-rails and hay.

In the evening, at the chosy, we heard just why we had missed the
game, which was attending a political convention up at the summit.
So the cowboys all said, and cited numerous “sign” pointing in that
direction as their authority. Resolved to attend this convention and
exert a little “influence” upon its members, we started next day with
both wagons and all our troops and camp followers for the summit,
twenty-five miles northwest of Shorthorns’ place.

This was an operation unexcelled in the military annals of Dona Ana
County, and occupied two days. The road, whenever we found it, followed
the river--either a bank, a bluff, or the bed of the river--losing
itself in water a few feet deep occasionally, and reappearing on a
hillside a mile or two farther. We crossed the eccentric little stream,
which is sometimes ten, sometimes thirty miles long, and always greater
as one approaches its source. The two-thirds of a crossing was made
when our heavy wagon slipped off a hillside into the water, and Mr. X.
and the men had to dig and swear it out. Being ahead as advance guard,
and a novice in profanity as well, I escaped this duty. The experience
gained was something remarkable. We cut down trees frequently, took
down log fences, and (were anyone in sight) put them up again, broke
and mended each wagon daily, and lost a mule. We tried to lose the way,
but the cañon’s sides were so steep that it was impossible.

As we ascended the stream, cedar and piñon were succeeded by pine and
quaking asp, and snow, first in patches, then covering the ground,
appeared. Wherever the cañon was wide enough, some enterprising
mountaineer had enclosed a few acres, and as the little garden thus
formed received the alluvial deposit of the hillsides, grain and
vegetables had been cultivated successfully and extensively.

At the summit, nearly ten thousand feet above sea level, we found snow
so deep that we took possession of Shorthorns’ summer residence, a
log-hut twelve feet square. As we had cached our grain at the lower
ranch, we helped our mules to Shorthorns’ hay and settled down for a
week’s good hunting. The hut had been plastered with adobe, but this
was so conspicuous by its absence that innumerable holes rendered
the building capable of defense by musketry, and promised unwelcome
draughts at night.

We hunted all that afternoon, tramping about in snow several inches
deep, but my bag contained only one squirrel, while a teamster reported
the slaughter of one squirrel and “about” two jays--from which we
gathered that he had killed one and missed another of those carrion
birds. And we had now consumed eight days of our leave!

At night Shorthorns turned up rather unexpectedly, and as I saw no
blankets on his saddle, I had “many a doubt, many a fear,” which were
vividly recalled when he chose me for his bed-fellow. Tradition says
that a cowboy can pull his hat over his eyes and sleep oblivious of the
weather. As I woke several times that night on the floor and saw my
host snugly tucked up in my bedding, I weaken on tradition and call for
more valuable testimony.

My heart ceased beating for a whole second when next morning, charmed
with our fare and my bed, Shorthorns offered to accompany us on the
hunt and back to El Paso. The pleasure of hunting lost a little of its
lustre, and we were one more step removed from Paradise.

One day at the summit Shorthorns promised to show me game. I thought it
must be time, so saddled a little buckskin mule and rode out with him.
It was as cold as Christmas, and had I been alone I should have chosen
a later hour and a milder day. But with the honor of the entire army
resting on my shoulders I did not complain of frosted toes and aching
fingers. I rode in the rear that he might not notice my squirms of
anguish, and when he ventured the opinion that it was “right peart,” I
nonchalantly kicked the mule’s ribs and said nothing. What could I say,
when my teeth played a reveille and tattoo and fire alarm all at once?
Doubtless he suffered as much as I and had the same pride in concealing
it.

The first sign was a homesteader’s, two logs across two others--all on
snow a foot deep. A notice on a pine-tree adjacent stated that this was
the foundation of a house and claim to 160 acres under the homestead
law. Two witnesses vouched for this claim, though quite unnecessarily,
as no sane man would live at that bleak place, and deer and elk,
despite their reputed domesticity, are not given to jumping homesteads.

We saw several sign, and trailed all morning on foot or mule-back. At
noon we struck it rich. I didn’t see the riches, but Shorthorns did, as
he ordered a dismount to fight on foot. We tied the animals in a little
aspen thicket, and my guide sent me in one direction, while he chose
the deer trail, with a little advice about springing a cross fire on
the buck. I wondered why I had been sent in an opposite direction from
that taken by the deer, but when presently I heard Shorthorns shoot,
I saw the reason. Abandoning my course, I rushed toward the location
of the shots, plunging through snow to my boot-tops. I heard him shoot
again, and pushed ahead to obtain a shot on my own account.

I found the tracks, and for a mile Shorthorns trailed the deer and I
trailed Shorthorns.

Receiving no encouragement, and yielding to hunger and fatigue, I
followed the trail back to the animals in order to get to my lunch.
This consumed much time, as the woods were so full of an undergrowth of
shin oak, called there “shinnery,” that it was very difficult to find a
way, or to follow it when found.

After calling to my guide in vain, I mounted the mule, slung my guns
over my shoulder and led the pony with one hand, following the tracks.
The finest prescription for dampening the ardor of a sportsman is to
require him to try what I did that day. Even in light doses it works
like a charm. It dampened not only my ardor but also my feet, and--when
my saddle turned and I landed in a snowdrift--my head and arms too.
After various accidents and involuntary dismounts, I lost all desire
for venison and wanted to go home.

Playing horse-holder for a cow-puncher was not my ideal sport.

Then the mule cut his foot and refused to be comforted; so I mounted
the broncho and led Buckskin. This arrangement was worse. Whenever we
came to a log, Broncho would take it as a circus horse does a hurdle,
but Buckskin would stop short and almost wrench my arm from its socket.

Sometimes the beasts decided to take different sides of a tree, and
I was powerless to prevent them. Overhanging boughs would brush me
from the saddle as Buckskin jumped under them, or deluge me with snow
as he ran against them. All this time I had to follow the footprints
of my escort--the man who had promised to show me game. At sunset I
gave it up and returned to the main cañon to wait for him. Tying the
animals, I built a huge fire as a beacon and ate Shorthorns’ lunch. At
dark I fired my rifle three times as a signal, and later he appeared,
though without any deer. He claimed to have seen them, but of course
had some good excuse for not shooting one. Excuses all the way from
poor ammunition to tenderness of heart, are as thick in that country
as “leaves in Valombrosa.” Mr. X. had not even had the excitement and
happiness (?) of trailing a deer--or a cowboy.

Besides a few snipe killed at a swamp called by Shorthorns a “cineky,”
from the Spanish _sieneca_, we still depended upon Uncle Sam’s
subsistence stores for our daily bread.

Preferring hunting to mule whacking, I one day tramped all over the
mountain tops, and halting for lunch at the _rincon_ (Spanish for inner
corner) of the range, enjoyed some of the finest scenery outside a
modern theatre. Here the ground fell precipitously for several hundred
feet, and at a height of 9,000 feet I could look down upon several
neighboring ranges. Peaks and ranges that from the plains seemed
mountains, were now but ant-hills and ploughed furrows in an otherwise
velvet carpet of rich brown. The Guadaloupe range, covered with snow
and ice, was a vast iceberg, beyond what my friend Shorthorns called
the “mirredge.” The distant Rio Grande was plainly visible, and one
could fancy smoke rising from the site of El Paso, more than a hundred
miles to the south. A gypsum formation, called the White Sands, covered
miles of the prairie, and from my lofty position resembled a sea lashed
to foam.

It was beautiful, but it was not game.

One Saturday night, a fierce rain-storm added to the complications.
It came to stay, too. All day Sunday we could do no more than hug the
chosy fireplace and tell lies about former hunts. One newspaper was
found, and we read an account of a polar expedition’s suffering. We
feared we should need a few points before escaping from our situation,
and studied “Grover Cleveland’s” ribs and hams, and our well-oiled
hunting-boots, and wondered how long canine steaks and leather soup
would prove palatable. As no abatement of the storm came at night, we
reached the good resolution stage and agreed never to do ever so many
things.

On Monday it cleared slightly, and we lost no time in packing up and
moving to a lower altitude and milder climate. Going down the cañon,
ropes were tied to the wagons, and all hands lowered each in turn over
the dangerous places. With an abrupt descent, our teams made good time,
and we were proud of the veteran manner in which our wagons shot down
the cañon with the reckless abandon of mountain trains. On the way,
we bought a side of fresh pork, and it was surprising how game it did
taste when seasoned with jelly and a good appetite.

That night, while camped on the way to Shorthorns’ place, something
dropped. It was snow. Early in the morning, the cook lighted a fire
in our tent and said it was cold. We thought so too, and as we dug
our clothing from drifts inside the tent, we wished the author of
“Beautiful Snow” could have a little of it in his. We washed our faces
in the beautiful white article and looked at the weather. The animals
were tied to the wagons only a few feet from our tent, yet so fierce
was the storm, that we could hardly see them. Breakfast that morning
was light--all except the bread--as Sibley stores are not intended
for cooking, and no fire could live outside. We devoted the day to
shoveling snow from the tents, feeding the fire and wondering how the
deer and elk enjoyed the weather. Our curiosity on this score, however,
was not sufficient to lure us from shelter.

Next morning, cold and still snowing. Peeping out at daylight, I saw
only three mules. Strange the others should have deserted us! But they
were trailed through the snow and recovered. To keep warm we had to
remain in bed. Wood was too scarce and too wet to waste for other than
cooking purposes.

In the afternoon we gave in, and with superhuman efforts packed the
wagons and pushed ahead toward the foothills. Game had now become a
question of secondary consideration.

The wagons ploughed through snow to their hubs, and we walked to avoid
a sudden immersion in a drift.

Once more near Shorthorns’ many supplies, we camped to spend our last
day in rest, before returning to the post.

At dark mine host, who had ridden off to look for his stock, came into
camp with a deer across his saddle. The lucky cowboy, who cared nothing
for sport, had ridden right over four deer, and, as he was always
armed, had killed one. To see our whole party, from Mr. X. to the
junior teamster and “Grover Cleveland,” gather about this interesting
spectacle, would have proved the condition of our game-bag. The venison
was given to us, and as we had as little pride as game, we accepted it.
It proved that there was, or had been, one deer in the country anyhow.

On this, our last day of grace, Shorthorns and I rode out to continue
the motion. The weather had moderated, and being in the foothills,
snow was only of depth sufficient to facilitate trailing. When I least
expected it, of course, my guide bleated as a fawn, and I saw a great
buck jump from under a piñon. We both fired and the deer dropped, but
limped off at a lively gait. Of course, my bullet went off to meet the
moon, while Shorthorns’ cut several legs and pierced the intestines of
the buck. At least, so the modest cowboy told me. Just which intestine
he did not say, though with a frontier veracity he would doubtless have
deposed to it, if asked. We could easily follow the trail by the blood
on the snow, and found several places where he had lain down to rest
and bleed. At one such halt Shorthorns dismounted, and, giving me his
bridle, ran on to finish the buck.

But I was not to be taken in in that manner again. Tying the animals,
I outran him, and found him hot on the trail. His welcome was not as
cordial as it might have been, but together we chased the wounded buck
over hills and cañons, in snow and mud, through brush and over stones
and cactus, for five miles, finally losing his trail in that of four
others almost at the prairie’s edge. Shorthorns showed me four black
spots on a hillside, distant several hundred yards. He called them
deer, but they might have been calves, goats, sheep or dogs for aught I
knew, and I had lost some confidence in his veracity since gaining his
acquaintance. Still I thought that if the black spots should wait long
enough, or if they could be lassoed and tied, I might make it lively
for at least one of them. So we sneaked and sneaked and sneaked. Almost
within range we halted, drank some melted snow from a tank, took some
cartridges in the left hand and instinctively fingered the triggers
of our rifles. It became intensely interesting. I could smell venison
steak broiling, and began mentally to distribute deer hams and saddles
to our less fortunate friends at the post.

Just below where the black spots should be we ascended the hillside,
cautiously stopping just this side of the summit; we had seen no deer
and none were in sight. Black spots? Yes--lots of rocks; but whether or
not there had ever been deer there, I must not say, as I may wish to go
there again, and Shorthorns is a good shot.

On the weary tramp back to the animals, I heard my guide repeat his
little fawn solo in a minor key and saw him fire at two does that
seemed to spring from a hole in the ground. Then followed one of the
grandest displays of firearms--if not of marksmanship--known to Fourth
of July celebrations.

Each fired as often as his rifle permitted, and if we did not hit
either doe, we at least scared them well for the next sportsmen.

Shorthorns explained that if his first cartridge had not snapped, he
would have pierced the upper right-hand corner of the first doe’s
heart, and the sixth rib and left lung of the second doe. If you don’t
understand how this could have been, draw a plan, or let Shorthorns
draw it for you in the sand, and it will at once assume the perspicuity
of all hunting stories.

It was late when we found our animals and ate lunch, and when we
returned to camp our record consisted still of one wounded buck and
four black spots. Mr. X. had hunted quail near the ranch and killed
more than a hundred, many others having been wounded and lost. We
regretted our soaring ambition for large game, which had deprived us of
much real sport.

Early next morning, with Shorthorns’ deer, Mr. X.’s quail, some ancient
elk horns picked up by one of the men, and a small allowance of bacon
and hard bread, we commenced our return drive.

Only one incident of importance marked our progress homeward. This was
on Sunday, and assumed the form of a sick mule: one more variety of
experience for us.

Every driver of large teams has a favorite animal upon whom he vents
all his anger or affection. The pet of our ambulance team was a large
black wheeler which the driver called “Bill.” No matter which mule
lagged, the crack of the whip was accompanied by vigorous advice to
Bill, and the driver’s sentences and oaths were liberally punctuated by
blows upon poor Bill’s hide. Bill stood this seventeen days and then,
without warning, dropped in harness.

Having thus asserted his independence, he swelled up, not with pride
alone, but with wind also, and though we took him from harness, jumped
on his ribs, rolled him and rode him, and performed other kind offices
dear to a sick mule, Bill lay on his back, kicked his heels in the air
and looked unhappy. So I undertook to lead his muleship to camp--ten
miles ahead. A teamster followed, lashing Bill into a trot to prevent
him from lying down, while I, giving the mule the road, stepped along
the side over cactus and mesquite bushes. He would stop to roll
occasionally. On one such roll the soldier tried to help Bill, and
grasped his off forefoot with great familiarity. In a second the man
was seen flying over cactus stalks, propelled by a kick in the shin. He
rode after that, and no longer rolls sick mules.

After a while we decided to give Bill a dose. Mr. X. emptied a bottle
of choice pickles and mixed a drench of salt and water. Then came the
circus. As there were no trees in the vicinity we were obliged to
administer the drench on the ground. One man held the halter-strap,
another knelt on Bill’s shoulder to hold him down, a third held the
bottle, and a fourth held the mule’s tongue and opened his mouth. At
the critical moment, when Bill’s cavernous mouth opened, we had to
dash the bottle’s contents into it, hold his nose, finger his throat,
look out for his heels, hang on to the halter-strap and seek safety in
flight. This dose was repeated many times, once or twice successfully,
while its possible sameness was relieved by acrobatic exercises by a
soldier on the mule’s ribs. At times we moved him a short distance
towards camp.

Then, as evening approached, we tied a rope to the strap, started Bill
by twisting his ears or threatening as a dose, and passed the rope
to Mr. X. in the ambulance. The buckskins were whipped into a canter
and Bill towed along to camp. As I rode on the step to catch the rope
should the mule drop, Mr. X. looked through the rear window and gave
bulletins of his symptoms.

In camp Bill was tenderly wrapped in canvas and fed on gunpowder, salt
and soap, with a little grain to prevent the formation of extravagant
tastes.

On the last day of our leave we drove through El Paso, not triumphant
exactly, nor with undue pride, but by as quiet a route to the post as
we could select.

Parties desiring to hunt in the Sacramento Mountains will consult their
best interests by calling upon us for information. Anyone wishing to
establish a hardware store may buy of us sufficient ammunition to stock
his business for years.

THE HAUNTED WHEEL.

BY PRESIDENT BATES.

The great house of Dalrymple & Dalrymple went down and left no wreck
behind--not even the heap of “dust” that so often remains concealed
under the débris of a commercial crash. If a great brick block had
suddenly collapsed with a roar and rumble, and, after the dust had
blown away, there was not so much as a cellar to show where it had
been, the ruin could not have been more strangely complete. It was as
if the great business--capital, credit, stock, connections, goodwill,
everything--had blown away like a fog and left no vestige. Even the
great sign, whose gilded letters used to stretch clear across the tall
front of the store in the middle of the block, was painted over in less
than a month with the less fashionable, but perhaps as useful, legend,
“Juggers & Wesch, Flour and Feed.” And the plate-glass windows, that
for so many years displayed the most fashionable fineries, were now
devoted to dusty bags of bran and barrels of cornmeal, beans and oats.

It was not a great failure either--only $30,000. Nobody lost much. The
Dalrymples sold everything, after the fashion of the honest merchants
of the elder time, and nearly paid all their debts. They were only
$30,000 to the bad--merely a descent from wealth and ease to poverty
and $30,000 less than nothing. And it was not their fault. Their
misfortunes began in the failures of others, and ended in their own.
The Dalrymple brothers, everybody said, were left with their honor
unimpaired. But everybody did not add the unhappy facts that they were
left with honor alone past the age of active life, from long ease unfit
to begin a new struggle for existence, bankrupt both physically and
mentally as well as in fortune.

The bachelor Dalrymple went away to California, where a relative
offered him an asylum.

James Dalrymple looked about for awhile vainly for something to do,
and then died out of a world that had no use for him. His wife, aged
fifty-five, and his daughter, aged eighteen, had a hard time of
it--poor souls! Luckily the daughter was a business woman. She had
often aided her father as his amanuensis. She knew how to use those
modern instruments of commerce, the typewriter and short-hand. She
could make out a bill, keep accounts, and write a terse, polite, clear
business letter. She had been a society belle, but she had imbibed
mental solids from natural taste. She was not too proud to walk with
quiet strength on the bottom level, no matter how proudly she had
walked at the top. So she sought and found employment, and kept her
mother and herself in two or three rooms of a small cottage on an
unfashionable street. With all the airs and graces and pretensions of
wealth she put away also all the old loves and friendships. She thought
they did not keep the true ring of heart soundness. She became simply
Dibble & Dribble’s typewriter.

A lady she was, every inch of her--accomplished, refined, gracious,
charming, beautiful; not a fine lady; merely a poor young woman,
without piano, wardrobe or “style.” She became only a straightforward,
faithful, hard-working, modest business girl, known as Miss Dalrymple;
for she was, after all, a little sensitive and proud, and permitted few
except her mother to call her by her beautiful and stately old name of
Daphne Dalrymple.

By and by, in spite of her fine physique, she fell ill. Overwork in
the hurry of the spring trade, unhealthful quarters, lack of generous
food, damp, cold, miserable weather, worry of mind and exhaustion
of body, all combined to bring her down with typho-malarial fever.
Her employers, appreciating her value to them, permitted her salary
to run on, and almost forgave her for being ill when she was most
needed, on condition that she employed another girl, less efficient,
but ambitious, to attempt to fill her place, and largely fall short of
doing so.

Typhoid fevers disorder the brain. The sick girl was seized with
strange and vivid fancies. She longed for outdoor air and exercise.
If she could only ride out again as she used when she was an heiress,
upon her dainty tricycle, she knew she would soon be well and strong.
But her wheel had disappeared with her piano and all the rest of the
wreckage. So she lay fevered and in pain, and fancied herself following
and hunting it down, she knew not where, and taking possession of it
wherever found, and enjoying it. By some strange divination, she saw
its owner--a young man--and grew familiar with his appearance in her
sick fancy, even to the details of his dress. But, strangely, she could
never hear the vision, though she knew by intuition and by his actions
what he said sometimes. For more than a week these phantasms held her
mind, to the alarm of the doctor, who pronounced her disease morbid and
obstinate, and felt grave doubts of the result.

Then a strange thing happened. An unknown young gentleman called at
the cottage door and insisted upon being admitted to see her, and his
claims were backed by the doctor.

* * * * *

David Dewness was one of the most popular members of the bicycle club.
When he first joined the club there was an amiable freshness about him
that the club wits soon educated into an amiable ripeness. He was a
fellow that would bear cultivation. He could take or give a joke with a
pleasantness that disarmed everybody. But with his other qualities was
a sweet obstinacy in certain directions. Nobody could ridicule him out
of doing a kindness, however great the apparent folly. He would laugh
as merrily as any of his critics over the foolishness of some of his
good actions; but he would persist in doing them just the same.

Moreover, David carried what the club men called a level business head.
In the club business affairs his judgment commanded respect. He earned
a fair salary in a commission house, and was much trusted by the firm.

There was one of his investments, however, that the firm laughed at.
Having saved a couple of hundred dollars about the time Dalrymple &
Dalrymple failed, Dewness bought of that wreck forty acres of wild
land, situated in the wilderness of mountain and swamp of the Upper
Peninsula of Michigan, and nowhere near any of the then known mines.
To be sure, the price he paid was only one hundred dollars; but his
employers told him he might as wisely have thrown his hard-earned
dollars into the river. David merely replied that he had always longed
to be a landowner, and he had never had a cheaper chance to become one.

The truth was that he had once visited that region, and there he had
heard an iron-mining explorer, while intoxicated, declare that he
positively knew that there were rich beds of ore in the township
where this forty acres lay. If iron should be discovered anywhere near
his forty acres, he could sell at a large advance. Perhaps it might
be found on his forty acres. In that case his fortune would be made.
He knew the explorer to be one of the most expert and reliable of his
strange class, and at the same time one of the most close-mouthed. Men
of wealth believed the fellow to be full of valuable secrets; but he,
like others, hoped that some day, in spite of his reckless gambling
and drinking, he should possess means to use some of his secrets for
himself, and not be forced to sell them for the advantage of others.
David shrewdly thought he had surprised one of these secrets, and his
hundred-dollar purchase was simply gambling on a frail chance. It was
not much to lose; it might be very much to keep. So he kept it and his
own counsel.

David had one foible--a common one. Like many a young man, he believed
himself in love with a pretty girl, when he was really only in love
with the idea of being loved. May Bentley was _piquante_, saucy,
friendly, and heart-free. She liked David much, tyrannized over him
more, was his good comrade always, and really loved him no more than he
did her--that is, not at all. She simply loved having a lover--some one
whom she could command and the other girls admire. Thus, there being
no real and deep feeling between them, they got on admirably together,
and were quoted by the aforesaid “other girls” as “just too happy for
anything.” And yet the “other girls,” and likewise the club, very
clearly knew that there wasn’t anything substantial in the supposed
loves of Dewness and May Bentley. Though excellent friends, they would
never be anything more, unless they should both make a dreadful mistake.

Being an enthusiastic wheelman, David often wished that he possessed a
tricycle, upon which May could ride. What a pretty picture she would
be, and what a charming companion! he on his bicycle and she on a
tricycle, at the club “ladies’ runs.”

One day a dealer offered him a charming lady’s tricycle, nearly new
and of an excellent style, for the low price of seventy-five dollars.
Its owner must have money at once. Dewness looked it all over, and was
satisfied that he could resell it for at least a hundred, and bought
it. And presently he was enjoying the longed-for companionship of Miss
May on his excursions, to the envy of various club men and ladies.
Besides, he had bids for the tricycle of over a hundred dollars; but he
held out for a higher price, at least for the time.

One evening, just after sunset, David’s tricycle stood waiting for
him in the street in front of the Bentley home. Miss May had been
out with it, and Dewness, after riding his bicycle home and eating
his supper, had returned, chatted and laughed awhile with May, and
was then to ride home on the tricycle. As he walked down the path to
the gate, still smiling at a joke that the vivacious girl had played
on him, he suddenly saw a young woman sitting on his tricycle. Her
face was partly turned from him, but the graceful pose of her figure,
the proud carriage of her head, and a certain noble and womanly life
that seemed to pervade and radiate from her presence, struck him as
something rarely charming. She was the most vividly distinct of any
object visible in the uncertain twilight. And yet there was that about
her singularly indistinct.

Mr. Dewness is one of those happily rare men who possess the feminine
faculty of seeing what a lady wears. But, unaccountably, he could not
tell whether this young woman, who had so coolly taken possession of
his tricycle, was dressed in a gray wheeling costume or a dark walking
dress. He had stopped suddenly on first seeing her, and now he put
both hands on his knees and stooped to get a better view. No use. Her
costume seemed to fluctuate, so to speak, alike in colors and style.

But what business had she to be there at all? She certainly was not one
of the club ladies, but a stranger. No one he knew possessed, or could
possibly assume, that graceful air, or that noble womanliness.

He walked a little nearer. As he did so the figure grew indistinct.
Nearer yet. She seemed to fade like the delusion of a magic glass. He
stooped down; he stretched himself up on tiptoe--the effect was the
same. He passed through the gate, and stood within a dozen feet of the
machine. There it stood, waiting for him, motionless and untenanted,
just as a respectable Boston-bred tricycle, with ball-bearings and a
front-steering handle-bar, ought!

There wasn’t a woman anywhere in sight within a block!

Mr. Dewness whistled the first two bars of “Sweet Little Buttercup”
very softly, with his hands thrust into his pockets and his feet
planted apart. Then he stopped and reflected a full minute. Then he
suddenly cocked his hat back so as to give it a bold, semi-piratical
rake, walked up to the machine and put one hand upon the nearest
handle, gave it a smart jerk, brushed the other hand across the saddle,
as if feeling to see if there was any obstruction there, and began
to whistle “I’m a Dutchman” with a fierce and ear-piercing emphasis.
Nothing coming of this, he rather gingerly slid into the saddle and
melted into the twilight of the distant street.

Two days later, David called again at the Bentley’s to invite Miss
May to take a spin with him. May and her mother were sitting upon the
piazza. David approached and saluted the ladies, and asked the girl
to go for a ride. She greeted him coldly, and declined, to his great
surprise. Her manner made him ask for an explanation.

“Who was the lady you took out yesterday?” she asked.

“Nobody. I did not go out yesterday,” he answered, with evident
perplexity.

“Who was the girl I saw sitting on your tricycle in front of the store,
waiting for you?”

“You didn’t see any girl on my tricycle. When?”

“Last evening, just after supper, I passed the store. The tricycle
stood in front of it, and there was a young lady sitting on it, waiting
for you to come out. I was going to stop for you, when I saw you had
her company, and came home.”

“Why, you are surely mistaken! There was nobody there!”

“Didn’t you have the tricycle there?”

“Yes. But there was no lady there.”

“Perhaps you mean to say I can’t see, sir! There _was_ a young lady
sitting on it and waiting for you to come out.”

David thought for a minute, with an air of embarrassment that confirmed
her suspicions. Then he slowly and reluctantly, and yet with evident
anxious interest, asked:

“How did she look? Did you see her face?”

“No: she kept her face turned away from me, as if she didn’t wish me
to know her. She was a handsome girl, I should judge; but she acted as
though she was ashamed of herself.”

This with a cutting severity that, however, failed to wilt the
offending David. On the contrary, it only seemed to increase his
anxiety.

“How was she dressed?” he demanded.

“Dressed? As though that made any difference! Well”--seeing that David
really expected an answer--“she wore a gray riding-suit.”

“Gray?”

“No; now I think, it wasn’t a riding-suit. It was a black
walking-dress.”

“Sure it was a black walking-dress?”

“Pshaw! Who cares how she was dressed?”

“I do. I want to find out who, if anybody, took the liberty to occupy
my trike while I wasn’t present.”

“It was strange; but, really, I don’t know how she was dressed. I
thought at first that she wore a gray riding-suit. Then, when I looked
again, I thought it was a black street-dress.”

“What did she wear on her head?”

“A gray riding-hat with a feather. No; it was a bonnet.”

“A hat? A bonnet?”

“Well, no. She was bare-headed, with thick brown hair.”

“Bare-headed? in the street!” interrupted Mrs. Bentley. “Why, May!”

“Well, mother, she had on a hat with a feather when I first saw her,
half a block away. When I looked again, a little nearer, I thought it
was a bonnet. But when I came quite near, she was bare-headed. She had
large brown eyes, anyway.”

“Brown eyes?”

“Well, hazel.”

“But you said she kept her face turned away from you, as if not wanting
to be known.”

“So she did. She didn’t look at me; still, I knew she had big
brown--hazel--eyes.”

Mrs. Bentley laughed.

“Come, child! you are not very ingenious in making up a story to bother
Mr. Dewness.”

Mr. Dewness, however, did not laugh, or seem at all relieved.

“Did you leave her sitting there?” he asked.

“I leave her? No, sir; I went about my business, and she went into the
store after you.”

“Did you see her go into the store?”

“No. But when I came quite near she was gone. Where else could she go?”

“May,” said David, earnestly, “there was no person there! No young
woman nor anybody else came into the store. I left the wheel standing
not over ten minutes, and then came out and rode it home. Come, now,
you are mistaken; let us go for a spin in the park.”

“No, sir! You accuse me of telling a--a fib. I won’t have anything to
do with a man who doesn’t believe my word! I know what I saw with my
own eyes. While you have a girl come to visit you at the store, after
business hours, you needn’t come to see me, Mr. Dewness!”

“Come, come, May, you are too hasty,” interrupted Mrs. Bentley. “You
haven’t heard what Mr. Dewness has to say,” looking at the young man
inquiringly.

“Mr. Dewness has nothing to say--just look at him, mother!”

Poor David really had nothing to say. His face was enough to convict
him. It wore an expression of bewilderment, very like that of a person
who was wondering how it could have been found out, and not at all the
injured surprise of an innocent party.

“Well, sir; well,” said May.

No reply.

“Can’t you explain this” (hesitating for a mild word) “mistake?” asked
Mrs. Bentley.

David sighed hopelessly.

“I can’t say any more than I have, Mrs. Bentley. There was no lady
there! Miss May was mista--deluded in some strange way.”

Mrs. Bentley rose in stately fashion.

“I fear she was, Mr. Dewness! Good-evening, Mr. Dewness! Come,
daughter!”

The pair went into the house, leaving poor David staring after them,
and twirling his cap in his hands. After they had quite disappeared, he
remarked, softly and solemnly to himself:

“The dickens!”

He twiddled his cap some more, and let it fall. Then he picked it up
and dusted it off, vacantly. Then he clapped it on the back of his
head--“devilish” (as the Arkansans say)--and walked out of the gate
whistling with a fiercer but melancholy emphasis his favorite air of
“I’m a Dutchman,” mounted his wheel and rode away pensively, but with a
“devilish” jauntiness.

* * * * *

Two days later Mr. Dewness was found by several of the clubmen in one
of the city parks about sunset, walking behind his empty tricycle and
pushing it along the smooth paths. Occasionally he took a short run and
sent it rolling a long way by a vigorous push. He had set up the screw
of the steering head so that it would not turn easily, but would run
straight. His actions were exactly as though there was some invisible
person on the saddle whom he was pushing about out of pure kindness.
The serious courtesy of his manner in this apparently ridiculous
proceeding attracted attention, but nobody ventured to question
him--a liberty his grave but somewhat menacing demeanor to those who
approached distinctly repelled--until his club comrades appeared and
fell to jeering him. To them he paid not the slightest attention for
some minutes, but continued his strange occupation. But after a little,
as if the imaginary occupant of the tricycle was gone, he stopped it,
loosened the steering-head, mounted the saddle and rode about with
the club as jolly as usual, but wholly impervious to their gibes and
questioning.

The truth was, he was becoming well acquainted with the ghost that
haunted his tricycle. He had seen her presence several times every day.
His fixed and curious attention had noticed that she seemed anxious to
make the wheel move. She seemed to push vainly upon the treadles.

David was probably not at all braver than anybody else in the presence
of the supernatural. But to him this apparition was not--never had
been--supernatural. He knew very well that it was a phantom, and not
composed of flesh and blood; but he was confident that it was the
phantom of some real person. To his consciousness it was a shadowy
disembodiment of a real woman, how explicable or inexplicable was of
small consequence. Enough that it was some one who evidently appealed
to him for a kindness. He knew that nobody except himself saw this
person--knew it by their actions. He could not see her himself except
when at a distance of at least several feet. Upon a near approach she
took refuge in invisibility. But every day he could approach a little
nearer before she vanished, as if she trusted him more and more. But
she did not permit him to see her face until he bethought himself of
pushing the wheel, so as to give her the motion for which she seemed to
long.

Then, when he gave it a careful start and permitted it to run by
itself, she turned her face over her shoulder, and smiled her pleased
thanks back at him. At first the face was indistinct and evanescent.
But it was growing more fixed, confident and clear. It was a
handsome--a noble face. He should recognize it anywhere. Its first
wistful, half-doubting expression of appeal was becoming reassured,
serene, and confidently friendly.

Face and figure gradually took possession of his fancy. There was
something about this shadow-woman that touched his enthusiasm of
benevolence--a strong point in his character. He was sure that this was
a woman in trouble, needing help, longing for sympathy, companionship
and kindness--a woman isolated and weary of sorrow and struggle. He
loved to help the helpless. From loving to help to loving the helped is
an easy transition. The shadow-woman filled him, not with the desire of
passion, but with the gentle affection which is the deepest root of the
truest love, only the later flower of which is passion.

Thus far, beyond a natural curiosity, he had not cared to search
for the living woman, whom he felt certain existed somewhere near
him. Still her influence quite drove out of his mind every idea
of being a lover of May Bentley, or aught toward her more than a
pleasant acquaintance and friend. He now saw their relations in their
true aspect. He should always admire and like May Bentley, but the
shadow-woman was one whom it would be a perpetual delight to know,
serve and protect.

On Saturday morning two gentlemen called at the store and inquired for
David Dewness. Finding him, they inquired if he owned the southeast
quarter of the northwest quarter of Section 21, town ---- north, of
range ---- west. He stared. Then, remembering his forty acres, he begged
them to wait a moment, while he got his deed.

Yes, he owned it.

“What do you hold it at?”

“I have not thought of selling.”

“Will you take twenty for it?”

Twenty dollars an acre, he thought. There must be some discovery on
or near it. He reflected a moment. If it was worth that, there would
certainly be other offers pretty soon. They wanted the refusal for
twenty-four hours, inquired curiously about the title, and finally went
away, first giving him one hundred dollars for the refusal for one day.

Three hours later another party called and wanted the land. Being told
of the refusal given to the first comers, this party asked the price
offered, and being told, exclaimed:

“Twenty thousand dollars! Why I’ll give you fifty, and one thousand for
the refusal, if you will agree to sell to me for that price if they do
not bid higher.”

David refused. Before night two other parties wanted it, and were
deferred.

The next day they all called nearly together and began bidding for it.
Meanwhile David had not only thought it all over, but had taken shrewd
counsel. He positively refused to sell at any price. He would lease the
forty acres for a term of years to the highest bidder. The result was
that before night he had leased it to one of the parties, who agreed to
pay a royalty of forty cents per ton for all ore mined and sold, with
the further agreement that not less than twelve thousand five hundred
tons per year should be mined and sold for a term of twenty years, and
$5,000 bonus was to be paid in advance.

But this party insisted that there was a weakness, if not a defect,
in the title that must be cured. The title ran through the firm of
Dalrymple & Dalrymple, but the signature of Mrs. Dalrymple was lacking,
and though her husband had never been sole owner, the title would be
made perfectly secure by a quit claim from her, and any heir direct who
might ever claim through her.

This put Dewness upon a search for Mrs. Dalrymple. While going about
the city on this search he met, in crossing one of the parks, his
quondam flame, May Bentley, riding with young Oriel Pilaster, Jr., upon
Pilaster’s new tandem.

Oriel Pilaster, Jr., was the proudest young man in the city that day.
He was proud of having been recently admitted to partnership with his
father, the noted architect. He was proud of his fine new tandem. He
was proudest of all of having, as he fondly believed, “cut out” David
Dewness with the pretty and _piquante_ May Bentley, whom he had long
admired at a distance. He was about to pass his supposed rival with a
smile and nod of lofty triumph when, to his extreme consternation and
chagrin, Miss May put on the brake hard and brought the machine to a
standstill, at the same instant calling out:

“Mr. Dewness! David!”

David instantly went to her, hat in hand, and she smiled her very
friendliest smile, and put out her hand, which David shook frankly.

“Excuse me a minute, Mr. Pilaster,” she said to that shocked youth, “I
want to say a word to Mr. Dewness.”

So saying, she alighted nimbly, took David’s arm, and walked a few
steps away, coolly leaving young Pilaster a statue of petrified chagrin
seated on a tricycle, in full view of all the park loungers. That
amazed young gallant was at first half inclined to ride off in a huff,
but he wisely concluded that his best plan was to try and look just as
happy as though this was exactly what he had all along been expecting,
and wait until he knew the reason.

As soon as they were a little out of hearing, May volubly explained:

“I know who she is, David! It’s all right! The nicest girl! If you’d
only said who it was I shouldn’t have cared. But, dear me! what a fool
I was to quarrel with you, anyway! Because, you know, really and truly,
you and I don’t care a button for each other except as friends, and it
was nonsense to pretend anything else. Why, she’s just the girl that I
should pick out for you! I half thought I knew her all the time, though
she kept her face away from me. But the instant it flashed upon me--why
I couldn’t mistake her for anybody else if I tried! Come, shake hands
again over it!”

David shook hands again with a great pretense of enthusiasm. Then he
calmly asked.

“Well, who do you think she is _now_?”

“Why, Miss Daphne Dalrymple, of course. Ah, you needn’t try to fool me
any longer!”

David started in evident astonishment.

“Miss Daphne Dalrymple!”

“Yes; Miss Daphne Dalrymple, Dibble & Dribble’s typewriter. We used to
be great friends; but, since the Dalrymples failed, she has dropped
out of sight of her old friends, and is quite distant. But I love her
dearly all the same, and I hope you will persuade her to come and see
me. Now do. Good-bye! I expect Mr. Pilaster is angry clear through by
this time.”

Mr. Dewness led her back, and thanked her earnestly, wished Mr.
Pilaster a jolly time, and went off rapidly in the direction of Dibble
& Dribble’s, while May proceeded to restore Mr. Pilaster’s spirits by
explaining with a simulated sigh:

“Well, there! that is probably the last _I_ shall see of Mr. Dewness.
He’s gone mad for a pretty girl, and I’ve been sending him straight to
her. Mr. Pilaster, I’m too good. Here I go, like a fool, and send away
a good friend, merely because he thinks he’ll be happier with another.
But a girl is alway foolish to permit a man to be her friend; he is
sure to desert a mere friend to run after the first pretty face that
catches his fancy.”

Mr. Pilaster warmly defended his sex, and especially himself as one
who would never prove a deserter, with such appearances of success as
fully restored his pride, and filled his artful enchantress with almost
irrepressible chuckles.

Dibble & Dribble received Mr. Dewness’s inquiries with cold civility.
Miss Dalrymple was ill they believed, had been absent from her desk
more than a fortnight. Perhaps the errand-boy could give him her street
and number. The errand-boy, being called, did so with an evident
interest in Miss Dalrymple. He said that Dr. Pulse’s office was right
on the way, and perhaps Mr. Dewness had better see him before calling.
Mr. Dewness did so, and the doctor accompanied him to the house.

Mrs. Dalrymple at the door reported her daughter better. She was
sitting up in a rocking-chair with a shawl about her. The moment they
entered the room her eyes were fixed upon Dewness, and her thin face
lit up with a smile of pleased welcome. She paid no attention to the
doctor, and did not wait for David to be presented, but offered her
wasted hand eagerly to the young man, as to a well-known friend, and
said, with a sick woman’s child-like trustfulness:

“You have come! I knew you would! Did you bring the wheel?”

David took her hand with a grasp of warm friendliness, and a look of
gentle and kind sympathy, as he answered:

“Not now. If the doctor says you are well enough to go out a few
minutes in the afternoon, I will bring it, and you shall have it every
day.”

He, too, spoke as to a familiar friend, while he noted how wan and
frail she appeared, and yet how beautiful and strong of body and soul
she would be in health. Her mother interposed, saying:

“Why, Daphne, dear, I did not know you were acquainted.”

The girl colored faintly, but David answered, with one of his frank,
straight looks in the eye:

“We are not old acquaintances, Mrs. Dalrymple, but, if you will allow
me to say so, Miss Dalrymple has no truer friend than me.”

The sick girl’s eyes filled with tears, through which she smiled upon
him.

“This is the gentleman who bought your tricycle, then, that you have
spoken of so often this week. But, my dear, I thought you did not know
his name.”

“I fear, madam,” said David, “that she didn’t quite catch my name when
we were made acquainted,” and he turned such a droll look upon the girl
that she laughed the first merry laugh heard in that room in a long
time.

Then David turned the conversation by asking the doctor if he thought
Miss Dalrymple was well enough to ride out once or twice a day, say,
up and down the block, if he pushed the wheel, and saw that she did
not exert herself. The doctor thought that five or ten minutes of very
gentle exercise in the open air every day, morning and evening, after
breakfast and after tea, would do her great good. But it must be only
on clear, sunshiny days, and she must not be out after sundown nor
before the air was dry and warm in the morning.

“Then,” said David, turning to the girl, “may I come this afternoon?”

“If you will. How good you are! And I do so long to go out, and to get
well!”

The tears came into her eyes again, as she looked gratefully at David.
But she was sick and weak, and intensely weary of being so, and also
more or less _exaltée_ from the effects of medicine and illness. David
smiled upon her with kind cordiality, as he said:

“Well, then, we’ll have you well and strong again in a little while.
Trust the doctor and me.”

Then he turned to her mother and explained his errand about the land.

“I bought it at the Dalrymple sale for one hundred dollars. I wish to
dispose of it now. You have no real claim, but you could annoy the
owner by setting up one, and compelling him to perfect his title in
court. In order to save any trouble I propose to buy it over again of
you at the regular price for wild land--two dollars and a half an acre.
That is, I will pay you one hundred dollars for your signature to this
quit claim,” showing it, “and if you suppose you have any real rights,
I will accompany you to any lawyer you may please to select, and pay
for his opinion.”

Mrs. Dalrymple had some business knowledge, and remembered the land
which her husband had taken for the firm on a bad debt, together with
a horse which she used to drive. Her husband had often laughingly
said that the horse was about as worthless as the land. She therefore
cheerfully signed the deed, as also did Daphne; and Mr. Dewness
insisted upon paying them the one hundred dollars, first going to
fetch a notary to take the acknowledgment.

In their situation this money seemed almost a restoration of wealth,
and Daphne once more said to Mr. Dewness, “How good you are!” with a
fervor that was worth a great deal more than the money. He took his
leave with a light heart, and he left light hearts behind him.

The money that he paid to the two desolate women did more than relieve
their immediate needs--it lifted off their hearts the depressing
influence of fear for the future. It restored their courage. If Daphne
should lose her situation with Dibble & Dribble, this would last till
she could get another. When Dewness had gone they kissed each other and
wept softly together.

Then Dewness’s call had done the girl a world of mental and spiritual
good. He had said very little, but his cheerful, sunshiny temper, his
kindly interest, his quick sympathy and gentle courtesy were more
blessed than the money. No doubt the pride that had caused her to
retire from the society of her old friends upon her fall in fortune,
and resolutely accept the position of a working-girl, was morbid in
part, because she did not replace her former friends among the rich
with new acquaintances among the lowly.

Youth cannot bear isolation. Solitude is for age, full stored with
memory, knowledge and mental resources. Youth cannot bear it and
preserve mental or spiritual health; youth must have companionship,
sympathy and friendships.

Under incessant toil and loneliness the high courage of the girl broke
down when illness fell upon her. She was, therefore, in the very best
mood to accept this new friendship and society, as a prisoner accepts a
release from prison.

For the first time since she had fallen ill, she lay down and slept the
dreamless, wholesome, restoring sleep of returning health, ate with a
slight but real relish, and when Mr. Dewness called, after supper, she
looked marvelously brighter and better.

With what delight she greeted her lost wheel, when, carefully wrapped,
they placed her upon its familiar saddle! How keenly she relished the
balmy outdoor air of the quiet, maple-shaded street! With what sweet,
womanly childishness she laughed at David’s gentle pleasantries! It was
only a few minutes, for David was very careful to take her in before
she was tired, and then he hastened away and presently returned with a
boy bearing a tray on which were luscious ripe strawberries, a little
pitcher of fresh cream, sugar, three or four big juicy oranges, a lemon
and ice-cream. She was permitted by the doctor to eat just a taste
of the berries and a teaspoonful of the cream, while David and Mrs.
Dalrymple and the doctor ate to keep her company. And then David went
away, and she slept like a tired child. Sometimes how very little makes
a great happiness!

The ghost having become alive, the rest of the story almost tells
itself. How they plighted their troth and named the day; and how
the wedding was one of the happiest the club ever attended, and
everybody said they were the most suitable and loving pair ever joined
together--all these items the reader can imagine.

But the mystery remains to be cleared. One evening while the house was
not yet complete, the two lovers sat together in the moonlight, talking
over, for the twentieth time, their strange experience, when David said:

“After all, Daphne, there is one thing that puzzles me more than all
the rest. I never could tell, when I saw your ghost, exactly what you
wore.”

Daphne blushed celestial fire, and hid her face with her hands, peeping
through her fingers shyly at David, and wondering to see him evidently
seriously in earnest.

“You seemed to me,” continued David, not noticing her confusion, “at
one moment to be in a gray riding-habit, but the next moment you wore
your black or brown walking-dress, and when you faded out of sight,
my last vision of you was in some sort of white robe. Now, how do you
account for that?”

“Then I never appeared to you except in some dress? You could see me
only in some dress, David?”

This timidly, and watching his face narrowly.

“Why, of course not,” said honest David, opening his eyes wide with
surprise, “only I couldn’t ever quite make it out.”

She laughed softly and blushed vividly.

“Well, David--now you are in earnest?”

“Of course I am. Why, what’s the matter?”

“You know I was half delirious with the fever?”

“Yes.”

“And I longed to take a ride on my--your--wheel. How I did long to get
out of that stuffy little room! It seemed to me that if I could find
my wheel, and take a run in the pleasant outdoor air, it would do me
so much good! Well, it seemed to me that I went out and wandered about
the city till I found it. It was in front of Miss Bentley’s. And I saw
you, and I knew by your face that you would be kind and lend it to me,
because I was ill. Of course, when I found it, I bethought me that I
should have a riding-suit, and I seemed to be clothed in the gray dress
I used to wear. How funnily you acted! Do you remember stooping down,
with your hands on your knees, to look at me?”

David grinned.

“That alarmed me a little, and when you came closer I walked away, and
I remember changing my dress to a walking suit. And sometimes my mind
changed from one to another, and I always seemed to myself to wear
whatever I thought of. But, after you were so kind, and took so much
trouble to push the tricycle about for me, and I saw you wanted to help
me, out of pure sympathy, I ceased to be afraid of you, and got quite
familiar, and--and--”

“Well. And what?”

“I was sick in bed, you know, when I had those strange dreams.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And, of course, I wasn’t wearing any dress in bed.”

“Of course not.”

“Well--now, don’t you laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“Some of the last times--after I wasn’t afraid of you any longer--I
forgot.”

“You forgot what?”

“Why, I forgot to walk away in my street-dress and go home. I seemed
to drop right out of the saddle and my riding-dress into my night-robe
and my bed in the little room at home all at the same time, and without
first going away from you.”

David laughed heartily in spite of his promise not do so. But it was
such an honest laugh that it reassured her.

“And you were afraid that I saw the ghost longer than I
ought?”--chuckling.

“Ye-es,” hiding her blushing face against his shoulder.

“Well, darling, I didn’t. You vanished, I thought, like an angel in a
white cloud; but I never dreamed it was merely like a sick girl in her
white robe.”

He laughed again until she slyly reached up and gave one of his ears a
pinch that changed his laughter into a howl.

TO THE PACIFIC THROUGH CANADA.

BY ERNEST INGERSOLL.

PART I.

One hundred years ago, “through Canada to the Pacific” was first
achieved by Sir Alexander Mackenzie. Making his way in a birch canoe
from Montreal up the Ottawa and connecting rivers to Lake Huron, he
came to the Sault Sainte Marie. Then followed hundreds of miles of
paddling along the homeless shores of Lake Superior until civilization
was seen again at Fort William on the northern shore. Yet that was
only the real starting-point. Here Mackenzie began one of the most
adventurous and productive explorations of that era, when the world
was busy with exploration. Through rivers, ponds, and portages to Lake
Winnipeg, across it and up the Saskatchewan, he pursued a well-defined
route of the Hudson Bay Company’s _voyageurs_. But finally he reached
even the fur-trader’s frontier, and pushed forward into a region never
then penetrated by a white man. He came to the Peace River and began
its ascent. It led him into, and guided him through, the mountains. At
its sources he found water flowing westward, and through weeks of hardy
adventure traced this river or that until he scented the salt breezes,
and looked abroad upon the Pacific--the first man to cross Canada!

That is only a century ago; yet when you place Mackenzie’s canoe beside
our transcontinental railway train, the contrast is as wide as between
the first and last page of history; but put the courage of the old
fur-trader beside the pluck which built this railway, and the extremes
meet again.

The transcontinental trip by the Canadian Pacific Railway, then, is
the subject of this article. We shall not precisely follow Mackenzie’s
devious route, but shall touch it here and there, and see all the way
the same kind of things that he saw.

Let us, first of all, have a clear understanding of what this journey
is to be.

The Canadian Pacific is the largest railway system on the continent,
yet there is none so little known to the general public in the United
States, and none so widely misapprehended. It lies wholly in Canada.
From Quebec it follows the St. Lawrence to Montreal, and then the
Ottawa to the capital of the Dominion. From Ottawa it directs an
almost straight course to the northernmost angle of Lake Superior,
and skirting its shore for a hundred miles, strikes west to Winnipeg.
Thence it crosses 900 miles of prairie, enters the Rocky Mountains 150
miles north of the United States boundary, and forcing its way through
250 miles of magnificent highlands, descends to the Pacific coast near
the mouth of the Fraser River.

This main line is 3,070 miles in length, and reaches from ocean to
ocean. Its through trains do not change their sleeping-cars all the
way. An English family bound for China need make only two changes of
conveyance between Liverpool and Hong-Kong--one at Montreal from the
steamer to the cars, and another in re-embarking at Vancouver, the
Pacific terminus. This is a notable advantage over the pieced-up route
through Europe or the United States.

Yet this main line is only the _stem_ of the great system. One
side-line goes to Boston. Two others communicate with railways in New
York State, at Brockville and Prescott, on the St. Lawrence. Short
branches reach a dozen towns in Quebec. Westward, Montreal and Ottawa
are connected with Toronto, whence branches ramify through all Ontario.
Lake Huron is reached at Owen Sound, whence a line of ocean-like
steamships on the Great Lakes is sustained. From Sudbury, a station
443 miles west of Montreal, a branch runs along the northern shore of
Lake Huron to Sault Sainte Marie, where it is joined by a bridge over
those historic rapids with two new American lines--one to Minneapolis,
and another to Duluth. In Manitoba, branches penetrate all the corners
of that rich wheat-growing province. Thus, the total length of its
railways approaches 5,000 miles, and a year hence will be increased
by a direct line to St. John, N. B., and Cape Breton, to connect with
especially swift steamers, forming a new Atlantic ferry and carrying
England’s Oriental mails. Yet, as has been said, few Americans know or
realize these important facts in Canadian progress.

[Illustration: “SMOKING IN A SNUG CORNER.”]

The new station in Montreal, whence we take our departure for the
transcontinental journey one summer evening, is a magnificent piece
of architecture. It stands just at the corner of Dominion Square,
where the first strains of the band concert are calling together the
loitering, pleasure-making crowds which twice a week throng its gravel
walks or lounge upon the turf of its green parterres.

Out from the station stretches a series of broad stone arches, carrying
the tracks upon an elevated way that reminds one of London, to the
outskirts of the city, and into the quaint French villages named by
pious founders after some Ste. Rose, Ste. Therése, or St. Phillipe, or
other revered personages of the olden times.

We go to sleep, and do not know when Ottawa, Canada’s pleasant capital
and lumber market, is passed at midnight. We are oblivious to this and
all the world besides until a cheery call of “Breakfast-time, sir!”
rouses our energies, and we peep out of our window to find ourselves
rushing through a dense green forest, still glistening with the night’s
dew. Then the breadth of Lake Nipissing opens like a plain of azure
amid the green woods, and we halt at North Bay, where a road from
Niagara Falls and Toronto terminates and makes a junction with ours.
We step out and take a run up and down the long platform. The sunlight
seems unusually bright and clear, the breeze from the lake is “nipping
and eager”--everything and everybody has an air of alertness and glee
which is inspiriting. We have slept well--we are wide awake; this
balsamic odor of the woods is appetizing--we are hungry. The dining-car
is therefore doubly inviting. Its furnishing is in elegant taste; its
linen white as the breaking of the lake-waves; its silver glitters in
the sunlight; on every table is a bouquet of wild flowers, masking a
basket of fruit. There are tables for two and tables for four. One of
the latter holds a family party--father, mother and two young ladies,
Vassar girls, perhaps. We seat ourselves opposite, and as the train
moves smoothly on, eat and talk with a gusto forgotten since last
summer’s outing.

Our _vis-à-vis_ at table proves to be an official of the company, who
knows the whole line, as he says, “like the book.” He is going clear
through to attend to matters on the western coast. This is great luck,
for he seems quite as willing to answer our eager questions as we are
to ask them. He is intensely interested in this great achievement,
as is everybody connected with it, and wants us to become equally
enthusiastic.

“This ought to be a good region for fishing,” we suggest, looking out
upon the beautiful lake whose rocky shores we are skirting.

“Excellent,” the official agrees, as he quarters his orange. “Lake
Nipissing abounds in big fish, and so does French River, its outlet
into Lake Huron. I have had capital sport at the end of the steamboat
pier at North Bay, ‘whipping’ with a rod and spoon for pike, bass,
pickerel, whitefish, etc. Sometimes muskallonge weighing forty or fifty
pounds are caught by trolling from a boat.”

“How about trout?”

“Well, if you’re bent upon trout, and don’t want to go up to the
Jackfish or Nepigon River (which we shall cross to-morrow morning),
your best plan is to go to Trout Lake and down to the Mattawan. Trout
Lake lies four or five miles inland, behind those hills, where the
scenery is exceedingly beautiful and the fishing practically untouched.
In the lake itself are huge bass, pickerel and muskallonge. I know of
one caught there by a lady, which weighed thirty-five pounds. Down to
the lake, through tortuous, shady ravines, come cataract-rivers filled
with untroubled trout. You can get a boat at a settler’s, or take your
own and camp where you please, and fish in a new place every day all
summer. Then from Trout Lake you can run a canoe down through a chain
of lakes into the Mattawan River. Each of these lakes and streams
has plenty of fish of several kinds, and charming camping places.
The Mattawan carries you into the Ottawa, which you can descend in a
boat--fishing all the way--to the St. Lawrence.”

“That’s an alluring story,” we say.

“It’s literally true; and in the fall and winter, sport with the gun
is equally good. Moose, caribou, and deer are plentiful, and the town
of Mattawan forms an excellent outfitting place for a shooting trip.
Indian and white guides can be got who know the country, and the many
lumberers’ roads and camps facilitate the sport. New Brunswick used to
be the best place for that sport, but now this part of Canada is far
more accessible and convenient.”

At noon we come to Sudbury, where extensive mines of copper and gold
are worked, and a brisk village is growing up, with some farming and a
great deal of lumbering in the neighborhood. Here branches off the new
“Soo” route to St. Paul.

All the afternoon we run through forested hills, the line bending
hither and yon to avoid rocky ridges and crystalline lakes, cutting
athwart promontories, and bridging ravines. Here and there are
extensive tracts of arable land, but little agricultural settlement can
be expected in these forests as long as the rich prairies westward,
all ready for the plow, are only half-tenanted. Yet the cabins of
settlers, who are part farmers, part lumbermen, part trappers, and part
“Injun,” are scattered all along the line; and every hundred miles
or so we encounter a railway “divisional” station, where there are
engine-houses, repairing shops, and the homes of the men employed on
that section of the line.

In the evening, groups gathered in our brilliantly-lighted palaces--for
every one had become acquainted, like a cozy ship’s company at sea--and
whiled away the time with books, story-telling and whist. The Vassar
girls, the Official and the Editorial _We_ had a grand game, closing
with a tie at eleven o’clock. Just then we were at Missanabie, where
you might launch a canoe--“that frail vehicle of an amphibious
navigation,” as Sir George Simpson styled it--and run down to the
fur-famed--

“Beware of puns!” cried Miss Dimity Vassar.

--Michipicoten, in Lake Superior; or, with a few portages, glide
northward to Hudson’s Bay.

Bidden to be awake early, at six next morning we were astir, and, lo!
there was Lake Superior. All day we ran along its shores, here taking
advantage of a natural terrace or ledge, there rolling with thunderous
roar along some gallery blasted out of the face of the gigantic cliffs
whose granite bases were beaten by the waves; next darting through a
tunnel or safely overriding a long and lofty bridge, beneath which
poured some wine-colored torrent. This is daring and costly engineering.

Always high above the water, which sometimes dashes at the very foot
of the trackway, and sometimes is separated from us by barriers of
vine-clad rock, the eye overlooks a wide and radiant scene. A line
of distant and hilly islands cuts off this interior part (Nepigon
Bay) from the open lake; and as we swerve hither and yon in our
rapid advance, these islands group themselves into ever changing
combinations, opening and closing lanes of blue water, displaying
and hiding the silvery horizon, letting passing vessels appear and
disappear, and taking some new charm of color with each new position.

Nor was this all. Cliffs and shore are grandly picturesque in form,
brilliant in color, and constantly varied. After we had reached
Jackfish River--a famous fishing-place--and the gaudy overhanging
cliffs had been left behind, the lake began to be hidden by a line of
trap-buttes, masked in dense foliage; and these beautiful table-lands
lasted all the way to the crossing of the Nepigon, where again we were
face to face with Nepigon Bay. You may say later that the scenery
of the Rocky Mountains is better than this morning ride along Lake
Superior; but you will not forget, nor be willing to omit it, all the
same.

[Illustration: INDIAN TEPEES.]

Nepigon River, up which we have a long view, is the prince of
trout-rivers, and at the railway station canoes, camping supplies and
Indian crews are always obtainable. Think of brook-trout weighing five
or six pounds, to be caught, and bass and whitefish and what not in
plenty besides!

That afternoon we passed Port Arthur, a town of 3,500 population, on
Thunder Bay, and the port for the fine Canadian Pacific steamers, which
present an alternative summer route between the East and West by way
of the lakes, Owen Sound and Toronto. Five miles farther on we came to
old Fort William, now a growing village and grain port. Here, on the
fertile flats of the Kaministiquia, more than two hundred years ago,
was planted an Indian trading-post, which a century later became the
headquarters of the great Northwest Fur Company, and then an important
post of the Hudson’s Bay Company, to which, after years of warfare,
the Northwest corporation finally capitulated. Some of the storied old
buildings, to which a whole magazine article might easily be devoted,
still stand, but they are overshadowed by the railway shops and
warehouses, the huge elevators and coal-bins, which here, as at Port
Arthur, testify to an enormous shipping traffic.

For four hundred miles west of Fort William, where we bid good-bye
to Lake Superior, the road passes through a wild, rough region of
rocks and forest, reticulated with lakes and rivers. It is the most
unattractive piece of country on the whole line, but it abounds in
minerals, and supplies the treeless region beyond with lumber. Near its
eastern border, at Rabbit Mountain, exceedingly rich silver mines are
worked. The Lake of the Woods, in the centre of this tract, is a very
beautiful spot, and one whose water-power supplies many large mills.

Morning found us among open groves and thickets--the fringed-out
western edge of that almost continental forest which sweeps behind
us to the Atlantic, and northward until it half envelops Hudson’s
Bay. Finally even this disappeared in an expanse of verdant turf--the
prairie of Manitoba,--its perfectly level horizon broken only by the
tall buildings and steeples of the city of Winnipeg.

Winnipeg stands at the point where Red River receives its largest
western tributary, the Assiniboine. It has been the site of an Indian
trading post, and the centre of the “Red River settlements” for almost
a century; but until ten years ago it was nothing more. Then it
sprung at one bound, amid an ecstasy of speculation, into a city. It
had a hard time after this injudicious exuberance began to subside;
but it survived, and now Winnipeg is as well founded, and growing as
healthfully, as is Denver or Omaha. The town has ridiculously wide
streets, which it cost a fortune to pave with cedar blocks, and which
make the really tall and fine business buildings look dwarfed. There
are several expensive churches, hundreds of elegant residences, and
some stately public buildings. The width of the streets; the great
number of vacant lots, due to the large expectations of the “boom”
period, which spread the town beyond all reason; and the use of
cream-colored brick and light paint in the buildings, give to Winnipeg
a singularly pale and scattered appearance, likely to diminish in the
eyes of a casual visitor the city’s real wealth and importance.

[Illustration: THE VIEW FROM THE HOT SPRINGS, BANFF, LOOKING DOWN THE
BOW.]

“While you would find here in Winnipeg,” says our _cicerone_, as we
sat smoking in a snug corner, “if you studied the matter a little, the
key to much that you will see beyond, you must look beyond for the
key to much you will see in Winnipeg. Situated just where the forests
end and the vast prairies begin, with thousands of miles of river
navigation to the north, south and west, and with railways radiating in
every direction into the wheat lands of all Manitoba, like spokes in a
wheel, Winnipeg has become, what it must always be, the commercial
focus of the Canadian Northwest. Looking at these long lines of
warehouses filled with goods, and these twenty miles or more of railway
side-tracks all crowded with cars, you begin to realize the vastness of
the country we are about to enter. From here the wants of the people in
the west are supplied, and this way come the products of their fields,
while from the far north are brought furs in great variety and number.”

[Illustration: NEARING THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.]

The surrounding prairie is absolutely flat, and was the bed of a
prehistoric lake--the last remnant of the waters that once covered
the whole interior; and as we race across it we can picture how
the wavelets rose and fell before the ancient wind by noticing the
olive-and-gray ripples that flow over the long grass under this noonday
breeze. Here and there cattle are standing up to their bellies in the
lush meadow. Far off to the southward a dark line indicates the fringe
of trees along the Assiniboine. Nothing else breaks the verdant flats
that sweep around us save the track and the telegraph poles, straight
as a ray of light behind and ahead to their vanishing points on each
horizon. After a while habitations and farms grow more numerous, for we
have imperceptibly risen to a region lighter in soil and formerly held
at a cheaper price than the speculative tracts near the city, whose
owners have seen settlers go steadily past them.

The centre of this is the far-scattered town of Portage la Prairie,
an old landing-place of the _voyageurs_, who here loaded their
boat-cargoes into carts and carried them across to Lake Manitoba, there
to be re-embarked for the long canoe voyage inland. Here are now great
wheat elevators and mills, and hence a railway has pushed 250 miles
northwestward, to continue nobody knows how much farther. Brandon,
seventy-five miles beyond, is a wide-awake, handsomely built young city
on the Assiniboine, sustained by an immense agricultural environment.
In regard to this let me quote somewhat from a standard work on the
prairies: “Leaving Brandon, we have fairly reached the first of the
great prairie steppes, that rise one after the other at long intervals
to the Rocky Mountains; and now we are on the real prairie, not the
monotonous, uninteresting plain your imagination has pictured, but a
great billowy ocean of grass and flowers, now swelling into low hills,
again dropping into broad basins with gleaming ponds, and broken here
and there by valleys and by irregular lines of trees marking the
watercourses. The horizon only limits the view; and, as far as the
eye can reach, the prairie is dotted with newly made farms, with great
black squares where the sod has just been turned by the plow, and
with herds of cattle. The short, sweet grass, studded with brilliant
flowers, covers the land as with a carpet, ever changing in color
as the flowers of the different seasons and places give to it their
predominating hue.... Here is produced, in the greatest perfection,
the most famous of all varieties of wheat--that known as the ‘hard
Fyfe wheat of Manitoba’--and oats as well, and rye, barley and flax,
and gigantic potatoes, and almost everything that can be grown in
a temperate climate.... Three hundred miles from Winnipeg we pass
through the famous Bell Farm, embracing one hundred square miles of
land. This is a veritable manufactory of wheat, where the work is done
with almost military organization--plowing by brigades and reaping by
divisions. Think of a farm where the furrows are ordinarily four miles
long, and of a country where such a thing is possible! There are neat
stone cottages and ample barns for miles around, and the collection
of buildings about the headquarters near the railway station makes
a respectable village, there being among them a church, an hotel, a
flour mill, and, of course, a grain elevator, for in this country these
elevators appear wherever there is wheat to be handled or stored.”

The fertile, pleasantly habitable region of the Canadian West is a
triangular region with a base 800 miles in width east and west, and a
northern limit marked by the forests beyond the Saskatchewan. Between
these forests and the Rocky Mountains the arable country extends
almost to the borders of Alaska, and through it are scattered trading
stations and small settlements among a peaceful and semi-industrious
Indian population. The climate is dry, yet the rainfall (except in the
southwestern part) is quite sufficient for agriculture. The winters
are rigorous, but not so long as those of Quebec, and the snowfall
is light. Wheat, oats, barley and vegetables grow to perfection even
farther north than the Peace River valley, in latitude 56° to 57°--the
parallel which in the east passes just north of Labrador. Settlement on
these fine prairies (which are often bushy, and show no sage-brush and
little alkali) is only a decade old, yet last year there was produced a
surplus for export of twelve million bushels of wheat alone.

Not far beyond the Regina wheat plain, which is about 1,800 feet above
the sea, the altitude is abruptly increased by a rise to the top of the
_Coteau de Missouri_, where the average of elevation is 3,000 feet.
Here the climate is drier, and grazing becomes the principal industry,
especially toward the foothills, where enormous herds of horses, cattle
and sheep are pastured. Of this great and growing business Calgary is
headquarters.

Only ten years ago this was the home of millions of buffalo, whose
trails and wallows mark the surface in every direction; but not a bison
is now to be seen within a long distance northward. The prairies from
Regina westward are dotted with lakes, generally of fresh water, are
well grassed, and broken by wooded eminences. The elk and mule-deer are
still common, and in the autumn immense herds of antelope, migrating
southward, are still to be seen from the car windows. Around the lakes
crowd countless wild fowl at all seasons, while flocks of prairie
chickens whirl away on each side at our approach. In the seasons of
migration geese and ducks are here in myriads.

We cross the South Saskatchewan near some extensive coal mines, and
toward evening of Friday (we left Montreal on Monday night and Winnipeg
on Thursday morning) we catch our first brief glimpse of the Rockies--a
serrated white line notching the sunset horizon. To-morrow morning we
shall awake within their glorious gates.

[Illustration: STONE POGAMOGGANS OF THE CANADIAN SIOUX.]

THE NEW YORK YACHT CLUB CRUISE OF ’88.

The annual cruise of the New York Yacht Club grows in importance with
increasing years. From the organization of the club, far back in the
forties, its history has been a progressive one. Its vessels have won a
reputation for their fleetness the world over; members have attracted
the attention of all aquatic sportsmen who love

“A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
And a wind that follows fast;”

and the club pennant of the red cross, with the single star sparkling
like a gem in its deep azure field, is known in every harbor of the
maritime world. Well may the members of this famous old club look back
upon its record with pride, and well may Elbridge T. Gerry, the present
commodore, rejoice in his proud position as commander of as magnificent
a fleet of pleasure boats as ever sailed the waters blue of old ocean.

Great strides have been made, since the establishment of the club
in 1844, not only in the sport of yachting, but in all things else
besides. It probably never dawned upon the vision of Commodore Stevens,
in those early days, when from his quaint little castle on the point of
rocks overhanging the Elysian Fields, in Hoboken, looking out on the
waters of the Hudson, as they rolled on to the Narrows and out into
old ocean, that the club would make so proud a mark in the history
of a pastime which the lovers of daring deeds so fondly cultivate. A
great city has grown up since then all around him; buildings now occupy
the space where, in those early American yachting days, leafy groves
afforded shade to yachtsmen, and long lines of wharfs take the place of
the gentle grassy slopes, kissed by the waters of the Hudson. All is
changed since then. Even the old club has undergone a transformation.
The fact, however, remains that the keystone of its success, the
brightest gem in its diadem of honorable record, is that which was won
in ’51, when Commodore Stevens’s _America_ sailed away from the whole
fleet of English yachts and carried off the Queen’s Cup.

This aquatic feat did much to permanently establish yachting in this
country. It was a surprise to the well trained, brave and skillful
sailors of the tight little island that Yankee sailors, after an
ocean voyage, should beat them in their own waters. But they took the
_America’s_ victory in good part, and though it was a difficult pill
to swallow, they got it down with a smile, for your true Englishman is
always manly.

“Yankee Doodle had a craft,
A rather tidy clipper,
And he challenged, while they laughed,
The Britishers to whip her;
Their whole yacht squadron she outsped,
And that on their own water;
Of all the lot she went ahead,
And they came nowhere arter.”

From those early days in the fifties, until the war broke out the New
York Yacht Club grew strong in membership and vessels. Its cruises and
its regattas became popular, the latter especially, for they served to
afford a pleasant day’s amusement to people who enjoyed a holiday on
the water. Many of our best known men and grand old merchant princes
were devoted yachtsmen. What cruise was complete without rare old Moses
Grinnell on board some one of the flyers of days gone by? When the war
broke out, did not many of these same yachtsmen lend a hand in the
struggle for the Union? If we mistake not, James Gordon Bennett put
his vessel, the _Rebecca_, into commission, and did service himself
on board, off the Southern coast. Hundreds of other instances might
be cited to prove the patriotism, daring and pluck of “the men who
went down to the sea in ships,” even though these ships were pleasure
craft, and the men who sailed them simply on pleasure bent.

When “the cruel war” was over there came renewed interest in yachting.
Then the challenges from the other side were received. English
yachtsmen looked with longing eyes across the ocean and declared their
readiness to do battle for the possession of the _America’s_ cup.
With the true spirit of sportsmen American yachtsmen met their Island
brethren with equal ardor to defend the possession of the prize--the
greatest yachting trophy of the world.

The races in which the _Cambria_, _Livonia_, _Genesta_, _Galatea_,
_Thistle_, _Columbia_, _Sappho_, _Puritan_, _Mayflower_, _Volunteer_,
etc., took part, are too well known to the readers of ~Outing~
to require more than a mere passing notice. These contests form proud
chapters in the history of the club of which Elbridge T. Gerry is
commodore.

No less important pages in its history are the great ocean races, in
which the _Vesta_, _Fleetwing_, _Dauntless_ competed, the _Dauntless_
and _Cambria’s_ ocean race, and again, the race in midwinter between
the _Coronet_ and _Dauntless_, when the Atlantic was in its most angry
moods. The famous schooner _Sappho_, owned by William P. Douglass,
ex-vice-commodore of the club, was another fair skimmer of the briny
deep that carried the burgee of the club with honor in any and every
contest in which she was entered in home or foreign waters. And so the
list might be strung out in a magnificent array of the names of those
white-winged beauties of the sea that muster in the roll of Commodore
Gerry’s fleet.

For the nonce, let us turn from the past and look upon the present.
Let us survey the fleet of this season as they came together in the
harbor of New London, on the morning of August 9. Never did the famous
old rendezvous present so brilliant an aquatic spectacle. The event
was ushered in with a clear, bright blue sky. As the day grew older
the scene grew in activity. Fifty-three sailing yachts and twenty odd
steamers responded to the sunrise gun, and sent aloft the club signal
to kiss the breeze that stole out from the southwest almost as gently
as summer zephyr laden with the odor of the sea. It was not the piping
breeze loved so well by your true yachtsman, when close-reefed sails
and housed topmasts are the order of the day. At 10.47 the preparatory
gun was given from the flag-ship _Electra_; ten minutes later the
signal gun to start. And what a busy scene presented itself! With
anchors weighed and all sails set, the magnificent fleet began to move
out of the harbor into the waters of the ocean, with the _Puritan_,
true to her record, showing the way over the line, closely followed
by the _Grayling_, _Troubadour_ and _Sea Fox_. It was in this way the
annual cruise began.

As the squadron passed the flagship _Electra_, a beautiful picture
was presented to the eye. The wind being light, the yachts had all
available sails spread, and the view at the start was of an almost
solid mass of canvas.

Before going further it will be well to give an explanation regarding
the races that took place from New London to Newport, from Newport
to Vineyard Haven, from Vineyard Haven to New Bedford and thence to
Newport.

[Illustration: DEAD BEFORE THE WIND.]

A feature of past cruises has always been this racing from port to
port. Until this year, however, the arrangements in connection with
it have been eminently unsatisfactory, both as regards methods of
starting and the way in which a large yacht arriving first at the
common destination would be disqualified on time allowance and the
victory awarded to a smaller vessel. The methods of former years
having then proved inefficacious in deciding the actual merits of
the competing boats, Commodore Gerry, Vice-Commodore C. H. Colt and
Rear-Commodore E. D. Morgan resolved this year to present prizes to
that yacht in each of the eleven classes which made the best record in
the runs from port to port. These prizes consist of handsome lamps of
solid silver resting on ebony stands. On one side is an inscription
of the names of the donors, while on the other the New York Yacht
Club flag is represented. All the eleven prizes are exactly alike. A
novelty of the trophy is the fact that the lamp may be lifted from its
receptacle, when the stand forms a handsome cup with two handles. These
prizes did much to stimulate the energies of the captains, and some
fine races resulted.

Twenty minutes instead of the usual ten were allowed as starting time
in these contests. Soon after the fleet had started the wind gradually
died away, and for half an hour the water was scarcely ruffled, but
the Commodore’s proverbial good luck did not desert him long. Soon
sufficient breeze returned to carry the yachts bowling merrily into
Newport harbor. The following table tells the story of the day’s run:

FIRST CLASS SCHOONERS--THIRTY-FIVE MILES.

_Elapsed_ _Corr’d_
_Start._ _Finish._ _Time._ _Time._
NAME. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S.

Ambassadress 11 06 00 5 33 35 6 27 35 6 27 35
Dauntless 11 09 33 4 42 37 5 33 04 5 33 04
Norseman 11 05 25 4 52 05 5 46 40 5 45 31
Palmer 11 12 54 4 32 05 5 19 11 5 15 34
Wanderer 11 09 45 5 10 55 6 01 10 -- -- --
Alarm 11 06 00 4 48 30 5 42 30 -- -- --

SECOND CLASS SCHOONERS.

Intrepid 11 09 45 4 46 27 5 36 42 5 36 42
Gitana 10 56 00 4 43 40 5 47 40 5 46 26
Montauk 11 09 45 4 29 05 5 19 20 5 16 40
Columbia 11 13 30 4 52 58 5 39 28 -- -- --

THIRD CLASS SCHOONERS.

Sea Fox 11 01 12 4 10 52 5 09 40 5 09 40
Sachem 11 09 45 4 19 20 5 09 35 5 07 49
Troubadour 11 00 40 4 24 19 5 23 39 5 21 18
Varuna 11 03 04 5 11 30 6 08 26 6 05 52
Miranda 11 07 58 4 26 14 5 18 12 5 15 26
Grayling 11 00 40 4 24 25 5 23 45 5 18 50
Atalanta 10 56 30 4 44 33 5 48 03 -- -- --
Elma 11 12 30 3 40 33 5 28 03 -- -- --

FOURTH CLASS SCHOONERS.

Marguerite 11 02 07 5 51 45 6 49 38 6 49 38
Iroquois 11 05 03 4 21 48 5 16 45 5 15 36
Magic 11 08 35 4 44 29 5 35 54 5 33 44
Halcyon 10 56 00 4 38 18 5 42 18 5 40 42
Princess 11 16 10 5 29 23 6 13 13 -- -- --

FIFTH CLASS SCHOONERS.

Harbinger 11 11 32 5 03 14 6 51 42 -- -- --
Triton 11 09 40 5 28 27 6 18 47 -- -- --
Lotus 11 17 00 5 05 14 6 48 14 -- -- --
Azalea 11 14 38 5 37 52 6 23 14 -- -- --
Lydia 11 12 08 5 28 27 6 16 19 -- -- --
Whim 11 06 00 5 32 40 6 26 40 -- -- --
Clio 11 17 00 5 50 37 6 33 37 -- -- --

FIRST CLASS SLOOPS.

Volunteer 11 08 54 4 21 32 5 12 38 5 12 38
Mayflower 11 50 20 4 16 03 5 10 43 5 09 56
Puritan 11 02 07 4 08 39 5 06 32 5 03 14

THIRD CLASS SLOOPS.

Katrina 11 12 30 4 26 42 5 14 12 5 14 12
Bedouin 11 05 03 5 35 55 6 30 52 6 29 23
Fanny 11 05 15 4 20 12 5 14 57 5 11 28
Pocahontas 11 01 30 4 47 04 5 45 34 5 34 34
Nonpareille 11 09 45 5 36 43 6 40 58 -- -- --
Huron 11 11 00 4 52 18 5 41 08 5 34 04

FOURTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Hildegarde 11 03 53 4 27 02 5 23 09 5 23 09
Dare 11 10 27 5 52 02 6 04 55 6 00 00
Medusa 11 10 50 5 21 24 6 10 34 6 02 22
Whileaway 11 06 00 4 35 17 5 29 17 5 22 52
Thistle 11 09 45 5 12 45 6 03 00 -- -- --

FIFTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Athlon 11 14 08 4 50 25 5 36 17 5 36 17
Cinderella 11 09 40 5 54 04 5 44 20 5 43 36
Gaviota 11 15 31 4 54 06 5 38 35 5 37 28
Bertie 11 08 22 4 47 11 5 45 49 5 40 55
Concord 11 11 00 5 51 17 6 40 17 6 34 17

SIXTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Regina 11 05 30 5 07 00 6 01 30 -- -- --
Nymph 11 08 56 5 27 47 6 18 51 -- -- --
Crocodile -- -- -- 5 13 25 -- -- -- -- -- --
Iseult -- -- -- 5 01 40 -- -- -- -- -- --

~Winners~--First class schooner--Palmer; second class
schooner--Montauk; third class schooner--Sachem; fourth
class schooner--Iroquois; fifth class schooner--Lydia. First
class sloop--Puritan; third class sloop--Fanny; fourth class
sloop--Whileaway; fifth class sloop--Athlon; sixth class
sloop--Regina.

In the evening red lights were burned on the yachts, lighting up the
harbor and producing a fine effect.

The next day, Friday, August 10, the race for the Goelet cups took
place over the Sow and Pigs course, off Newport Harbor. At 10.20 the
preparatory gun was fired, there being at the time a light northerly
wind. Ten minutes later the starting signal was given, and the
_Volunteer_ crossed the line in the lead, with the _Mayflower_ second.
Then came the _Miranda_ leading the schooners, followed by the _Sea
Fox_ and _Sachem_. At West Island Light the _Volunteer_ had established
a lead of half a mile with the _Mayflower_ still second, followed by
the _Palmer_, _Sea Fox_, _Puritan_, _Sachem_ and _Katrina_ in the order
named.

At the Sow and Pigs lightship the order was somewhat changed among the
leaders. The _Sachem_ had taken the lead and the _Mayflower_ had tailed
off. The order and time as the yachts rounded the lightship were as
follows:

_Sachem_, 3.27.33; _Volunteer_, 3.37.32; _Sea Fox_, 3.43.15; _Puritan_,
3.45.58; _Miranda_, 3.48.26; _Grayling_, 3.49.07; _Katrina_, 3.49.51;
_Iroquois_, 3.50.30; _Palmer_, 3.51.27; _Troubadour_, 3.53.22;
_Mayflower_, 3.53.32; _Dauntless_, 3.55.46; _Montauk_, 3.56.36;
_Magic_, 3.59.00; _Ramona_, 3.59.30.

The _Katrina_ had the race in hand at this point, and she increased
her lead to the Hen and Chickens. During this run of four miles, the
_Katrina_ gained three minutes on the _Volunteer_ and _Puritan_,
proving herself to be a remarkably fast boat. Just as the boats reached
the Hen and Chickens buoy the wind dropped again, shifting round to the
southwest. The time at this mark, so far as taken, was as follows:

_Sachem_, 4.40.03; _Volunteer_, 4.44.49; _Sea Fox_, 4.48.36; _Puritan_,
4.51.00; _Grayling_, 4.52.01; _Katrina_, 4.52.38; _Miranda_, 4.58.21;
_Mayflower_, 4.58.53; _Iroquois_, 4.59.33.

The _Katrina_ was 5m. 44s. ahead of the _Volunteer_ by corrected time
at this mark. The _Sachem_ and _Volunteer_ having rounded the mark some
four minutes ahead of the next boat, the _Sea Fox_, had an immense
advantage by the shift of the wind, which came just after they turned
the buoy.

It was now a beat to windward to Brenton’s Reef and the finish line.
The wind freshened and hauled more to the westward and became a good
steady breeze. The _Sea Fox_ in this beat pointed very high--her
pointing was something remarkable. The time at the finish was as
follows:

_Elapsed_ _Corr’d_
_Start._ _Finish._ _Time._ _Time._
NAME. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S.

Volunteer 10 30 57 6 52 32 8 21 35 8 21 25
Sachem 10 32 09 7 12 57 8 40 48 8 27 48
Grayling 10 33 40 7 19 34 8 45 54 8 29 22
Katrina 10 33 17 7 19 49 8 46 32 8 35 10
Puritan 10 32 47 7 15 35 8 42 48 8 39 07
Sea Fox 10 31 58 7 23 34 8 51 26 8 40 23
Mayflower 10 31 51 7 33 05 9 01 14 9 00 21

_Miranda_, 10.31.53; _Palmer_, 10.32.25; _Montauk_, 10.32.40;
_Troubadour_, 10.32.52; _Intrepid_, 10.33.32; _Magic_, 10.33.49;
_Dauntless_, 10.34.25; _Elma_, 10.36.00; _Iroquois_, 10.36.38, and
_Ramona_, 10.40.00; not timed.

In the schooner class, the _Sachem_ won the cup, beating the _Grayling_
1m. 36s. on corrected time. In the sloop class, the _Volunteer_ won,
beating the _Katrina_ 13m. 44s.; _Puritan_, 17m. 31s.; _Mayflower_ 38m.
46s., corrected time. _Katrina_ beat both _Puritan_ and _Mayflower_.

On Saturday, August 11, a start was made for Vineyard Haven, Martha’s
Vineyard. Once more every yacht was accurately timed from Newport, this
being the second of the runs from port to port for the class prizes.

[Illustration: SEA FOX--OWNER, A. CASS CANFIELD, ESQ.]

Again did the _Puritan_ take the lead at the line, closely followed
by the _Lydia_, _Clio_, _Montauk_ and _Volunteer_. Everything went
smoothly till the _Mayflower_ and _Grayling_ came along, and then
occurred the only accident or collision of the cruise of ’88.
Immediately after crossing the line the _Mayflower_ was directly behind
the _Grayling_ and was sailing a trifle faster. Almost before any
one realized that an accident was about to happen, the _Mayflower’s_
bowsprit caught the end of the _Grayling’s_ mainboom. This of itself
was nothing serious. The sloop _Regina_ was, however, right ahead of
the _Grayling_, and by the _Mayflower_ pressing upon the _Grayling’s_
boom, the latter’s stern was pushed to windward, her bow swung off, and
in a moment her big bowsprit struck the _Regina’s_ mainsail just abaft
the mast. The little sloop keeled over to starboard, when her topmast
snapped, and the rigging came rattling down on her deck. Three of the
guests on board the _Regina_ became excited, and jumped overboard, and
then immediately started to swim for the boat which they had just left.
Lines were thrown from the _Grayling_ and caught by the swimmers, but
the big schooner did not lose her headway, and the men grasping the
rope were towed through the water.

[Illustration: I have the honor to remain, Elbridge T Gerry, Commodore
N.Y.Y.C.]

The _Electra_, _Grayling_, and _Mayflower_ soon had boats out, the
_Electra’s_ gig being first. By the time the excitement had subsided
all the yachts had crossed the line, and the faster boats were rapidly
moving to the front. Soon the _Volunteer_ passed the _Puritan_ and took
the lead, which she kept until almost to the line, only to be defeated
by the _Puritan_, after having victory apparently within her grasp.
The way in which Commodore Forbes regained the lead was a clever piece
of work. The _Volunteer_ was leading and was encountering a strong
head tide; but the _Puritan_ and others were rapidly overtaking her,
not being bothered with the tide, while they had the full advantage of
the wind. The _Puritan_ was soon equal with the leader, and though not
gaining, was gradually working toward the shore away from the current.
Meanwhile the _Volunteer_ had dropped anchor, not being able to make
any headway. As soon as the _Puritan_ came near the shore and out of
the strong current, she slowly moved toward the line, and crossed it a
victor. The results of the day’s run were:

FIRST CLASS SCHOONERS.

_Actual_
_Start._ _Finish._ _Time._
NAME. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S.

Norseman 10 46 06 7 58 00 9 12 54
Palmer 10 47 07 7 59 45 9 12 38
Alarm 10 47 35 8 13 50 9 26 15
Dauntless 10 49 25 8 16 20 9 26 55
Wanderer 10 51 00 8 41 00 9 50 00
Ambassadress 10 51 35 -- -- -- -- -- --
Ramona 11 00 00 7 51 15 9 51 15

SECOND CLASS SCHOONERS.

Montauk 10 41 58 7 55 30 9 13 40
Gitana 10 44 00 -- -- -- -- -- --
Columbia 10 46 17 8 02 58 9 16 41
Intrepid 10 47 35 -- -- -- -- -- --

THIRD CLASS SCHOONERS.

Troubadour 10 43 30 8 34 30 9 51 00
Sea Fox 10 43 47 7 21 17 8 37 30
Sachem 10 44 43 7 23 45 8 39 02
Miranda 10 45 15 7 31 23 8 46 08
Grayling 10 48 08 7 21 17 8 33 09
Varuna 10 51 00 -- -- -- -- -- --
Elma 10 58 55 7 53 40 8 54 45

FOURTH CLASS SCHOONERS.

Iroquois 10 43 16 7 30 43 8 47 27
Halcyon 10 45 00 8 06 25 9 21 25
Marguerite 10 47 35 8 37 00 9 49 25
Magic 10 49 10 7 53 00 9 03 50
Clytie 10 51 00 -- -- -- -- -- --

FIFTH CLASS SCHOONERS.

Lydia 10 41 15 8 36 15 9 55 00
Clio 10 41 41 8 35 00 9 53 19
Harbinger 10 45 48 8 11 11 9 25 23
Lotus 10 57 00 -- -- -- -- -- --
Whim 11 00 00 -- -- -- -- -- --

FIRST CLASS SLOOPS.

Puritan 10 40 53 7 14 25 8 33 32
Volunteer 10 41 58 7 22 45 8 40 47
Mayflower 10 48 08 7 49 22 9 01 14

THIRD CLASS SLOOPS.

Pocahontas 10 42 40 8 12 35 9 29 55
Katrina 10 42 40 7 52 23 9 09 43
Huron 10 44 28 -- -- -- -- -- --
Bedouin 10 48 08 7 26 52 8 38 44
Fanny 10 50 37 -- -- -- -- -- --
Vision 10 54 22 8 34 30 9 40 08
Nonpareille 10 54 49 8 44 25 9 48 36

FOURTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Whileaway 10 45 48 -- -- -- -- -- --
Hildegarde 10 47 55 -- -- -- -- -- --
Thistle 10 48 08 8 26 00 9 37 52
Medusa 10 49 35 8 40 00 9 30 25

FIFTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Athlon 10 44 32 8 05 06 9 20 34
Bertie 10 45 48 -- -- -- -- -- --
Cinderella 10 47 35 -- -- -- -- -- --

SIXTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Crocodile 10 44 28 -- -- -- -- -- --
Regina 10 46 40 -- -- -- -- -- --
Nymph 10 52 20 8 08 58 9 16 38

~Winners~--Schooners--First class, Alarm; second, Montauk;
third, Grayling; fourth, Iroquois; fifth, Harbinger; Sloops--First
class, Puritan; third, Bedouin; fourth, Medusa; fifth, Athlon;
sixth, Nymph.

[Illustration: ELECTRA, THE FLAGSHIP--OWNED BY COMMODORE E. T. GERRY.]

During Sunday the fleet lay at anchor in Vineyard Haven. At a meeting
of the captains, held on board the flagship _Electra_, it was decided
to abandon the cruise to Marblehead for this year and to accept the
offer made by the Newport citizens, of cups, to be sailed for over
the Sow and Pigs course before the cruise terminated. It was also
decided to go to New Bedford on the day after the race for the Martha’s
Vineyard Cup, and then from New Bedford to go to Newport and sail the
race for the cup offered.

Monday, August 13, was the day set for the race for the Martha’s
Vineyard Cup, but after the flagship _Electra_ had taken her position
ready for the start the Regatta Committee decided to postpone the race.
On Monday, therefore, the yachts lay anchored in Vineyard Haven, while
their owners enjoyed themselves at Cottage City.

[Illustration: IROQUOIS--OWNER, T. JEFFERSON COOLIDGE, ESQ.]

On Tuesday, the day was clear and bright, with a wind strong and fresh
from the southwest. It was an ideal yachting day. The result was the
finest race of the cruise.

The prizes were a series of valuable cups offered by the citizens
of Martha’s Vineyard, as follows: $250 for keel schooners, $250 for
second-class centre-board schooners, $200 for third-class centre-board
schooners, $250 for first-class sloops, $200 for second-class sloops,
$150 for third-class sloops, $100 for fourth-class sloops and $100 for
fifth-class sloops.

The course gave a beat to windward of eighteen nautical miles to and
round a stakeboat off Gay Head and return to starting line off Cottage
City.

The starting signal was given at 10.10, and the _Puritan_ was again
first over the line. The _Alert_ was next, closely pursued by the _Sea
Fox_ and _Grayling_. General Paine was aboard the _Alert_, and it was
generally believed that his presence did not keep her back at all.

The wind increased shortly after the start, and soon a heavy sea came
rolling in from the eastward, striking the big sloops first. The
_Puritan_ was still leading, but the _Mayflower_ seemed to make better
weather of the seas, and soon passed to leeward of the _Puritan_.

About the same time the _Grayling_ ran through the _Sachem’s_ lee, and
the _Sea Fox_ was holding a splendid wind and going fast through the
water. She was to the windward of both the _Sachem_ and the _Grayling_.
Soon after the start the schooner _Palmer_ carried away her fore
gaff, but she held on under whole mainsail, fore topsail and jib.
The _Grayling_ and _Sachem_ had it hot for a while on the starboard
tack; the _Sachem_ got a little the best of the bout. The _Alert_ now
hoisted a small maintopmast staysail and came along at a slashing pace,
apparently outsailing all the schooners. The first mark of the course
to be turned was the bell buoy off Nobska Point, which was turned by
the leaders as follows: _Puritan_, 11.17.30; _Mayflower_, 11.18.45;
_Sachem_, 11.21.10; _Sea Fox_, 11.22.05; _Alert_, 11.25.00; _Grayling_,
11.29.00.

On the way from Nobska Point to Gay Head the wind rather moderated,
topmasts were sent up, and reefs shaken out on most of the boats. The
time taken at Gay Head stakeboat was as follows: _Puritan_, 12.42.50;
_Mayflower_, 12.47.00; _Sachem_, 12.50.30; _Alert_, 12.52.22; _Sea
Fox_, 12.53.26; _Grayling_, 12.58.32; _Miranda_, 1.01.45; _Montauk_,
1.14.00; _Iroquois_, 1.06.30; _Katrina_, 1.09.55.

It was a free wind from Gay Head to the finish off the Sea View House
at Cottage City. All the yachts sent their kites up soon after turning,
and all made splendid time. The _Alert_ was at a great disadvantage
here in not having any spinnaker or balloon topsails on board, so that
the _Miranda_ was able to overhaul her. The race between the _Sea Fox_
and _Sachem_ was most exciting and very close; the _Katrina_ also
pulled up on the _Bedouin_, but not enough to save her loss outside.
The _Grayling_ did not do as well as usual in this home run; she was
outsailed by both the _Sachem_ and _Sea Fox_. The finish line was
crossed in the following order: _Puritan_, _Sachem_, _Mayflower_, _Sea
Fox_, _Alert_, _Grayling_, _Miranda_, _Montauk_, _Iroquois_, _Bedouin_,
_Katrina_, _Intrepid_, _Troubadour_, _Hildegarde_, _Halcyon_, _Bertie_,
_Athlon_, _Vixen_, and _Usher_.

The following tables show the result:

FIRST CLASS SCHOONERS.

_Elapsed_ _Corr’d_
_Start._ _Finish._ _Time._ _Time._
NAME. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S.
Alert 10 10 44 2 21 32 4 10 48 -- -- --
Intrepid 10 11 43 2 44 14 4 32 31 4 30 10
Miranda 10 11 45 2 27 55 4 16 10 4 05 14
Palmer 10 17 58 Did not finish.
Ramona 10 10 24 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

SECOND CLASS SCHOONERS.

Sea Fox 10 11 23 2 20 08 4 09 45 4 08 23
Grayling 10 11 25 2 26 23 4 15 03 4 10 34
Sachem 10 11 48 2 17 08 4 06 20 4 04 33
Montauk 10 13 23 2 29 46 4 16 23 4 16 23
Troubadour 10 15 00 2 47 20 4 32 20 4 28 47

THIRD CLASS SCHOONERS.

Iroquois 10 12 10 2 34 12 4 22 02 4 22 02
Halcyon 10 14 59 3 10 38 4 55 39 4 54 54

FIRST CLASS SLOOPS.

Puritan 10 10 16 2 12 58 4 02 42 4 00 07
Mayflower 10 13 14 2 17 44 4 04 30 4 04 30

SECOND CLASS SLOOPS.

Bedouin 10 11 25 2 37 39 4 26 14 4 24 43
Katrina 10 14 26 2 42 37 4 28 11 4 28 11

THIRD CLASS SLOOPS.

Hildegarde 10 14 11 3 09 43 4 55 32 4 55 32

FOURTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Bertie 10 13 41 3 26 42 5 13 01 5 07 59
Athlon 10 20 00 3 59 45 5 39 45 5 39 45

FIFTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Vixen 10 16 30 4 01 30 5 45 00 -- -- --
Hesper 10 16 48 4 03 47 5 46 59 -- -- --
Thistle 10 16 54 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Winners and prizes: _Alert_, $250; _Sachem_, $250; _Iroquois_, $200;
_Puritan_, $250; _Bedouin_, $250; _Hildegarde_, $150; _Bertie_, $100,
and _Hesper_, $100.

On Wednesday morning the fleet started for New Bedford. The wind was a
regular sou’wester, and fast time was made.

The preparatory signal was given at 9.50, and ten minutes later the
starting gun was fired. The race abounded in exciting manœuvres, and
much good seamanship was displayed. It was a grand sight to watch the
_Sea Fox_, _Grayling_ and _Sachem_ contesting for first place, and so
close together were they at the finish that all three crossed the line
within one minute.

The following table shows the actual results of the race:

FIRST CLASS SCHOONERS.

_Elapsed_ _Corr’d_
_Start._ _Finish._ _Time._ _Time._
NAME. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S.
Ramona 10 04 30 3 40 45 5 36 15 5 36 15
Palmer 10 20 00 3 54 04 5 34 04 5 31 59
Intrepid 10 02 56 3 42 42 5 39 46 5 37 21

THIRD CLASS SCHOONERS.

Grayling 10 00 56 3 03 07 5 02 11 4 58 38
Sea Fox 10 01 21 3 02 18 5 00 57 5 00 57
Sachem 10 02 15 3 03 09 5 00 54 4 59 27

FOURTH CLASS SCHOONERS.

Iroquois 10 01 21 3 26 15 5 25 54 5 23 54
Halcyon 10 02 09 Did not sail the course.

FIFTH CLASS SCHOONERS.

Lydia 10 02 59 5 09 23 7 08 24 -- -- --
Clio 10 01 21 4 07 14 6 05 53 -- -- --
Harbinger 10 00 38 Did not sail the course.

FIRST CLASS SLOOPS.

Puritan 10 00 35 3 03 40 5 02 05 4 59 26
Mayflower 10 02 19 Did not sail the course.

THIRD CLASS SLOOPS.

Pocahontas 10 02 52 3 56 20 5 53 28 Not meas.
Katrina 10 07 00 3 14 37 5 07 37 5 07 37
Bedouin 10 05 24 3 13 13 5 07 49 5 06 13
Fanny 10 11 27 Did not sail the course.

FOURTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Hildegarde 10 10 12 4 06 30 5 56 18 5 56 18

FIFTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Athlon 10 04 00 4 48 52 6 44 52 6 44 52
Bertie 10 01 16 4 35 10 6 33 54 6 28 43
Cinderella 10 01 31 4 39 56 6 38 25 6 37 39
Concord 10 04 12 Did not sail the course.

SIXTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Nymph 10 03 53 Did not sail the course.
Pappoose 10 04 30 5 07 31 7 03 01 -- -- --

~Winners~--First class schooners, Palmer; third class
schooners, Grayling; fourth class schooners, Iroquois; fifth class
schooners, Clio; first class sloops, Puritan; third class sloops,
Bedouin; fourth class sloops, Hildegarde; fifth class sloops,
Bertie; sixth class sloops, Pappoose.

In the evening a meeting of the captains was held on board the
_Electra_, after which a reception was given to the captains and their
guests by Commodore Gerry. On Thursday the fleet remained in New
Bedford harbor, and on signal all hands “dressed ship,” and the quaint
old harbor, with its whaling vessels along the docks, presented a very
pretty sight. During the afternoon cutter, gig and dingey races were
rowed. In the evening the visiting yachtsmen and their friends were
received by the local club.

When the preparatory signal was given on Friday morning for the final
run of the cruise, the wind blowing fresh from the southwest, caused
most of the yachts to house topmasts and tie two reefs in their
mainsails. The _Grayling_ crossed the line first, followed closely by
the _Puritan_ and _Lydia_. The great surprise of the day was the way
in which the _Mayflower_ “walked away” from the _Puritan_ and all the
others.

After the finish the yachts continued into Newport harbor. The results
of the day’s run were:

FIRST CLASS SCHOONERS.

_Elapsed_ _Corr’d_
_Start._ _Finish._ _Time._ _Time._
NAME. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S.
Palmer 10 23 52 3 14 18 4 50 26 4 47 37
Intrepid 10 22 13 3 20 24 4 58 11 4 53 37
Dauntless 10 22 13 3 42 25 5 20 12 5 20 12
Ramona 10 31 29 4 35 22 6 03 53 6 03 04

THIRD CLASS SCHOONERS.

Sachem 10 23 00 3 06 08 4 43 08 4 43 18
Miranda 10 33 17 3 26 20 4 53 03 4 51 11
Grayling 10 21 07 Did not finish.

FOURTH CLASS SCHOONERS.

Iroquois 10 24 20 3 34 35 5 10 15 5 10 15

FIFTH CLASS SCHOONERS.

Clio 10 22 20 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Lydia 10 21 15 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

FIRST CLASS SLOOPS.

Mayflower 10 23 17 2 30 04 4 06 47 4 06 47
Puritan 10 21 12 3 03 48 4 42 36 4 40 40

THIRD CLASS SLOOPS.

Bedouin 10 25 45 3 12 26 4 46 41 4 45 32
Katrina 10 23 55 3 10 55 4 47 00 4 47 00

FOURTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Hildegarde 10 21 45 3 59 54 5 34 09 5 38 09

FIFTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Bertie 10 22 29 4 07 19 5 44 50 5 41 03
Cinderella 10 24 30 4 27 44 6 03 14 6 02 40
Athlon 10 22 29 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Active 10 32 55 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

SIXTH CLASS SLOOPS.

Papoose 10 25 29 4 41 22 6 15 53 -- -- --
Nymph 10 27 05 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Kelpie 10 35 00 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

~Winners~--First class schooners, Palmer; third class
schooners, Sachem; fourth class schooners, Iroquois; first class
sloops, Mayflower; third class sloops, Bedouin; fourth class
sloops, Hildegarde; fifth class sloops, Bertie; sixth class sloops,
Pappoose.

On Saturday and Sunday the yachts remained in the harbor, and their
owners spent the time in Newport.

On Monday, August 20, the 50-mile race for the cups offered by the
citizens of Newport was sailed, but the wind being very light the event
caused much disappointment. The run was to be before the wind, and so
the big sloops lowered their spinnaker booms as they came toward the
line. The _Puritan_ crossed first, and next came the _Fanny_, noted
for her light-weather qualities, then the _Dauntless_, followed by the
_Alarm_, _Hildegarde_ and _Volunteer_ in the order given.

The _Volunteer_ gradually gained on the leader, passed her adversaries
one by one, and shortly before rounding the stakeboat was first. The
wind was light, and variable all day, and died out at most inopportune
times. The _Volunteer_ alone crossed the finish within the time limit.

At colors on Tuesday the fleet was formally disbanded, and so ended the
very successful cruise of 1888.

[Illustration: SACHEM--OWNERS, MESSRS. C. D. OWEN AND JESSE METCALF,
PROVIDENCE, R. I.]

[Illustration]

BASEBALL IN AUSTRALIA.

BY HARRY PALMER.

~Note.~--~Outing~ gladly places at the head of this article the
portrait of Mr. A. G. Spalding, the projector and promoter of the
American Baseball Tour to Australia.--~Editor.

[Illustration]

“Ho, for Australia!”

What a world of pleasant memories the thought must awaken in the heart
of every one who has plowed the depths of the broad Pacific; past the
land of the Kanakas and the dominion of King Kalakaua; on through the
Samoan group, to the shores of New Zealand; finally, under the light of
the Southern Cross, to drop anchor in the harbor of Sydney, the most
wonderful natural harbor in the world.

Just at present Australia and the Australians are objects of special
interest to a large majority of Americans. Next to home, young America
loves nothing so well as the national game of baseball. Popular
enthusiasm aroused by the game is a matter for wonder to all people
not Americans. This arises from the fact that in no other country is
baseball so thoroughly practised or understood. The probable reason
why England, Canada, Australia, and other countries, with their innate
love for sports and athletics, have not become enamored of the game, is
that our best exponents find America too attractive and profitable a
field, from a professional standpoint, to find time or opportunity for
introducing the pastime into other lands. Other considerations operate
against the scheme of a mission of instruction. The expense of taking
two selected teams abroad, the possibility of meeting unfavorable
weather, accidents to players, and numberless other obstacles,
would occur to the mind of any ambitious baseball manager who might
contemplate such a scheme.

An invasion of foreign territory was, however, made in 1875. The Boston
and Athletic teams, embracing many of the leading players of that
period, went to show the Englishmen the game of baseball as played in
America, and to play cricket with them.

In connection with that tour of ’75 Mr. A. G. Spalding, then the
hard-working young pitcher of the Boston Club, was a prominent figure.
Now, the same man, having become the head of the great mercantile house
that bears his name, is, with the same spirit, about to introduce the
game into a land ten thousand miles away. Bold as is the enterprise,
the man who has undertaken it has not only the nerve and courage to
carry it out, but also the ability to make the venture successful in
every sense of the word. That the Australians will be afforded the
opportunity to see the attractive features of the game demonstrated to
the best possible advantage, is assured by the make-up of the visiting
teams. If the Australian people admire a game in which skill, training,
endurance and daring are requisite qualifications, they will be
staunch admirers of America’s national game before the teams have half
finished their tour.

Twelve months ago no plan of the tour had been formulated. In January
of the present year it was for the first time seriously contemplated.
At that time Leigh S. Lynch, a gentleman widely known, and of long
experience in amusement enterprises, met Mr. Spalding, and the subject
of an Australian baseball tour, once broached, was seriously and fully
discussed. The greatest obstacle that had heretofore existed, viz.,
the want of a capable and experienced associate in the venture, was,
to Mr. Spalding’s mind, overcome by the advent of Mr. Lynch. Almost
immediately the two began to make arrangements for the tour, on which
they had with little hesitation decided. Captain Anson was interested
in the project, and together with Messrs. Lynch and Spalding,
entertained the view that there was but one policy to adopt if success
was to be attained. It must be an undertaking on a large scale. Money
would have to be expended without stint, and all chances taken of the
venture proving financially successful. In spite of their broad-minded
view of the case, and though the limit of expense for the trip was
placed at the liberal figure of $30,000, the venture has grown with
each month since its inception until it has attracted the attention and
awakened the interest of every lover of sport in England, America and
Australia by its magnitude.

In February Mr. Lynch started for Australia, and on his arrival
promptly secured the sole right to use the cricket grounds at Sydney
and Melbourne for baseball games during the winter of 1888-9. Before
returning to America he announced the contemplated tour to the press
of these cities. Much to his gratification, the news awakened marked
interest.

[Illustration:

JOHN M. WARD. LEIGH S. LYNCH. A. C. ANSON.
]

Hitherto baseball has never been introduced in Australia in such a
form as Americans know. Some few of the American residents in the
larger cities have played it in amateur fashion, but never have two
professional teams, such as these comprising the National League,
crossed bats upon Australian soil. It is, therefore, evident that the
tour will be watched with interest in America, while the reputation
of the Australians as lovers of all kinds of sport, together with the
attractive character of baseball, seem to promise the awakening of no
small degree of enthusiasm among them.

In America baseball has surpassed in public favor horse-racing, aquatic
and field sports of every character. Its growth has been one of nearly
twenty years, and with each succeeding year it has commanded an
increase in public patronage, until it has beyond all question become
the national game of Americans.

[Illustration: THE CHICAGO TEAM.

MARTIN SULLIVAN. F. N. PFEFFER. JOHN K. TENER.
MARK BALDWIN. ROB’T PETTITT. THOS. P. DALY.
JAMES RYAN. E. N. WILLIAMSON. THOS. BURNS.
A. C. ANSON, CAPTAIN (SEE PAGE 158).
]

[Illustration: THE ALL-AMERICAN TEAM.

EDWARD HANLON, DETROIT. JOHN HEALY, INDIANAPOLIS.
M. J. KELLY, BOSTON.
JAMES G. FOGARTY, PHILADELPHIA. M. J. TIERNAN, NEW YORK.
H. H. SIMPSON, NEWARK.
J. A. DONNELLY, WASHINGTON. F. H. CARROLL, PITTSBURG.
GEORGE A. WOOD, PHILADELPHIA.
JOHN M. WARD, NEW YORK, CAPTAIN (SEE PAGE 158).
]

In America there are two prosperous leagues, or associations, of
professional baseball clubs, known as the National League and the
American Association. These organizations are each composed of
eight clubs, each club being located in one of eight cities, which
comprise the circuit of each organization. Each organization has its
constitution and by-laws governing the affairs of each and every club
in membership, and each organization has its prearranged schedule of
games, which are played during each season. According to the schedule
of 1888, each team was scheduled to play 140 games during the
season--seventy at home with visiting teams, and an equal number
abroad, or ten games on the grounds of each competing club--the seasons
at home and abroad being so arranged as to give lovers of the game
two or three weeks of continuous ball playing, and then a like period
of rest. It is needless to say the return of the home team is made
the occasion of a great outpouring of people and a hearty reception
in each city of the circuit, while its fortunes in other cities are
eagerly followed by its friends at home. The daily press of the country
devotes columns of space in each issue to the victories and defeats on
the “diamond,” and in nearly all of the larger League and Association
cities the evening papers issue an extra edition containing the
accounts of the afternoon’s games. These find a large and ready sale,
not only in the cities where they are published, but each outgoing
train bears its package of “extras,” which are waited for by crowds of
expectant and impatient watchers at every station.

No attempt has been made in these lines to color the picture. Public
enthusiasm in America over the national game is something more than
the cleverest pen could depict. From day to day the relative standing
of the teams in the championship races is stated in tabulated form at
the head of the baseball column of every reputable American daily,
and the slightest change in the positions of the teams in the race is
sufficient cause for exultation in the home of the fortunate team, and
for a corresponding degree of depression in the home of the team that
has been supplanted in its position. The position of a team in the race
is determined by the percentage of the games it has won, the percentage
being determined by dividing the number of games won by those played.
Thus a team may have won 51 games and lost 47, consequently it has
played 98. Now, divide 51 by 98, adding to the dividend three ciphers,
and for a quotient you have .520, which would be the percentage of
games won to the number of games played by that team.

The theory of the game of baseball is in itself simple. It is that
two contesting teams must endeavor to send the greatest number of men
around the circuit of the bases under prescribed rules within a limited
number of innings. That is the cardinal point in the theory of the game.

Now, as to the rules and requirements to which players must adhere in
attempting to make the circuit of the bases, and the means by which
they can be prevented.

Each team must invariably consist of nine men, and the game must be
played upon a regularly marked or laid-out field, as illustrated upon
page 165.

The field, it will be seen, consists of a continuous runway, these
runways being clay-covered paths, laid out in the shape of a huge
diamond. At each corner of the diamond is a basebag of canvas filled
with sand or other material, and strapped securely to the ground.

Now, to the average American youth, the duties of the players in
two contesting ball teams, and their positions upon the field, are
known in a general way. There are many spectators, even in America,
however, who, if asked to explain the simplest points in a game,
would find themselves lamentably ignorant upon the subject. Baseball
correspondents, writers, professional players and rule makers, probably
because long experience has made them thoroughly familiar with the
rules and terms of the national game, have fallen into the use of
technicalities, that in many instances cause the game to seem intricate
to the uninitiated. In truth, however, the game’s greatest charm is
its simplicity, combined with the manifold opportunities it offers for
brilliant and daring work by the players. A simple description of the
cardinal points in the game, therefore, divested of all technical terms
that cannot be plainly defined, will, perhaps, aid many a reader in
America, as well as in other countries, to understand baseball, where
the simple reading of the professional playing rules, framed by the
rules committee, would mystify rather than inform a reader not already
familiar with the game.

Let it be understood, therefore, that the basebags are known as first,
second, third base and home plate, first base being the first bag to
the right of the batsman as the latter faces the pitcher. The distance
between bases is ninety feet. The players are known as pitcher,
catcher, first baseman, second baseman, short-stop, third baseman,
right fielder, centre fielder, and left fielder. The pitcher (or
bowler) stands in the centre of the diamond, within prescribed lines
four feet wide by five feet four inches long, known as the pitcher’s
box. The forward line of the pitcher’s box is fifty feet from the
home plate, which the pitcher faces when ready to deliver the ball,
and beside which the batsman stands as he faces the pitcher. Behind
the home plate stands the catcher, it being his duty to receive the
ball from and return it to the pitcher, should it not be batted by the
batsman. Just behind the catcher stands the umpire, who is expected
to judge every ball pitched and every play made during the game, his
decision being final in every instance. At first base stands the first
baseman, and at second base stands the second baseman. The short-stop
is stationed midway between the second and third basemen, in or near
the runway, and the third baseman at third base. These four men
constitute the “infield” of the team. Facing the diamond, and stationed
from 100 to 125 yards from the infield, are the right, centre, and left
fielders. These men constitute the “outfield” of the team.

The choice of going to bat or to the field for the opening innings of
the game is optional with the captain of the home team--that is, the
team upon whose grounds the game is being played. Should he decide
to send his men to the field, he stations them as above indicated,
while the nine players of the opposing team take their seats upon the
visiting players’ bench. These players go to bat in the order in which
their names appear upon the score card. When the fielding team has
taken its position, the first batsman of the opposing team steps to
the plate, and others follow him in regular turn, until three batsmen
have been retired by the efforts of the opposing fielders. Then the
positions of the teams are reversed, the side which was at bat going to
the field, and the side which was doing fielding duty coming in to take
their turn at bat in regular order. When three of the second team’s
batsmen have been retired, or put out by the efforts of the opposing
fielders, the innings is ended, each team having sent three or more
men to bat, and each having had three men retired. Nine such innings,
requiring from one hour and a half to one hour and fifty minutes of
play, constitute a game, and the team which has scored the most runs
wins the game. Should rain, or any other cause, stop the game before
five full innings have been played, however, the game must be contested
over again before it can count in a championship record.

When the batsman steps to the plate he is expected to hit the ball so
that it will pass the intercepting fielders, and go to such distance
in the outfield as will enable him to reach first base before the ball
can be returned to the fielder stationed there. If he can reach second
or third base, or make the entire circuit of the bases before the ball
has been intercepted by any one of the infielders, or before it has
been captured by an outfielder and returned to the infield, so much the
better, for the base-runner’s object is to ultimately make the circuit
and touch the home plate, by which he scores a run for his side. To
put a batsman out, a fielder must catch the batted ball before it has
reached the ground, or must recover it in time to throw it to the base
for which the base-runner is making, before the base-runner reaches it.

The pitcher is required by the rules to pitch the ball _over the plate
and between the knee and shoulder of the batsman_. Each time he tries
and fails to do so the umpire calls “ball,” and upon five such balls
being pitched, the batsman is entitled to take first base. When three
_fair_ balls have been put over the plate, however, and the batsman has
failed to hit them, the batsman is _out_, whether he has struck at the
ball or not. For each fair ball the umpire calls “strike.”

From the home plate along the runways to and past first and third
bases, are drawn two chalk lines. These are known as foul lines, and
any ball batted outside these lines is called a foul ball, and does
not count against either the pitcher or batsman unless it should be
caught by a fielder before touching the ground, in which case the
batsman is out. Very frequently a swiftly pitched ball is struck at by
the batsman, who fails to correctly judge it, and the ball being just
grazed by the bat, shoots into the catcher’s hand. This is called a
“foul tip,” and puts the batsman out.

When the innings begins, and there are no base-runners on bases, the
catcher usually stands well back from the plate and takes the ball on
the bound, so as to save his hands as much as possible. When three
balls or two strikes have been called by the umpire, however, or when
a batsman has succeeded in reaching first base on a hit, or by other
means, the catcher puts on his protecting mask and pad and stands close
up behind the batsman, taking the balls as they come over the plate.
This is done that he may more quickly take advantage of any opportunity
that may offer to put the batsman out, or retire the base-runner, who
may already have reached first base.

There are many terms applied to the different plays in a game of
baseball, which, as a rule, are but imperfectly understood. The writer
has known a spectator who, though familiar with the make-up of every
ball team in the League and Association, was so ignorant of baseball
parlance as to call a “foul tip” a “fly,” an “out” from second to
first baseman a “sacrifice,” and a “wild pitch” a “wild throw.” An
understanding of all the terms used in connection with the game is, of
course, not requisite to a reasonably clear conception of the points
therein, yet ability to designate a play and a player’s position
correctly, is positively necessary in scoring.

A careful perusal of the following terms and their meaning will greatly
help the uninitiated to follow the playing and grasp its significance:

A Batsman is the player who stands at the plate for the purpose of
hitting the ball. A Base-runner is what the batsman becomes after he
has batted the ball. A Fielder is any one of the nine players opposing
the side at bat. A Coacher is one of the players belonging to the
side at bat, who takes up his position near first or third base, and
advises, or coaches, the base-runner. The Battery--A term usually
applied to the catcher and pitcher. The Back-stop--A term sometimes
applied to the catcher. The Infield--A term applied to the first,
second, third baseman and short-stop. The Outfield--A term applied to
the right, centre, and left fielders. A Strike--A strike is called
when the ball has passed over the home plate, between the knee and
shoulder of the batsman, whether he has struck at it or not; three
strikes send the batsman to his seat. A Ball--“Ball” is called by
the umpire when the ball delivered by the pitcher has passed above
the shoulder or below the knee of the batsman, or has gone wide of
the plate; five balls so delivered entitle the batsman to take his
base. A Foul Hit--Any hit which sends the ball outside of the foul
lines. A Fair Hit--Any hit which sends the ball across the diamond so
that it will land inside the foul lines. A Fly-ball--A ball hit into
the air and caught by a fielder before it touches the ground; such a
catch retires the batsman. A Liner--A ball batted straight across the
diamond toward any infielder. A Grounder--A batted ball which strikes
the ground inside the diamond. A Wild Pitch--An unsteady delivery
of the ball by the pitcher which passes the catcher, and permits a
base-runner to advance a base. A Passed Ball--A ball which bounds
from the catcher’s hands on coming from the pitcher, and permits a
base-runner to advance a base; each base-runner may start for the base
ahead of him on a passed ball or wild pitch, and hold it, provided he
reaches it before the catcher recovers the ball, and sends it to the
fielder at the bag for which the base-runner is making. A Muff--The
failure of a fielder to hold a fly or thrown ball after it has fairly
struck his hands. A Fumble--The failure of a fielder to quickly
handle and throw a batted ball to the base for which the base-runner
is making. A Steal--Frequently a base-runner will start for the base
ahead of him immediately upon the pitcher’s delivering the ball, and
depending upon his sprinting ability for success; if he succeeds he
may be said to have stolen a base; if he fails, through the catcher’s
receiving the ball and throwing it to the fielder at the base for which
the base-runner is making, the latter may be said to have been put out
on an attempted steal. An Error--When a fielder fumbles or muffs a
ball, or fails to stop a batted ball which it may be fairly presumed
he _could_ have stopped, or when he in any way fails to make the play
he might and should have made, he has been guilty of an error, and is
charged with the same in the score. A Wild Throw is a ball thrown over
the head or out of reach of the fielder to whom it is directed, thus
permitting a base-runner to gain a base. A Base Hit--A base hit is a
ball so batted toward fair ground that the opposing fielders cannot
reach it before it strikes the ground, or so that they cannot recover
it in time to throw it to the base before the base-runner reaches
there; a base hit may be for one, two, three, or four bases, according
to the distance to which the ball is batted. A Single is a base hit
upon which the batsman reaches first base, usually referred to as a
_safe_ hit. A Double is a hit upon which the batsman reaches second
base. A Triple is a hit upon which the batsman reaches third base. A
Home Run is a hit upon which the base-runner makes the entire circuit
of the bases. A Double Play is a play by the fielders which retires
two men simultaneously. A Triple is a play that retires three men
simultaneously; for instance, a double play may be made thus: with a
base-runner on first base, the batsman sends a grounder to the second
baseman; immediately the ball is hit, the base-runner on first starts
for second and is touched out by the second baseman as he passes him,
and then the second baseman quickly throws to first base, the first
baseman receiving the ball before the base-runner gets there, thus two
men are retired; should the first baseman, after putting his man out at
first, then throw to the home plate in time to shut off a base-runner
running in from third base, it would be a triple play. A Slide--When
a base-runner sees that there is a chance of the fielders getting the
ball to the base for which he is making before he gets there himself,
he will plunge head first, or feet first, for the bag, sliding over the
ground upon his stomach or back, a distance of ten feet or more to the
base; this is called base-sliding, and is a reckless and daring feature
of the game that invariably arouses much enthusiasm in America. A Balk
is any motion made by the pitcher as though he intended to deliver
the ball, but made for the purpose of deceiving the base-runner; a
balk advances a base-runner a base. A Blocked Ball is a ball batted
or thrown into the crowd; in case of a “block” the base-runner may
continue on around the bases without being put out until the ball has
been returned to the pitcher’s box. Hit by Pitched Ball--When a batsman
is hit by a pitched ball he is entitled to his base then and there. A
Sacrifice Hit--A fly-ball (usually to the outfield) so batted as to
retire the batsman but assist a base-runner on first, second, or third
base to reach the base ahead of him.

To return, however, to the Australian expedition. The tour is now
begun, and the party of ball players is this month _en route_ to
the Pacific coast by slow stages, in order that the teams may play
exhibition games in the more populous cities between Chicago and San
Francisco. There are among them twenty-two ball players--including
Captains Ward and Anson--half a dozen representatives of the leading
newspapers of the country, OUTING’S special correspondent, and quite
a number of tourists who have taken advantage of the opportunity and
the reduced rates to make the trip. In addition to these there are:
President Spalding and family, Mrs. John M. Ward, _née_ Helen Douvray,
the well-known actress, and Mrs. Anson. The journey is performed in two
special cars, with hotel and sleeping accommodations, these cars going
through to San Francisco. As to the program of the party from the time
of leaving Salt Lake City, it was admirably outlined to the writer by
Leigh Lynch before his departure for Australia in September to prepare
the way for the teams at points between Chicago and San Francisco, at
Honolulu, Auckland, Sydney, Melbourne, and other points in New Zealand
and Australia which the teams will visit. Mr. Lynch’s present trip is
the fourth he has made, and his knowledge upon every point of interest
connected with the present tour is complete.

This was his plan of campaign: “Our design is that the teams shall
separate at Salt Lake City, the All-American team, under Ward’s
management, proceeding direct to San Francisco, where a series of
games will be played with the San Francisco ball clubs. The Chicago
team, under Anson’s management, will, on the other hand, go up through
Oregon and Washington Territories to Portland, Seattle, Spokane Falls,
and other points, afterwards going south from Portland, where it will
join the All-American team. Two exhibition games will be played by
the combined teams in San Francisco before sailing. The sailing hour
is fixed for two ~P. M.~, November 17; but I shall endeavor to
arrange with the steamship company to defer it till eight o’clock,
so that we may play our farewell game the day we leave. Many of the
players have already visited San Francisco, consequently they will not
care to do much sight-seeing.

“After leaving San Francisco, the trip will, however, be replete with
interest for the party. From the time the _Alameda_ passes through the
Golden Gate, we shall have a continuous voyage of seven days before we
strike land. These seven days will constitute a sort of preparatory
period for what is to follow, and every member of the party will want
to get his sea-legs as soon as possible. Our steamer, the _Alameda_,
is the best equipped boat in the line, of 3,200 tons measurement, and
provided with electric lights, baths, and every convenience of a modern
house. The table is excellent, and the officers considerate and kind in
every way.

“A voyage across the Pacific is rarely attended by such rough weather
as one encounters upon the Atlantic, and as a rule the great ocean is
true to its name. On board ship every possible method is adopted to
pass the time. There is music and dancing on the deck, and the ordinary
ship’s games, while nothing is more delightful than to lie back in
a blanket-covered steamer-chair and gaze at the seemingly boundless
ocean stretching away on every side. The fragrant breezes of the South
Pacific fan the brow, and the light from a gorgeous moon and a million
stars flood the deck and sails of the ship which is steadily plowing
along through the billows of the mightiest stretch of water upon the
globe. Nowhere can one so truly realize the grandeur and the immensity
of nature as on the Pacific Ocean.

“At Honolulu the tourists will see with surprise the high state of
civilization and cultivation encountered on every hand. Honolulu is
upon the island of Oahu, and has a population of about 25,000 people,
including whites, natives, and Chinese. The harbor is natural, and
the city very handsomely constructed. The public parks are among the
most beautiful in the world. The trees and shrubberies at night blaze
with incandescent electric lights, and colored fountains play, while
the walks are ornamented at every turn with artistic statuary. The
royal band, which gives concerts nightly at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel,
is without doubt one of the best I ever heard, and I have heard the
bands of every civilized nation. The drives surrounding the city are
naturally beautiful and are admirably cared for. The Kanakas are a
remarkable and interesting race. Their skin is dark, not unlike that
of the American Indian, the features small and regular, and the hair
straight and luxuriant. They are excellent swimmers, and invariably
surround every steamer that touches at Honolulu, eager to exhibit their
skill for the most trivial recompense.

“We stop at Honolulu between twelve and fifteen hours, and play two
games of ball--one between the Chicagos and All-Americans, and the
other between the Chicagos and the local Honolulu team, which, by the
way, is very good. I shall endeavor to arrange so that King Kalakaua
may witness both games, and think I shall be able to do so, for he is
very fond of athletics.

“Seven days after leaving Honolulu we stop at Tutuila, in the Samoan
group. It is distant about 2,000 miles from the Hawaiian capital,
and nearly as far south of the Equator as Honolulu is north. Twelve
hundred miles from Honolulu our ship crosses the Equator, and Neptune
is invariably received with due honors upon every boat that passes the
line.

“Six days after leaving Tutuila, where our ship stops only two or three
hours, we reach Auckland, the capital of New Zealand. There we stop
about ten hours and propose to give the inhabitants a game of ball.
Auckland is a pretty provincial town, of about 40,000 people, built in
the English style. The cricket grounds are among the finest I ever saw.

“From Auckland we go to Sydney, and there our Australian tour proper
commences. So much has been said of the cities of Sydney and Melbourne
that the less I say now, perhaps, the better.

“When we leave America we shall leave not far from midwinter. When we
arrive in Australia we shall arrive in midsummer, for our December is
their July. So it will be necessary to the comfort of every member of
our party to dress for the trip just as though they were providing for
an approaching summer at home. A steamer coat may be a good thing to
carry with one, as the nights are at times chilly.

“As to the program of the ball teams in Australia, that I cannot give
you definitely now. Suffice it to say, however, that our teams will
stand ready to meet Australian cricket elevens or football teams at
any city they visit, and that as a result of their visit baseball will
be better known, and probably better liked, by the Australian people
when we bid farewell to Sydney. There will be ball games in Sydney,
Melbourne, Adelaide, Bathurst, Ballarat, and every other point that we
can visit to advantage. As to the recreative features of the trip, I
feel sure they will be taken care of. Australians are a generous and
hospitable people, and the visiting teams will doubtless become well
acquainted in every city they visit. Of course we shall have a kangaroo
round-up, while there will be many interesting and novel sights to
entertain our party from the time we arrive on the continent until we
leave it.”

[Illustration: A BASEBALL TEAM IN POSITION ON THE FIELD.]

To Mr. A. G. Spalding, the principal baseball legislator in America,
and the head of the Chicago Club, is due the credit of the enterprise.
His pluck, money and position made the project feasible.

To Leigh Lynch, the business manager, is due the credit of having
perfected all details, a duty for which his long experience as an
amusement enterprise manager fully qualifies him. For nine years he
was associated with Mr. A. M. Palmer as business manager of the Union
Square Theatre, New York City, afterward becoming acting manager of
Niblo’s. During the winter of 1887 he assumed management for Mrs.
Langtry. He has traveled all over the globe; is familiar with the
peoples of all countries; is well informed upon any topic, and is
possessed of influential friends in every civilized nation. Both in
capability and experience Mr. Lynch is a valuable ally to Mr. Spalding.

As to the players, they will form representative teams in every sense
of the word. The Chicagos, under the captaincy of Anson, embracing
the flower of the regular team’s talent, will go as a well trained,
thoroughly drilled body of ball players, capable of putting up as
strong, finished, and brilliant a game of ball for the edification
of the Australian people as Americans have ever had the privilege of
witnessing. Anson, Pfeffer, Williamson and Burns will certainly be
as representative an infield as Pettitt, Ryan and Sullivan are an
outfield. Baldwin and Tenner, with Tom Daly and Frank Flint to hold
down their delivery, can without doubt ably illustrate the points in
battery work. All are gentlemanly, experienced, and capable men, and
can as a body, and individually, scarcely fail to prove a credit to the
game and to America upon the coming trip.

The All-American team, traveling under the captaincy of John M. Ward,
the popular and intelligent ex-captain of the New Yorks, is composed
of men picked from the ranks of the representative ball teams of
America. They have been chosen not only for their proficiency as ball
players, but because of their clean professional records. Kelly, Wood,
Fogarty, Hanlon, Carroll, Tiernan, and the balance of the players who
compose the All-American team, are all capable of coping with Chicago,
so as to give all who witness the coming games abroad some admirable
illustrations of America’s National Game.

THE UNIFORM OF THE TEAMS.

CHICAGO.

Light gray shirts and knee breeches, with black stockings, caps and
belts; black letters across the breast, ~Chicago~.

ALL-AMERICAN.

White flannel shirts, knee breeches, with blue stockings; blue
letters across the breast denoting the home club of the individual,
thus, ~New York~, etc.; caps of blue and white flannel;
belts of white duck, covered with American flag of silk draped
round waist and knotted on left hip.

[Illustration]

LOVE AT FISHING.

Put one arm here, and with the other fling
The silken string,
Steel hook, and gadfly bait into the cool,
Transparent pool,
And drive love’s prattle tiptoe ’cross the lip,
Or let it turn to language-gaze, and sip
Its honey from a stillness. Watch the dip
And glimmer of the cork, and how they slip--
The scarlet fish--below the water, like
The thoughts that strike
Athwart the mind. How else could lovers wish
Than thus to fish?
Though I have cut no strand of yellow hair
To spin my silken cord from what you wear,
In long warm tresses over face, to stare
Through quaintly; nor a golden hook to snare
The water’s fruit! or more than this cool nook,
With that one look
Between the willow branches at the sky
From where we lie,
Edged round with ribbon grasses tangled in
The lover’s knots, as if they meant to win
Love hither by a meaning that is kin;
For nature holds love’s thought and origin!

That bird dropped down upon the pool’s near hem
Like a red gem,
Shook off the hand; and left a vision glint,
That faint song-print--
Just gone.... Mark how the fishes flit and chase,
Lit to a passion, ’cross the water’s face--
So like the minutes moving in the space
Of this one day. What are the words they trace
Therein?... That bird flew to its nest just now
Upon the bough.
The stooping sun trails long red fingers through
The grass. The dew
Slips off the willow leaves. It cannot be
The day is over, and the fish still free--
Except the fish of happiness that we
Have caught; with love’s gold ring for you and me!

_Edward A. Valentine._

[Illustration: Editor’s Open ~Window~.]

Franklin Satterthwaite, a genial sportsman, a good fellow, and a
journalist whose pen ofttimes described the sports and pastimes
he loved so well, died September 16, at his home in Newark. Mr.
Satterthwaite was among the best known writers on field sports in this
country. He was the son of John B. Satterthwaite, who married Miss
Duane, a daughter of the celebrated W. J. Duane, Secretary of the
Treasury during Andrew Jackson’s presidency. Franklin Satterthwaite
was brought up in Philadelphia. The name of Franklin descended to him
from his great grandfather, Benjamin Franklin. He had a wide circle
of friends. His place will be missed among the men who love outdoor
sports, for Franklin Satterthwaite was not only an enthusiast in their
pursuit, but his ready pen never flowed so freely as when recounting
some exciting or interesting adventure of flood or field. May his name
continue as green in the memory of those who knew and loved him as the
sod which covers his grave!

* * * * *

THE DISSENSIONS IN THE ATHLETIC WORLD.

It is a matter for regret, that just at this season the National
Amateur Athletic Association and the Amateur Athletic Union should be
at daggers’ points with each other. It is to be deplored particularly
now, when a visiting organization is here, three thousand miles from
home, to engage in contests for championship honors. That the main
object the two great organizations of amateur athletes have in view is
praiseworthy is not for a moment put to question. It is to be presumed
that both are influenced by a similar idea--the purification, or
the attempted purification, of the athletic arena from the taint of
semi-professionalism.

Young men who interest themselves in outdoor amusements belong to
one of two classes--the amateur or the professional. Strange as it
may seem, it is not so easy to draw the line between the two. The
gentlemen, however, who are in a position to pilot the course of the
great athletic bodies, and frame the rules for their government,
certainly ought to be able to discriminate. A man who interests
himself in athletic sports is either an amateur or a professional. He
either goes in for pastime or sport; for the love of it, or for the
gain it affords him; the badge or medal for the one--the purse for
the other. The lines between these two are so strongly marked that a
blind man can feel them. There is, however, a class of men who have
crept into the amateur ranks which requires careful watching. We refer
to those who are neither amateurs or professionals, but for want of a
better designation may be classed as “professional amateurs.” These
men will not enter the professional arena for purses, but they do
not hesitate to become members of amateur clubs under questionable
conditions. Men who devote nearly all their time to training on the
cinder track, on the river, on the bicycle path, or in the baseball
field, and who do not pay club dues, or who have their club dues paid
for them, are tainted with the worse taint of professionalism. To
pit one of these men against the amateur enthusiast, who goes in for
outdoor sports for the pure love of them, is manifestly unfair. He has
no chance to distinguish himself, if he feels so inclined, against
such odds. It also discourages other younger amateurs from making a
trial in the public contests. To protect the honest amateur athlete,
the genuine lover of sport, against the tricksters who, under the
guise of amateurs, do nothing else but hang about club-houses, and
who are encouraged because they are “smart”--“smart” in more senses
than one--is an accomplishment worthy of any great body. If this is
the knotty problem which lies directly at the base of the difficulty
between the two great central bodies of American amateur athletes, it
ought not to be a difficult one to solve; but on the other hand, if it
is a desire on the part of one to carry out a policy of rule or ruin,
the sooner an understanding is arrived at the better. We have invited
both the National Association and the Amateur Athletic Union to state
their cases fairly in the pages of ~Outing~, and we await their
action without further comment.

* * * * *

THE FOOTBALL SEASON.

The season of football just inaugurated gives every evidence of being
an active one. The interest in the game has increased to such an
extent in the last few seasons that the sport has rapidly advanced to
a leading position among the outdoor amusements of this country. The
recent victories of the Canadian team in England and Scotland, too,
have given an additional impetus to the game with the sturdy young
men across the border. If the promise of the preliminary preparations
produce good fruit the present season of football here and in Canada
will be a most exciting one.

* * * * *

THE CLOSE OF THE YACHTING SEASON.

The season of the year is now with us when the yachts comprising the
American pleasure fleets go out of commission. With topmasts housed,
sails unbent, and running gear coiled away below, they will lie up in
winter berths until May, 1889.

Now, therefore, is the time to ask: “What has the season of 1888
done for yachting in America?” and ~Outing~ answers, “Much.”
True, we have had no international race, but what of that? When our
friends in England are ready to challenge, we are ready to build, and
meanwhile the interval has been profitably spent on both sides of
the Atlantic. The Englishmen have been building boats to beat their
previous productions. And so have Americans, with very satisfactory
results. Our keel boats have done well, but the centreboards have done
better. It has been a lively season, with more events and better racing
and cruising than any previous. New boats have broken old records,
and two important features have been developed, _i. e._, schooner
racing, and “class racing.” At no time in the past ten years has there
been such interest in the former class of sport, while the results
of the latter were shown in the recent races off Larchmont. There
half a dozen boats of almost equal dimensions--_Pappoose_, _Baboon_,
_Nymph_, etc.--contested, and the results proved that it is not only
more interesting to the spectator, but also very satisfactory to the
yachtsmen whose boat has too often been hampered by being compelled to
sail in annual races in a class with others nearly double her length.
Class racing should be encouraged in New York waters, as it is in
Boston and on the Lakes.

There has been much said this season about a summer club-house down the
bay for the New York Yacht Club, but nothing definite has been done
toward securing one as yet. It appears very necessary that the premier
club of America should have an anchorage and house somewhere near the
point from which their races are started. The club that has shown the
most enterprise this year is the Larchmont. They have not only provided
themselves with what may be justly termed the most perfectly appointed
club-house in the country, but by inaugurating the class-racing spoken
of, and encouraging the sailing of small boats by Corinthian crews,
they have made themselves deservedly popular among all classes of
yachtsmen. Boston, Marblehead, Hull, Beverley and Dorchester as usual
wind up the season with the longest roll of events to their credit.
It seems curious that our New York yachtsmen do not join and organize
a Yacht Racing Association, by which the time allowances, and other
racing details, might be governed. The Eastern Association, that meets
in Boston, have all the principal clubs on their roll, and they have
done much good work since they started.

~J. C. Summers.~

* * * * *

THE EXPENSES OF THE KENNEL.

Few but those who are intimately acquainted with the minutest details
of keeping and training thoroughbred dogs can estimate the vast amount
of time, labor and money expended nowadays on the canine race. This
time, labor and money all go for the improvement and elevation of the
dog, for scientific breeding, and preparation for shows and field
trials.

With the daily increase of bench shows, we witness quickly growing
extravagance in the prices paid for high-class dogs, and see money
spent with a freer hand for dog furnishings and kennel accommodations.
Dog furnishings alone, including such articles as collars of all
grades, blankets, muzzles, leads, chains, snaps, swivels, couplings,
etc., etc., and kennel fixtures, from dog-houses and porcelain-lined
food-pans down to brushes, combs, dog-soap, and multitudinous patent
medicines for every ailment, employ hundreds and hundreds of people of
both sexes throughout the year, and these industries are undoubtedly on
the increase.

As to prices paid for dog-flesh, we can cite a few, some of which have
come under our personal notice. For instance, it is well known that the
owner of the pointer dog Beaufort could have found a purchaser for him
at any moment at a figure somewhat better than a thousand dollars; in
fact, it is understood that that figure was about the price paid for
him when little more than a pup. Another instance is the sale of the
liver and white pointer Robert le Diable, at the New York show a year
ago, for one thousand dollars. Again, we have the huge St. Bernard
Rector, sold by Mr. E. R. Hearn to Fritz Emmet, bringing four thousand.
Then, in the case of the English pointer Graphic, twenty-seven hundred
was the cost of his transfer from one gentleman’s kennels to another’s,
and the instance of the collie Bendigo, at the Westminster Kennel
Club’s show last spring, bringing a thousand and a half in cash,
showed how much his present owner wanted him. Now comes the latest
thing in this line. That great and noble St. Bernard, loved throughout
England, and for whom at his departure from his native place children
wept and people of maturer years grew sad, has come to us--we refer to
that grand dog Plinlimmon. Much ink was wasted and many offers made
before his recent owner could be induced to part with him; at last the
climax was reached, however, when a most luring and seductive bait of
_one thousand pounds_ was offered, which sealed the good dog’s fate.
He is in this country now, having lately arrived on the _Britannic_.
Mastiffs, too, have been bringing long prices, with spaniels (the black
variety) and setters, some of these kennels being worth a small fortune
in themselves. So, with new additions every month to the list of shows,
dog interests increase and values enhance, until well-bred specimens
may be seen at every hand where formerly mongrels predominated.

~Nomad.~

* * * * *

FENCING.

With the return of cold weather, fencing comes once again to the
fore. Indeed, fencing is growing more popular every year. We remember
the time--and that not many years ago--when there was but a single
professor of the art in New York, and a pretty poor one at that. Now,
fencing academies are cropping up in all parts of the city. Fencing
clubs are numerous and well attended. The two leading ones are the
Knickerbocker and the Fencers’ Club. The two great athletic clubs of
New York encourage fencing by devoting large and convenient rooms
for _salles d’armes_, and giving valuable prizes to the winners of
contests. The Manhattan has secured the services of Professor Louis
Rondelle, the able and courteous master of the Knickerbocker. They
promise magnificent fencing rooms in their new building, which will be
the finest in America.

~Outing~ would like the secretaries of all the fencing clubs to
report about the doings of their fellow-members. We will also furnish
all desired information about fencing and fencers. An article on
“Fencing for Ladies,” by Mr. Eugene Van Schaick, the author of “A Bout
with the Foils,” and “A Bout with the Broadsword,” will be published in
one of the early numbers of ~Outing~ for 1889.

[Illustration: ~The Outing Club.~]

REVIVAL OF A FINE OLD ENGLISH GAME.

The average young Canadian is more devoted to outdoor sports in all
kinds of weather than his American neighbor. Even those among the
Canucks whose hair is silver-sabled, as well as they whose locks are
sable-silvered--to quote a phrase from that delightful old boy, the
Autocrat, of Boston, as true a sportsman as ever breathed or wrote--are
more devoted to almost all kinds of vigorous exercise, driving,
perhaps, excepted, than those who live in the dominions of Uncle Sam.
Not only do cricket, baseball, tennis and curling find thousands of
enthusiastic players in Canada, but shinty, golf, and bowls have their
adherents. The game last mentioned has of late taken an extraordinary
hold in Ontario. Its great recommendation is that it is found to give
just the degree of exercise in the open air to make it especially
agreeable to those of middle age or to those

“Whose age is as a lusty youth,
Frosty, but kindly.”

Lawn bowls resembles curling somewhat. In fact it consists in trying
to do on level grass what it is the object of curlers to accomplish on
smooth ice, _i. e._, to get one side’s bowls near a central object and
to cut out those of the other side. Another point of resemblance is
that the “in-turn” or “out-turn” of the curling-stone is initiated by
the “fore-hand” or “back-hand” bias of the _lignum-vitæ_ bowl. There
is, however, no sweeping at bowls, so that the assistance, real or
imaginary, toward the progress of a stone that a roaring and perspiring
curler derives from his efforts with the broom, is denied to the bowler.

In former days the game was played, in Canada, at least, with balls
much biased, so as to draw as much as six to ten feet in a run of
sixty. The best players in Scotland, however, have discarded these
extremely weighted bowls. The Pioneer rink of Toronto was the first
to import bowls of the best Glasgow make, notwithstanding that a very
fair article is made in Canada. Since Scotland has been mentioned, it
may be as well to say just here that a correspondent, Mr. Samuel Gunn,
of Glasgow, a fine bowler, and an undeniable Scotchman, inveighs, in
a recent letter, against those who term bowls an English game, and
declares that Scotland is its great exemplar to-day. This probably may
be the case; but even Mr. Gunn will admit that the cyclopedias call it
“a British game,” and they are not particular to say anything about
North Britain either. He should also remember that in the fine picture
illustrative of the game in the time of Elizabeth, it is Sir Francis
Drake and a group of Englishmen whose game upon an English green was
sought to be interrupted by a messenger bringing tidings that the
Spanish Armada was in sight.

Be it Scotch or English, it is a good game.

IS HE A 9 4-5 MAN?

The St. Louis _Globe-Democrat_ writes in the following way of the
performance of Schifferstein, the Californian sprinter:

“At the meeting of the Missouri Athletic Club, at St. Louis, September
9, the feature of the day was the performance of Schifferstein, the
Californian, in the 100-yard race. He won away off in the world’s
record time of 9 4-5s. The amateur record is 10s., and the Californian
lowered this. The professional record of 9 4-5s. is held by H. M.
Johnson, who was one of the timers. The performance will go on
record, and Schifferstein will receive a handsome medal for lowering
the record. There can be no doubt of the performance, as he beat
Joe Murphy, who is a 10¼. man, three yards. In the second heat
Schifferstein, O. J. Fath and Geo. M. Fuchs, of the M. A. A. C., and
Eli Thornish, of Chicago, competed. Schifferstein raced away from
his field in the first fifty yards, and won easily by four yards of
Thornish, second. Time, 13 1-5s. The Californian has the easiest of
styles. He much resembles Sherrill, the champion, in his style of
movement, and does not seem to exert himself a bit when in motion. He
will win the national championship. In the final heat a good start was
effected, but Schifferstein opened up a big gap on his field in the
first fifty yards as before. Murphy then held him even, but could not
gain an inch, and the Californian won by three yards in the record time
of 9 4-5s.”

A PLEA FOR THE WHEELMEN.

As the days shorten, and the hours available for outdoor exercise grow
fewer, more wheelmen are anxious to use the daylight they have at their
own disposal for a reinvigorating run. No city is better provided with
an exercise ground for cyclers than is New York with her beautiful
park; but, nevertheless, there is a hitch. As things stand at present,
one has, in order to reach the park, to take a car from the business
parts of the city, and undergo all the tedium of the trip; then,
hastily donning cycling clothes, take a hasty spin, a hurried bath,
and resuming the garments of every-day life, run the risk of cold or
pneumonia by taking a car down-town while still warm from the vigorous
exercise.

The Board of Aldermen were apparently filled with good intentions, and
went so far as to lay down in Madison Avenue, from Twenty-third to
Thirty-second Street, a pavement which seems calculated to fill every
wheelman’s heart with joy. This pavement is not the ordinary asphalt
used for streets, but has an admixture of sand, which prevents extreme
slipperiness. So far so good; but there remains the long stretch from
Thirty-second to Fifty-ninth Street, over which no wheelman dare
attempt to ride, and so many a man who pines for the refreshing run of
an hour or so on his wheel is deterred by the thoughts of those trips
on the cars and the other attendant discomforts. Surely the Board of
Aldermen will take pity on such a good (and influential) class of
citizens, and shortly remedy this real and considerable grievance.

A MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS.

At the present time, when the inevitable effect of the actions of
so-called “trout-hogs,” dynamitards, and pot-hunters is evoking so
much attention, the report that on August 30 Lord Walsingham killed
in one day to his own gun, 1,058 head of grouse, on his small moor at
Blubberhouse, Yorkshire, has attracted no slight attention. The feat,
if such it can be called, was undertaken with a view to eclipsing
the former record made by Lord Walsingham in 1872 of 842 head, on
which performance no great reliance has ever been placed. The new
and gigantic record is, however, undoubtedly authentic. The bag was
made between 5.15 ~A. M.~ and 7.30 ~P. M.~ and twenty “drives” were
made, which occupied seven hours and a half. During the last half hour
(_i. e._, from 7 to 7.30) fourteen birds were killed, during the walk
home, and by deducting these it is found that 1,044 were killed in 449
minutes, or nearly 2⅓ birds per minute. Once three birds were killed at
one shot, and three times two birds at one shot. Lord Walsingham was
the only person to fire, and used four guns, and employed two loaders.
In this particular case, so far was the ground from being completely
“shot out” that the reports say that two guns could readily get from
150 to 200 brace per day for two or three days during the next week
over the same ground.

A BELLED BUCK.

The New York _Sun_ recently published a letter from Alex. Moss, of
Madoc, Miss. Mr. Moss writes: “A day or two ago I killed a deer, a
buck, the largest ever seen in this country; gross weight, 347 pounds.
The horns three inches from the head were 1¾ in. in diameter. There
were six points on one horn and seven on the other--thirteen points.
Around the neck of the deer was a bell attached to a wire rope. On
the inside of the bell was plainly engraved: ‘J. S. Dunn, Lansing,
Mich. June (or Jan.), 1881.’ The wire rope had been spliced in sailor
fashion, and was no doubt done before it was put on the deer, and
allowances made for the neck growing. There was but a small portion
of the material of which the rope was made left, save the wire. It
was very tight around the deer’s neck, and the hair was white where
the rope touched. The bell had no clapper, and was made of brass and
copper.”

A DRINK FOR CYCLISTS.

A writer in the _Bicycling World_ calls attention to a well-known
injurious habit of wheelmen, as follows:

“The pernicious habit of imbibing large quantities of water at every
stopping-place, so common among inexperienced wheelmen, not only
aggravates the thirst, but, by promoting excessive perspiration,
exhausts the rider. It is the perspiration that evaporates as fast as
it appears, and not that which runs off the skin, that diminished the
heat of the body. If the rider resists this desire to drink, the water
for perspiration is taken from the fat--which is the dead weight--and
he is benefited by the decrease in his avoirdupois.”

While the fault and result are very much as outlined above, the
writer has failed to point out any remedy. A certain amount of liquid
to assuage thirst must be taken by riders, and at the same time
nourishment and mild stimulation are often essential. A harmless
and satisfactory combination of all these may be secured by adding
to a glass of milk a tablespoonful of Jamaica rum, and nothing
but beneficial results will be secured, even if used in excess of
moderation.

HINTS TO NEW YORK SPORTSMEN.

The query has more than once been put to ~Outing~: “Where can
one obtain good shooting within Too miles of New York?” In reply, we
wish to give the following advice to men who, while keen on sport, have
not the time to seek it far afield.

In the first place, good shooting, with a variety of game (one
correspondent mentions rabbit, quail, grouse, partridge, etc.), cannot
be obtained within too miles of the city.

The rabbit, or American hare (_Lepus sylvaticus_) can be found
everywhere outside and sometimes inside city limits. He seems to be
a “pariah and an outcast” among sportsmen, although rabbit shooting
with a couple of good dogs on a brisk, frosty morning, is a sport
by no means to be despised. Rabbits are protected by the game laws
during the close season. Quail (_Ortex Virginianus_, or, according to
many ornithologists, _Perdix V._), are in many places still further
protected by farmers upon whose lands they breed, most of the stubble
fields being posted to keep off intruders. The right of shooting in
such cases is reserved for themselves, or for city friends visiting
them in the fall, although we have known of cases where the farms were
posted so that the farmer’s boys might eke out a few pitiful pennies by
snaring the birds for market. Good rabbit and fair quail shooting may
be had early in the season on the line of the Southern Railroad of New
Jersey, particularly in the neighborhood of Tom’s River. Also on Long
Island, from South Oyster Bay eastward.

Ruffed grouse (_Tetrao umbellus_), improperly called “partridge”
in the Eastern and some of the Middle States, and as improperly
termed “pheasant” in the South, may still be found in fair numbers
among the wooded slopes and swales of Sullivan County, N. Y., and
Pike County, Penn. But the class of sportsmen whom we are specially
addressing should try that migratory bird, the woodcock, finest of
all our birds of the fall flight, the English snipe, most luscious of
all for the table, and the shore birds, or _Limicolæ_, a large class
comprehending the curlews, marlins, plovers, tattlers and sandpipers.
It is unnecessary to say that, except with shore birds, good dogs are
essential to success.

A WORD TO LAWN TENNIS PLAYERS.

Lawn Tennis has, within late years, taken so prominent a place in the
list of our outdoor amateur sports that it behooves those who feel an
interest in its future progress to guard well against the introduction
of the semi-professional element. This influence has done much to
injure and retard the growth of many outdoor amusements. It threw back
amateur rowing for years, and at one time brought the open regattas
into such ill-favor that it was feared that rowing would fall back
into the position it was in before the establishment of the National
Association of Amateur Oarsmen. Even after the establishment of that
organization, it required the closest attention on the part of the
executive committee of the association, with so active a man as Henry
W. Garfield to keep it clear from the snags that beset it. It would
be well for the lovers of lawn tennis to take this matter seriously in
hand and take a lesson from the course laid down by the amateur oarsmen
to keep the pastime clear from professional amateur players of this
delightful outdoor amusement.

CYCLES IN THE RUSSIAN ARMY.

Mr. J. H. Block, of Moscow, who has been instrumental in obtaining the
introduction of cycles into the Russian army, thus explains how he was
able to bring the measure about:

“I was very kindly received,” says Mr. Block, “by the
Commander-in-Chief here, and he took the greatest interest in all
I had to say about cycling. An official test has been made here
between a cyclist and a grenadier on horseback. A despatch of great
importance had to be taken to a small town thirty-five miles outside of
Moscow, and an answer to be received from there. One of our best and
most ardent bicyclists, Colonel Firsoff, who is fifty years of age,
undertook to start off with the grenadier at the same time, and try to
receive the answer, and come back in less time than the horseman would.
This he achieved in the best possible manner. He came back four hours
sooner than did the grenadier, and it created quite a sensation. Since
that time we have had very long and continuous conversations about
this matter, and after two months, the official introduction has taken
place.”

THE HEROINE OF A YACHTING ACCIDENT.

A narrow Escape from drowning, and, at the same time, an admirable
instance of the value of coolness and presence of mind in the face of
danger is thus recorded by the Hamilton, Canada, _Spectator_. It gives
an account of the rescue of Mr. Bunbury, of Hamilton, and his daughter.
After showing how a passing vessel noticed the capsized sloop, the
_Spectator_ goes on to say:

“Captain Irving was notified and got his glass set upon the object. He
informed the passengers who had called his attention to it that it was
a yacht on her side with two persons clinging to it. The steamer was
headed for the yacht, and in a short time was alongside it. Then it
was found that Miss Bunbury’s yacht had upset. The two passengers were
picked up, and the young lady was rigged out in dry clothes and made
comfortable. She did not appear to be the least bit concerned about the
upset. ‘We were just three-quarters of an hour in the water,’ she said,
looking at her watch, as she was lifted on deck.

“Mr. Bunbury had seen the squall coming, and was going to take in some
of the canvas when the squall struck the boat. ‘Let go everything,’ he
cried to his daughter, ‘and jump into the mainsail.’ The young lady
obeyed with a promptness that perhaps saved her life. In a moment the
boat was on her side, with the sail flat on the water, and the young
lady on the sail. She picked herself up and stood on the centreboard,
hanging on to the deck with both hands. The yacht was low in the water,
and to raise it Mr. Bunbury dived into it and threw out the ballast.
The young lady stood in the water up to her waist, while Mr. Bunbury
was up to his neck, and when the boat lurched--a small sea having come
up in the meantime--his head would go right under water.

“The young lady was made quite a heroine of by the passengers of the
_Macassa_. She certainly deserves great credit for her pluck and
presence of mind. Thomas Costen, one of the _Macassa’s_ deck hands
jumped into the water and assisted in getting the young lady and Mr.
Bunbury on board. The yacht was afterward towed in by a steam launch.”

FISH LIVING IN HOT WATER.

There is a pond on the hay ranch at Golconda, which is fed by the
waters from the hot springs. This pond has an area of two or three
acres, and the temperature of the water is about 85°, and in some
places, where the hot water bubbles up from the bottom, the temperature
is almost up to a boiling point. Recently the discovery has been made
that this warm lake is literally alive with carp, some of which are
more than a foot long. All efforts to catch them with a hook and line
have failed, as they will not touch the most tempting bait. A few of
them have been shot, and, contrary to the general supposition, the
flesh was hard and palatable. How the fish got into the lake is a
mystery unsolved. Within too feet of it are springs which are boiling
hot, and the ranchers in the vicinity use the water to scald hogs in
the butchering season.

CARP FISHING.

The New York _Herald_ recently gave some advice to a correspondent who
inquired as to the best method of getting some carp-fishing, which is
so practical that it will bear repetition. It says: “At Little Falls,
N. Y., you can obtain boats, although carp may be caught also from the
shore. Carp may be taken in large numbers anywhere within ten miles
above Little Falls. There is no law protecting carp, and they may be
taken whenever and wherever anybody can find them. Use No. 3 or 4 hook,
and fish on the bottom. Let the fish get a good hold before striking,
as carp take the hook like suckers. They are often caught on worms used
in fishing for other fish. If nothing but carp are wanted, a better
bait is made of dough, mixed with cotton to keep it on the hook, or
boiled peas.”

BOAT-RACING IN THE DARK.

A number of times during the past rowing season we noticed that
unsatisfactory results were reached at the conclusion of a regatta,
which anything like thoughtful management might have avoided. In two
or three instances which might be called to mind, contestants were
summoned to the starting-line at so late an hour that the shades of
evening had fallen on the water. To start a boat race under such
conditions is not only absurd and ridiculous, but fraught with danger
to the men engaged in it, not to say anything of the numberless
disputes likely to arise regarding the final result. In the first
place, the referee cannot discharge the duties of his office properly
if he is unable to see what is going on between the contestants, or how
can a judge at the finish determine who crosses the line first when it
is absolutely impossible to see distinctly three boats’ lengths ahead
of him? In the Bowery Bay, a place that may become popular for racing
with rowing men, and in the waters about the Staten Island Athletic
Club’s boat-house, occurrences similar to those above referred to had
practical illustrations within the past few weeks. In other sections
of the country the practice of delay in starting boat races at an hour
later than announced has become a positive nuisance. We propose to
watch all sins of this kind in the future, and place the blame of such
mismanagement where it belongs.

OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

The theatrical season in New York opened auspiciously about the first
of September, and up to the present time shows no sign of in any way
not keeping up to its early promise; and this despite the fact of
an exciting presidential campaign, when mass meetings, torch-light
processions and brass bands in the streets furnish all the elements of
a free show outside the theatres. As a rule, a presidential year--at
least the few weeks of the canvass preceding the election--seriously
effects the attendance at all places of amusement. The past few weeks,
however, seem to prove an exception. And no class of entertainment, so
long as it is good, appears to be singled out for preference.

FAREWELL, WALLACK’S!

Colonel McCaull, with “Boccaccio,” easily led the comic opera patronage
at Wallack’s. It was the best performance of the opera ever given in
the city. Comedy and song are so happily blended in the work that
it requires actors and singers to present it properly, and McCaull
gave both. “Boccaccio,” by the McCaull Opera Company, will pass into
the dramatic annals of this city as the last performance given in
Wallack’s. October 6 Wallack’s ceased to exist, and a name which for
more than a generation was a household word throughout the country
passed away into a memory and becomes a tradition.

MEMORIES OF HOME.

As a contrast to the rollicking fun of comic opera let us see how
the Academy of Music is doing with “The Old Homestead.” Here is a
medley--it can hardly be called a play--which savors so strongly of
country life that one almost feels the breath of the new-mown hay,
or the genial warmth of a happy hearthstone while witnessing Den
Thompson’s performance. It is a touch of nature, and thousands throng
into the Academy to feel its influence.

A CHIP OF THE OLD BLOCK.

When young Sothern, at the Lyceum, came upon the stage as _Lord
Chumley_, an indistinct something or other flashed through the minds
of old theatre-goers. It was impossible at first to tell what produced
that feeling, but as the play unraveled itself, and Mr. Sothern warmed
to his work, it seemed as if the spirit of the elder Sothern animated
the younger, and _Lord Chumley_ was a blood relative of the lamented
_Lord Dundreary_. As was the case with _Dundreary_ so it was with
_Chumley_--both sprung into popularity in a night. As in Laura Keene’s,
crowds were drawn in days gone by to see the father, so now at the
present day throngs fill the pretty Lyceum to look upon the son.

NOT OF THE FIRST WATER.

The handsome Broadway Theatre reopened with “The Queen’s Mate,” and
the opera was followed by “The Kaffir Diamond.” Notwithstanding the
admirable manner in which the drama was mounted and the magnificent
performance of Mr. Aldrich as _Shoulders_, it failed to meet with
public approval. The play is not a good one. It has some strong points
and good situations, but it drags in places. It is claimed it will
make a good road show. It may, but I doubt it. “Mr. Barnes of New York”
succeeded “The Kaffir Diamond” on October 15.

CAB, SIR?

Edward Harrigan opened his theatre with another of those local
admixtures which he calls “Waddy Googan.” _Waddy_ is a hack driver, and
Mr. Harrigan draws him to life, and places him in scenes and situations
so faithfully true that the theatre is unable to accommodate his
patrons. “Waddy Googan’s” run promises to be a long one.

A SUCCESSFUL WRECK.

William Gillette has made another success with “A Legal Wreck.” When he
first produced it at the Madison Square he did not expect it would do
more than fill out a part of his season there. Its success, however,
was such that the piece will hold possession until the 10th of this
month, when A. M. Palmer’s company returns to begin the regular winter
season.

JULES VERNE’S STORY IN TIGHTS.

At Niblo’s Garden “Mathias Sandorf” came in with the season, and
brought a flock of the prettiest ballet girls that ever adorned Niblo’s
stage. “Mathias Sandorf” was said to be written by Jules Verne. M.
Verne may have written it, but the people who filled the theatre at
every performance lost all recollection of the story in the bright
smiles and entrancing movements of the fairies of the ballet. Some
managers have a weakness for the antique in the selection of their
coryphées, but the rare experience of E. G. Gilmore and Bolossy Kiralfy
teaches them that the young have much more attractiveness in the
present day.

UP-HILL WORK.

J. M. Hill has produced a play called “Philip Herne” at the Fifth
Avenue Theatre. It was written by Mrs. Mary Fiske, a very bright
writer, and a lady well known in journalistic and theatrical circles.
“Philip Herne” has not yet come up to its manager’s expectations. The
play has all the advantages of a good cast. After a four weeks’ run at
the Fifth Avenue it went up to the Standard for a five weeks’ stay.
Mr. Hill is a very plucky manager, and is not afraid to meet defeat.
Sometimes he even turns defeat into victory. Who can tell? “Philip
Herne” may yet result in the victory Mr. Hill believes it capable of
achieving.

THE FASCINATION OF IMPROBABILITIES.

J. Wesley Rosenquest, one of the most enterprising and intelligent of
our younger managers, has now two theatres to guide instead of one--the
Bijou Opera House and the Fourteenth Street Theatre. At the latter
place of amusement, Cora Tanner has made the success of her career in
“Fascination.” “Fascination” is a comedy, written by Robert Buchanan,
and is about as improbable a story as one can listen to. But what of
that? The people throng to see the play, or Cora Tanner, or both; and
in this way stamp its improbabilities with the brand of success.

~Richard Neville.~

[Illustration: ~Among the Books~]

For a writer of books on sporting subjects one qualification is
absolutely indispensable if the result is to be a success, and this
is that the author shall have his heart thoroughly in his work. In no
other class of literature is the lack of such a qualification made so
palpable to the reader. In “Wild Fowl Shooting” (Chicago: Rand, McNally
& Co., 1888) Mr. William Bruce Leffingwell shows his love and knowledge
of sport in a way which will give his work a high place in sporting
literature. From the first to the last chapter the book is nothing if
not practical, and the information is pleasantly interspersed with
anecdotes and stories in such a way that the veteran will read with
amusement and interest, and the tyro will gather instruction and
pleasure at the same time. The scientific portions which are gleaned
from the best sources are not unduly obtrusive, though of sufficient
length to give any information required. The volume has the additional
advantage of being illustrated.

* * * * *

It is not often that the writer of a book of travel gives such thorough
attention to his subject as did William Eleroy Curtis (New York:
Harper & Brothers, 1888) in “The Capitals of Spanish America.” In his
position as Commissioner from the United States to the Governments
of Central and South America, the author had an opportunity which he
improved fully and with profit. President Arthur’s unsigned letter,
sent after his death, accepting the dedication and consenting to write
the Introduction, is an interesting memento. The accounts given by
the author of the cities and peoples he visited are full of life and
interest, while more serious points are by no means neglected. But
even the dry facts are so pleasantly discussed in chatty fashion and
interlarded by anecdote and tale that no dry bones are left. The book
is very profusely and, for the most part, handsomely illustrated.

* * * * *

Realistic fiction has in the last two years gained a strong foothold in
this country. To-day twenty good writers might be named with whom this
tendency has become a characteristic. There is undoubtedly an American
school of fiction building up which will become distinctive of our day
and country. But “Len Gansett,” by Opie P. Read (Boston: Ticknor & Co.,
1888), is hardly calculated to reflect credit on this school. Realism
is not all-sufficient, but must be ably seconded by literary merit to
meet with general approbation. The plot of this work is so poor that
one wonders at the finish why it should have ever been introduced.
The characters are weak and quite devoid of originality, while the
charms and picturesqueness which might have been introduced into such
surroundings are conspicuous by their absence.

* * * * *

There are books that win favor by their very name. “Chris,” by W.
E. Norris (London and New York: Macmillan & Co., 1888), is a volume
that has more than a name to make a way for it. From the moment that
one picks up this novel, one becomes intensely interested in the
fortunes of the wayward heroine. The interest acquired in her various
entanglements is almost personal, and when she is delivered from the
clutches of the unscrupulous Val Richardson, one breathes a sigh of
relief. Some of the prettiest touches are in connection with the
faithful Peter, and when the faithful canine friend meets his untimely
end, entire sympathy is felt with Chris in her wild and erratic
flight. The characters are well drawn, though there is a tendency to
overcoloring in some; but in spite of the interest of the book the plot
can hardly be designated as original or deep.

* * * * *

Universal as has been the baseball mania, it is an astonishing fact
how little literature has sprung up in connection with the game. This
is well shown in the introduction to “Hygiene for Baseball Players,”
by A. H. P. Leuf, M.D. (Philadelphia: A. J. Reach & Co. 1888)--a work
which, though unpretentious in appearance, is a most valuable and
timely publication. It discusses at considerable length the “physiology
and philosophy of curve-pitching,” and, as might be gathered from its
name, “the diseases and treatment of ball players.” In addition, the
relation of human anatomy to the methods of play, proper exercises for
players, and numerous other bearings of the game are fully discussed.
Illustrations amplify the merits of the text.

* * * * *

A manual that will surely prove of real use to the yachtsman and
canoeist is Captain Howard Patterson’s “Canal Guide” (New York
Navigation School, New York). As the author truly remarks, it opens
up a comparatively new field to yachtsmen, and offers a change to
the annual cruise along the same coast line. The instructions given,
and tables of depth of water, width of locks, etc., seem to be very
complete and to furnish all necessary information.

* * * * *

Carp culture has of late come into much prominence among the
pisciculturists of America. A valuable text-book on the subject reaches
us, entitled, “Practical Carp Culture,” by L. P. Logan (Youngstown,
O.: _Evening Herald_ Print, 1888). Every feature of the industry is
fully discussed, and both those who intend to engage in it, and those
who take an interest in it as a measure of public utility, should
study this little work. Rather more care in preparation might have
been advantageously expended on the preparation of the volume, as in a
preface of thirty-seven words there are two spelled wrongly.

FUN FROM THE WHEEL.

~College Professor~: Mr. Wheeler, can you give me a definition
of a philosopher?

~Mr. Wheeler~ (_A racing man, with a grudge against the
handicapper_): A philosopher is a fellow who starts from scratch with
a man ten seconds faster than he is, just to show the handicapper how
little he knows about his business.

* * * * *

It is said to be a poor rule that does not work both ways. Messrs.
Salmon Bros., of Denver, are trying to introduce the Fly Cycle Co.’s
wheels to American riders. A fly has long been the bait used to land
salmon, but this is the first case on record where the salmon has
reversed this order of things, and himself used the fly for bait. It
would seem odd to ask the rider of one of these machines what machine
he rode, and have him reply a “fly-wheel,” wouldn’t it?

* * * * *

“I understand Headerboy has grown wealthy of late,” remarked the old
member of the Whangdoodle Wheelers to the club captain.

“Yes, he’s making about fifty dollars a week now.”

“Doing what? Why he can’t even ride a wheel without falling of.”

“That’s just it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, you see, he carries two or three accident insurance policies,
rides a fifty-four-inch wheel when he measures for a fifty inch, so he
has only to ride and take headers, to combine pleasure with profit.”

* * * * *

It is said that Kluge, the well-known racing man of the Hudson County
Wheelmen, owes his success upon the road and path to his profession as
a paper-hanger. It teaches him to thoroughly “size up” the abilities
of his opponents, and thus defeat them by taking advantage of their
weaknesses.

* * * * *

RACING TERMS AND DEFINITIONS.

First--Adam.
Last--Cobblers.
Wins--Four aces.
Loses--A bluff when called.
The Field--Potter’s.
Beaten--A drum.
They’re off--Lunatics.
A False Tart--A mud pie.
A Driving Race--Trotting.
The Rail--A scolding wife.
Left at the Post--The starter.
A Foul--A duck-er chicken.
The judge’s Stand--On their feet.
Dead Heat--110 degrees in the shade.
A Tie--A four-in-hand.
A Handy-“capper”--A bunco steerer.
The Home Stretch--The one to get your hat on the morning after
an evening with “the boys.”

[Illustration]

[Illustration: AMENITIES.]

[Illustration: THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON.]

Editor’s Scrap Book

The boy who was “kept in” after school hours for bad orthography, and
thus prevented from taking his place in the afternoon baseball match,
explained to his captain that he was spell-bound.

* * * * *

~Excited Farmer~ (_to man with fishing tools_): Look here, you
can’t catch fish in this stream!

~Piscatorious~: That’s all right. I won’t catch anything. I
belong to the Washington Baseball Club.--_Puck._

* * * * *

~Woman~ (_to tramp_): If I give you a nice dinner will you help
me put up some patent self-rolling window curtains?

~Tramp~: No, ma’am. I’ll saw wood, carry in coal, or dig post
holes, but I wouldn’t help a woman on window curtains if she gave me a
Delmonico spread.--_New York Sun._

* * * * *

_Ocean_ gives up the following as fun when it states that a vessel
resembles a prisoner when she is put in the dock, a witness when she is
bound to a-pier, and a judge when she makes a trial trip. This little
joke from the _Ocean_ comes to us with the antique flavor of a chestnut.

* * * * *

~Larry~: Your governor said last night, Jack, that he was not at
all satisfied with the result of your last year at college.

“Well, by George! I got on the eleven, and pitched for the nine, and
won first in the singles. What on earth does he want?” Such is _Life_.

* * * * *

“You should be a baseball player,” said the beetle to the spider.

“Why so?” inquired the latter.

“You’re so good at catching flies.”

“True, but I’d fall a victim to the fowls.”

And he went behind the bat.--_Exchange._

* * * * *

Harvard _Lampoon_ informs its readers that “one of the girls, who pays
part of her tuition by chasing the hens out of the Annex Garden, is
thinking of entering the sprint races of Mott Haven next year, because
she is such an adept in the ‘running shoes.’”

A BALLAD.

The shades of night were falling fast,
As from the tennis grounds there passed
A youth who bore his head with pride,
Because, there, walking by his side,
Was Imogene.

His step was light, his eye was bright,
His heart was thumping at the sight
That lit his soul with love’s bright beams,
And fired his brain with glorious dreams
Of Imogene.

In cottage homes they saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
But while the silvery moonlight shone,
He much preferred it out alone
With Imogene.

“Beware the pass,” the old man said,
“’Tis dark within the woods ahead.”
He answered boldly, “Never fear,
For dark is light when she is near--
My Imogene!”

“Oh, stay,” the maiden said; “inside,
The parlor door is open wide.”
He spoke no word; his eyes aglow
Were to his comrade whispering low,
“Dear Imogene.”

He sat him down beside his love,
And spooned until papa above
Grew weary, and a step o’erhead
Gave rise to sudden, anxious dread
In Imogene.

“Beware the baseball bat of pine--
Beware my papa’s number nine!”
This was the maiden’s last good-night;
He answered as he shot from sight,
“Dear Imogene!”

--_Life._

[Illustration: ~Our MONTHLY RECORD~]

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

ATHLETICS.

~The~ fifth competition for the Linten and Scheiflin medal in
the Brighton Athletic Club took place on the grounds at Pennsylvania
Avenue, September 15. The results were as follows:

100-yard run--E. U. Torbett, 5 yds., 1st; W. J. Carr, 2 yds. Time,
11½ sec.

High jump--D. J. Cox, 5 ft. 3 in., 1st; W. J. Carr, 2d.

Half-mile run--W. J. Carr, 25 yds., 1st; A. C. Macgregor, 12 yds., 2d.
Time, 2 min. 25 sec.

Broad jump--W. R. Hooper, scratch, 1st, 19 ft. 4¾. in.; H. H. Petit,
2d, 15 in., 18 ft. 11 in.

Hop, step and jump--W. B. Dunlap, 8 in., 1st, 38 ft. 5½ in.

One-mile run--G. U. Forbell, 110 yds., 1st; A. C. Macgregor, 25 yds.,
2d. Time, 4 min. 25 sec.

* * * * *

~In~ the long-distance throwing match at Cincinnati, September
19, for the prize money of $100 offered by the Cincinnati Club and the
_Enquirer_ diamond locket, Harry Vaughn’s record was broken by Stovey
of the Athletics. He threw the ball 369 feet and 2 inches. Tebeau tried
to beat it, but only reached 353 feet. Ned Williamson may make a trip
here to see if he can go ahead of the best record. Corkhill has not yet
thrown.

* * * * *

~Of~ the eleven records broken last May at Worcester, Mass.,
five are held by the students of Dartmouth.

* * * * *

~The~ formal opening of the New York Athletic Club’s grounds
at Travers Island, took place September 22. The twentieth annual fall
games of the club also took place. The day was all that could be
desired.

Very little was done toward beating or even approaching previous
records, the only exception being in putting the sixteen-pound shot,
which Mr. George R. Gray managed to cast 44 ft. 5 in., some six
inches beyond the existing limit, and Mr. W. L. Condon throwing a
sixteen-pound hammer a distance of 117 ft. 9½ in., topping the
previous “high-water mark” by some nine feet or more.

The 100-yard run was won by A. F. Copeland, in 10 2-5 secs. Fred
Westing second.

The one-mile race was won by G. G. Gilbert, in 5 min. 10 4-5 sec.
Second, W. F. Thompson.

T. P. Conneff came in first in the 880-yard run, with C. M. Smith a
close second. The 440-yard run was won by J. P. Thornton, in 53 1-5
sec., A. W. S. Cochrane bringing up close in the rear. Fred Westing
succeeded in getting first place in the 220-yard run, in 23 4-5 sec.,
A. W. S. Cochrane again a close second.

A. F. Copeland distinguished himself by winning two hurdle races, the
first, 120 yards, in 17 3-5 sec., and the second, 220 yards, in 27 3-5
sec., C. M. Smith being second in the first and C. T. Wiegand behind
the winner in the second race.

Mr. Copeland jumped into further fame by covering 22 ft. 0¾ in. in the
running broad jump. This was the fourth prize captured by Mr. Copeland.

T. P. Conneff again showed his heels to his competitors in a five-mile
run, beating Mr. S. T. Freeth, who came in second, over one-fifth of a
mile. The time was 27 min. 4 4-5 sec.

A number of the solid men of the New York and other clubs then
struggled with a 56-pound weight, which Mr. Condon, who had broken the
record with the 16-pound hammer, succeeded in throwing 26 ft. 6¾ in.
A. J. Queckberner just missed this mark by three-quarters of an inch.

Not much was done in the way of pole vaulting. G. P. Quinn managed
to clear 10 feet after repeated trials. The record for this event is
11 feet 5 inches. In the running high jump, M. W. Ford, S. I. A. C.,
cleared 5 feet 10 inches. C. T. Wiegand and R. K. Pritchard managed to
lift themselves 5 feet 3 inches in the high jump.

In the aquatic sports the first event, the junior singles, had the
following starters: D. G. Smyth, A. W. Lublin and M. J. Austin. Austin
won by a length, Lublin spoiling his chances in the race by capsizing.

The second race was for eight-oar shells, handicap. The Rathborne crew
allowed the Freeman crew twenty seconds start, the Rathborne eight soon
overhauling the other crew and winning easily.

“Jack” Lambden, the pride of the New Rochelle Rowing Club, sized up C.
P. Psotta, the amateur champion, and concluded he’d stay out of the
senior single race. F. G. McDougall thought it worth the trial, but
Psotta was too much for him, winning the race easily in 7 min. 10 sec.

The pair-oared gigs event had four entries, but only two starters
appeared, the crews being: E. Wrinacht, bow; J. Cremins, stroke, and D.
G. Smyth, coxswain. W. O. Inglis, bow; E. J. Giannini, stroke, and G.
D. Phillips, coxswain. The Phillips crew won. Time, 7 min. 55¼ sec.

The double-sculls had four entries and three starters, as follows:
J. H. Miller, bow; F. H. Romain, stroke. G. D. Phillips, bow; P. W.
Rathbone, stroke. F. J. McDougall, bow; J. M. Austin, stroke. As the
boats neared the half mile two fishing boats ran across the course,
which threatened disaster to all three of the racing boats. A new start
was made, when McDougall and Austin won the race by a length.

The four-oared shells had three entries, and was among the most
interesting events of the day. The Devlin crew were looked upon as sure
winners, but to the surprise of everybody the Cremins crew won by two
lengths, after an exciting and closely contested race. The time was not
taken.

Music was furnished by the Davids Island Military Band. The grounds
were illuminated at night, many of the visitors staying until a late
hour.

* * * * *

~The~ Manhattan Athletic Club completed its annual members’ games,
postponed from September 8, at the grounds, Eighty-sixth Street and
Eighth Avenue, September 15. A feature of the afternoon was the
presentation of a handsome gold watch to Fred Westing, by G. L. M.
Sachs, for having made ten seconds in a 100-yard run in England, and
having been the first American to win an English championship prize at
that distance. Westing had just concluded a trial to break the record
at seventy-five yards, 7¾s., when he was given the timepiece. He failed
to break the record in his trial, doing the distance against a strong
breeze in a shade worse than 7 4-5s., which, under the circumstances,
was highly creditable. Another feature of the day was the running of T.
P. Conneff, who, without anyone to “run him out,” did 9m. 44 1-5s. for
two miles, or about 6¼s. worse than the American record, and 2m. 6s. in
a half-mile run. The results of the events were as follows:

100-yard run--Final heat, A. F. Copeland (1½ yds.), 1st; C. Giet (8½
yds.), 2d; time, 10 3-5s. Two trial heats were run last Saturday.

Two-mile run against the record of 9m. 38⅜s., made by E. C. Carter,
N. Y. A. C. The trial was made by T. P. Conneff, who had as pace-makers
Messrs. Adams, Cooper, Devereaux, Wieners, Bogardus, Giet and Banks.
He failed in his attempt, but broke records at 1⅓ miles, 1⅝ miles and
1¾ miles. His time for intermediate distances was, one-quarter, 1m.
7s.; one-half, 2m. 19 1-5s.; three-quarters, 3m. 32 4-5s.; mile, 4m. 48
1-5s.; one and one-third miles, 6m. 27s.; one and five-eighths miles,
7m. 55s.; one and three-quarters miles, 8m. 32 4-5s., and two miles,
9m. 44 1-5s. The best previous record at one and one-third miles was
6m. 38s., by E. C. Carter; at one and five-eighths miles, 8m. 39 2-5s.,
by W. G. George. There was no previous record in America for one and
three-quarters miles, but in England W. G. George ran the distance in
8m. 8 1-5s.

Sixteen-pound hammer--F. V. Lambrecht (scratch) 1st, 107 ft. 10 in.; G.
A. Whith, 2d.

120-yard hurdle race--A. F. Copeland (scratch), 1st; Z. A. Cooper (16
yds.), 2d; time, 16 2-5s.

Half-mile walk against Murray’s record of 3m. 2 2-5s.--E. D. Lange, 3m.
10½s.

Running broad jump--Z. A. Cooper (4 ft.), 1st, at 18 ft. 6¼ in.; A. F.
Copeland (scratch), 2d, at 21 ft. 6 in.

350-yard run--J. C. Devereaux (16 yds.), 1st; H. M. Banks (scratch),
2d; time, 39 4-5s.

Quarter-mile run--Z. A. Cooper (40 yds.), 1st; G. A. S. Wieners, Jr.
(40 yds.), 2d; won easily in 53 3-5s.

Half-mile run--T. P. Conneff (scratch), 1st; F. A. Ware (36 yds.), 2d;
won in a walk in 2m. 6s.

* * * * *

~The~ Staten Island Athletic Club is considering the
advisability of sending a representative lacrosse team to Europe next
spring.

* * * * *

~At~ the annual election of the Olympic Athletic Club, of San
Francisco, Cal., September 3, the following officers were elected:
President, Wm. Greer Harrison; vice-president, R. P. Hammond, Jr.;
treasurer, H. B. Russ; secretary, W. E. Holloway; leader, Geo. Dall;
directors, A. C. Forsyth, E. J. Molera, A. R. Smith, B. Baldwin, E. A.
Rix, Alfred B. Field. Ground for the new club building will be broken
very soon. Among the novelties of its construction will be a cinder
track on the roof.

* * * * *

~The~ second annual field day of the Y. M. C. A. of Pittsburgh
was held September 22, at the Exposition grounds, Allegheny. A
good-sized audience was present, and considerable dissatisfaction was
manifest over some of the decisions. Geo. E. Painter acted as referee;
B. G. Follansbee and Alfred Reed were the judges. The results:

100 yards (novice)--1st prize, silver goblet; 2d, tennis racket. Won by
Frank J. Kron in 11 sec., with E. E. Hughes 2d.

100 yards (junior)--1st prize, silver pitcher; 2d, tennis coat. Won by
R. M. Trimble, Sanford B. Evans, 2d.

100 yards (handicap)--1st prize, gold medal; 2d, steel engraving. Won
by F. J. Kron (7 yds.), Harry Tinker (5 yds.) 2d. Time, 10¼ sec.

Walking match, one mile--1st prize, silver goblet; 2d, an album. Won by
C. V. McLean in 7m. 52s., R. L. McLean 2d.

Standing high jump--1st prize, silver-headed cane; 2d, library lamp.
Won by Joe Boggs, who cleared 4 ft. 6½ in.; Belitz was second with 4
ft. 2 in.

220 yards (handicap)--1st prize won by D. H. Barr, in 23s.; H. A. Davis
2d.

Putting the 16-pound shot--1st prize, pair gold sleeve buttons; 2d,
traveling set. Won by S. E. Gordon, who threw 34 ft. 10 in.; J. H.
Nicholson 2d.

440 yards (handicap)--1st prize, gold medal; 2d, pair Indian clubs. Won
by H. A. Davis (20 yds.), in 55 sec.; W. H. Beazell (scratch) 2d.

Running high jump--1st prize, medal; 2d, tennis shoes. Won by Brown,
who cleared 5 feet 4½ in.; Pitcairn was 2d.

Throwing the baseball was won by E. F. Schaffer, who threw 99 yds. 1 ft.

888 yards (handicap)--1st prize, gold chain; 2d, running shoes. Won by
W. H. Beazell (scratch), in 2m. 12½s.; John McGren (40 yds.) 2d.

Pole vaulting, won by Professor Speer, with S. E. Gordon 2d.

In the hurdle race, H. C. Fry, Jr., beat N. S. Campbell and others.

The day’s sports ended with a three-legged race, which was won by D.
A. Barr and W. J. Barr in 12¾s.

* * * * *

~The~ teams representing the Gaelic Athletic Association, which
sailed from Queenstown, Ireland, September 16, arrived in this city on
the 25th. The names of the Irish athletes are J. S. Mitchell, J. C.
Daly, Pat Davin, P. O’Donnell, W. Real, D. Shanahan, J. McCarthy, M.
Connery, J. Connery, W. McCarthy, T. J. O’Mahoney, W. Phibbs, T. M.
O’Connor, J. Mooney, P. Looney, D. Powers and P. Keohan. The hurlers
are G. Burgess, P. P. Sutton, J. Furlong, J. Hayes, Frank Coughlin,
James Royce, P. J. Molohan, P. Fox, M. Curran, J. Dunne, J. Nolan, J.
Cordial, P. Meleady, P. Davin, P. O’Donnell, T. O’Grady, I. O’Brien,
J. Stapleton, T. Ryan, W. Prendergast, J. McCarthy, M. Connery, J.
Connery, D. Godfrey, J. Mooney, P. Looney, D. Power, J. Coughlin,
M. Hickey, and several others. It will be seen that several of the
hurlers are also members of the team that will take part in the track
and field events to be held during their stay here. President Maurice
Davien, Treasurer R. J. Frewen, and Honorary Secretary W. Prendergast,
of the Central Council of the G. A. A., accompany the team. John
Cullinane, agent in advance, will have charge of the arrangements for
the exhibitions proposed to be given by the Irish athletes in this
country and Canada. The hurlers will appear in Irish costume--knee
breeches, stockings, and shoes--and one team will wear bright green
jerseys, marked with an Irish harp, while the other will wear orange
and red jerseys. A game of football will be played. It is not a brutal
exhibition, such as the Rugby rules bring out. In the Irish game the
football cannot be lifted from the ground with the hands, and there is
no throttling.

The Gaelic Association consists of 2,000 Irish athletic clubs,
representing 20,000 members. The team consists of fifteen athletes who
were winners in the contests in Ireland in August last. Thirty-five are
hurlers. They are of all professions and business connections. Maurice
Davin, the president, with one hand has thrown a 16-pound hammer 131
ft. 3 in. Pat Davin has a record for a standing high jump of 6 feet
2¾ inches, beating Page’s record. J. S. Mitchell has a record in
throwing the 16-pound hammer of 136 ft. 1½ in. Mitchell has run in
4m. 36s. on a bad track. Pat Keohen has a record of 13 ft. 3 in. in
a standing jump, beating Ford’s record. There is no captain in the
ordinary acceptation of the term.

* * * * *

~The~ exhibition games given by the members of the Gaelic Society
athletes, at the Manhattan Athletic Society, on September 29, were
mainly for the purpose of introducing the visiting Irish athletes.
The first event was a 100-yard dash, four starters, won easily by J.
J. Mooney in 10 2-5s., with J. McCarthy second. The second event was
a three standing jump contest, three trials, won by P. Keohan, who
made 34 ft. 4 in. His two competitors were J. Connery, 33 ft. 4½ in.,
and J. McCarthy, 32 ft. 5½, in. Keohan’s first jump was 34 ft. Keohan
then tried one standing jump with weights, covering 11 ft. 7 in. An
interesting event followed, a 120-yard hurdle race, with seven jumps.
The competitors were T. J. O’Mahoney and D. Power. O’Mahoney led, but
at the last hurdle was caught in splendid style by Power, who came in
ahead in 19 4-5s., only two feet in advance of his opponent. T. J.
O’Mahoney, who, in Ireland, is called the Rosscarberry Steam Engine,
ran 440 yards in 56s., easily beating M. J. Curran. W. Phibbs and W.
McCarthy ran a half-mile race, keeping neck and neck nearly all the
way, Phibbs winning by a few inches in 2m. 23½s. The high jump was
won by T. M. O’Connor, who cleared 5 ft. 8½ in. Throwing the 16-pound
hammer excited great interest. The contest lay between J. S. Mitchell,
a man of classic proportions and immense strength, and Dr. J. C. Daly,
a big man, of great girth, weighing 300 pounds. After two trials each
the 16-pound hammer handle broke and an 18-pound one was procured.
Mitchell won with 118 ft. 11 in., Daly making 106 ft. 1 in. The record
in this country for the 16-pound hammer is 129 ft. Mitchell has now
established a record for the 18-pound. The broad jump was won by D.
Shanahan, who covered 20 ft. 7½ in., J. Mooney coming second, with
19 ft. 9½ in. The two giants, Mitchell and Daly, next entered on the
trial of slinging the 56-pound weight. Each man threw by slinging the
weight around the head in the first trial and in the second standing.
Mitchell’s record is 35 ft. by “following” his throw. He won the
straight throw from the shoulder, covering 30 ft. 10½ in. Dr. Daly
threw 30 ft. 5 in. P. Rooney won the running hop, step and jump with
44 ft. 7 in. The last event previous to the hurling match, which was
greatly enjoyed, was throwing the 14-pound hammer. Mitchell’s record is
158 ft. He threw it 157 ft., and Dr. Daly, 155 ft. 10½ in.

* * * * *

~The~ fifth annual championship meeting of the Amateur Athletic
Association of Canada was held on the grounds of the Montreal Athletic
Association, September 29, before 3,000 people. The games were not well
managed, and frequent delays brought on nightfall before the programme
was finished. The following is a summary of the games:

100-yard run--F. A. Westing, M. A. C., New York, first; time, 10 1-5s.
V. E. Schefferstein, O. A. C., San Francisco, second; A. F. Copeland,
M. A. C., New York, third.

Putting 16-pound shot--G. R. Gray, N. Y. A. C., first, 42 ft.; C. A.
J. Queckberner, S. I. A. C., New York, second, 39 ft. 4½ in.; F. L.
Lambrecht, M. A. C., New York, third, 38 ft. 6 in.

Half-mile run--J. W. Moffat, M. A. A. A., Montreal, first; time, 2m.
3 4-5s. G. Tracey, Halifax, N. S., second; C. M. Smith, N. Y. A. C.,
third.

Three-mile walk--C. L. Nicholl, M. A. C., New York, first, 22m. 44s.;
E. D. Lange, M. A. C., New York, second; H. Wyatt, Brickfield Harriers,
England, third.

Pole vault--H. H. Baxter, N. Y. A. C., first, 10 ft. 3 in.; L. D.
Godshall, M. A. C., New York, second, 10 ft.; G. P. Quinn, M. A. C.,
New York, third, 9 ft. 6 in.

Two-mile run--T. P. Conneff, M. A. C., first; time, 10m. 10s. P. D.
Skillman, N. Y. A. C., second; G. I. Gilbert, N. Y. A. C., third.

220-yard run--A. F. Copeland, M. A. C., New York, first; time, 23½s.
A. W. S. Cochrane, N. Y. A. C., second; W. C. White, M. A. C., third.

Throwing 56-pound weight--C. A. J. Queckburner, S. I. A. C., New York,
first, 25 ft. 3 in.; G. R. Gray, N. Y. A. C., second, 22 ft.; F. L.
Lambrecht, M. A. C., New York, third, 21 ft. 9 in.

Running high jump--M. W. Ford, S. I. A. C., New York, first, 5 ft. 5
in.; C. T. Wiegand, N. Y. A. C., and V. E. Schifferstein, O. A. C., San
Francisco, tied for second place at 5 ft. 3 in.

One-mile run--T. P. Conneff, M. A. C., New York, first; time, 4m. 32
3-5s. G. M. Gibbs, Toronto A. C., second; P. D. Skillman, N. Y. A. C.,
third.

Running broad jump--A. A. Jordan, N. Y. A. C., first, 20 ft. 5 in.;
William Halpin, O. A. C., New York, second, 19 ft. 11½ in.; A. F.
Copeland, M. A. C., New York, third, 19 ft. 10 in.

440-yard run--W. C. Dohm, N. Y. A. C., first, 51½s.; G. J. Bradish,
N. Y. A. C., second; J. P. Thornton, N. Y. A. C., third.

Throwing the 16-pound hammer--C. A. J. Queckburner, S. I. A. C., New
York, first, 98 ft. 11½ in.; L. L. Lambrecht, M. A. C., 93 ft. 8
in.; G. R. Gray, N. Y. A. C., third, 74 ft.

120-yard hurdle race--A. F. Copeland, M. A. C., New York, first, 16
2-5s.; A. A. Jordan, N. Y. A. C., second; H. S. Young, M. A. C., New
York, third.

BASEBALL.

~In~ the metropolitan amateur arena, the Staten Island Athletic
Club’s nine bore off the championship of the Amateur League; the Staten
Island Cricket Club’s nine being second; the Brooklyn Athletic Club’s
team third, and that of the Orange Athletic Club fourth.

* * * * *

~The~ struggle for the championship of the American Association
arena was virtually settled by the first of October in favor of the
St. Louis club, leaving the Brooklyn and Athletic clubs to contest for
second position, as Cincinnati’s place as fourth was settled before the
end of September. When our table was made up, on September 7th, the
record stood as follows:

A: St. Louis.
B: Athletic.
C: Brooklyn.
D: Cincinnati.
E: Baltimore.
F: Cleveland.
G: Louisville.
H: Kansas City.
I: Games Won.
J: Per cent. of victories.

------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----
~Clubs.~ | A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H || I | J
------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----
St. Louis |-- |10 |10 | 9 |14 |16 |15 |14 || 88 |.693
Athletic | 7 |-- | 8 |10 |13 |10 |15 |14 || 77 |.611
Brooklyn |10 |10 |-- |11 | 9 |13 |13 |11 || 80 |.606
Cincinnati | 7 |10 | 6 |-- |14 |10 |16 |13 || 76 |.589
Baltimore | 6 | 5 | 8 | 6 |-- | 8 |11 |11 || 55 |.423
Cleveland | 4 | 6 | 4 | 7 | 8 |-- | 9 |10 || 48 |.393
Louisville | 2 | 5 | 7 | 3 | 9 | 8 |-- |10 || 44 |.341
Kansas City | 3 | 3 | 9 | 4 | 8 | 9 | 6 |-- || 42 |.336
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----
Games lost |39 |49 |52 |53 |75 |74 |85 |83 ||510 |
------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----

It will be seen that the St. Louis club had a winning lead over a month
before the close of the season, while it was a close contest for second
place between the Brooklyn and Athletic clubs to the last. The contest
in the American arena was settled simply by superior club management.

* * * * *

~The~ interest in the League pennant race for 1888 culminated
during the first week in October. That week’s play virtually gave
the championship to the New York team. The contest for third place,
however, remained unsettled up to the last week of the season, it
being a triangular fight between the Philadelphia, Detroit, and Boston
teams. In the contest between the four Eastern teams and their Western
adversaries, New York led Philadelphia by a percentage of .603 to
.594, Boston being away behind. In the fight between the four Western
and the four Eastern clubs, Chicago led Detroit by a percentage of
.592 to .522, Pittsburg being a poor third. Last year, with Detroit as
the pennant winner, Philadelphia came in second, and Chicago third,
while New York had to be content with fifth place. This year New York
stands first, and Chicago second, while the other three--at the time
our record was made up--were fighting for third place; Philadelphia
and Detroit being tied for third place with a percentage of .524 each,
while Boston stood fifth with a percentage .523. It will be seen that
the contest was close and exciting up to the very last week of the
season as far as the struggle for third position was concerned. Here is
the record in full up to October 8th:

A: New York.
B: Chicago.
C: Detroit.
D: Philadelphia.
E: Boston.
F: Pittsburgh.
G: Washington.
H: Indianapolis.
I: Games Won.
J: Per cent. of victories.

--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----
~Clubs.~ | A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H || I | J
--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----
New York |-- | 8 |11 |14 |12 | 9 |15 |13 || 82 |.651
Chicago |11 |-- |10 | 8 |12 | 9 |11 |14 || 75 |.573
Detroit | 7 |10 |-- |10 | 8 |10 |10 |11 || 66 |.524
Philadelphia | 5 | 8 | 6 |-- |10 |14 |10 |13 || 66 |.524
Boston | 8 | 7 |10 | 9 |-- | 7 |15 |11 || 67 |.523
Pittsburgh | 5 |11 |10 | 6 | 8 |-- |10 |14 || 64 |.500
Washington | 4 | 6 | 5 | 9 | 5 | 0 |-- | 8 || 46 |.357
Indianapolis | 4 | 6 | 3 | 4 | 6 | 6 |12 |-- || 46 |.354
+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----
Games lost |44 |56 |60 |60 |61 |64 |83 |84 ||512
--------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----

* * * * *

~In~ the minor Leagues the success of the Syracuse club in
winning the International Association’s championship was the event of
the month of September, and the same month saw the Newark club win the
championship of the Central League.

BOWLING.

At the annual meeting of the Pui Knight Bowling Club, the following
officers were elected:--Fred Manners, president; W. A. Tompkins,
vice-president; Lyall Hutchings, treasurer; Austin Baldwin, secretary;
John Coutrell, captain.

CANOEING.

The annual regatta of the Philadelphia Canoe Club took place on the
Delaware River on the afternoon of September 21, and consisted of
sailing, paddling, tandem paddling, and upset races. The entries in
the sailing race included the _Alys_, W. S. Grant, Jr.; _Water Witch_,
J. S. Warr, Jr.; _Antic_, Francis Thibault; _Lassie_, Harry La Motte;
_Lelange_, Dr. T. S. Westcott; _Avocett_, A. S. Fenimore; _Florence_,
J. A. Inglis; _Nenemoosha_, S. H. Kirkpatrick. The start was made at
2.30 o’clock from the club-house at the foot of Second Street, Camden,
and the course was around the south end of Petty’s Island, returning
around the north end to the club-house, a distance of six miles, the
second-class boats having a time allowance of eight minutes. The _Water
Witch_ was the first to cross the line in 1h. 2m. 48s.; the _Antic_
second, the _Nenemoosha_ third. The _Alys_ met with an accident, and
did not finish. In the paddling race, distance over 1½ miles, the
_Imp_ won in 11m. 22s., _Avocett_ second, _Impetuous_ third, _Chromo_
fourth. Grant and Warr, in the _Water Witch_, won the tandem race, with
Kirkpatrick and Inglis in the _Nenemoosha_, second, and Westcott and
Wray in the _Lelange_, third. The course for the upset race was around
a stake-boat and back to the slip, a distance of 300 yards. The entries
were: Messrs. Grant, Fenimore, Kirkpatrick and Warr. The former was an
easy winner. The judges were: W. J. Haines, Francis Thibault and J.
A. Inglis. The presentation of the prizes took place at the Colonnade
Hotel, at the club meeting on Monday, September 30.

* * * * *

~The~ Fall Regatta of the Yonkers Canoe Club took place
September 22. The attendance was large, and the balcony of the
club-house presented a very gay appearance. At 2.30 ~P.M.~
promptly, the start for the first race was made, and a dozen canoes
of rigs of various kinds--leg-o’-muttons, mohican, gunter and
lateen--undertook the hard task of crossing the line against the ebb
tide and north wind. The _Stranger_, Mr. Everett Master, and the
_Caona_, Mr. Grant Edgar, took the lead, and the former won the prize
of a silk banner. Unfortunately, the lack of wind prevented the sailing
of any more races. Four canoes competed in the single paddling race,
and H. La Motte, of Philadelphia, won the prize of a pair of paddles.
In the tandem paddling race there were five entries, and after an
exciting race, unfortunately marred by some fouls, Messrs. Master and
Reeves, in the _Stranger_, won by half a length. J. W. Simpson won
the paddling upset race, and also finished first in the hurry-scurry,
but with the spirit of a true sportsman, conceded the prize to Mr.
Palmer, of the Ianthe Club, who rounded the buoy far ahead. Owing to
wrong instructions as to the course, he went much out of his way, but
finished a good second. Both gentlemen were, however, given prizes.
The final event, a water tournament, was won by Messrs. Master and
T. Simpson. The day was wound up by a pleasant entertainment at the
club-house in the evening.

CURLING.

The Grand National Curling Club of America met in its twenty-second
annual Convention at Adelphi Hall, Seventh avenue and Fifty-second
street, New York, September 19. In the absence of President Gen. John
McArthur, of Chicago, the vice-president, George Grieve, of New York,
occupied the chair. David Foulis, of New York, secretary, reported
that the association now numbers thirty-nine clubs, eleven of which
are in New York city. Six new clubs were received, as follows: Lodi,
of Wisconsin; Heather, of Philadelphia; John o’Groat, Excelsior, and
Temple of Honor and Temperance, of New York, and Long Island City, of
Long Island City. These officers were chosen: President, George Grieve,
New York; vice-presidents, Major John Peattie, Utica; John McCulloch,
St. Paul, Minn.; chaplain, William Ormiston, D.D., New York; Secretary
and Treasurer, David Foulis, New York. The next convention will be held
in Albany.

The delegates to the convention were afterwards entertained at a
banquet at the Adelphi Hall on the evening of the same day.

CYCLING.

A series of races between wheelmen took place on the closing day of the
State Fair at Philadelphia, September 13. The crowd of spectators was
large, weather fine, track fairly good. Summary:

One mile, Pennsylvania Club championship--E. I. Halstead, first, in 3m.
37 2-5s.; C. L. Leisen, second, in 3m. 40s.

Three miles, L. A. W. State championship--E. I. Halstead, Pennsylvania
Bicycle Club, first, in 10m. 8 2-5s.; F. M. Dampmann, Honeybrook,
second, in 10m. 9s.

One mile, South End Wheelmen--J. J. Bradley, first, in 3m. 30s.; E. J.
Kolb, second, in 3m. 31 1-5s.

Quarter mile--E. I. Halstead, Pennsylvania B. C., first, in 40s.; S.
W. Merrihew, P. B. C., second, in 41 1-5s.; M. J. Bailey, Century
Wheelmen, third.

One mile, open, 3.20 class--S. W. Merrihew, Pennsylvania B. C., first,
in 3m. 9 3-5s.; William Taxis, second, in 3m. 9 4-5s.; W. I. Grubb,
Pottstown, third.

One mile, novice--H. D. Ludwig, first, in 3m. 21s.; Clarence Elliott,
Wilmington, Del., second, in 3m. 22 3-5s.

Half-mile--E. I. Halstead, New York Athletic Club, first, in 1m. 26
2-5s.; M. J. Bailey, Century Wheelmen, second, in 1m. 26 4-5s.

One mile, championship Century Wheelmen--M. J. Bailey, first, in 3m. 45
2-5s.; R. L. Shaffer, second, in 3m. 45 3-5s.

Two miles, lap--E. I. Halstead, New York A. C., first, in 6m. 35 1-5s.,
scoring 23 points; F. M. Dampmann, Honeybrook, second, 18; S. W.
Merrihew, Pennsylvania B. C., third, 11.

One mile, match, tandem tricycle--Louis A. Hill and John G. Fuller
defeated John A. Wells and Samuel Crawford in 3m. 47 2-5s.

One mile, 3.00 class--W. I. Grubb, Pottstown, first, in 3m. 10s.; S. W.
Merrihew, Pennsylvania B. C., second, in 3m. 10 3-5s.; J. J. Bradley,
South End Wheelmen, third, in 3m. 11s.

One mile, match--H. I. Halstead and John G. Fuller, on a tandem
bicycle, defeated John A. Wells and Louis A. Hill on a tandem tricycle.

One mile, championship of Philadelphia--H. I. Halstead, Pennsylvania B.
C., first, in 3m. 25 2-5s.; L. J. Kolb, South End Wheelmen, second, in
3m. 26s.; M. J. Bailey, Century Wheelmen, third.

* * * * *

~Robert Ruck~, of the Rambler’s Bicycle Club, of Cleveland,
O., attempted to excel the State road record for twenty-four hours,
190 miles, credited to E. J. Douhet, of the same club. He started at
midnight, September 15, riding from Monumental Square to Painesville
and return, 60 miles; to Elyria, 26 miles; to Dover, 12 miles; back to
Ridgefield, 8 miles; to Cleveland, 22 miles; back to Dover and return
to Cleveland, 28 miles. The last trip to Dover was made in rain, and
over bad roads, which decided Ruck to abandon his task, with a record
of 156 miles to his credit. He will try again.

* * * * *

~The~ New Jersey Division, L. A. W., held their annual meet
and races at Roseville, N. J., September 21 and 22. All the clubs in
the State were represented. Over five hundred wheelmen were present.
The management was in the hands of the Orange Wanderers. The events
resulted as follows:

One mile, bicycle, championship of the State--Sidney B. Bowman, Jersey
City, first, in 3m. 30 2-5s.; E. P. Baggott, Jersey City, second, in
3m. 31s.; C. E. Kluge, Jersey City, the favorite, third, he being out
of condition.

One mile, handicap, championship of Passaic County Wheelmen and C.
A.--W. E. Shuit (scratch), first, in 3m. 49s.; Charles Finch, 90 yds.
start, second, in 4m. 3s.; B. F. Spencer, 50 yds., third.

One mile, safety tandem bicycle, handicap--L. H. Johnson, Orange, and
W. H. Caldwell, Elizabeth, riding an Invincible Premier roadster, 50
yds. start, first, in 4m. 1 1-5s.; Louis A. Hill and E. I. Halstead,
Philadelphia, on an Ivel racing machine, (scratch), second.

One mile, bicycle, championship of Elizabeth Wheelmen--W. H. Caldwell,
first, in 3m. 36s.; L. E. Bonnett, second, in 3m. 39 2-5s.; A. T.
Downer, third.

One mile, bicycle, handicap, Orange Wanderers--Amzi T. Todd, 125 yds.
start, first, in 3m. 47 4-5s.; Fred Brodesser, 175 yds., second, in 3m.
48 4-5s.; Charles A. Lindsley, 150 yds., third.

Two miles, bicycle, State championship--E. P. Baggott, Jersey City,
first, in 7m. 39 2-5s.; F. N. Burgess, Rutherford, second, in 7m. 40s.
None of the other starters finished the distance.

One mile, bicycle, championship of Hudson County Wheelmen--S. S.
Bowman, 35 yds. start, first, in 3m. 30 3-5s.; Fred J. Guhleman, 75
yds., second, in 3m. 32 2-5s.; J. E. Day, third.

One-third of a mile race--E. I. Halstead, Philadelphia, first, in 59
4-5s.; W. H. Caldwell, Elizabeth, second, in 1m. 2s.; W. F. Pendleton,
third.

One mile, championship of Plainfield B. C.--M. S. Ackerman, first, in
3m. 58 4-5s.; Van Buren, second, in 4m. 1 2-5s.

One mile, consolation--A. Zimmerman, first, in 3m. 56 1-5s.; F. N.
Burgess, second, in 4m. 1½s.; A. C. Jenkins, third.

One mile, tandem tricycle--Sidney B. Bowman and W. H. Caldwell, first,
in 5m. 13 1-5s.; C. E. Kluge and L. H. Johnson, second, in 5m. 54 1-5s.

Hill climbing, Eagle Rock Hill, one mile--Fred Coningsby, Brooklyn
Bicycle Club, first, in 7m. 43s.; C. L. Leisen, Pennsylvania Bicycle
Club, Philadelphia, second, in 8m. 17s.; Edgar Decker, Orange
Wanderers, third, in 9m. 15s. The winner rode a Victor Safety.

* * * * *

~The~ meeting held at the Park, Poughkeepsie, N. Y., September
21 and 22, proved a success. There was a large crowd of people present
each day. The following is the summary:

One mile, novice, amateur--H. D. Betts, Poughkeepsie, first, in 3m.
16s.; E. T. Van Benschoten, Poughkeepsie, second, by four lengths;
Jesse Colwell, Rochdale, third.

One mile, amateur--John Van Benschoten, Poughkeepsie, 50 yds., first,
in 2m. 57¼s.; Theodore W. Roberts, Poughkeepsie, scratch, second, by
ten lengths; W. H. Boshart, Poughkeepsie, 130 yds., third.

One mile, professional--Robert A. Neilson, Boston, Mass., 50 yds.
start, first, in 2m. 46s.; W. F. Knapp, Denver, Col., 30 yds., second,
by a scant length; W. A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., scratch, third; H. G.
Crocker, Boston, 20 yds., fourth.

Five miles, amateur, open--William I. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., first,
in 16m 29¾s.; Ludwig Forster, Hartford, Conn., second, by fifteen
lengths; W. E. Crist, Washington, D. C., third; Theodore W. Roberts,
Poughkeepsie, fourth.

Three miles, professional--William F. Knapp, Denver, Col., 70 yds.
stare, first, in 9m. 20s.; William A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., scratch,
second; H. G. Crocker, Boston, 50 yds., third; Robert A. Neilson,
Boston, 110 yds., fourth.

One mile, amateur, open--William I. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., first, in
3m. 5s.; W. E. Crist, Washington, second; Ludwig Forster, Hartford,
Conn., third.

One mile, tandem, professional--Robert A. Neilson and H. G. Crocker,
Boston, scratch, first, in 3m. 15¼s.; W. J. Morgan, New York, and T. W.
Eck, Minneapolis, 150 yds. start, second, by ten lengths.

Two miles, amateur, 6.20 class--Ludwig Forster, Hartford, Conn., first,
in 7m. 2¾s.; John Van Benschoten, Poughkeepsie, second, three
lengths away; H. Von der Linden, Poughkeepsie, third, close up.

One mile, professional, open--William A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., first, in
2m. 41 3-5s.; H. G. Crocker, Boston, second, close behind; W. F. Knapp,
Denver, third, half a length away.

One mile, amateur, championship of Dutchess County--John Van
Benschoten, Poughkeepsie, first, in 3m.; Theodore W. Roberts,
Poughkeepsie, second, by half a length; H. Von der Linden,
Poughkeepsie, third. The winner bestrode a heavy roadster, which makes
his performance the more creditable. He is a very promising rider, and
with careful training should not fail to make his mark.

Two miles, teams--William I. Wilhelm, Reading, first, in 2m. 51½s.;
John Van Benschoten, Poughkeepsie, second; Theodore W. Roberts,
Poughkeepsie, third.

Two miles, professional--William F. Knapp, Denver, Col., first, in 6m.
1¾s.; W. A. Rowe, Lynn, scratch, second; H. G. Crocker, Boston, third;
R. A. Neilson, Boston, fourth; W. J. Morgan, N. Y. City, fifth.

One mile, amateur, 3.20 class--E. T. Van Benschoten, Poughkeepsie,
first, in 3m. 15s.; Ludwig Forster, Hartford, Conn., second; Carl
Kroeber, Yonkers, N. Y., third.

Half-mile, professional--H. G. Crocker, Boston, first, in 1m. 19¾s.;
W. F. Knapp, Denver, second, Robert A. Neilson, Boston, third.

One mile, amateur, 3.00 class--John Van Benschoten, Poughkeepsie,
first, in 3m. 17¼s.; H. Von der Linden, Poughkeepsie, second.

Five miles, amateur, 16.00 class--W. E. Crist, Washington, D. C.,
first, in 18m. 28¾s.; Ludwig Forster, Hartford, Conn., second.

Three miles, professional--W. F. Knapp, Denver, first, in 9m. 31½s.;
W. J. Morgan, New York, second.

Three miles, professional--William A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., first, in 9m.
31½s.; W. F. Knapp, Denver, Col., second; William J. Morgan, New
York, third.

Two miles, amateur, open--W. E. Crist, Washington, D. C., first, in 6m.
½s.; William I. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., second.

One mile, consolation, amateur--E. Winans, Poughkeepsie, first, in 3m.
26¼s.; Carl Kroeber, Yonkers, second.

* * * * *

~The~ grand meeting at Charter Oak Park, Hartford, Conn.,
September 13, 14, under the auspices of the Hartford Wheel Club, was a
great success. The track was in good order. The strength of the wind
prevented any record-breaking on the first day. On the second day W.
E. Crist, of Washington, and R. H. Davis, of Harvard, made a mile on
a tandem safety in 2m. 44½. Ludwig Forster, of the Hartford Wheel
Club, won six of twenty races among the amateurs.

One mile, novices--E. A. Tucker, Meriden, first, in 3m. 2½s.; G. A.
Pickett, New Haven, second, by eight yards; D. C. Shea, Hartford, third.

One mile, professional championship of America--William A. Rowe, Lynn,
Mass., first, in 2m. 50¾s.; Ralph Temple, Chicago, Ill., second by less
than six inches.

One mile, amateur, open--Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., first, in 2m.
56s.; J. F. Midgley, Worcester, second by three yards.

Two miles, amateur, 6.10 class--Ludwig Forster, Hartford, first, in
6m. 11¼s.; George Smart Hartford, second, by eight feet; S. J. Steele,
Bristol, Conn., third.

One mile, amateur, Rover type, R. D. safety--W. E. Crist, Washington,
D. C., first, in 2m. 55¾s.; Robert Davis, Rome, Italy, second by two
yards; William Harding, Hartford, third.

One mile, Columbia Cycle Club handicap--F. B. Covell, 90 yds. start,
first in 3m. 6s.

Five miles, lap, professional--W. A. Rowe won the first lap, H. G.
Crocker the second and third laps, and W. F. Knapp the two following
and first money; Crocker second, Rowe and Ralph Temple dividing third
money.

Two miles, amateur handicap--Ludwig Forster, Hartford, 130 yds. start,
first, in 6m. 50s.; P. S. Brown, Washington, D. C., second; Harry
Kingston, Baltimore, third.

Three miles, amateur, State championship--Ludwig Forster, Hartford,
first, in 9m. 34s.; William Harding, Hartford, second, close up; H. C.
Backus, New Haven, third.

One mile, tricycle, amateur--W. E. Crist, Washington, D. C., first, in
3m. 9½s.; Robert Davis, Rome, Italy, a Harvard student, second by
three yards.

One mile, 3.00 class, amateur--Ludwig Forster, Hartford, first, in 2m.
52½s.; H. C. Backus, New Haven, second; G. I. Whitehead, Hartford,
third.

One mile, professional handicap--W. F. Knapp, Denver, Col., 30 yds.
start, first, in 3m. 34¼s.; Jules Dubois, Paris, 90 yds., second; W. J.
Morgan, New York, 120 yds., third.

One mile, amateur, Rover type, R. D. safety, handicap--Robert H. Davis,
Rome, Italy (scratch), first, in 2m. 46s.; William Harding, Hartford,
50 yds. start, second, by six feet; P. S. Brown, Washington, 100 yds.,
third.

One mile, Hartford Wheel Club, handicap--Ludwig Forster (scratch),
first, in 2m. 50s.; F. L. Damery, 120 yds. start, second, by a wheel;
D. C. Shea, 150 yds., third.

One mile, amateur handicap--S. J. Steel, Bristol, 100 yds. start,
first, in 2m. 45¼s.; W. I. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., 40 yds, second; P. S.
Brown, Washington, 75 yds., third.

Three miles, professional, lap--W. F. Knapp, Denver, Col., first, in
10m. 30s.; W. A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., second; Ralph Temple, Chicago, and
H. G. Crocker, Boston, dividing third money.

One mile, amateur State championship--Ludwig Forster, Hartford, first,
in 3m. 32¼s.; H. C. Backus, New Haven, second, by two yards.

Five miles, amateur lap--P. S. Brown, Washington, first, in 15m.
27½s.; W. E. Crist, Washington, second; W. J. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa.,
third.

One mile, professional, consolation--R. A. Neilson, Boston (scratch),
first, in 3m. 8¾s.; J. R. West, England, a one-legged rider, 150 yds.
start, second.

One mile, amateur, consolation--G. I. Whitehead, Hartford, first, in
3m. 19½s.; James Wilson, Jr., Worcester, second; George C. Dresser,
Hartford, third, the three being nearly in line.

Field officers: Referee, Howard P. Merrill; judges, C. S. Howard, W. G.
Kendall and George H. Burt; timers, F. G. Whitmore, C. T. Stuart and J.
H. Parker; starter, H. H. Chapman; clerk, Henry Goodman.

* * * * *

~The~ Essex Club, of Newark, which has been in existence since
May, 1879, and is known as “Old Essex,” resumed its runs, which were
discontinued during July and August, in the last days of September. The
organization is one of the pioneers of cycling, and is the third oldest
club in the National League of American Wheelmen. Stone House Plains,
South Orange and Irvington, Avondale, Roselle, Rahway, and Montclair
were visited during October. The programme for this month, so far as
arranged, is a run to Montrose, and on the 6th a run to Caldwell and
Parsippany, to Morris Plains Asylum, thence to Morristown, and return,
via Madison, home.

* * * * *

~Mr. Frank I. Stott~, secretary of the New York Bicycle Club,
has issued a call for the formation of a wheelman’s bowling league, for
inter-club contests during the ensuing winter. The idea is an excellent
one, and replies from the Long Island Wheelmen, Harlem Wheelmen,
King’s County Wheelmen, Atlantas of Newark, and Hudson County Wheelmen
of Jersey City, have already been received, favoring the affair, and
promising their support and play, so that a close and spirited contest
for supremacy may be looked for, and the success of the affair is
assured. By this means not only is a more perfect acquaintance between
neighboring clubs arrived at, but the winter, the dull season in
wheeling, is pleasantly employed.

* * * * *

~The~ New York Bicycle Club took possession of their
newly-erected west end club-house on September 1st. The building
is beyond question the most costly ever constructed for a cycling
club-house, representing as it does an expenditure of nearly $45,000
exclusive of furniture and interior decorations. The club and their
new home are both a credit to the sport, and speak volumes for the
permanency of wheeling interest.

* * * * *

~The~ feeling of dissatisfaction against the League of American
Wheelmen that has for some time existed in Brooklyn, has taken form in
the organization of “The Cyclists’ Union of Long Island.” The Union
proposes to devote itself to the protection and development of Long
Island cycling, and will be purely local in its scope and action.
The charter members are: Messrs. J. B. Huggins, G. W. Mabie, C. A.
Bradford, C. Newberg, M. L. Bridgeman, M. Furst, H. Greenman, H. E.
Raymond, W. J. Clark, and L. G. Wilder. The C. U. L. I. declares itself
as not being in any way antagonistic to the L. A. W.

* * * * *

~The~ mileage of the New York Bicycle Club for the eight months
ending September 1st was 35,269, of which 36 men rode 8,093 in August.
George M. Nesbit leads with a total of 5,039 for the year, 1,219 of
which was made in August. His longest day’s ride was 162 miles, and
his average per riding day in the 1,219 miles was 44 3-5 miles. W. E.
Findley follows with a total to date of 2,794, 590 being credited to
him for August. His longest ride in one day was 134 miles, and his
record of 132 days’ riding without a break is record. J. M. Andreni
rode 406 miles in August on a tricycle, bringing his record for the
year up to 1,285. Irving M. Shaw shows 145 miles done in one day, with
a total for the year of 1,763. The figures in the above are beyond
question, as they are those on which the club’s prizes for mileage
of 1888 will be awarded. Nesbit’s total and Findley’s 132 days of
consecutive riding are notable performances. All of the gentlemen named
are in active business, and have accomplished these performances for
purely recreative purposes, after business hours.

* * * * *

~The~ most important event in the cycling world in the West was
the inter-State tournament which has closed its three days’ session in
Kansas City, September 9th. The track was rough, and fast time was not
made nor expected.

The first race, the one-mile Kansas State championship, was won by A.
Joseph Henley, of Wichita; Harry Gordon, of St. Louis, took the first
prize in the one-mile hurdle; in the three-mile handicap, Percy Stone,
of St. Louis, took first prize, and Nelson T. Haynes of Kansas City,
second; in the one-mile club championship, open only to Kansas City
United Wheelman, Mr. Haynes took the handsome cup presented by the
Pope Manufacturing Company. One of the fastest races was the two-mile
lap race, which was won by Percy Stone, of St. Louis; Harry Gordon,
second. The one-mile handicap was won by Percy Stone; Frank Mehlig, of
St. Louis, second. An important race was the three-mile Kansas State
championship, which was won by A. Joseph Henley. The half-mile race,
with hands off, was won by Harry Gordon; John A. De Tar, of Kansas
City, second; the one-mile Missouri State championship was won by John
Hogden, of St. Louis; the three-mile Missouri State championship was
won by Percy Stone, as was also the two-mile team race, which secured
for him a handsome silver cup. The tournament closed with a banquet at
the Midland, which was a grand affair, and healed many wounds that had
been received during the three days’ contest.

* * * * *

~The~ cycling clubs of New Orleans enrolled in the Louisiana
division of the L. A. W., gathered in Audubon Trotting Park, September
27, for the fourth annual race meeting. Two thousand ladies graced the
grand stand. The officers of the course were Harry H. Hodgson, chief
consul, referee. Judges: F. C. Fenner, J. M. Gore, R. W. Abbott, C. H.
Fenner, B. F. Albertson. Timers: P. M. Hill, J. C. O’Reardon, W. L.
Hughes. Starter: Edward A. Shields. Clerk: C. M. Fairchild.

The following is a summary of the results:

First race--Novice, one mile. Entries: H. Christy, W. W. Ulmer, R. P.
Patson, R. P. Randal, George Johnson, Jr., and Charles H. Fourton.
Christy, after a struggle, won. Time, 3.49.

Second race--One mile, championship of the South. Entries: R. P.
Randall, C. B. Guillotte and C. T. Mitchell. Guillotte won, hands down.
Time, 3.38 3-5.

Third race--One mile, Louisiana Cycling Club championship. Entries: R.
G. Betts, W. H. Renaud, Jr., L. J. Frederic, Jr., W. M. Hathorn, H.
Christy, E. M. Graham, W. W. Ulmer, A. B. Harris, R. P. Randall, W.
E. Hobson, W. H. Crouch and M. S. Graham. Hathorn was so well out of
harm’s way near the close that he won rather easily in 3m. 38 2-5s.,
Graham second, Frederic third, Betts fourth and Randall last, of
course. Time, 3m. 38 2-5s.

Fourth race--Half-mile, for boys under sixteen. Entries: Robert Jobin,
Eddie Dupre, Albert Abbott, J. Born, Guy Menton, Aiken Polkingham, J.
Swartz, Theo. Bernhard, Thayer Randall, Eddie Dare and J. D. Houston,
Jr. Eddie Dupre won as he pleased in 2m. 19 1-5s. Albert Abbott second,
J. Born third, Robert Jobin fourth.

Fifth race--One mile, State championship. Entries: Chas. B. Guillotte,
Chas. H. Fourton, C. T. Mitchell and Randall. Guillotte, in this race,
as he did in all he rode, killed his opponents by fast riding for the
first half-mile, then going it easy and winning as he pleased. Time,
3m. 34 2-5s.

Sixth race--One mile, for safety wheels. Entries, as they finished in
the race: Hathorn, Johnston, Renaud, Ulmer, Frederic. Time, 4m. 14 2-5s.

Seventh race--100 yards, last man wins. Entries; W. E. Hobson and R. P.
Randall. Hobson won. Time, 2m. 18s.

Eighth race--One mile handicap. This race was won by H. Christy. Time,
3m. 40 4-5s. The distance traveled by the winner was 240 yards short of
a mile.

Ninth race--2½, miles, lap race, points to count. Entries: Guillotte,
Christy, Hathorn, Graham and Randall. Guillotte won. Time, 9m. 55 1-5s.

Tenth race--One mile, consolation. Entries made on the track. Betts
won. Time, 3m. 55s. Frederic second and Harris third.

* * * * *

~The~ Saint Cloud Club, of St. Cloud, Minn., was formed the
last of July, and is known as the “St. Cloud Mystics.” Dr. S. Charest
is president and captain, and James R. Jerrard the secretary and
treasurer. The club has not yet joined the League, but intends to
do so. The uniform is blue belts and caps, black coat, pants and
stockings, and white shirts.

* * * * *

~The~ world’s record for one mile on safety tandems was made at
Hartford, Conn., by Messrs. Crist and Davis, on a Swift tandem, and not
on a Premier, as stated erroneously in a number of papers.

* * * * *

~In~ answer to an appeal made by ~Outing~ on behalf of
the wheelmen of New York, the following letter has been received, which
will, we think, please our cycling friends:

~Office of the Board of Aldermen~, }
~No. 8 City Hall~, ~New York~, }
October 9, 1888. }

_To the Editor of_ ~Outing~.

Dear Sir: Your favor of 6th instant is at hand. I will endeavor to
look into the matter of the pavement of Madison Avenue, from 32d
Street to the Park, to-day.

Yours very truly,

~Geo. H. Forster~.

* * * * *

~Our~ readers will notice that we make no record of the recent
so-called championship of the world races between Ralph Temple and W.
A. Rowe. In view of the disclosures effected by the Boston _Herald_ and
other papers, our reasons are obvious. The effect of such proceedings
can only be a further stigma on professionalism.

FISHING.

~The~ officers of the Grand Central Fishing Club, of Cincinnati, O.,
for the year are: President, Herman H. Rotherl; secretary, Henry H.
Muller; treasurer, Peter Bonte; commissary and quartermaster-general,
Henry Stueve; adjutant and assistant to commissary and
quartermaster-general, Adam Lotz; chaplain, Edward A. Shiele; assistant
chaplain, Carl Lesber, and surgeon, Henry Morning.

FOOTBALL.

~The~ Boston _Herald_, in a dispatch from New Haven, gives the
following changes in the football rules, adopted by the Intercollegiate
Football Association:

1. To allow tackling above the knees.

2. To permit the snapper back to rush the ball.

3. To prohibit the rush line from using their hands or arms in blocking.

4. In putting the ball in play from touch, it “can be either bounded in
or touched in with both hands at right angles to the touch line.”

(1.) In tackling, the line has always been drawn at the hips. In actual
play, however, the tackler cared very little if his hands slipped below
the hips so long as he checked his man, and the umpires, when called
upon to declare it intentional, hesitated, and seldom disqualified. The
new rule permits a dangerous tackle, and is not an improvement.

(2.) This was the disputed point in the Yale-Harvard game last year.
The rule (29) was ambiguously worded, and Yale, by a little headwork,
easily overcame it, and the referee could not very well decide against
them. Last year the snapper-back could not rush the ball until it had
touched a third man.

(3.) The new rule reads: “No player can lay his hands upon or interfere
with, by use of hands or arms, an opponent, unless he has the ball.”
And interference is defined “as using the hands or arms in any way to
obstruct or hold a player who has not the ball.”

The intent of this rule is to make the rushers keep their arms down
when lined up, or when covering one of their own men who is making a
run. It looks easy enough on paper, but in actual practice it will
probably be as easy to keep a rusher’s arms down as to keep a duck away
from water.

To the casual spectator, and to those not experts in the technical
points of the rules, the game will be as it has been--simon-pure
football.

* * * * *

~A match~ was played at Montreal, September 22, between the
Britannias and Victorias, which resulted in favor of the former team by
13 to 0. The following were the teams:

BRITANNIAS. VICTORIAS.

J. Ross Back Fred. Stewart
Crathern } Three-quarter { A. M. McEwen
Watson } Back { Ferndale
Ross Half Back R. Clarke
Kerby } { A. Fyfe
Thompson } { J. A. Gubian
Harvey } Forwards { C. McClatchie
Murphy } { T. A. Ouimet
McFarlane } { D. Hamilton
Kinghorn } { J. H. Gubian
H. Patterson } { T. Scott
Warden } Wings { E. May
Cameron } { J. McKay
Sinclair } { A. Cowan

September 22, a match between the Britannia third and Victoria second
fifteens, resulted in a victory for the Britannias by 18 points to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ American Football Union arranged the following schedule
for the autumn games: October 13--Orange vs. Staten Island, at
Livingston; New York vs. Crescents, Brooklyn. October 20--Staten
Island vs. Crescents, on Staten Island; New York vs. Orange, at New
York. October 27--Staten Island vs. New York, in New York; Orange vs.
Crescent, Brooklyn. November 3--Staten Island vs. Orange, on Staten
Island; New York vs. Crescent, New York. November 10--Staten Island vs.
Crescent, Brooklyn; New York vs. Orange, at New York. November 17--New
York vs. Staten Island, on Staten Island, and Orange vs. New York, in
New York. The Crescent Football Club won the championship of the union
last year.

* * * * *

~The~ Amateur League Football Club has elected the following
officers: President, H. B. Wheatcroft; treasurer, Dr. Mortimer;
secretary, T. Savage.

* * * * *

~W. J. Ford~ has been elected captain of the football team of
the Crescent Athletic Club, of Brooklyn. He will organize two teams for
the season.

* * * * *

~The~ Clinton Football Club was organized in Newark recently.
The governing council consists of W. Elcox, C. Hopwood and C. Von
Lengerke. Carl Suffern was elected captain.

* * * * *

~At~ the meeting of the executive committee of the
Intercollegiate Football Association, the most radical changes, says
_The Dartmouth_, in the rules were concessions to Harvard. A tackle may
now be made anywhere above the knees. Interference was strictly defined
and the rule re-enforced.

* * * * *

~The~ Canadian team now in England won a splendid victory,
September 15, at Edinburgh, over the Hearts of Midlothian, one of the
best football teams of Great Britain, by a score of three to none. The
Canadians had by far the best of the play all through. The Canadian
team is composed of Messrs. Garrett, Brubacher, Keller, Pirie, Kranz,
Gordon, Webster, Thomas and Alexander Gibson.

* * * * *

~The~ Britannia and Victoria Rifle teams played a match in
Montreal, September 15, which was won by the Britannias. Score, 7 to 4.

* * * * *

~The~ Ottawa College team has reorganized for the season. The
team is heavier than those of previous years, and the outlook is
promising.

KENNEL.

~The~ regular annual show of the Tri-State Fair Association, of
Toledo, Ohio, was held in that city, September 27 to 31. Messrs. John
Davidson and H. L. Goodman judged all classes. There were 166 entries.

* * * * *

~The~ long-looked-forward-to bench show at Buffalo was held
September 11 to 14. The entries numbered five hundred and thirty-two,
and the quality was good throughout. The judging, except in a few
instances, gave satisfaction. The very liberal policy of the Buffalo
club in regard to premiums offered has gained them a host of friends
amongst the dog men. The money prizes alone footed up to some $4,000,
and the list of specials was a long one. The weather was good, and the
attendance was simply enormous. There were many of the arrangements
that can be improved upon another year; in fact, the management was
not of the best, owing, perhaps, to the reason that all the work
appeared to be on the shoulders of two men, when there was enough to
keep six going all the time. Next year, however, we shall look for an
improvement. National Dog Club rules governed.

* * * * *

~Good~ weather, good quality, cheerful and polite officers,
and good judging, were the features of the show following
Buffalo--Syracuse. A small entry and poor attendance were the
drawbacks. Entries numbered three hundred and nineteen, but the
absentees reduced this to less than three hundred. The management
worked like heroes and kept things in good shape. The hall was light
and well ventilated. American Kennel Club rules were in force.

* * * * *

~The~ London, Ontario, show, held the week following Syracuse,
was the first of five to be held annually by the London Kennel Club.
Everything ran smoothly. The entries made a very good showing with
the quality fair. A new judge cropped out here, by the name of Bell,
from Toronto. He judged spaniels and some of the smaller classes. When
will men learn that because they have owned a dog or so for a year
or two they are not competent judges? A man to be a judge at a bench
show should be a breeder of experience and of long standing. Each year
brings out its quota of new judges, who are heard of once and then sink
away into oblivion.

LACROSSE.

~The~ Eastern and Western champions of Canada--the Brants of
Paris, Ont., and the Shamrocks, of Montreal--met on the grounds of the
latter club, at Montreal, September 22, and played before an audience
of about 4,000 spectators. The result was three straight games for the
Shamrocks. The teams were as follows:

SHAMROCKS. POSITIONS. BRANTS.

Reddy Goal Robinson
Barry Point Whitson
Creagan Cover Point Jennings
Fraser } Defence { Whitelaw
Duggan } field { Watson
Ahern } { Skea
Devine Centre Munn
Neville } Home { Pickering
Reilly } field { J. Adams
Ellard } { D. Adams
Keefe Outside home Walker
Brown Inside home Tate
Dumphy Captain Jas. Adams

Referee--W. L. Maltby.

Umpires--Messrs. McLeod and A. W. Stevenson.

Summary of Score--First game, Shamrocks, Ellard, ½m.; second game,
Shamrocks, O’Reilly, 9m.; third game, Shamrocks, Devine, 20m.

* * * * *

~The~ tournament held at Washington Park, Brooklyn, in June, for
the championship of the Eastern Association, was hardly as successful
as it was hoped it would be. In part this was due to the day selected.
But three clubs competed--the Staten Island Athletic Club, the
Brooklyns, and the Maple Leafs, from Philadelphia. In winning first
place and the championship, and defending it successfully in several
games since, the team of the Staten Island Club--formerly the New York
Lacrosse Club--has shown that a change of name did not affect its
playing abilities.

A word regarding this change will not be out of place here. For
many years the New York Lacrosse Club had been without a home.
Notwithstanding this drawback, it struggled on. The record of its games
will show that disappointments did not dishearten the members. This
spring the opportunity of uniting with the Staten Island Athletic Club
offered and was taken advantage of. As a part of the Athletic Club it
now enjoys a home, has a suitable place for practice, and hopes in time
to surpass its previous achievements.

* * * * *

~A match~ for the Eastern District Junior Championship was won
by the Junior Shamrocks from the Crescents, at Montreal, September 22,
by three straight games. The teams were as follows:

CRESCENTS. POSITIONS. JUN. SHAMROCKS.

Mazurette Goal McKenna
Blakely Point Brophy
Murphy Cover point Dwyer
Brown First defence Driscoll
Crosby Second defence Curran
Bark Third defence McVey
Clapperton Centre Moore
McCabe Third home McBrearty
McDonnell Second home Rowan
McAnulty First home Cafferty
McCafferty Outside Tansey
Herbert Inside Lavery
F. W. McAnulty Captain Maguire

Summary of Score--First game, Junior Shamrocks, Tansey, 2m.; second
game, Junior Shamrocks, Brown, 15m.; third game, Junior Shamrocks,
Cafferty, 1m.

Messrs. Hodgson and Shanks, umpires.

W. J. Cleghorn, referee.

LAWN TENNIS.

~The~ eighth annual tournament of the United States National
Lawn Tennis Association for doubles was held on the grounds of the
Staten Island Cricket and Baseball Club, Wednesday, September 12. The
entries were not as large as in previous years, but the playing was
excellent, namely, the match between H. W. Slocum, Jr., and Foxhall
Keene against E. P. MacMullen and C. Hobart. All present were of one
opinion that it was the best double tennis ever seen in this country.
After reaching two sets all, Slocum and Keene seemed to weaken, while
their opponents played with more confidence and heart. The struggle
in the second round between 0. S. Campbell and V. G. Hall against
H. A. Taylor and J. S. Clark was noticeable for many fine rallies
and accurate placing. But the former team proved themselves too much
for the veterans, and won the match three sets to one. In the finals
great interest and excitement prevailed as Campbell and Hall were to
face Hobart and MacMullen. The day set for the match was a perfect
one, so that by three o’clock, when the referee called play, nearly
two thousand people surrounded the court. From the very first it was
apparent that Hall and Campbell had the match well in hand, while
Hobart and MacMullen played as if slightly rattled. Three games all
were called by the umpire on the first set. The playing so far had
been very even. Each team now scored another game “four all.” Hall
and Campbell, by fine serving and placing, won the next two games and
set, 6-4. The second set also fell to them, 6-2, and the third in like
manner, 6-4. The championship was over, and Hall and Campbell were
victorious.

Number of points, 179. Campbell and Hall won 102; MacMullen and Hobart,
77. Points lost by ball knocked out, Campbell and Hall, 19; MacMullen
and Hobart, 29. Points lost by putting into net, Campbell and Hall, 22;
MacMullen and Hobart, 28. Balls placed or passing opponent, Campbell
and Hall, 38; MacMullen and Hobart, 27. Following will be found the
score in full: Preliminary round, A. Torrence and H. M. Torrence,
Jr., beat M. S. Paton and C. E. Sands, 3-6, 1-6, 6-1, 7-5, 9-7; E. P.
MacMullen and C. Hobart beat W. E. Glyn and M. F. Goodbody, 6-3, 7-5,
6-0; F. V. Beach and C. H. Ludington beat J. Dwight and I. Shaw, Jr.,
by default. First round, H. A. Taylor and J. S. Clark beat A. Torrence
and H. M. Torrence, Jr., 6-3, 6-4, 6-3; V. G. Hall and 0. S. Campbell
beat C. J. Post and W. A. Tomes, 6-2, 6-1, 6-1; B. F. Cummins and E.
W. McClellan beat F. V. Beach and C. H. Ludington, 6-3, 4-6, 6-4,
7-9, 6-4; C. Hobart and E. P. MacMullen beat H. W. Slocum, Jr., and
Foxhall Keene, 6-2, 3-6, 4-6, 7-5, 6-3. Second round, V. G. Hall and
O. S. Campbell beat H. A. Taylor and J. S. Clark, 6-3, 3-6, 7-5, 6-3;
C. Hobart and E. P. MacMullen beat B. F. Cummins and E. W. McClellan,
6-2, 5-7, 6-4, 6-3. Final and championship round, V. G. Hall and 0. S.
Campbell beat C. Hobart and E. P. MacMullen, 6-4, 6-2, 6-4. Consolation
prize, Beach and Ludington beat Post and Tomes, 7-5, 6-4, 8-10, 8-10,
8-6. Second prize, Hobart and MacMullen beat Post and Tomes, 6-3, 6-3,
6-4. Taylor and Clark defaulted.

* * * * *

~A very~ pleasant and enjoyable tournament was given at Revere,
Mass., September 3d, on the club grounds of the Revere Lawn Tennis
Club. The audience was large and fashionable. The final game was won by
Mr. Kimball, over his opponent, Mr. Tutien, by a score, 6-4, 6-2.

* * * * *

~The~ fall tournament of the Staten Island Athletic Club, August
30th, was regarded by all as the best entry list and best tennis
yet seen on the grounds. Following will be found the score in full:
Preliminary round--J. Brown beat N. Morris by default; J. W. Raymond
beat W. Brown by default; J. E. Elliott beat W. A. French, 6-0, 6-0; D.
Miller beat F. W. Smith, 6-2, 3-6, 10-8; Sam. Campbell, Jr., beat A.
Williamson, 6-2, 2-6, 6-3. First round, A. H. Larkin beat S. Campbell,
0-6, 6-1, 8-6; E. P. Johnson beat W. E. Gaynor, 6-4, 6-3; W. Brown beat
M. DeGarmendia by default; B. J. Carroll beat F. A. Kellogg, 6-3, 6-5;
Raymond beat J. Johnson, 6-0, 6-4; Elliott beat Henshaw, 6-0, 6-0;
Post beat Kelly, 6-0, 6-1; Miller beat Frothingham, 6-1, 6-4. Second
round, Larkin beat Brown, 6-4, 6-0; Miller beat Johnson, 6-2, 2-6, 6-2;
Elliott beat Carroll, 6-2, 5-6, 6-3; Raymond beat Post, 6-4, 3-6, 6-2.
Third round, Elliott beat Larkin, 6-5, 6-5; Raymond beat Miller, 6-3,
6-5. Final round, Raymond beat Elliott, 6-2, 1-6, 6-1, 6-0. In the
doubles, E. P. MacMullen and C. Hobart, of the N. Y. Tennis Club, were
victorious, defeating Smith and Elliott in the final round, 6-1, 6-0,
7-5.

* * * * *

~The~ second annual invitation tournament of the New Hamburgh
Lawn Tennis Club was held Tuesday, September 18th, and following days
on the private grounds of Mrs. Swords and Mrs. Reese. The rain, which
fell heavily during the entire week, greatly interfered with the
playing. The final singles (out of twenty-four entries) was fought
between Mr. O. S. Campbell and Mr. V. G. Hall. The former won after
a long and hard struggle. Score: Campbell beat Hall, 4-6, 7-5, 7-5,
11-9. In the gentlemen’s doubles, Messrs. Campbell and Steele were
victorious, defeating the Hall brothers in the finals, 1-6, 6-2, 6-4.
Miss E. C. Roosevelt, of Poughkeepsie (well known on the tennis field),
won the ladies’ singles over Miss Anna Sands. The ladies’ doubles were
easily won by the Misses Roosevelt. The mixed doubles (which were
handicap) were won by Miss Camilla Moss and Mr. C. E. Sands.

* * * * *

~The~ annual open Lawn Tennis tournament of the New York Tennis
Club was held on their grounds at 147th Street, September 19th. The
courts are considered by many to be the finest in the country. Mr. E.
P. MacMullen won the gentlemen’s singles, and with Mr. C. Hobart as
partner, the doubles also. Ladies’ singles and mixed doubles formed the
other events. Mrs. Badgeley won the singles, and Mr. MacMullen and Miss
V. Hobart the mixed doubles. The courts were in excellent condition.
The playing was above that of last season, especially the final match
between MacMullen and Hobart.

* * * * *

~One~ of the largest tennis tournaments of the season was given
September 26th, on the grounds of the Highlands Country Club, about
five miles from Washington. The winner, Mr. Mansfield, now holds the
championship of the Southern States. Remarkably good tennis, fine
weather, and a large and fashionable attendance were the features of
the week. Space forbids giving the score in full; suffice it to say
that Fred. Mansfield, of the Longwood Club, Boston, carried off the
honors in the gentlemen’s singles by defeating D. Miller in the final
round, 6-1, 6-4, 6-2. In the gentlemen’s doubles, Mansfield was again
successful, and with his partner, F. V. Hoppin, easily defeated, in the
final round, Davidson and Metcalf, 6-2, 6-2, 3-6, 6-2.

* * * * *

~The~ Clifton Lawn Tennis Club held its annual tournament at
Fort Wadsworth, Staten Island, September 27th. As the tournament was
open to all Staten Island clubs, the Ladies’ Out-Door Sporting Club
and the Staten Island Athletic Club were well represented. Miss Austin
won in the final round of the ladies’ singles, defeating Miss Gertrude
Williams, 6-3, 1-6, 6-4, 6-1. E. W. Gould carried off the honors among
the gentlemen by defeating J. B. Johnson in the final, 6-2, 1-6, 6-1,
6-1. Very handsome prizes were given to the winners.

* * * * *

~Not~ long ago an association was formed comprising all the lawn
tennis clubs on the Hudson River, from Yonkers to Albany. The name by
which it was to be known was the Hudson River Lawn Tennis Association.
The first tournament was held on the grounds of the “Far and Near,”
at Hastings-on-the-Hudson, Sept. 25th, and proved, for a beginning, a
great success. Mr. V. G. Hall, of the Edgwood Club, won the handsome
silver pitcher, valued at $200, which will become his property by
winning it twice. In the gentlemen’s doubles, V. G. Hall and his
brother, E. L. Hall, were winners, defeating C. E. and R. C. Sands in
the finals score, 6-4, 2-6, 3-6, 6-5, 6-3. Miss E. C. Roosevelt won
the ladies’ singles, and with her sister Grace, the doubles also. The
mixed doubles were won by Mr. C. E. Sands and Miss E. Roosevelt. In
all probability, the next meeting, which is to take place some time in
June, 1889, will be on the Newburgh courts.

QUOITS.

~A match~ was played at Montreal, September 22, for the
championship of the Dominion, on the Montreal Quoiting Club’s grounds,
and resulted in a victory for the home club over the Dominion Club by
65 points. The following are the teams, with the individual scores:

DOMINION CLUB. MONTREAL CLUB.

1. G. Fleet 23 A. McIntyre 31
2. J. Ganley 5 J. Graham 31
3. J. Briggs 10 J. J. Elliott 31
4. X. Desrochers 31 J. Williams 27
5. L. E. Farrar 26 G. Sibley 31
6. A. Tattersall 31 J. Leduc 12
7. M. Bannan 7 A. Lindsay 31
8. A. Weir 26 W. Renshaw 31
9. H. Oram 31 W. Ogilvie 20
10. R. Waugh 28 H. Trepannier 31
11. J. Cuthbert 31 A. Loiseau 15
12. W. J. Stewart 8 J. J. Adams 31
--- ---
257 322

ROWING.

~The~ Atalanta Boat Club held its fortieth annual regatta on the
Harlem, September 15. It was also Ladies’ Day. The club-house at One
Hundred and Fifty-third Street was crowded with guests. No time was
kept of the different contests, which were very exciting. The following
is the result of the races, and the names of the men who took part in
them:

Junior single shells--Entries: George B. Weed, William D. Bourne,
William C. Dilger, Edward W. Tanner and Alexander Woods. William D.
Bourne won.

Senior single gigs, for gold medal given by Captain Theodore Van Raden;
distance, one mile--Entries: Max Lau, William Lau, George R. Storms and
Benjamin A. Jackson. Max Lau won.

Four-oared shells--Entries: No. 1, W. E. Cody, bow; S. B. Marks, P.
B. Reyhmer, J. A. Garland, stroke. No. 2, W. C. Doscher, bow; A. G.
Roemer, C. A. Hawley, W. Content, stroke. No. 3, E. J. Stewart, bow; D.
Van Holland, W. Dittmar, Jr., H. A. McLean, stroke. No. 2 won.

Eight-oared barge race--Entries were, No. 1, married, William C.
Dilger, bow; G. M. Young, William Dittmar, D. Van Holland, E. J.
Cullen, H. M. Williams, T. McAdam, W. Dittmar, Jr., stroke, and H.
Hazard, coxswain. No. 2, single, C. F. Beyer, bow; E. McCormack, F.
H. S. Cooley, F. A. Merrill, W. J. Davenport, A. J. Wallace, S. A.
Saffard, E. Fuchs, stroke, and H. Moody, coxswain. The race was a
close, pretty and interesting one, and resulted in a victory for the
married men.

Eight-oared shells--Entries: No. 1, F. McElroy, bow; E. J. Allen, E.
D. McMurray, D. Brown, H. D. Clapp, W. B. Merrall, L. F. Roediger, B.
A. Jackson, stroke; E. P. K. Coffin, coxswain. No. 2, W. H. Chandler,
bow; T. G. Smith, E. J. Ranhoffer, I. D. Fairchild, F. Pullman, W. J.
Winter, J. A. Miller, O. Fuchs, stroke; J. E. Silliman, coxswain. No.
3, C. Renner, bow; W. J. Hutchinson, E. R. Bunce, W. F. Mohr, G. R.
Pasco, G. Radley, W. D. Stewart, E. H. Patterson, stroke, and E. J.
Byrne, coxswain. This race differed from the others in that it was over
a straightaway mile course. No. 1 won.

* * * * *

~The~ fourth annual regatta of the Nautilus Boat Club took place
September 15. The course was from the Sea Beach dock, at Bay Ridge,
toward the Atlantic Yacht Club basin. Distance, with a turn, about
three-fourths of a mile.

The junior single-gig race, class A, with five entries, was rowed in
two trial heats. Johnson won first heat--time, 5m. 24s. Olsen, second
heat, 5m. 29s. The final heat was won by Olsen; time, 5m. 6s.

The junior single-gig race, class B. Nine entries. First trial heat won
by W. Reid; time, 5m. 21s. Second trial heat, S. H. Ayres; time, 5m.
27s. Third trial heat, S. Manley; time, 5m. 44s. The final heat was won
by Ayres in 5m. 24s.; Manley second.

The junior double-scull gig was won by Oswald and Peterson; time, 5m.

The senior double-scull gig was won by F. Olsen and M. Donally; time,
4m. 45s. Their only competitors, the two Hillmans, were only a half
length behind at the finish.

The single-gig match, between W. A. Merrick and T. F. Crean, was won by
the latter. Time, 5m. 41s.

Two crews entered for the junior four-oared gig race. The crew composed
by W. Charnley, T. F. Crean, A. T. Morro and A. Ribas, with W. Whitner
as coxswain, won by a boat’s length, in 4m. 5s.

The eight-oared barge race was won by Captain Donnelly’s crew, made
up as follows: Fred Olsen, bow; J. O’Conner, second; J. D. Phillips,
third; A. N. Peterson, fourth; S. Manley, fifth; M. W. Mullany, sixth;
R. Hillmon, seventh; M. Donaly, stroke, and C. W. Parmlee, coxswain,
were the winning crew by two boat-lengths; time, 4m. 54s.

* * * * *

~A popular~ subscription has been started by the Cornell _Era_
to raise money to put an eight-oar crew on the water next season. A
Cornell crew in the seventies showed all the college crews the way to
victory.

SHOOTING.

~The~ annual contest for State trophies of the Massachusetts
Volunteer Militia took place at South Framingham, Sept. 25. The
contests were open to teams of seven men each from each county, and the
staff teams were five each. There were two prizes for staff officers,
three for line officers, and three for enlisted men, besides the three
team prizes. Two scores of seven shots each, contestants shooting in
teams count that score and then shoot an additional one.

Staff Team Prize--Staff 2d Brigade, 1st, 136; Staff 5th Infantry, 2d,
136; Staff 1st Brigade, 3d, 135.

Staff Officers--Capt. J. B. Osborne, 1st Brigade, 60; Lieut. R. B.
Edes, 5th Infantry, 60.

Line Officers--Lieut. E. B. C. Erickson, 5th Infantry, 61; Lieut. C.
N. Edgell, 2d Infantry, 60; Capt. Williamson, 1st Infantry, 58.

Company Team Match--Compy. B, 2d Infantry, 200; Compy. C, 2d Cadets,
198; Compy. F, 2d Infantry, 194.

* * * * *

~The~ National Rifle Association of America held their annual
meeting at Creedmoor in September. The attendance was smaller than
last year--in fact, it seems to grow smaller every year. The shooting
was, on the whole, good. Sergt. T. J. Dolan, 12th N. Y., made the fine
score of 50 points at 200 and 500 yards, 5 shots at each range, making
the possible 25 points at both, a feat that has never before been
equaled on the range. Both his scores were made on the same day. Capt.
Barnard Walther, of the renowned Zettler Club, of New York City, again
carried off the first prize in the Tiffany Match, this being the second
consecutive year he has won the cup. The Massachusetts State Team again
won the Inter-state and Hilton trophies, being the third consecutive
year that they have accomplished this. Major C. W. Hinman, of Boston,
won the Governor’s Match at 50 yards. Sergt.-Major W. M. Merrill, of
Boston, won the Wimbledon Cup at 1,000 yards. Sergt. Geo. Doyle, Corps
of Engineers, U. S. A., won the President’s Match, which carries with
it the title of Champion Military Rifle Shot of the U. S. A. for the
coming year. Sergt. Fred. Wells, 22d N. Y., made the same number of
points, but was outranked. Sergt. Wells won the first stage and prize
of $20. The Zettler Rifle Club, of New York City, won the Short Range
Team Match. The winners and matches were as follows:

Director’s Match (5 shots, 200 yards)--James Duane, 23.

Wimbledon Cup (30 shots, 1,000 yards)--Sergt. W. M. Merrill, 134; F. H.
Holton, 125; W. F. Mayer, 117; I. F. McNevin, 116; C. H. Gaus, 103; T.
J. Dolan, 79.

Judd Match (at 200 yards--two scores of five shots each to count
for first five prizes. For remainder of prizes, one single score;
each contestant to shoot six strings, three each day. Twenty-five
prizes)--T. J. Dolan, 1st; T. G. Austen, 2d; D. H. Ogden, 3d; W. G.
Hussey, 4th; W. C. Johnston, 5th. The first three prizes were won with
the Remington 50 cal. rifle, which received two points allowance on ten
shots.

The Long Range Military Match (10 shots at 800, 900 and 1,000
yards)--Jas. McNevins, 114; C. W. Hinman, 112; W. M. Merrill, 111; A.
B. Van Heusen, 110.

President’s Match (first stage at 200 and 500 yards)--F. A. Wells,
1st, 67. The 22 men who won prizes in the first stage were eligible to
shoot at 600 yards, 10 shots each, and the man making the highest total
at 200, 500 and 600, won the prize of $25 and the title of Military
Champion. Sergt. Doyle (total of both stages), 109; F. A. Wells, 109;
T. J. Dolan, 107. T. J. Dolan was the winner last year.

Short Range Team Match (American standard target, 200 yards
off-hand)--Zettler Rifle Club--B. Walther, 84; M. Dorrler, 83; L.
Flack, 73; C. S. Zettler, 52--total, 292.

Second Regiment Team, Massachusetts Volunteer Militia--W. M. Farrow,
77; M. W. Bull, 70; S. S. Bumstead, 65; F. R. Bull, 59; allowance,
16--total, 287. This team used military rifles and received 4 points
allowance per man.

Lynn Rifle Association, Lynn, Mass.--W. G. Hussey, 73; W. C. Johnston,
70; C. W. Hinman, 67; R. B. Eades, 55; allowance, 12--total, 277. All
used military rifles except Hinman.

Nyack Rifle Club, Nyack, N. Y.--J. J. Sydecker, 64; G. McAucliffe, 59;
D. Shakespear, 59; J. O. Davidson, 53--total, 245.

New York State National Guard Match--Regimental Team Match (at 200
and 500 yards)--23d Regiment Team, 1st, 521; 12th Regiment Team, 482;
7th, 495; 13th, 484; 22d, 451. 1st Brigade, National Guard Match--7th
Regiment Team, 572; 12th, 485; 2d, 441. 2d Brigade--23d Regiment Team,
509; 13th, 457.

The Inter-State Match had only New York and Massachusetts State teams
entered (12 men, 10 shots each, at 200 and 500 yards)--Massachusetts
State Team, 1,047; New York State Team, 1,015.

Hilton Trophy--open to State teams and teams from the divisions of
the regular army (7 shots each at 200, 500 and 600 yards, 12 men each
team)--Massachusetts Team, 1,080; Division of the Atlantic Team, 1,057;
New York Team, 1,057.

Governor’s Match (three scores to count at 500 yards each, shooter to
shoot as many entries as he pleases)--Major C. W. Hinman, Boston, 1st;
Capt. J. B. Osborn, Boston, 2d.

Tiffany Match (200 yards)--B. Walther, 1st; T. J. Dolan, 2d; W. M.
Farrow, 3d.

Stewart Match (200 yards, standing, sitting or kneeling)--J. F. Klein,
1st; Geo. Doyle, 2d; W. M. Farrow, 3d; W. G. Hussey, 4th; C. L. Potter,
5th; J. S. Shepherd, 6th; C. H. Gaus, 7th; C. A. Jones, 8th; J. D.
Foot, 9th.

All Comers and Marksman Badge (25 at 200 and 25 at 500)--T. J. Dolan,
1st.

Revolver Match--Ira A. Paine, 140; A. Brennor, 132; J. G. Newbury, 123;
G. L. Garrigues, 122; W. E. Petty, 120; W. C. Johnston, Jr., 119; F. J.
H. Merrill, 114; C. H. Gaus, 113; W. M. Merrill, 113; J. E. Winslow,
111. Among the noted visitors present during the week were Herr Josef
Schuloff, the inventor of the magazine rifle and revolver, Col. Bodine,
Col. Miller, Major Shorkley, and other well-known rifle-shots.

* * * * *

~The~ eighth annual tournament of the Western Rifle Association
was held recently at Fort Snelling, Minn. It was successful as far as
shooting is concerned. The following are the summaries:

THE CHICAGO MATCH (10 SHOTS).

200 YDS. 300 YDS. 600 YDS. TOTAL.
E. W. Bird 45 43 48 136
C. Mandlin 46 47 43 136
C. W. Skinner 48 42 43 133

DEER HUNTER MATCH (10 SHOTS, AMERICAN FIELD TARGET).

100 YDS. 200 YDS. TOTAL.
John Marshall 81 65 146
E. W. Bird 70 71 141

Pistol or Revolver Match (15 shots at 30 yards)--C. M. Skinner, 135; A.
E. Chantler, 117; S. M. Tyrrell, 105.

Minneapolis _Tribune_ Match (15 shots at 200, 500 and 600 yards)--C. W.
Weeks, 275; John Marshall, 272.

Minneapolis Match (shot on new decimal target adopted by Minneapolis
Rifle Club--15 shots at 500 and 600 yards)--E. W. Bird, gold badge,
225; A. F. Elliott, deer’s head, 224; John Marshall, silver card-tray,
216.

Police Revolver Match (50 yards, 20 shots each)--C. M. Skinner, 151;
S. M. Tyrrell, 127; E. W. Bird, 126; A. S. Chantler, 118; C. W. Weeks,
117. This was shot on the American field target. C. Mandlin, of
Minneapolis, won the Continuous Match at 200 yards off-hand.

* * * * *

~Mr. Fred. E. Bennett~, of Boston, the champion revolver shot
of America, has been doing some fine shooting at 50 yards, using a 22
calibre pistol. In 100 consecutive shots he made the following fine
totals: 97, 95, 90, 85, 89, 91, 93, 89, 86, 91--total, 906, out of a
possible 1,000. Mr. Bennett has issued a challenge to shoot a revolver
match with Ira Paine for $1,000 a side, either in France, England, or
America.

* * * * *

~The~ experts at the National Armory, at Springfield, Mass., are
trying a new ammunition with a view to the adoption of a small calibre
rifle. The experiments made so far demonstrate that the Swiss rifle,
which is of a small calibre (about .30), has a very flat trajectory at
500 yards, and is accurate; while the Springfield, or U. S. Government
rifle has a very high trajectory. Further experiments will be made
before anything definite is done.

* * * * *

~A new~ rifle club has been organized in Newark, N. J. Its
officers are William Dennenger, president; F. Kraus, vice-president;
William Doull, secretary; K. Kopf, treasurer; F. Siegman,
sergeant-at-arms.

YACHTING.

~A dozen~ pretty cat-rigged yachts, manned by jolly crews from
Brooklyn, Canarsie and Ruffle Bar, sailed a very exciting race on
Jamaica Bay, Saturday, September 23. It was the second of the series
inaugurated by the Windward Club of Ruffle Bar, and the result has
decided that Mr. Hatch’s pretty _Julita_, built three years ago by Dick
Wallin, of South Brooklyn, is the fastest boat in the first class, for
she has won both races, and so takes the prize of the Windward Cup,
offered by the club.

* * * * *

~The~ Yorkville Yacht Club had its twice postponed fall races
September 23. There was a lack of wind in the forenoon. In the
afternoon the yachts started from Oak Point against a light wind and
with a strong flood tide. Both wind and tide were with them on the
return. Classes A, B and C sailed around the gangway buoy and return,
a distance of twenty miles. The other classes rounded the Stepping
Stones Lighthouse, making fifteen miles. In class A, for cabin sloops
more than 30 feet, D. McGlynn’s _Emma and Alice_ was the only entry.
She made the distance in 5 hours 15 minutes 15 seconds. _Maud M._,
manned by Sergeant McManus and a crew of 14 men from Fort Schuyler, had
a walk over in the class for cabin boats under 30 feet. Her time was 5
hours 18 minutes 45 seconds. She broke her spinnaker on the return. J.
Thomson’s _Bessie R._ was the only catboat between 17 and 22 feet, and
she sailed the 15 miles in 5 hours 3 minutes 30 seconds. The _Jessie_
was successful in her class, and the _Happy Thought_ won handily in the
race for smaller catboats. The _Peerless_, the _Jennie V._, and the
_Helen_ did not finish.

* * * * *

~The~ Fall Regatta of the New York Yacht Club took place
September 20. The day was all that could be desired by the most ardent
yachtsman.

At 11h. 32m. the Blue Peter was lowered on the _Electra’s_ foremast and
the signal gun started the racers. _Fannie_, under mainsail and jib,
with the wind on the starboard quarter, rushed for the line, with the
_Dauntless_ a little to windward and the _Katrina_ almost bow and bow.
As they darted past the flagship the _Dauntless_ hauled a little closer
by the wind and shot ahead of the other two yachts, the _Katrina_
passing within a few feet of the _Electra’s_ lee side. The three went
over almost in line and made one of the handsomest marine pictures ever
seen in New York harbor. The _Dauntless_ held the lead for a short
distance, but the _Katrina_ soon forged ahead. After these three the
_Alarm_ came slowly by as stiff as a house, but a little faster. Then
followed the _Shamrock_, with her baby jibtopsail in stops, which were
broken as she crossed the line, and the _Adelaide_, heeling well to
leeward. The _Grayling_, with every sail set and as full as a balloon,
rushed across in her dashing style. The _Wizard_ followed after her
with a handicap of 3 minutes, and then the _Magic_, also handicapped
12m. 57s.

The yachts had a beat to the lightship and were forced to make a long
and short leg to weather the buoys, which had to be passed on the port
hand. The _Katrina_ and _Shamrock_ seemed to point about the same and
were both pinched very closely. The former was the first to go on
port tack, at 12h. 35m., followed by the _Shamrock_ one minute after.
The _Grayling_ held to the starboard tack longer than either of the
sloops and gained very much in so doing, for she rounded the Sandy Hook
Lightship almost the same moment as the _Shamrock_. Following are the
times:

H. M. S.
Katrina 12 40 05
Shamrock 12 45 30
Grayling 12 45 35

In the run from the start to the lightship the _Katrina_ gained 1m.
13s. on the _Shamrock_. That from the lightship to the stake boat was
a reach by the wind on the port tack. When the yachts reached the
_Haviland_ the _Katrina_ was still in the lead, though she had lost
45 seconds to the _Shamrock_, who had in turn gained 2 minutes on the
_Grayling_. The _Dauntless_ was leading the _Fanny_ at this point, and
the _Adelaide_ the _Wizard_. At the stake-boat the following times were
taken:

H. M. S.
Katrina 1 26 40
Shamrock 1 32 60
Grayling 1 34 55

The yachts passed the _Haviland_ on the port hand, easing off sheets
and running again for the lightship with the wind on the starboard
quarter. They rounded the lightship a second time as follows:

H. M. S.
Katrina 2 10 05
Shamrock 2 15 08
Grayling 2 15 42

In this run the _Katrina_ lost 22 seconds to the _Shamrock_, who gained
1 minute on the _Grayling_.

From Sandy Hook Lightship it was a run with the wind on the port beam
to the finish. The sloops set their club topsails over working ones
and made a fast run home. The _Katrina_ held the lead to the end, but
lost on time allowance. The wind was a steady wholesale breeze from the
south-southwest, and remained so throughout the day.

The following is the elapsed and corrected time:

KEEL SCHOONERS.

_Elapsed._ _Corr’d_
_Start._ _Finish._ _Time._ _Time._

H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S. H. M. S.

Dauntless 11 34 14 3 22 24 3 48 10 3 48 10
Alarm 11 35 22 3 45 26 4 10 04 [*]

CLASS 3--SCHOONERS.

Grayling 11 40 55 3 10 35 3 29 40 3 29 40
Magic 11 42 00 3 42 03 4 02 03 3 59 22

CLASS 2--SLOOPS.

Shamrock 11 38 35 3 11 44 3 33 09 3 31 59
Katrina 11 34 23 3 08 13 3 33 50 3 33 50
Fanny 11 34 14 3 36 00 3 57 09 3 54 10

CLASS 4--SLOOPS.

Adelaide 11 40 06 3 55 38 4 15 32[*]
Wizard 11 42 00 Did not finish.

[*] Not measured.

Thus in the keel schooner class the _Dauntless_ beats the _Alarm_.
In class 3 the _Grayling_ beats the _Magic_ 29m. 42s. and makes
the quickest time over the course. In the second class sloops the
_Shamrock_ beats the _Katrina_ 1m. 51s., and the _Adelaide_ has a walk
over in class 4, the _Wizard_ having carried away her topmast.

* * * * *

~A new~ yacht club was recently organized in this city. It will
be known as the Rockaway Yacht Club. The certificate of incorporation
was signed Sept. 17.

* * * * *

~Can~ any of our readers inform us what has become of the
following clubs, and what are their present addresses?

~Cycling~--Weston Wheelmen, Weston, Ohio; Worcester Bicycle
Club, Worcester, Mass.; Wayside Wheelmen, Brooklyn, L. I.

~Canoe~--Mystic Canoe Club, Winchester, Conn.; Stillwater
Canoe Club, Stillwater, Ohio.

~Rowing~--New England Amateur Rowing Association, Boston,
Mass.; Long Island Amateur Rowing Association, Brooklyn.

~Shooting~--Memphis Gun Club, Shell Lake, Ark.; Jacksonville
Gun Club, Jacksonville, Ky.; Frelinghuysen Rifle Club, New York
City; Krutland Ionia Hunting Club, Grand Rapids, Mich.

~Yachting~--Bohemian Yacht Club, San Francisco, Cal.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

[_This department of_ ~Outing~ _is devoted to answers to
correspondents seeking information on subjects appertaining to all
sports._]

* * * * *

_Yachtsman, Chesapeake Bay Y. C._--You cannot do better than have your
boat furnished by Messrs. Warren, Ward & Co., 6 and 8 East 20th St., N.
Y. City. Commodore Gerry had his steam yacht _Electra_ fitted by this
firm, and the results are admirable. The best refrigerator for a yacht
is made by W. Law, 324 East 122d Street, City.

* * * * *

_J. Dixon, New York City._--We are able to give you the information you
require as to your proposed cycling trip from West Troy to Buffalo. (1)
You would be allowed to ride on the tow-path of the canal. (2) The road
is not good. (3) The distance is about 325 miles. (4) On the road you
should average from forty to sixty miles, but on the tow-path you would
not do more than about twenty-five miles a day. You would also have to
dismount often on account of mule teams, etc. These animals have been
known to jump into the canal at the sight of a bicycle, thereby causing
trouble between canal boat men and cycler, much to the disadvantage
of the latter. We should strongly advise you to take the main road,
and follow the route in the New York Road Book. (5) As to your last
question, we think that you had better use your own judgment.

* * * * *

_Observer._--The best position in which to place a registering
thermometer is over an open grass-plot. If this cannot be done, a
wall may be used, care being taken that it is a garden-wall, and not
the wall of a house; also that the screen in which the thermometer is
placed hangs at some distance from the wall, so as to admit of the free
passage of air behind it. In all cases the thermometer should be placed
in a screen not less than four feet from the ground, and facing to the
north (in the northern hemisphere) and sheltered from the sun at all
hours, but exposed to a free circulation of the air.

* * * * *

_Drag-Hunter, Boston, Mass._--The best drag for hounds is generally
supposed to be a common red herring. Assafœtida is sometimes used,
and also aniseed. Many people suppose, however, that the last is
detrimental to hounds, but drag-hunting of any description will spoil a
pack for fox, so that that question does not matter much.

* * * * *

_T. G. F., Portland, Oregon._--Your description and sketch of the fish
caught on a branch of the Columbia River, in Washington Territory,
and which you supposed to be a “grayling,” was so imperfect that it
was hard to give you an answer. We referred it to Dr. Tarleton H.
Bean, of the Smithsonian Institution, one of the highest authorities
on ichthyology in the country. It would have been a matter of great
interest had the grayling been found in that region. It seems, however,
that it is only another instance of the confusion which arises from
local nomenclatures. Dr. Bean’s reply sets the matter at rest, and
is so interesting that we publish it in full. He writes: “The sketch
sent is intended to represent Williamson’s whitefish (_Coregonus
Williamsoni_), which is called ‘grayling’ in some parts of the West.
I do not know of the existence of a grayling west of Montana, until
British America is reached. Williamson’s whitefish is common in the
region west of the Rocky Mountains, particularly so in the Sierra
Nevada, and is often styled ‘grayling.’”

* * * * *

_B. J. W., Albany, N. Y._--Yes. An amateur athlete may compete with a
professional, provided that it is a genuinely friendly contest, but not
for money or prizes, or at a public meeting.

* * * * *

_Scott, Montreal, Canada._--The best way to preserve gut leaders is to
wrap them up in wash-leather, tightly bound with string. If they are in
good condition, they will keep well like this for years.

* * * * *

_J. S. M., East 56th Street, N. Y. City._--What you heard is quite
true, although you appear to doubt it so much. The “King of Dudes,”
Berry Wall, was at one time quite an athlete, and about seven or eight
years ago was one of the fastest amateur walkers in the country. His
record for a mile was 7m. 20s.

* * * * *

_J. A. I., Phila._--E. Waters & Sons, of Troy, New York, are builders
of paper boats. The name was incorrectly given in the September
~Outing~.

* * * * *

_Duck Hunter, Charles City, Va._--You can obtain such rubber goods as
you mention from the Hodgman Rubber Company, 459 and 461, Broadway, New
York.

* * * * *

_Jock, Dayton, Ohio._--The race called “The Oaks” is run on the Friday
following Derby Day. It is for three-year-old fillies, and the distance
is about a mile and a half, over the same course as the Derby. Both
races were founded by the twelfth Earl of Derby--the first Oaks being
run on May 14, 1779, and being named after his residence at Woodman
Sterne, while the first Derby was run in the next year. The Derby
course was at first a mile, but has since been altered.

* * * * *

_Double Team, Albany, N. Y._--To the best of our knowledge there is no
better treatment for thrush in horses than the old method of frequently
dressing the affected feet with tar, spread on tow. This should be
well thrust into the cleft of the frog. Carbolic acid is also used in
the same way, while in severe cases, where lameness is occasioned, it
becomes necessary to use poultices.

* * * * *

_Pointer, Lynchburg, Va._--The question whether or not to remove
a puppy’s dew-claws, is more a matter of fashion and opinion than
anything else. As a matter of fact, the presence of dew-claws seems
very seldom to lead to any inconvenience to a dog. There does not,
however, seem to be any real objection to the removal of them, for
the attachment is usually only ligamentous; or, if bone does exist,
it is so slight that the operation of cutting them does not amount to
anything.

* * * * *

_Sportsman, Brooklyn._--President Cleveland’s bluefishing trip was
not the first angling expedition he had made during his presidential
career, for last year he went up to the Adirondacks for trout-fishing.
It will be remembered that his predecessor, President Arthur, was also
an enthusiastic angler.

* * * * *

_Whip, Fifty-ninth Street, N. Y._--What you say is quite true as to
the difficulty in procuring good, lasting gloves for rough work like
driving. There is, however, a capital article for your purpose, or,
indeed, for any purpose, manufactured by J. C. Hutchinson, Johnstown,
N. Y. This maker’s gloves will, we think, give you satisfaction.

* * * * *

_H. S. P., Newark, N. J._--If the horse has completely “broken down,”
the fetlock joint will actually touch the ground. From your description
this does not seem to be the case, and so the accident probably only
amounts to a partial breakdown, due to the rupture of the flexor tendon
and some of its ligamentous fibres. As to treatment, you had better
consult a veterinary surgeon, but after the first severity of the
inflammation has subsided, it is generally thought best to fire the leg.

* * * * *

_Housewife, Baltimore, Md._--Truly your questions are hardly in
~Outing’s~ line, but we can answer them. It is very hard to beat
that most reliable article, the Royal Baking Powder; you will see from
the company’s advertisement what testimonials it receives from sources
absolutely trustworthy. As to your second question, we cannot do better
than refer you to the Quarterly published by Messrs. Strawbridge &
Clothier, Eighth and Market Streets, Philadelphia. In this useful
publication you will find on page 148 just the information you want.

* * * * *

_Racquet, Toronto._--You are quite right in supposing that tennis
proper, or court tennis, has seen much palmier days. It is said that in
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries there were a couple of hundred
courts in England, of which fourteen were in London, while Henry VIII.
built one at Hampton Court Palace. No revival of this aristocratic game
took place till this century. In 1838 one was built at Lord’s Cricket
Ground, London. Now there are, we believe, three in London, one each
at Oxford and Cambridge, while there are five other public or club
courts in England, at Manchester, Brighton, Leamington, Crayley near
Winchester, and Hampton Court. Besides these there are about as many
private ones.

* * * * *

_Capt. C., Minneapolis._--In England linseed oil is never used in
hunting stables, except as a purgative, or, mixed with tobacco dust
(about three-quarters of an ounce of the latter to three-quarters of a
pint of the former) as a drench for worms. To hacks and harness horses
linseed oil is sometimes given in small quantities to make their coats
look better. The seed itself is given to hunters after a day’s work,
either in the form of linseed tea (a substitute for oatmeal gruel), or
when boiled to a jelly and mixed with a bran mash. About two pounds
of linseed is the quantity for either preparation. Linseed jelly is
often mixed with oats when it is desired to put flesh on horses in poor
condition, or when getting them up for sale. It is a demulcent, and
slightly laxative.

[Illustration: A PAIR OF POACHERS.]

~Outing.~

~Vol. XIII.~ DECEMBER, 1888. ~No. 3.~

[Illustration]

SPORT--PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE.

BY ALEXANDER HUNTER.

It may be a pleasant task for the sporting antiquary or the historian
of some future period to trace the rise and fall of shooting in the
section where the Potomac bursts foaming through its narrow bed at the
Great Falls to Point Lookout, where the wide, majestic river mixes
its fresh waters with the brine of Chesapeake Bay. But retrospection
only brings sadness and regret to the sportsman of to-day, who sees
the finest shooting-ground for wild fowl on the American continent now
denuded of its game, except in scantiest quantities.

_Potomac_ in the Indian dialect signifies “The River of Swans.” A
pleasure or health seeker as he passes down the bay _en route_ to Old
Point, or a tourist on a pilgrimage to Mount Vernon, admires from the
steamer’s deck the fine scenery, the bold headlands, the sweeping
curves of the shore, and the ever-shifting scenes of the beautiful
river, but he will never catch a glimpse, in a lifetime’s travel, of
the stately birds that were so plentiful that the river was named after
them.

All the observant traveler now sees is the settling of, perhaps, a
dozen broad-bills in the water, or the alighting of a solitary shuffler
or mallard. He will learn with surprise that not many years back the
steamer literally ploughed its way through vast flocks of ducks, who
only took wing when the sharp prow was within a few yards of them,
while every creek, stream and run that poured its waters into the river
was alive with waterfowl of a dozen different species, scurrying to and
fro, circling high into the air, or striking into their native element
with an explosive splash. On a windy day the river was so black with
them that the bosom of the deep seemed to have been changed into an
undulating, many-hued meadow.

Across the river from Mount Vernon was one of the most famous ducking
blinds on the Potomac. The steamboat passengers notice with curiosity
what appears to be a small island directly in the centre of the river,
which at this point is about two miles wide. It is a miniature Loch
Leven Castle, and the ruins of a small stone edifice makes it a
romantic picture in the varied panorama that unfolds as one passes
down the “River of Swans.” Right across on the Maryland side is one
of those old colonial brick houses that tell of days when his Majesty
was “prayed for” by fox-hunting parsons, and where the King’s health
was drunk before each toast by the cocked-hat gentry. The house, which
stands on a high hill, and faces Mount Vernon across the river, is the
manor-seat of the Chapmans, a family whose name is connected with every
public enterprise or “high emprise” from the conversion of the colony
of Maryland into a commonwealth.

[Illustration: The Willet

Ox Eyes]

General John Chapman was a great lover of both rod and gun, and some
thirty years ago he conceived the idea of making comfort and sport go
hand in hand. Having made his soundings, he kept his slaves steadily
at work, during odd days and off hours, hauling rocks in flat-boats,
and dumping them into the rolling river. He kept his own counsel, and
his neighbors began to fear he was going crazy. At last his island
was completed. Like the Old Point “Rip-Raps,” it arose sheer from
the water, and was composed entirely of loose rock. Chapman Island,
as it was called, had an area of about a quarter of an acre, and was
shaped like a cigar--the smaller end gradually decreasing in height
and breadth until the narrowing ledge disappeared in the water.
At this point the decoys--rarely under a hundred, often double
that number--were placed. At the large end of the island was the
hunting-lodge, at a distance of about seventy-five yards. It was built
low, but the walls were thick, and a coal stove kept it comfortable
in the stormiest, coldest days. It is doubtful whether there ever was
a blind in all America that surpassed in attractions this artificial
island.

Ducks, as a general thing, when moving in great numbers, choose the
middle of a river, and seeing a large flock (the decoys) floating near
the point, they would invariably swirl aside and join them. At a time
when the river was full of waterfowl, some idea may be had of the
royal sport, without any terrible exposure and endurance; a warm fire,
refreshments of all kinds within a minute’s walk, and the ducks raining
down in a ceaseless stream from the sky--that was the very poetry of
sporting.

In the fall and winter months General Chapman had his house filled with
the men whose names are household words in America, and his oyster
roasts, canvasback and terrapin stews were as widely known then as were
the dinners of the great lobbyist and gourmand, Sam Ward, a quarter of
a century afterwards.

From the traditions handed down, it is known that General Washington
was an enthusiastic rider after hounds, and it was at one of the meets
that he first met Mistress Betty Custis; but he never was a devotee of
the gun. There are several letters written by him to his patron, Lord
Fairfax, of Greenway Court, which are, or were a few years ago, in the
possession of Mrs. Custis, of Williamsburg, Virginia. In them the young
surveyor tells in glowing language of the fine runs he has had and the
brushes he has taken.

Opportunity makes the right man; but for the Revolution, George
Washington, of Mount Vernon, Virginia, would have been a hard-riding
fox-hunter, a shrewd bargainer at a horse-trade, and a vestryman of the
Pohick church.

Washington’s nearest neighbor was famous George Mason, whose statue
adorns Capitol Square in Richmond, Va. He lived a few miles down the
river at Gunston Hall, which, next to Greenway Court, was in its day
the most celebrated hunting resort in Virginia, and was the scene of
many a glorious meet long after girder, rafter and roof of Greenway
Court had mouldered in the dust.

[Illustration: ON THE BANKS OF THE POTOMAC.]

Gunston Hall of to-day is the same building as that of over a century
ago. It was built for comfort and not for show, for the walls are very
thick, making the rooms warm in winter and cool in summer. It was
erected in 1739, and every brick was brought from England as ballast.
The plantation originally comprised 5,000 acres, and was, without
exception, the finest game preserve in the country. Colonel Mason was
an ardent sportsman, and cherished and protected the game on his land.
At his river front the wild celery grew in the greatest profusion. If
those old walls of Gunston Hall could talk, what entrancing tales they
could tell of men of iron mould and giant minds, and maidens “passing
faire”! There is a porch around the ancient mansion, religiously
preserved, though it is in the last stages of dilapidation, where
on the south side of the hall Washington and Mason were wont to sit
during the long summer evenings, their senses lulled by the fairy-like
scene, their eyes ranging over the grand, circling sweep of the river,
and their conversation freshened by many a decoction of pounded ice,
fresh mint, and Jamaica brandy. By the way, there are comparatively
few people who ever tasted a real Virginia mint julep. The decoction,
hastily mixed and as hastily drunk, is called a julep. Bacchus, save
the mark! It is as different from the royal mint julep as corn whisky
from the imperial cognac. It does not take five minutes, an hour, or
a day to properly brew this wonderful drink, but a year at the very
least. Here is the way Colonel Bob Allen, of Curl’s Neck, on the James
River, used to prepare the julep. In the early spring, gather the young
and tender mint, have your demijohn three-quarters full of the best
whisky, and into its mouth drop the mint, rolled into little balls, and
well bruised--about a quarter of a peck, loosely heaped up, to each
gallon of liquor. Next, enough loaf sugar is saturated in water to melt
it, and sweeten the whisky _ad lib_. This fills the demijohn, which is
then sealed tight, and kept for the future, being rarely opened for at
least two years.

The preparation of the drink is simple, and yet artistic. First, a
julep ought never to be mixed but in a silver flagon--there is such a
thing as a “perfect accord.” The demijohn being opened, the fragrant
liquor is poured into the mug, with a double handful of _crushed_
ice--not pounded, but crushed until it is like hail or snow ice--(a
stout towel and a few blows against a brick wall will accomplish
this result); add a few sprigs of fresh mint, a few strawberries, a
tablespoonful of Jamaica rum, and you will have an elixir worthy of
Jove to drink and Ganymede to bear.

But the swans from whom the Potomac takes its name, what of them?

In my boyhood I have often heard the septuagenarians and octogenarians
of the lowlands speak of the vast migratory flocks of swans and geese
that would whiten the river for miles. So many were they that in the
spring-time, when the imprisoned frost was released from the ground and
the surface of the earth became soft, vast numbers would swoop upon the
fields of winter-wheat, and ruin the crop in a single day. It was a
common thing for the farmers to employ every supernumerary on the place
to guard the young and tender wheat.

[Illustration: A POT-HUNTER WAITING FOR DUCKS.]

But when the steamboat appeared on the scene, both swan and wild geese
vanished, never to return.

Memory carries me back to my old ancestral home on the Virginia side of
the Potomac, directly opposite the Washington Navy Yard.

In those days, a planter was an epicure by blood, a gourmand by
breeding, and as long as his digestion remained unimpaired he could
revel in the best of living on the choicest viands; and were he a
devotee of the gun, he could amuse himself by killing a variety of game
in such quantities that satiety would be apt to ensue.

Yes, the noble river furnished an unfailing supply of succulent food
to the dwellers on its banks. The number of fish that swam in the
clear waters of the Potomac would seem incredible in these times of
purse-ponds and gill-nets. Our overseer used to devote one week in the
spring to hauling a small seine, and would catch an abundance of fish
to last the plantation the ensuing year, and there were enough herrings
salted in barrels, and smoked shad in kits, to half fill our huge
cellar that ran underground the whole length of the house. Fresh fish
was on every table of the plantation nine months out of the year as a
matter of course. The troll lines, set a short distance from the shore,
yielded a steady supply of catfish, eels, perch, tobacco-boxes and
fresh-water terrapin, or “tarrapin,” as they are called--a luxury only
second to their cousin the “diamond-back.” As for the ducks and geese
that made their home during winter on the flats between Washington and
Alexandria, their number was simply astounding. I have hunted in the
last decade from Havre de Grace to Tampa Bay, but never have seen such
apparently limitless numbers of ducks as circled in the very sight of
the Capitol’s dome some thirty years ago.

The channel was on the Maryland side. It varied from one hundred to
one hundred and fifty yards across. For a mile and a half the water
was rarely over two feet on the flats at low tide, and not over a
fathom at the high-water mark. On these shallow bottoms there grew in
the greatest luxuriance a peculiar quality of indigenous plant, called
celery-grass, which wild fowl preferred to any other food. About the
middle of November the birds began to congregate in such huge flocks
that on a clear morning, when suddenly disturbed they took to wing,
they made a noise like rolling thunder.

There were sportsmen, of course, at that time in the two cities of
Washington and Alexandria, but they confined themselves to the laziest
mode of shooting, and followed the creeks and streams that bordered or
led into the river. Here the wild fowl afforded fine sport, with but
little hardship.

As a general rule, the family on the plantation soon became tired of
eating wild ducks; even the incomparable canvas-back palls at length
upon the palate, as much as the partridges that are devoured on a
wager, one each day for a month. The products of the poultry yard in
the end were always preferred to the spoils of the river. Frequently,
when company were coming to dinner, it was desirable to have a
plentiful supply of game on the table; so my aunt, a famous housewife,
would call up Sandy, who, being lame in one leg, was the general
utility man of the plantation, one who could turn his hand to anything
except regular labor, which he hated as a galley slave his oar, or as
much as Rip Van Winkle did to earn an honest living. Sandy resembled
Rip in more ways than one, though, fortunately for him, he had no sable
Gretchen.

“Take Brother Bush’s gun, Sandy,” my aunt would say, “and go down and
bring me some ducks.”

“How many does you want, Miss Jane?”

A mental calculation, and the number was given; then Sandy hobbled off
with a matter-of-fact air, as if he were merely bound to the barnyard
to slaughter half a dozen chickens. It was just as easy an undertaking,
and one infinitely more to his taste. Calling one of the house-boys,
he would go with him to the shore, a couple of hundred yards or so
distant. Then the couple would walk in single file for some large
tree bordering the river. The ducks feeding on the wild celery close
to the shore would on their approach swim lazily from the banks out of
gun-shot. Sandy would take his position behind the trunk of the tree
and lie close. His companion would leisurely walk back to the house.
The wild fowl, seeing the cause of their alarm disappear, would slowly
circle back, and Sandy, waiting till they were well bunched, would let
go both barrels; then, denuding himself of his breeches, he would wade
in and bring out his game. The ducks never seemed to “catch on” to this
dodge, and Sandy rarely failed to fill his orders, as the drummers say,
“with promptness and dispatch.”

There was only one pot-hunter in the neighborhood of Washington thirty
years ago--an old, grizzled, weather-beaten man, named Jerry, who
anchored his little schooner in a snug cove on our shore every winter,
and such was the unfailing supply of wild ducks that Jerry was rarely
forced to up-anchor, set his sails and speed farther down the river.
Old Jerry was assisted by his son, young Jerry, a chip of the old
block. Every Saturday these two would put their game in canvas bags and
carry them to their regular customers in Washington.

[Illustration: A KICKER.]

I became a fast friend of these two pot-hunters, as much, indeed, as
a boy of twelve years could with matured men. I suppose I imbibed from
them that overmastering love of sport that has made me a wanderer for a
score of years. I was of practical use to them; the sentiment and the
benefits were all on my side, for I made the gardener give them regular
rations of turnips and cabbages. In return, I was allowed the run of
their cabin, a little cuddy at which the meanest, poorest slave on the
plantation would have turned up his nose.

[Illustration: THE CURLEW.]

Jerry was one of the few pot-hunters who possessed a swivel--a monster
ducking gun, with a solid, uncouth stock, fastened to a barrel some
ten or twelve feet long, with a bore as large as an old twelve-pounder
Napoleon. This “thunderer” was loaded with twenty or twenty-five
drachms of powder, and between thirty and forty ounces of shot.

Old Jerry would be in his skiff at the earliest dawn of day, and would
cruise from Washington to Alexandria, closely followed by his son and
heir, some hundred yards in the rear.

As soon as old Jerry saw a closely bunched flock of ducks, he would
lie flat in the bottom of the skiff, and take his creeping paddles,
which were about two feet long, two inches wide by a quarter of an inch
thick, made of the best hickory, and painted a neutral color. With
his arms hanging over the sides of his skiff, and a paddle in each
hand, he could make his way evenly along, hardly raising a ripple. As
he would approach closer the ducks would get more and more restless,
swimming backward and forward, and gazing with alarm at what seemed a
log with a queer, indescribable motion on each side. At last, when the
woolen cap of a man could be seen, and underneath it the glittering
eyes could be detected, then it was that the flock would rise from the
water and take wing. That was the moment old Jerry was waiting for,
with the stock resting against his shoulder, which was protected by a
bag or pillow stuffed tight with feathers to break the recoil, and his
eye ranging along the black barrel just as an artilleryman sights his
piece before giving the word. A quick jerk of the trigger, the click
of the flint striking the pan, the flash of the priming powder, then
the deafening roar of the swivel, followed by a flash of flame, an
encircling volume of smoke, the swirl of the water as the skiff was
rocked by the kicking gun, and the deed was done. Old Jerry would rise
up, grasp his double paddle, and make for the shore to reload, while
the younger Jerry would come up in hot haste to pick up the dead, and
dispatch with his double-barrel the crippled ducks.

Many a day have I played truant, and half the darkies on the plantation
would be searching for me, while I, in the seventh heaven of delight,
was with Jerry in his skiff following up the diving ducks whose wings
were broken. I had a little single barrel that would make the water
splash, and that was about all.

It was my one thought by day and dream by night to possess a gun big
enough to kill the ducks at a fair distance--not a swivel by any manner
of means--I had not the slightest desire to be behind that huge piece
of ordnance when it went off. I wanted one that could strike a flock at
eighty and a hundred yards. I never divulged my thoughts at home. I was
that unfortunate “ne’er do weel,” known as the only son, and such an
intimation would have raised hysterics at the female end of the house,
and something worse at the male end of the mansion, for my paternal
ancestor was a retired officer of the navy, and when he was excited his
speech savored of the forecastle more than the cabin, and his actions
became alarming.

A kind fate threw into my hands just such a weapon as my soul longed
for, and I look back to it now with the same affection that a man of
many _affaires de cœur_ recalls the memory of his first love.

To make a long, rambling story short, my father bought, as a curiosity,
a long Dutch ducking gun, that was intended to be fired from the
shoulder by a man of stalwart build. Loading it carefully, the captain
told the overseer, named Robinson, to fire it. This individual was a
tall, ungainly lopsided man, who got sideways over the ground like a
crab. He had a slatternly wife, with the most vivid, burning red hair I
ever saw, and a large, callow brood of vividly headed children.

I suppose Robinson fired the gun, for it was brought back by his eldest
hope, who said something about “Dad’s laid up; somethin’ or nuther
kicked him;” but no attention was paid to what he said.

My father, accompanied by his youthful likeness, set out to try the
gun himself. He made me fasten a piece of paper to the side of the
ice-house, and then raised the long weapon slowly until he caught
sight, and then pulled. I saw him spin around from the force of the
blow, and utter the most blood-curdling curses against the gun, and
next seizing the harmless piece and striking it against a tree, he
broke the stock short off, then throwing the barrel down, he walked
wrathfully away. I picked up the pieces tenderly, and carried them to
Uncle Peter, the plantation carpenter, and told him I would give him a
quart of that liquor he most loved in the world if he would patch it
up. Uncle Peter agreed, if I would pledge myself to keep his share in
the affair secret. Of course I promised.

What with braces, screws, clamps, rivets, the old piece was
reconstructed, and I was as proud of it as a girl of her first long
dress, or a spinster with a beau. It was about eight feet long, with a
bore about the size of a Queen Anne musketoon. The barrel was slightly
curved outside. The trigger was hard to pull, but the springs were
good, and every time the flint fell a handful of sparks would be
generated.

But, shades of Vulcan, how that ancient gun did kick! No vicious
army mule, no bucking broncho, no Five Points billy-goat ever were
productive of more sudden shocks. While the recoil was not so great as
that of the famous gun that left the load stationary while it lodged
the man who fired it in the fork of the tree two hundred yards in the
rear, yet, like a champion pugilist, it sent every one to grass who
tackled it. Uncle Peter was laid out. Sandy, steadying himself with his
crutch planted firmly in the ground--a human tripod--was spun around
and hurled to mother earth, as Hercules threw Antæus. Jack, the giant
of the plantation, who led the cradlers in the harvest field, and
pulled one end of the seine against six on the other side, tackled that
weapon, and he, too, for the first time in his life, was vanquished.
Though this piece could not quite rival the matchlock that belonged to
Artemus Ward’s grandfather, which would not only knock the shootist
over, but club him when he was down, still it put every man who fired
it on the invalid list for the balance of the day.

[Illustration: OLD JERRY AND THE DUCK GUN.]

I would not have put that gun against my shoulder and pulled the
trigger for a month’s holiday. Uncle Peter, however, did the trick, and
fixed the gun so that it was as harmless as a copperhead with its fangs
drawn. He got the blacksmith to rivet a couple of iron rings close to
the muzzle and another on the breech just above the pan. Next, he put a
massive staple in the prow of the skiff, and another and a smaller one
on the front seat; a chain with a catch passed through staple and ring,
and held everything tight. When the gun was fired the staples received
the shock, and no kicking could loosen them.

Uncle Peter finished the job Saturday night, and Sunday morning a
mysterious message came from the overseer’s son, Sam, that he was
waiting to see me in the shuck-house. I no sooner laid my eyes on him
than I knew his mind was full of something.

“Well, Sam, what is it?”

“Mister”--Sam called every white man and boy mister--“I done hearn pop
say as you were a-goin’ to use that air big gun.”

“Yes, I am; but you keep your mouth shut about it. You hear, Sam?”

“I ain’t a-goin’ to tell, but you’d better leave her alone.”

“Why?”

“Cause it’ll kick yer liver lights out, that’s why.”

“How do you know?”

“Ef you cross yer heart, an’ say, ‘I hope I may die,’ I tell yer.”

This mystic process having been complied with, Sam commenced:

“One evenin’ I slipped home from the brickyard, an’ thar warn’t anybody
at home ’cept the child’en. Pop was gone to market, an’ tuk mam wid
him. I seed the big gun sittin’ in the corner, but pop had tole me that
ef I ever tortched it he’d knock thunder outen me. So I dassent handle
it. Jest then a big hawk lighted on the barn, an’ I jest grabbed the
gun, meanin’ to shoot that bird, thrashin’ or no thrashin’. I crept
behind the corn-house, an’ run the muzzle through the logs, an’ I tuck
aim at the hawk that was watchin’ fer a chicken. I tried to draw back
the hammer to a full cock, when the hammer slipped, and it went off. At
first I thought that something had busted, then that Mose, the brindled
bull, had butt me, or that Toby, the old blind mule, had kicked me, an’
I commenced a hollerin’, an’ jus’ then, by gum! pop an’ mam druv up,
an’ mam thought as how I was killed, an’--” Here Sam stopped to take
breath.

“Well, Sam, what did your father do? Did he scream, too?”

“Scream!” answered Sam; “pop ain’t that kind. No, he picked up the big
gun with one hand, an’ tuk hole on me with the other, an’ dragged me
home, me a-kickin’ an’ a-tryin’ to break away all the time, an’ then
he got that cowhide that hangs over the chimbly, an’ almost tanned the
hide offen me. But you jus’ see where that big gun kicked me,” and Sam
opened his shirt and showed me his narrow pigeon-chest that was bruised
black and blue.

“Now I mus’ be goin’, mister. You mine me, don’t you tortch that air
big gun; as sure as yer do she’ll knock yer cold.”

Sam’s tale frightened me, and I pulled the trigger, with my heart in my
mouth, the first time; but Uncle Peter had done his work well, and if
it kicked I never felt it.

I remember through this long vista of years the ecstatic pleasure
of creeping up to a huge flock early one morning, and the thumping
of my heart that beat like a trip-hammer against the bottom of the
skiff--for I was lying close, and using the creeping paddles. At last,
at last! and as the flock cleared the water I let drive, and was rather
astonished to find myself safe and afloat.

So in the Old Dominion the fox-hunter followed his hounds, and took
timber as it came. The partridge-hunter discharged his right and left
shots in the stubble. One fine morning in April, 1861, they awoke from
their easy-going, rollicking existence, and dropping the shotgun and
sporting rifle, grasped instead the sabre, the lanyard, the sword, or
the musket.

To be continued.

[Illustration]

PICKEREL SHOOTING ON THE MARSHES.

BY O. W. HARD.

One winter, more than a score of years ago--a winter ever memorable for
its extreme cold and great depth of snow--I changed my residence to
near the head of Shelburne Pond, one of the most beautiful sheets of
water in Northern Vermont. The pond is, for the most part, skirted by
low marshes, fringed with alders, pussy and red willows, but here and
there a bold promontory projects into the water.

All my life I had been a keen fisherman, and from my youth up I had,
in one form or another, pursued the finny denizens of the waters. I
had lured the slippery, wriggling eel and festive bullpout from many
a deep hole in the Little Otter, snatched the shy minnow from some
sheltered cove, and landed the shiner and horndace from some still
pool, panting on the sandy shore. I had trolled for pickerel on the
lake, and seen them taken by the score in a seine, had even caught one
through the ice; but of the modern method of annihilation--shooting--I
was ignorant. All through the winter I listened to the stories told by
old fishermen of wonderful shots, and of the number, ranging from one
to five, killed at a single shot. I dreamed of pickerel, and my mouth
watered in expectancy as I fancied I detected a fish-like smell arising
from the pan. Having provided myself with a fowling-piece and a goodly
store of ammunition, I waited patiently for the first signs of milder
weather to appear on the southern swale. The phœbe and redbreast, the
first harbingers of spring, were beginning to trill their morning
carols, but spring still lingered in the lap of winter. At length,
under the genial action of the sun, now high in the heavens, the snow
began to fade slowly and almost imperceptibly away, and patches of
brown sward to appear on the hillsides.

One warm afternoon toward the middle of April, when not a cloud flecked
the sky, nor a breeze rippled the miniature sea, I sallied forth to try
my luck among the finny drove. I soon reached the edge of the north
marsh, and saw that the water was literally alive with fish, darting
hither and thither through the turbid flood, and leaving shining wakes
in the water. But a sluggish brook, now swollen beyond its capacity
with banks overflowed, presented an effectual barrier between me
and the pickerel. Not to be baffled, however, by a little water, I
commenced wading through bog and fen till I reached a fence, on which I
crossed the brook, and went splashing and floundering through a swamp,
and finally reached a very small spot of dry land.

Here I was among myriads of shovel-nosed fellows, facing me, perfectly
motionless in the water, like a ship riding at anchor, or darting from
under my very feet into the channel of the stream. Wading out into the
shallow flood, I spied a big fish parting the water with his dorsal
and caudal fins, and swimming slowly from me. I took aim and blazed
away. To my utter astonishment, instead of one, five speckle-sided,
white-bellied pickerel floated up. If I had been excited before, I was
more so now--I had drawn blood.

Quickly ramming a charge into my gun, I was up and at them again, and
soon had a string that did credit to a tyro, and would have done any
old fisherman’s heart good to behold. I kept up a continual fusillade
among them until the blackbirds, perched on the alders and among
the branches of the gray ashes, began to ring their evening curfew.
Then, slinging the slimy string over my shoulder, I wended my way
homeward, with the pleasing thought in my mind that, if I was wet, the
traditional fisherman’s luck was not wholly mine.

According to Lesueur, the common pike of our inland waters, the long or
shovel-nosed pickerel (_Esox reticulatus_), attains a length of one to
three feet; the body is green above and golden yellow on the sides,
with dark, irregular, longitudinal lines, which unite in imperfect
reticulations; flesh-colored on the throat, lower parts white; beneath
the eye a black vertical band; caudal and dorsal fins greenish black,
while the others are flesh-colored. It is a very rapid swimmer,
voracious and strong; it remains apparently motionless in the water,
awaiting an opportunity to dart upon its prey, consisting of anything
it can swallow excepting the perch. While the body is suspended there
is an incessant motion of the last few rays of the dorsal and anal
fins, with a rotatory movement of the pectoral and, occasionally, of
the ventral and caudal. Such an exact equilibrium do these forces
maintain that the fish does not move in the water. This recalls what I
said before about the fish lying at anchor. He is the shark of fresh
waters, and sometimes attains a weight of thirty pounds, though the
common size is two to five pounds.

For shooting in shallow water, small shot are, perhaps, as good as
anything, but in deep water buckshot or ball are the best. Any one at
all familiar with pickerel shooting has noticed that many fish captured
in this way show no marks; they are simply stunned or killed by
concussion. The pickerel spawns in the early spring, for that purpose
ascending narrow brooks, creeks and ditches as soon as the ice is
clear. The shooting season generally lasts from one to two weeks, or as
long as the fish run. While the ice remains firm in the ponds there is
always good sport, but when that disappears and the frogs, with throats
cleared of frost, set up their nightly croaking, it is ended.

During the last two decades there has been such a renaissance of
sport, so to speak, among the American people, both in forest and on
stream, that what was once regarded merely as the pastime of the idle
and wealthy is now recognized as suitable even for the pillars of the
church and state. Every class seeks relaxation from business cares
and worries in outings with rod and gun. Whatever may be the cause
of this change, the fact remains that sporting has been reduced to
almost an exact science. The effects of this are very palpable; for
instance, pickerel shooting to-day is not what it was twenty, or even
ten years ago. True, we have a law which forbids catching them through
the ice, or shooting them, yet no attention is paid to it, except to
impose an occasional fine on fishermen using nets in the lake. In
direct violation of this law, great numbers are taken through the
ice, and very many shot, and were they not wonderfully prolific, the
species would soon become extinct. Whereas a few years since only a few
sportsmen shot fish, now every one that can lay his hands on a gun or
muster a spear makes a wholesale business of it during the season.

The best sport is obtained when, after a heavy fall, the snow melts
with a rush, so as completely to cover the marshes. On a certain Good
Friday I remember shooting fish at the base of a cobble, where a
Canadian named Isaac was chopping wood. Now Isaac had a sense of humor,
and thought to spoil our fun. He was half blind, but he told us if we
shot a fish “we’d have to be darned slide about it.” We rolled them up
right under his nose, however, and he was apparently none the wiser. I
have enjoyed many a day’s outing with the pickerel, but none that would
quite compare in zest and novelty with the day when I made my first
shot.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: BALL GROUND, DETROIT ATHLETIC CLUB.]

THE DETROIT ATHLETIC CLUB.

BY JOHN A. RUSSELL.

The city of Detroit has had, within the past fifteen years, a variety
of experiences with outdoor sports. It is nearly that length of time
since the enthusiasm for boating was aroused, which spread over the
adjacent territory and culminated in bringing out amateur boating crews
of such national fame as the Hillsdales and the Sho-wae-cae-mettes.
That enthusiasm was intense while it lasted. Every schoolboy, and many
of larger growth for that matter, who could command the wherewith to
buy or hire a boat, was out on the river, practising the characteristic
strokes of Terwilliger or the Nadeaus.

Amateur boating clubs were organized in great profusion, and their
boat-houses lined docks and slips in such numbers that the visitor
to Detroit was amazed, and even the native could hardly account for
the enthusiasm that could support them. Physicians who had patients
of sedentary habits had a general prescription of “Take a little spin
on the river in the evening,” which was administered _quantum suff_.
Even the ladies were interested in the sport. It was no uncommon sight
to see big barges industriously propelled by young girls and maidens
grown, with here and there a more elderly person, who, with advancing
years, had not forgotten the long sweep or the feathering motion of the
oar.

The organization of a baseball club and its admission to the National
League diverted some of the enthusiasm which had been given to
boating, and the city became “ball-crazy” at once. The paroxysms
became more marked every time the team won a substantial victory.
Interest increased in the work of the professional club. Good hands
began to look after its financial affairs, its positions were well
supported, while the small boy and the devotee of physical culture
took to ball-playing in summer, in preference to rowing, with a dash
of gymnasium work in the winter in which boxing and sparring were the
leading features. Getzein, Brouthers and the “good Deacon” White were
put up as the idols to be worshipped in the places whence Durell,
Dusseau, Van Valkenburgh and the other famous oarsmen of Monroe, Ecorse
and Hillsdale had fallen. Even those who were not active, working
devotees of the national game were found quite equal to taking their
exercise by proxy on the cushioned seats of the grandstand, or in the
more exposed positions of the “bleaching-boards.”

[Illustration: THE HIGH POLE VAULT.]

Boating had its day. The fast oarsmen dropped back into semi-obscurity.
The Montie Brothers, of Ecorse, who were in the famous Wah-wah-tah-see
Club, returned to their avocations, as did Schweikart and Alder,
of the Centennial Four of Detroit, while their associates, Parker
and McMahon, developed into professional athletes and instructors.
Only one of the old clubs--the Detroit--retains its organization and
equipment in anything like the style in which they were maintained
during the prevalence of the aquatic fever. Many of the oarsmen,
having grown older, have taken to yachting as a pastime. For this
there are unlimited facilities on the Detroit River and in the lakes
above and below the city. There is not nearly as much exertion and
training required for a yachting expedition as for a mile-and-a-half
straightaway, and yet there is quite as much judgment called into play
in handling sheets and tiller, with immeasurably more real sport.

Baseball, while it has palled somewhat, seems to have encouraged the
taste for individual exertion. Up to a very recent period that taste
was inclined to the pastime from which it came--baseball. No great
interest was taken in general athletics by the majority until about
a year ago. Prior to that time an organization for the promotion
of general athletics had existed in the Detroit Amateur Athletic
Association. Its membership, however, was small, and though its
ambitions may have been great, its achievements were few, one alone
excepted; that being its expansion into the present Detroit Athletic
Club, and its fitting up of gymnasia and grounds. The Amateur Athletic
Association was very like good King William IV. in that “nothing,
perhaps, in life so became it like the leaving of it.” It merged itself
into the movement for the new club, of which it was the precursor, and
its members the founders and boomers until there was no further need
of booming; for the present club is a pretty healthy infant. Its birth
occurred at a time when its existence was most needed, and just after
the period when boating had lost favor, and the ambitious athletes
had learned that baseball had not all that could satisfy the utmost
desires of the athletic spirit. It had a manifest advantage in being
able to offer a greater diversity of sports than boating and baseball,
which, after all, are two very limited sections of the general field of
athletics.

The new association came into existence a year and a half ago. It is
not in its organization like the Montreal Association, described by
Mr. Whyte in ~Outing~ for April, a federation of the athletic
clubs of the city, but is a distinctive and independent club, with
its own equipment and government. It was formed as a joint-stock
corporation, with five hundred shares of the nominal value of $10.00.
The demand for these became so great that a premium was soon obtainable
for certificates of membership, their value going up until they are
now held at $50.00 per share. The receipts from the sale of stock gave
the young club a strong treasury from the start. The grounds of the
old Athletic Association were secured on a long lease. They are on
Woodward Avenue, in the heart of the finest residential portion of the
city, and the plot is, perhaps, the largest piece of desirable property
now unoccupied in the city; it contains something over 300,000 square
feet, the land being, in round figures, 400 by 800 feet in dimensions.
The six acres thus afforded have a value of nearly $200,000. They are
readily accessible from both the business and residential quarters, and
face two leading streets.

This property secured, steps were at once taken to erect a building
suited to the needs of the club. There were some buildings on the tract
barely fit for temporary quarters. In these the club housed itself
until the present structure (see illustration, p. 212) was completed
and opened last March. The house has a frontage of 107 feet and an
extreme depth of 68 feet. It is of pressed brick with brownstone
and terra-cotta ornaments, and possesses in its design much of the
spirit of the newer styles of construction seen in English library and
gymnasium buildings. Its space is well allotted. The entrance-hall is
also a reception-room, with a cheery grate in pressed-brick designs.
An ornamental staircase leads to the upper floor. The lower floor,
besides containing the reception-room, has on it a ladies’ parlor and
toilet-room, offices for the directors and stewards, a billiard-room,
reading-room, the baths, and a locker-room. A wing on a lower level
contains the bowling-alleys, while the upper floor is devoted to
the gymnasium, the only reserved space being used for a small
refreshment-room. Saved room under staircases is utilized for closets
and chests, and there is not an inch of waste space in the house. The
kitchen and accommodations for servants of the club are under the roof,
in the attic story.

[Illustration: THE RUNNERS OF THE DETROIT ATHLETIC CLUB.]

[Illustration: THE FOOTBALL ELEVEN, DETROIT ATHLETIC CLUB.]

The various departments of the club-house are complete in their
appointments. The reception-hall is a roomy apartment, finished in
hard wood, which opens into the directors’ room and the reading-room
on the one side, and a billiard-parlor and the bowling-alley on the
other. The directors’ room is the headquarters of the caretakers and
the office of the club. The reading-room is spacious, a big table
and easy, antique oak chairs forming the furnishings, the walls
being decorated with sketches of other club-houses and a series of
photographic reproductions of the disc-throwers of the ancient Roman
period. The mental pabulum furnished is of the class one would most
naturally expect to find amid such associations--the leading journals
and magazines devoted to athletics, the daily papers of the city, and
the literary magazines. The billiard-parlor contains three Schulenberg
tables, oak-finished, with furniture harmonizing with the club-house
furnishings. It has already shown itself to be rather too small for the
demands likely to be made upon it, but the house has been so designed
that a wing may be extended without marring the harmony. Wrought-iron
designs in gas-fixtures complete the furnishings of this part of the
house.

Just beyond the reading-room, and disconnected from it, are the bath
and locker rooms. A separate entrance to them is afforded from the
grounds, while they are also connected by a private staircase with the
gymnasium overhead. The lockers, in number about 300, are arranged in
“L” fashion, the spaces between each set of six affording the privacy
desirable for dressing-rooms.

The bath-room caused much marvel in these parts. It is 30 by 16 feet in
size. The centre of marble-paved floor is occupied by the plunge-bath,
20 feet long and 12 feet wide. Its sides are lined with white enameled
bricks, and a constant flow of water is secured from the city
service-pipes. It varies in depth from three to five feet. At one end
of the bath-room four marble-fitted shower-baths are located, and close
by, an equal number of foot-baths.

Just beyond the bath and reading rooms, on the side of the house
facing the grounds, and so depressed as to give a clay bottom for
the structure, is the wing which contains the bowling-alleys. These
are six in number, of the regulation length of 65 feet, and 42 inches
wide. They are admirably equipped; the entire work, as well as that
of the gymnasium above, having been executed by the Narragansett, R.
I., Machine Company. A gallery for spectators is located behind the
dead-line, above the level of the alleys.

The entire upper story, aside from that portion given to the lunch-room
and staircase landings, is given up to the gymnasium. This, of course,
is the feature of the clubhouse. It is a well-lighted, lofty hall,
76 by 32 feet, there being fifteen feet available in height from the
hardwood floor to the open-timbered roof. The apparatus, being all new,
is of the latest designs. The weight and pulley system of machines is
used in every conceivable form for developing the muscles of the arms,
chest, legs, neck, shoulders and the grip. Hand-over-hand climbing
is afforded by ropeladders, poles, and hemp ropes suspended from the
roof-timbers. Vaulting facilities appear in horses and frames, and a
system of parallel and horizontal bars is provided with the necessary
mattings to prevent injury. Besides these more elaborate pieces of
machinery there are bells and Indian clubs innumerable for the classes
in calisthenics, and gloves and foils for the devotees of the manly
art and the gentleman’s sport. This practically completes the list of
indoor sports.

[Illustration: F. D. STANDISH.

FRANK W. EDDY.

JOHN H. CLEGG.]

For outdoor exercise the club has admirable facilities. The big tract
of ground which the club controls has very little, comparatively,
of its area taken up by the club-house, and one standing on the big
second-floor balcony which extends over the billiard-room on the
lower floor, will notice that the turf that stretches in front of
him for a furlong is cut up for a diversity of uses. The running
track is the most noticeable feature. It is a quarter of a mile from
start to finish, was laid out by the noted trainer of the Brooklyn
Club, Jack McMaster, and was built from his designs. It is 16 feet in
width at all points except on the finishing stretch and the 220-yards
straightaway. This latter takes in the south side of the quarter-mile
track as far as it goes and has a width of twenty feet. The track
was laid last spring, is cinder-packed to the depth of a foot and
has a clay foundation, all of which will combine to make it an ideal
running-course in time. There was some disappointment with it at first,
as it was feared it would be a trifle slow, but the rains and rolling
have eliminated its spongy qualities and made it perfect, so that fast
time can be expected upon it.

Within the circle formed by the track the two baseball diamonds are
laid out. To the north of the track, and in shelter, are the tennis
courts, four of them being “skin” courts, the rest, half a dozen, being
the turf courts which are not so much in favor. The field is a fine one
for cricket and football, both of which games are cultivated. Far down
in the extreme corner there looms up during the summer a skeleton-like
structure, which unjoints itself with the advent of winter, and forms
a toboggan slide with an incline and a slide over an eighth of a mile
long. Another corner is devoted in winter to a curling rink, where the
royal Scotch game is played by its admirers with the greatest zest. The
Detroit Curling Club has many members in the athletic club, and for
their benefit a rink was set apart for the jolly Scotchmen and their
besoms and curling-stones last winter. So pronounced was the success of
the experiment that it will probably be repeated this coming winter.

The readers of ~Outing~ will not be amazed, then, to know that
with such facilities, the club’s membership kept growing as fast
as applications could be investigated and applicants admitted. The
_personnel_ of the management was drawn from the young-man class of
active workers. The president, Frank W. Eddy, had been the originator
of the more modest Amateur Athletic Association, as he was of its
successor, the present organization; and to him and half a dozen close
associates the major part of the success of the club is attributable.
Mr. Eddy was also one of the promoters of the movement for the Amateur
Athletic Union of the United States, of which he is vice-president
and one of the strongest backers. The first meeting of the union took
place in the grounds of the Detroit Club in September. Mr. Eddy’s work
was supplemented by that of a faithful set of directors, and between
them they have managed to run the membership pretty close up to its
permanent limit of five hundred.

[Illustration: IN THE BOWLING ALLEYS.]

[Illustration: THE GYMNASIUM.]

It must not, however, be for a moment believed that all these, or even
a liberal percentage of them, are practised athletes. The membership
of the club is mainly drawn from the class of young men between 18 and
25 years of age, in that period of life where sedentary careers are
apt to tell hardest on constitutions however vigorous. There are many
members, it is true, who had been accustomed to gymnasium work in the
period of the boating excitement, but besides these, and the nucleus
drawn from the old Amateur Athletic Association, it is fair to say
that nine out of ten of the members were novices when they entered the
club. There had been no such thing in Detroit as the cultivation of
general athletic sports until this organization took hold, and whatever
was cultivated was usually run to death. The private gymnasia were
the first to break the ice; but even in these men undertook to rival
Samson or Hercules in a week’s time, and, straining themselves, very
often discouraged others as much as they caused injury to themselves.
The private gymnasia were ephemeral affairs which were unsatisfactory,
for the most part, and they never afforded the opportunity for
long-continued training. Their prices, usually from ten to fifteen
dollars for a two or three months’ term, were rather too much for young
men of moderate means, and even where these drawbacks were eliminated
there was no facility for outdoor work during the summer season under
the direction of a proper tutor. The new club’s dues of twelve or
fifteen dollars a year, at most, had an advantage from the standard
of economy, and the price at which shares were sold early in its
history made it possible for many to join it at a comparatively slight
expenditure of money, taking into consideration the advantages gained.
The novices took hold with a will, the advantage of a good instructor
being very great, and under direction they have shown that there is
much to be hoped for.

The instructor of the club is John Collins, a young man of twenty-five.
He has also devoted some time to training in the gymnastic department
of the Catholic Club and the local branch of the Young Men’s Christian
Association. He has been five or six years in the business now, and is
acknowledged to be the best all-round athlete in the city to-day. His
special points of excellence are the grace and science of his boxing,
and the expertness with which he handles the foils. He is self-trained,
and during his career has boxed and sparred with most of the great men
in the business, having stood up with Jack Burke, Pat Killen, Dennie
Kelleher, “Reddy” Gallagher, Jack King, and others of equal fame. His
earliest aspirations were in the direction of a private tutorship,
and he was picked up first by the proprietors of some of the private
gymnasia, where his methods and skill attracted so much attention as to
secure him his present place. He is lightly built, quick and active,
and has the necessary amount of patience with his pupils to qualify
him for the difficulties of teaching. So far he has proved popular and
profitable to the members of the club.

[Illustration: THE CLUB HOUSE.]

It must not be supposed for a moment from the foregoing remarks about
the novelty of athletic training in Detroit, that there are no members
of the club who are above the level of mediocrity. That would be far
from the truth. There are quite a number of athletes who were drawn
almost directly from the teams of the colleges in which they were
educated to the new movement at home, and these are among the very
active workers. The captain of the club is Nathan C. Williams, Jr.,
who was a Yale graduate of ’84, and is now in business in Detroit. He
has charge of the field sports of the club, is responsible for its
property used in gymnastic work, and arranges, with the aid of his
lieutenants, the various exhibitions and field days which are given
from time to time. Mr. Williams was manager of the Yale baseball
team in his college days, and had an enviable record at New Haven.
He has two lieutenants, Sidney T. Miller, a young lawyer, a graduate
of Trinity College, Hartford, and Benjamin S. Comfort, Principal of
the Tappan School, who was also inducted into the spirit of athletic
work in one of the Eastern colleges. The club’s secretary, George J.
Bradbeer, is an excellent hammer-thrower, an allround athlete, and was
a good ball-player in by-gone years. The club’s president, Mr. Eddy,
is a sprinter and ball-player of local note, and rarely misses a daily
jog in good time on the cinder track. The University of Michigan,
which is located so near Detroit, has furnished quite a number of
young athletes, among them Royal T. Farrand, who held the University
light-weight championship in boxing; Fred T. Ducharme, who has won a
score of running races in good, if not fast time, and who promises
to develop into a great jumper; Geo. P. Codd, a Michigan sophomore,
the crack pitcher of the University ball team, and a good single
player in lawn tennis; and Albert E. Miller, a young lawyer, who is
the best tennis player in the club--so much so, in fact, that he is
generally required to give handicaps to contestants. Mr. Miller was
first lieutenant and manager of the club’s events last year, and is
this season catcher in the club’s regular baseball nine. So far none
of the runners have made startling time, except in base-running, which
is hardly a recognized feat. In this, however, W. H. Reidy has equaled
the best time made by professionals, 14 4-5 seconds, and the feat has
been time and again duplicated by members of the club in 15 seconds.
Ben. S. Warren, a recent accession from Yale, has developed into a
fast sprinter, having made the 100-yard dash in 10 2-5 seconds, the
best record for the feat being 10 seconds even. In last year’s sports
Warren won the quarter-mile dash in 60 1-5 seconds, and has since made
it in 54 seconds. This year a fast runner has been developed in Ed.
Sanderson, a young student, who with ten yards start made the quarter
on a slow track in 57 seconds. W. A. Chope and M. W. Sales, all young
athletes, are among the more promising of the fast ones.

[Illustration: THE RECEPTION PARLOR.]

[Illustration: JOHN COLLINS, TRAINER, DETROIT CLUB.]

The baseball team is a strong one. The regular nine is made up as
follows: A. E. Miller, catcher; Charles T. Miller, pitcher; Ed. E.
Swift, third base; W. H. Reidy, short stop; Wm. C. Johnson, second
base; Wm. H. Reid, first base; Walter A. Chope, left field; Mart. J.
Root, centre field; Charles K. Foster, right field. Of these Chope has
the reputation of being a phenomenal left-fielder for an amateur; Root
is a man who had a good deal of practice with his fellow students at
Yale; Reidy is a good pitcher, and Reid is a player who made a name
with the Class Club, one of the strongest local amateur teams. Besides
these, there are substitutes innumerable; so many, in fact, that the
team has rarely played together as named.

The team is managed by Principal Comfort. It has already won a majority
of the games played against the State University team, and the strong
local nines with which the city abounds. The ball club’s uniform is
gray and blue, the Athletic Club’s colors being gray and black.

Football has a good number of devotees. Sidney T. Miller, Professor
Comfort, Strathearn Hendrie, a Trinity College man, Albert E. Miller,
Edward E. Swift and R. Humffreys-Roberts, the latter a well-known
English player, are among the leaders of the sport, but they have been
unlucky in their weather. The coming year will be utilized to the best
advantage, however, when some interesting games are promised.

The tennis players include A. E. Miller, H. T. Cole, Jerome H. Remick,
Geo. P. Codd, David S. Carter, Sidney T. Miller and H. E. Avery.
Codd and A. E. Miller represented the club at the tournament of the
North-western Lawn Tennis Association, at Chicago, in July, 1887, tying
for second place in the doubles.

[Illustration: RACING OVER HURDLES.]

The intention of the club management is to have a boating department
in the near future. The City of Detroit owns Belle Isle, an island,
700 acres in extent, opposite the city, which has been turned into one
of the finest public parks of the country. The yachting and boating
clubs have taken or are preparing to take up their quarters on the
shores of the island, where a congenial location and ready access to
clear water are afforded. Here the Athletic Club’s boating department
will be located, the city gymnasium of the club affording facilities
for training the oarsmen and keeping them in shape. Those who know
the history of boating in the West and are familiar with the names of
the leaders, will recognize what the club has to hope for when it is
stated that its membership includes John H. Clegg and Fred Standish,
who have made the best records in pair-oared amateur races for years
back. Both men are developments of the boating furore of a dozen
years ago. Clegg took to the water for his health, and Standish for
recreation, and they have been rowing together since 1881. In that year
they won the senior pairs of the N. W. A. R. A., at Diamond Lake, and
in 1882 took the senior pairs of the Mississippi Valley Amateur Rowing
Association, at Creve Cœur Lake, near St. Louis. They were winners at
Lachine, Quebec, in 1882. In 1883 and ’84 Clegg did not row, but in
1885 he returned to his old love, winning with Standish the pair-oared
contests at New Orleans, at Moline, Ill., at St. Louis and at Detroit.
At Hamilton, Ont., in August, 1885, they defeated Phillips and Hard,
of the New York Athletic Club, in the Canadian annual regatta, winning
in their class. Their record in 1885 was four straight victories and
the lowering of the two-mile record. Clegg has decided views on the
amateur question, and has contributed several articles to the press
which meet the approval of the leading amateurs. He is opposed to
semi-professionalism, paid crews, and those who row in the interest
of backers, and believes all such should be excluded from competition
against genuine amateurs. Mr. Clegg is a genuine American amateur, and
with him and his co-worker, as leaders, there seems no reason why there
should not be a healthy renaissance of boating among the members of the
club.

It was this body of athletic enthusiasts who induced the Amateur
Athletic Union of the United States to hold its first national meeting
on the grounds of the Detroit Athletic Club. Those who are interested
in amateur athletics already know of the success of that first meeting,
held in the middle of September last. The entries included the leaders
in the various departments of field and track work, and numbered 120,
many competing in several events. There was excellent weather, a crowd
of fully 5,000 people to enjoy the clever work, and much enthusiasm
on the part of the participants and spectators. Some fast work was
done in the running and jumping, although some people had fears that
the track would prove rather slow. These fears were dispelled by the
results, which were, in some cases, within one-fifth of a second of
the best records. There was no record-breaking, however, save in one
event--throwing the 56-lb. hammer. Till the meeting, Mr. C. A. J.
Queckberner, of the Staten Island Athletic Club, had held the American
championship on a best record of 26 ft. 4¾ in., while W. J. M. Barry,
of Queen’s College, Cork, Ireland, had made 27 ft. The first essays of
Queckberner fell below his own mark, and the work was tame until Mr. W.
L. Coudon, of the New York Athletic Club, broke the world’s record by
throwing the clumsy weight three-fourths of an inch beyond the distance
made by Mr. Barry. When, in further competition with Queckberner,
Coudon threw the weight 27 ft. 9 in., the excitement was intense, for
even before the official announcement was made, it was apparent that he
had beaten his previous throws by nearly a foot.

The running was of good character, with such contestants as Malcolm W.
Ford, C. H. Sherrill, F. Westing, and a host of younger men from the
New York Athletic clubs, and one each from Detroit and Philadelphia.
Mr. C. H. Sherrill, of Yale College, suffered an unfortunate injury to
his leg in the 220-yard dash, and Mr. T. P. Conneff, of the Manhattan
Club, was badly worn out by the five-mile run, of which he was the
winner; but beyond these there were no accidents to mar the occasion.
The running times made very nearly approached records, but in no case
excelled them.

The jumping did not come so close to records as the running. The
hammer-throwing beat Queckberner’s record of 102 ft. 7 in., W. J. M.
Barry, who has an American record of 129 ft. 1½ in., throwing the
16-lb. hammer from a seven-foot circle, without follow, 127 ft. 1 in.
Queckberner beat his present championship record by throwing 106 ft. 11
in. The vaulting was short. In the tug-of-war the “Busy Bees” Athletic
Association of Company B, 22d Regiment, N. G. S. N. Y., competed with a
four-men team of the Manhattan Athletic Club, best two in three pulls,
time limit, and weight limited to 600 pounds. The “Busy Bees” won the
first and third pulls, the Athletic Club taking the second.

About all the events there was a dash and interest and that reassuring
appearance of “squareness” which makes the work of the Athletic Union
so attractive. This promises to be one of the distinctive marks of
amateurism as opposed to professionalism. The management was excellent.
Every event went off on time and without a hitch. The timekeeping, the
judging, and the announcement were done with a rapidity that pleased
spectators and left a good impression both of the National Union and
its local representative. One immediate result of the success of the
meeting was a boom in the local club’s membership.

[Illustration: THROWING THE HAMMER.]

There are many reasons why Detroit people are proud of their Amateur
Athletic Club. The success of the idea which they aim to promote, the
success of the national meeting, the character of the work done and the
excellence of the facilities for doing it, the energy of the officers
and the discipline of the members, and, above all, the vast physical
benefit to result from the encouragement of the athletic idea, are
among those reasons. Already the good work has begun to bear fruit
in the establishment of other gymnasia. The Young Men’s Christian
Association has equipped one, though not on quite so extensive a
scale as the Athletic clubs. The Catholic Club has a class of about
sixty, mostly its younger members, in training in a modest yet
commodious “gym,” and the dealers tell the writer that the quantity of
apparatus sold for private and home use during the past year is simply
astonishing. These are direct results of the work of the Athletic Club,
and there is hope for more.

GRAY EVENING.

The evening’s gown of gray
Sweeps over the sighing grain:
She comes, with her tender smile,
As the sunset’s glories wane;
And the flowers nod to her,
And the grasses kiss her feet,
And she sings to the weary day
A lullaby, low and sweet:
Sing soft, sing low,
O Evening gray!
Hush thou to rest
The weary day.

The morning was very fair,
And she laughed for very glee;
And the blossoms, waking, breathed
Of love and of hope to me.
But love and hope have waned
As the sunset colors wane--
O Evening, come, for the day
Is athrob with fevered pain!
Sing soft, sing low,
Sweet Evening gray!
Lull thou to rest
The heart-wrung day.

_Charles Prescott Shermon._

TO THE PACIFIC THROUGH CANADA.

BY ERNEST INGERSOLL.

PART II.

Trusty to his promise, the porter calls us at early dawn. The train is
rushing between massive walls of rock, rising to unseen heights and
confining the railway to the bank of a swift green river. The official
is already up, and standing upon the rearmost platform with closely
buttoned coat, for the morning is chilly in the shadows of these Alps.

“This is The Gap,” he explains, “through which Bow River comes out.
We follow it almost to its sources, before we come to Kicking-horse
Pass, through the central range, or Main Divide. Better have the ladies
called. We shall be at Banff in an hour, and they ought not to miss any
of this.”

He touches an electric button, directs the responding porter to summon
the Vassar family, and we return to the platform.

The Gap has now been traversed, and we can see the great mountains
on each side of it. Then we turn northward and run along the river
between gigantic upheavals. Their tops are half hidden in the lingering
night-mists, but rifts now and then reveal bristling, snow-crested
peaks, rosy with premonitions of sunrise, and tiers upon tiers of
cliffs bounded by long lines of snow resting upon narrow ledges, and
broken by gorges of unmeasured depth filled with blue shadows and
swirling fog. It is a wonderful, inspiring, never-to-be-forgotten
sight. Awakened and driven out by the skirmish line of the hosts of
the morning, the clouds reluctantly forsake their rocky fastnesses,
and more and more of the rugged grandeur and height of the bordering
ranges, right and left, come out. Soon far-away peaks show daintily,
“like kisses on the morning sky,” as one of the ladies expressed it,
in imagery chaste, no doubt, but rather cold; and finally, as we sweep
toward the face of the gigantic precipices of Cascade Mountain (which
seem to rise courteously and advance to welcome us), even the valley
shakes off its blanket of haze, and sunshine pours over the crystal
heights to sparkle upon dewy leaves and glistening river.

Under these brilliant auspices we step out of the car and into a
carriage at Banff, and are whirled away to a great hotel, built upon
the grandest site in Canada.

“This hotel is the Company’s property, and here you are to be my guests
for the day,” was the command of our genial official, as he registered
the names of the party. “It is too early for breakfast. Let us go to
the upper balconies and have a look at the mountains. This is Canada’s
National Park, you know, and she is proud of it.”

What a picture that north-western balcony opened to us! In the
foreground green rolling woodland dotted with turfed openings and the
red roofs of cottages or white dots of tents. Then the tortuous and
shining course of the Bow River, sweeping gracefully to the right. On
the left, steep and wooded slopes; ahead, high mountains--some with
their splintered spires towering above rugged and darkly forested
foothills, others more distant and breaking into jagged outlines,
gashed by blue gulfs and piled with snow, others still farther away,
filmy and white upon the western horizon, where the water-shed of the
continent rises supreme and superb. Nearer is the cliff-fronted mass of
Cascade Mountain, 5,000 feet high, its slender waterfall trembling like
a loose ribbon down its broad breast--the badge of its identity. Past
it, through a rocky gap, our eyes follow the lower Bow, sparkling with
ripples, parted by islets, shadowed by leaning spruces and cottonwoods,
to the green ridges where the railway runs, and on to where the white
wall of the Fairholme range, a massive rank of heights, upholds wide
spaces of stainless snow.

“Just behind that mighty wall, whose tallest peak--Mt. Peechee--is over
10,000 feet in altitude,” our friend tells us, “there is an immense
cañon, occupied by a narrow and very deep lake. The Indians believe it
to be haunted by malignant demons, and I don’t wonder at it. Cliffs
thousands of feet in height rise straight from its margin, and its
waters are shadowed by the Devil’s Head and other peaks, that can be
seen for a hundred miles out on the plains. To cruise upon its surface
in a canoe and catch the monstrous trout that lurk in its coves, while
the echoes of your talk and paddling wander from scaur to scaur, and
wild goats come to the edge of the crags to look down upon you, is an
experience not to be duplicated easily anywhere else in the world.”

“What is this lake called?”

“Devil’s or Devil’s Head Lake. We will drive over there this afternoon,
if you like. I think the views you get from that road are the best of
the whole park scenery, unless, perhaps, you except the view of Mount
Massive and the Main Divide from a boat on the Vermilion Lakes. Now let
us go to the other end of the building.”

“Here,” he continued, when we were gathered upon the south-eastern
balcony, “you are looking _down_ the line of the Rockies, instead of
up their length, as you were before. This is the valley of the Spray,
which joins the Bow just below the hotel.”

We could not see the river, but we could hear its rushing, and readily
believed our friend’s stories of the trout in its pools. On the left of
the valley long slopes of whitish limestone rose bare and glistening
with dew far above the forest, until they terminated in two sharply cut
peaks, from which fell suddenly away, for many hundreds of feet, the
precipices that we had half seen earlier that morning. This was Mount
Rundle--an excellent type of the mountains of stratified limestone,
shaped like wedges laid upon their sides, in parallel rows north and
south, which constitute the eastern half of the Rocky Mountain system
in this part of the world. The eastern aspect of all these ranges,
therefore, is a rank of precipices--tier upon tier of nearly or quite
level ledges of limestone, strongly indicated by banks of snow and
lines of trees--broken into separate headlands, and bordered at their
base by bush-covered slopes of débris. Here and there a great gap
allows you to pass to the rear of these headlands, when you find them
sloping back with much regularity into the forest-covered valley,
beyond which another rank of cliff-faced promontories again confronts
you, and so on until the central water-shed is reached.

“Why does that curious little cloud stay so persistently on the slope
of that hill?” asked one of the ladies, pointing to the right.

“That is the steam from the hot springs,” was the reply, “and after
breakfast we will walk up there.”

The hot mineral springs at Banff lie along the base of Sulphur
Mountain, where they flow from exits round which great masses of tufa
have been built up. The upper spring, some 700 feet above the river,
commands a wonderful view of “peak o’ertopping peak,” with green vales
and broken crags between. From this spring a large stream of sulphurous
water, at a warmth of 120° F., is conducted down to the hotel, to
supply the luxurious bath-houses. More plebeian arrangements exist
at the spring itself for bathing and drinking the waters, which have
proved wonderfully efficacious in curing a great variety of diseases,
especially obstinate cases of rheumatism and dyspepsia. Two miles
distant, up the Bow, are two other prominent springs--one an open
basin, and the other a large pool, occupying a dome-shaped cavern built
out of its own depositions when it was more copious, and this is now
a most curious place. Originally, the only way of reaching the water
was by squeezing one’s self through the chimney at the top of the dome
and sliding down a slippery ladder, like entering a Tchuckchi house
in Siberia. Now a tunnel has been bored through the side of the dome,
level with the surface of the diminished water, and you go straight in
from your dressing-room in the rustic cottage at the entrance. Another
pretty cottage admits to the open pool. In both the pool and the cave
the water is pleasantly warm, clear and almost tasteless, though highly
impregnated with salts, giving it a close resemblance to the Arkansas
Hot Springs. These improvements of the springs, and the good roads
throughout the Park, are the work of the Government, which is making
easily accessible all the most interesting localities and best points
of view.

We could have spent a week in this most delightful spot--rambling,
climbing, sketching, shooting (outside the Park limits), fishing and
boating. The beautiful river and lakes, and the falls, have hardly been
mentioned, even. But time presses, and next morning sees us reluctantly
resuming our journey.

[Illustration: MOUNT STEPHEN FROM THE WEST.]

From Banff we pushed straight westward through wooded defiles into the
upper valley of the Bow, where the scenery is upon an even grander
scale. On the left runs a line of magnificent promontories--prodigious
piles of ledges studded with square bastions and peaked towers. On
the right is a gray sloping wall, 5,000 feet high, of slaty strata
tilted on edge, and notched into numberless sharp points and splinters,
like the teeth of a badly hacked saw. Between the two, right in
the foreground, stands Castle Mountain, isolated, lofty, brown and
yellow, vividly contrasting with the remainder of the landscape, and
terminating in a ruinous round tower from whose top pennants of mist
are waving more than a mile above our heads. As we roll past its base
it gradually changes from a lone castle tower to an escarpment of
enormous cliffs. These can be climbed, and the expectation of what the
outlook would be is more than realized.

But we must not forget in the grandeur of the Castle the splendid
peaks fronting the valley on the left--Pilot, a leaning pyramid poised
high upon a pedestal of square-cut ledges; next to it the more massive
summit of Copper Mountain, to which you may almost ride on horseback
along an old road cut to the copper mines near its apex; then the green
gap of Vermilion Pass (into the Kootenay Valley), through whose opening
we catch alluring glimpses of many a haughty spire and bristling
ice-crown along the Continental Divide. To the north of this gap
stretches Mount Temple’s rugged wall, and beyond it, supreme over all,
Lefroy’s lonely peak--loftiest and most majestic of them all.

When Castle Mountain and the steel-pointed sierra behind it have
swerved to the right, we see northward the great glacier that nourishes
the childhood of the Bow with milky meltings, and in the midst of a
galaxy of hoary peaks the noble form of Mount Hector--a monument to
the first explorer of Kickinghorse Pass. Then, leaving the Bow, we
climb the gorge of a little creek and enter the jaws of a narrow gap
through the central range. Upon either hand rise rugged walls crowned
with Alpine peaks, framing a chaos of snow-fields, glaciers, and
sharp black summits westward--some close by, and showing the scars of
ages of battle with eternal winter; others calm and blue in the far
distance. Yet here in the pass it is warm and pleasant: trees flourish,
flowers bloom, cataracts leap and flash in the sunlight. Backward we
review in profile the line of mountains we have passed; beside us are
the crumbling terraces and turrets of the Cathedral, thousands of feet
straight upward; ahead, reflected in a lake whose waters flow east
to the Atlantic and west to the Pacific, the stately head of Mount
Stephen, brandishing cloud standards and carrying with royal dignity
its ermine mantle of snow and gleaming coronet of ice.

[Illustration: THE SELKIRK PEAKS.]

We have pierced the Rockies and are looking down the Pacific slope.
Range after range of blue-and-white crests, rising from valleys of
forest and prairie, burst upon our awed vision. The scene is past
adequate description; we do not say much about it to one another, but
only look; and when the descent has been accomplished, and some hours
later we halt on the bank of the Columbia (only 100 miles from its
source), we are almost stunned with the sublime panorama that has been
unrolled so rapidly before our eyes, each scene more astonishing in
its magnitude and beauty than the last.

Yet we have crossed only one of the three great subdivisions of the
Canadian Rockies. Just ahead lie the Selkirks, and beyond that is the
Gold Range. Then we shall cross a wide, hilly plateau region. Finally
we must follow the Fraser River in its profound cutting through the
Cascades range, before we see the coast of the Pacific. The whole
distance from the eastern base of the Rockies to the coast--Banff to
Vancouver--is done in thirty-six hours, and the night travel comes
where there is little loss of fine scenery; but it is too much to take
in at once. Our stop of only one day at Banff was not only a rest, but
allowed us to become acquainted with the mountains and prepared us for
what we should see ahead; and we mean to stop again at the summit of
the Selkirks.

The ascent of the Selkirk range from the east is begun in a regular
gateway, where the Beaver River pitches down some rocky stairs at the
bottom of a chasm, and is continued along the forested side of its
valley, gradually ascending until the track is a thousand feet above
the stream. Here the splendor of the Selkirks is manifest in the west,
where a rank of stately mountains, side by side and loaded with snow,
are grandly outlined. Then we turn up a branch cañon and enter Roger’s
Pass through the terrific cleft between Mount Carroll and The Hermit.

In another place[2] the present writer has described his first
impressions of these singularly impressive heights--the climax of the
transcontinental trip.

At the western extremity of Roger’s Pass lies the Great Glacier, where
the Company has built a beautiful little hotel, within twenty minutes’
walk of the ice. It would have been nothing short of criminal to have
gone past this point without stopping.

The path through the forest, the huge size of whose trees, and the
redundancy of whose mossy undergrowth, bespeak our nearness to the warm
coast, is along a brawling river gushing from underneath the glacier.
Presently the vast slope of creeping ice is before us, completely
filling the head of the gorge. All the glaciers we have hitherto seen
were near the very crest of the range, but this one comes far down into
the forest, so that flowers and shrubbery are sprouting all around its
lower margin, whence a dozen rivulets gurgle out to feed the river.
The rounded forefoot is broken, where blocks of loosened ice have been
sloughed off, and seamed with numberless cracks, the commencement of
further sloughings. These cracks and the freshly exposed faces are
vividly blue, while liquid turquoise fills all the cavities and deepens
to ultramarine in the shadows; but the general tone of the glacier, as
it slopes steeply upward in billowy undulations toward the head of the
ravine, is grayish white. Curving crevasses cross from flank to flank,
and longitudinal rifts gash the surface as if cut with a sharp knife in
an elastic substance. These crevasses may be as blue as the clearest
sky, or sometimes green as young grass, according to the light; and
between are often pure-white patches of fresh snow. Toward the top
(where the breadth is nearly two miles) the slope is still steeper and
the surface smoother; but along the very crest, jagged and hard against
the sky, thousands of fractures appear, indicating how the mass of
ice breaks, rather than bends, as it is pushed over the cliffs. These
breaks then reunite, and the chaos becomes the smoothly congealed and
undulating surface we see below.

[Illustration: A CAÑON ON THE ILLICILLIWAET.]

“This glacier,” the official remarks, “is only one of several overflows
from a _mer de glace_ occupying a plateau on the summit, scores and
perhaps hundreds of square miles in extent. It is continually crowded
over the edge through breaks in the rim of cliffs, and thus room is
made for the new deposits of snow annually heaped upon its frigid
wastes.”

For several hours we scrambled about the edges of the ice. On its right
is a huge moraine, which we climbed for a few hundred feet and thence
ventured out upon the glacier itself, but could go only a few steps,
for we had no spiked shoes, alpenstocks, ropes, or other appliances for
safety. Greater in size than any of the Swiss glaciers, its exploration
needs at least equal precautions. On one side a cave in the ice remains
to mark the former exit of some now diverted stream; and when we
entered it we found ourselves in an azure grotto, where the very air
was saturated with blue and we expected to be turned into petrifactions
of sapphire.

All the morning there rests upon the ice-slope the huge triangular
shadow of Sir Donald--a superb pyramidal pile of cliffs, shooting its
slender apex far above all its royal mates--Ross, Dawson, Carroll, The
Hermit, and Cheops--and cleaving clouds that have swept unhindered over
their heads. It is imperial in its grandeur and separation from the
rest, and nowhere shows more magnificently than when we look back from
a point far down the pass, and can see how royally this richly colored,
elegantly poised spire soars exceedingly sharp and lofty above the
group of lesser mountains--themselves monarchs of the range--grouped
sublimely about it. These were the pictures we saw as, refreshed by a
night’s slumber in the balsamic air of the spruce-clothed mountains, we
renewed our journey next morning, and from the foot of Ross Peak gazed
back with amazement at the tortuous descent our train had made around
the loops and trestles that had “eased” us down from Roger’s Pass and
Glacier Station to the bank of the Illicilliwaet.

This river, fed by unmeasured stores of snow and ice kept in a circle
of heaven-piercing peaks, rushes away down a series of densely wooded
and rocky gorges. With much ingenuity the railway follows it to the
Columbia, which has made a long detour around the northern end of
the Selkirks since we last saw it. Here is Revelstoke, a railway
headquarters, the limit of steamboat navigation, and the supplying
centre of many mines. Behind it are lifted the western outliers of the
Selkirks; before it, beyond the Columbia, is the Gold Range, some of
whose glacier-studded peaks constitute a grand view.

The Gold Range is easily crossed. Eight miles beyond the Columbia
bridge, we have risen into Eagle Pass, which is only 1,900 feet
above the sea, and are gliding past lake after lake nestling between
magnificent headlands. Trees 200 feet tall fill the pass and encircle
the lakes in a close and continuous forest, and wherever a ledge or bit
of easy slope allows soil to cling, the rocky crag-sides are clothed
with luxuriant foliage. It is the White Mountains, or the Blue Ridge,
doubled and trebled in scale. Each of these deep, still lakes is filled
with fish, and along the Eagle River, which leads us westward out of
the pass through a darkly shaded ravine, are many camps of sleepy
Indians fishing for salmon.

As evening approaches we escape from the hills and run along a
connected series of long, narrow and very deep bodies of water,
penetrating between hills and ridges covered with unbroken forest. This
polypus-like lake is called the Great Shushwap, and is as large as
Cayuga, Seneca, and all the other lakes in Western New York would be
were they connected by navigable straits. Fed by several strong rivers,
it forms the reservoir which guarantees a steady supply to Thompson
River, by whose side our train will run all night.

“These lakes are wonderful places for sport,” says the official.
“Salmon and several other fish are numerous, and every kind of game
abounds. It is an almost untouched field, too, although facilities for
getting over an immense region of wild country, by steamboat, sloop or
canoe, are exceedingly good.”

“What are we missing in the night?” asked Miss Vassar, as darkness
blotted out the landscape and the cheery lamps were lighted for the
last of so many jolly evenings together in this overland voyage.

“You don’t miss much until toward morning; and that you may get a fair
idea of by moonlight if you sleep on the right-hand side of the car.
We are getting entirely past and away from the mountains now, into a
plateau country of grassy hills where farming (except by irrigation)
has small success, but grazing is a great industry. At midnight we
go through the important town of Kamloops, the headquarters of this
grazing region, which extends for hundreds of miles southward, and is
interspersed with many gold and silver mining localities. Then we pass
Kamloops Lake and get into the cañons of the Lower Thompson River.
There the scenery is very curious. This is a dry country--looks like
California--and the rocks and earthen river-banks have been carved
by wind and occasional deluges into the most fantastic and gayly
colored of monumental forms, through which the waters of the racing
Thompson mark a sinuous line as green as the purest emerald. It’s a
very extraordinary, grotesque landscape, but having seen it once in
daylight, I, for one, am satisfied to go through henceforth by night.
After we leave the mouth of the Thompson at Lytton, however, and begin
to descend Fraser River, the scenery becomes very grand and beautiful;
so you must get up early once more.”

How shall I tell in a few words what those Fraser cañons are like?
They are not like the thin, abysmal clefts of Colorado, nor the weird
corridor through which the Missouri makes its way.

The Fraser is the main water-course of British Columbia, and comes from
the far northern interior. It is a broad, heavy, rapid stream, flowing
between steep banks sloping ruggedly back to the mountains, whose white
and shapely peaks stand in splendid array before us at Lytton. The
railway is at first on the eastern bank, and high above the turbulent
yellow river, which is soon compressed into a narrow trough, where the
hampered water rushes and roars with frightful velocity. Cliffs rise
for hundreds of feet with out-jutting buttresses that almost bar the
passage. Huge rocks, long ago precipitated into the water, have been
worn “into forms like towers, castles, and rows of bridge-piers, with
the swift current eddying around them.”

Near Cisco advantage is taken of a particularly narrow strait to cross
the river upon a huge cantilever bridge, the farther end of which rests
in a tunnel. The scenery here is savage, but the air is soft and the
sky clearest blue. As we proceed, the cañon rapidly becomes narrower,
deeper, and more terrific; the river, a series of whirlpools among
knife-edged rocks. The railway pierces projecting headlands in short
tunnels, springs across side-chasms, and is supported along sharp
acclivities by abutments of natural rock or careful masonry. Finally
the constantly heightening wall on the opposite side culminates in
the crag of Jackass Mountain, which rises 2,000 feet in a well-nigh
perpendicular mass--a second Cape Eternity. Nearly 1,000 feet above
the boiling torrent, and often overhanging it, the wagon-road built
years ago to connect the Fraser River gold mines with the coast creeps
about its brow; and the little party of Indians trotting along this
airy pathway look like pygmies or gnomes who have come out of some
stony crevice to see us pass. Yet four-horse stages were driven here
for many a year, and before the road was built men traveled afoot over
the trail which preceded it, passing places like these on swinging
pole-bridges, something like the foot-ropes under a ship’s yard-arm.
Thrilling stories of that trail and road in the fierce old mining days
of ’58 and ’64 are recorded in books and told by the “mossbacks” one
meets up and down the coast. But since the building of the railway the
wagon-road is little traveled, though the Cariboo district northward,
and other districts south of the line, still yield gold and silver
bountifully under systematic mining.

[Illustration: ON THE BROAD WATERS OF THE FRASER.]

As we roll steadily onward through long shadows projected across the
gulf by the rising sun the cañon alternately expands and contracts,
but never loses its grandeur. The queer little figures of Chinese
gold-washers dot the gravel-bars here and there (we can’t help
wondering how they got down there!), and on almost every convenient
rock near the river’s edge are perched Indians with large dip-nets,
industriously scooping in an eddy after loitering salmon. Their rude
bivouacs are scattered about the rocks; and their fish-drying frames,
festooned with the red flakes of salmon-flesh, among which the curing
smoke curls as lazily as Siwash smoke might be expected to do, add the
last touch of artistic color to the picture.

[Illustration: TYPES OF WESTERN STEAMBOATS.]

[Illustration: SCENERY OF THE FRASER CAÑON.]

But a painter will be attracted constantly by the form and color of the
bronze-brown chaotic rocks, the tawny, foam-laced river, the gaunt,
desperately rooted trees, and the brilliant azure of the sky. And
everywhere he will find handy a foreground-bit of “life”--gold-diggers,
mule-trains, Chinese red-labeled cabins, Siwash “wickiups” and
barbarically adorned graves, or some trim railway structure--to lighten
the composition with a sympathetic human touch.

At North Bend we get breakfast in a charming hotel, and then go on
again, past the important old town of Boston Bar (now abandoned to the
Indians) and over the bridge above Skuzzy Falls, which come sliding
down fern-strewn rocks in cataracts of lambent emerald. Gradually
the cañon walls grow high again, and encroach more and more upon the
channels. The railway passes from tunnel to bridge and bridge to tunnel
in quick succession, always curving and costly. It is one long gallery
of wonders. Ponderous masses of rock, fallen from the cliffs and long
ago polished like black glass, obstruct the current, which roars
through narrow flumes between them and hurls showers of spray far up
their sides. This is the Black Cañon of old settlers; and an idea of
its tortuous narrowness may be got from the fact that in freshets the
choked-up water will rise a hundred feet above the ordinary level.

At the foot of this cañon is Yale, an old trading post and frontier
town, ensconced in sombre mountains. As the head of navigation on the
lower Fraser, it was once the leading town of the Province, and still
has some 12,000 inhabitants. A few miles farther on is another similar
village, Fort Hope, which is at the limit of steamboating, and is
charmingly placed in front of a cluster of brilliant Cascade peaks.
At times the figure of a colossal anchor is marked in snow-banks upon
one of these summits; whence the name of the village--for is not the
anchor the emblem of hope? In these mountains rich silver lodes await
development.

Gradually the cañons and cliffs are left behind, and we gather speed on
a level track through woods of prodigious growth. The river becomes a
broad and placid stream, “backing up” here and there into lagoons, and
making prairies utilized for herds of cattle. Beautiful mountains show
themselves in every direction--last and finest of all, Mount Baker,
fifty miles away.

At Agassiz many passengers leave the train to visit the Harrison Hot
Springs, at the foot of Harrison Lake, five miles northward. This
is one of the pleasantest watering-places on the coast, and a most
interesting spot for sport and amusement. Harrison Lake and its outlet
into the Fraser, with other lakes and portages, formed the foremost
route to the northern interior twenty-five years ago. Its waters were
then alive with steamboats, and the roads with wagons and pack-horses;
but now the route is quite abandoned, and its wayside habitations have
fallen into decay.

At noon we scent the saline odor of the ocean, and presently come with
eager curiosity to the shore of Burrard Inlet. Half an hour later we
are at Vancouver, and our transcontinental trip has reached its western
terminus.

Two years ago a saw-mill represented civilization, and a dense forest
covered the peninsula between Coal Harbor (a widening of Burrard Inlet)
and English Bay (an offshoot of the Gulf of Georgia), where now a city
of 5,000 people is established. The town is crescent-shaped, rising
with gentle ascent to the ridge overlooking the open gulf, the heights
of Vancouver Island and the Olympic and Cascade ranges in Washington
Territory. Upon this high ground a group of residences has already
arisen, whose windows command a wonderfully beautiful view of water and
mountains.

The town has been built with great rapidity, but the wooden houses
first thrown up are fast giving place to substantial buildings of
brick and stone. All the improvements of modern civilization have been
introduced; business and agriculture flourish; mining and the fisheries
are engaging more and more capital, and the foundations of a great and
beautiful seaport have been laid.

Thus the Canadian Pacific Railway is, in fact, a new way round the
world!

[2] “Mountaineering in British Columbia.” A lecture delivered
before the American Geographical Society, in Chickering Hall,
January, 1886.

A CRITICAL SITUATION.

BY S. SMITH.

As I was walking through one of the principal London streets the other
day, on my way to fulfil a business engagement, my attention was
attracted by one of those huge posters which plentifully besprinkle
the walls of the city. In resounding tones of red, blue and bright
vermilion, it called the attention of the public to the fact that the
stirring sensational melodrama, of deep domestic interest, entitled
“For Life or Death; or, the Grave’s Witness,” was then being performed
to overflowing audiences at the Royal Lorne Theatre. Just above
the printed announcement was a picture representing one gentleman
apparently in the act of boring a hole in the floor with another
gentleman’s head, and which I took to bear reference to the printed
notification below.

My momentary curiosity satisfied, I turned to proceed on my way, when
my eyes encountered those of a man standing by my side--a man whom
I had not noticed before, and who might have been the very ghost of
a sandwich man instead of a sandwich man in the flesh, so suddenly
and quickly had he come upon me. Yet, there he unmistakably was, his
tattered old frock-coat, once the pink of fashion, frayed at the
edges, worn to shreds at the seams, and bulging at the elbows; the
trousers darned and patched in a dozen different places, but now gone
far beyond the last stage of repair; the patent-leather boots broken
and down at heel, and almost soleless; the battered white hat, with
black band round it, and the brim all but gone; the bulbous red nose,
the trembling mouth and the bleary eyes that told their own tale.
I stood for a moment staring at this sudden appearance without any
particular reason, and he, in his turn, staring at me. The pause,
awkward enough in all conscience, was of that character in which one
of the parties feels impelled to make an observation of some kind in
order to get decently away. Before I could open my lips, however, my
companion anticipated me.

“Striking sort of picture, that,” he said, in a dry, husky voice, and
with an apologetic kind of sniff.

“If coloring has anything to do with it, I should certainly say it was
striking enough,” I replied.

“Ah!” he returned, “you seemed interested in it; but I’ll warrant
you’re not half so interested in it as I am. There’s not a soul in
all this city that understands that picture as I do. The worst of it
is, when I once start looking I’m unable to leave it for thinking of
what this play once did for me. Then the police have to move me on, and
that gets me into trouble. Even if I would forget the past, I may not,
for--look here!”--he pointed to the two boards slung over his shoulders
as he spoke, and showed me the inscription, “For Life or Death,” in
lightning zigzag letters.

“Many people stop to look at the posters here and elsewhere, but there
is not one of them to whom it means what it does to me. To you and them
it is only a picture badly designed, clumsily cut, and worse colored.
To me it is the story of my life’s ruin. Perhaps you’ll wonder what I’m
driving at. If you care to listen for a few moments I can tell you.”
He glanced at the open doorway of one of the old city churches near at
hand. “Come in here,” he said; “it’s quiet and shady, and when there’s
no one about they sometimes let me go in there for a rest. You may like
to hear what I have to tell, and I shall be glad to get these infernal
boards off my shoulders for a few moments.”

Thoroughly interested already in spite of myself--perhaps more by the
man’s manner than anything else--I followed him. Entering the porch,
he took the boards off his shoulders and placed them against the wall,
and taking his seat on the bench just inside the doorway, drew a pocket
handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead with it.

“To begin with,” he said, after a moment’s silence, “let me tell you
that my name is Edward Morton. Perhaps you will not believe me if I
say that I was once upon a time--what of all things in the world do
you think--a dramatic critic! Yes, it’s true. What is more, a dramatic
criticism was the beginning and end of my downfall; and this is how
it happened. It was about ten years ago, and soon after I started
my journalistic career in the provinces, that I took a situation on
one of our great daily papers--_The Blunderer_, to wit. This I had
succeeded in obtaining through the influence of a friend at court,
and, for a youngster just entering the profession, it was looked upon
as an immense piece of good fortune. However that may be, up to town
I came, and not being quite a fool, turned my chances to such good
account that I was soon spoken of on all sides as ‘a promising young
man.’ I might have gone on in this way, and ultimately attained
to a bald head and a sub-editorship at fifty or so, but for doing
two exceedingly foolish things. I made the acquaintance of Charlie
Dashwood, and I fell desperately in love with a pretty actress, and one
who was quite as clever and good as she was pretty--Lizzie Rayburn--you
remember her? This Charlie Dashwood was a journalist like myself--a
wild, harum-scarum fellow of the speculative sort--you’ve met his
prototype, I daresay; always going off at a tangent, or breaking out
in a fresh place when least expected; full of extravagant ideas about
the undiscovered possibilities of the press; always vaporing about the
reforms he intended to originate, if ever he should edit a paper of his
own. I, at that time, admiring and looking up to Charlie, not only as
the best of good fellows, which he really was, but as the very prince
of journalists and an original genius, which, only too late, I have
discovered he was not, firmly believed in and held to him in spite of
the ridicule and chaff of older and wiser heads.

“At last, one day Charlie came to me at the office in a perfect frenzy
of excitement with the news that he had just taken the management of a
new weekly paper called _The Bullseye_, which would make its appearance
the following week, and which had, as usual, been started to fill the
not particularly noticed void. ‘We’re all full up with the exception of
the dramatics, and Teddy my boy, you’re the very man! I know you have
ideas of your own about the way that sort of thing should be done, and
here’s the opportunity. Between us, we’ll make the paper the biggest
“go” in London.’

“What Dashwood said was true. I had long possessed secret yearnings
that way, which I had at times confided to Charlie. For a moment
considerations of prudence came to my aid, and I ventured the mild
suggestion of a doubt as to whether I was quite fitted for that line of
work.

“‘Nonsense, my boy!’ said Charlie; ‘I know your proper capacity. You’re
sure to make a hit.’ It was a curious fact that Charlie possessed the
most remarkable intuitive faculty for discovering everybody’s proper
capabilities except his own.

“‘Besides,’ he added, ‘think of Lizzie!’

“That settled it. Without further ado I closed with the offer, and a
fortnight later saw me installed as dramatic critic of _The Bullseye_,
with the title of that publication inscribed on my cards underneath
that of _The Blunderer_. The plan of operation I proceeded to act
upon was this: I had long had a wholesome contempt for that class of
dramatic critics forever hanging round stage doors and hotel bars, and
drinking with managers and actors, so I resolved to set an example
in the opposite direction by keeping religiously aloof from all
association with the profession--with one exception. This was Lizzie,
who insisted on receiving her little paragraph of two or three lines
regularly every week, and with whom I spent each Sunday afternoon and
evening at her father’s place in Twickenham, whither he had retired
to spend the rest of his days, free from the smoke of Aldgate and the
cares of the grocery business. There had once been some talk of a Mr.
Loydall, a huge, beetle-browed, hoarse-voiced tragedian, who played
heavy lead to Lizzie’s juveniles at the Olympian, but he soon found out
that he had no chance with me, and after one or two tussles retired
from the battle, leaving me to walk over the course at my leisure.

“As you will guess, matters were pretty well settled between Lizzie and
me, and we obtained old Rayburn’s consent to our marriage whenever the
_Blunderer’s_ management should recognize my merits sufficiently to
advance my salary, and enable me to take Lizzie away from the stage.
_The Bullseye_, contrary to everybody’s expectations--everybody, that
is, outside the office--showed signs of becoming a pronounced success.
My dramatic criticisms was soon one of the leading features of the
journal. I had always had a notion that the withering, sarcastic style
of writing was best suited to me, and this was the line I took, with
such effect, that at times it became difficult to find out whether I
had been praising or ‘slating’ a piece or an actor. Some people were
unkind enough to say that they would prefer the latter process to the
former. Needless to say that, as the power and influence of the paper
increased, I soon became an object of hatred and dread to the whole
profession. This only tickled my vanity the more, and I would strut
along Fleet Street and the Strand of a morning meeting the scowls of
passing ‘pros.’ with a stare of supercilious indifference.

“One night, entering my club at the usual hour, just before starting
for the Lorne Theatre, where a new piece, entitled ‘For Life or Death,’
was to be produced that evening, I found a telegram lying for me in
the rack. It was from Lizzie’s mother, telling me that Lizzie had
been seized with a dangerous illness that very morning, and begging
that I would proceed to the house at once. For a moment I was in a
serious dilemma. At all hazards I must see Lizzie that night, yet it
was imperative that I should attend the first night show at the Lorne,
having for that special occasion undertaken _The Blunderer’s_ notice in
place of the regular man, who was absent through indisposition.

“Then an idea struck me as I caught sight of Scrubby, the dramatic
critic of _The Scorcher_, at the other end of the room, already
preparing to leave. Scrubby was a reliable man, I knew, and the best
available for the purpose I had in my mind. Crossing over to where he
was, I showed him the telegram, and explained my difficulty.

“‘Nothing easier, my boy,’ he exclaimed, clapping me on the back.
‘Trust to me. I’m going down to the show, and will leave you a program
here, marked with my notes, on my way to the office. If you’re back
here by half-past ten, you’ll find it waiting. Then you can scribble
your notices for the two papers from my notes, and send them in in the
usual way.’

“Warmly shaking him by the hand, I accepted his offer, and hastened
away to Twickenham. When I reached the house I found my darling already
delirious in the first stages of a high fever, and calling for me. I
remained by her side, holding her hand in mine and soothing her as
best I could until she had fallen off into a fitful doze. Then I stole
quietly away, whispering to Mrs. Rayburn that I would return as soon as
my business in town was concluded.

“When I got back to the club I found, as I expected, the program lying
in the rack, inside an envelope addressed to me. Scrubby’s analysis
of the production, play and acting, was distinctly unfavorable, his
marginal notes having such a bitterly acrid flavor that I concluded
it must all have been very bad indeed; and so I followed suit with
good interest, cutting up everything and everybody concerned in the
most unmerciful manner. The notices written, I put them into separate
envelopes, the one addressed to _The Blunderer_, the other to _The
Bullseye_, and sent them to the offices by the club messenger. This
done, I went back to Twickenham.

“Returning to town the following morning, almost the first person I
met was Charlie Dashwood. I made to speak to him, when, to my utter
bewilderment, he stopped me short with a motion of his hand, looked me
full in the face, and slowly drew a copy of that morning’s _Bullseye_
from his pocket. Opening it, he pointed to my criticism of the
production of ‘For Life or Death,’ at the Lorne Theatre, and held it up
close to my eyes, then, deliberately turning his back upon me, passed
on without uttering a syllable. I stared after him in a kind of daze as
he rapidly disappeared. What on earth could he mean? What could he be
driving at? In all my experience of him I had never known him to act so
strangely. Could he be going off his head, or was I going off mine, or
what?

“If I wanted an explanation I had not long to wait for one. As
I entered the office, the hall-keeper handed me a letter, the
superscription of which I recognized as that of the editor. I opened
the letter with an unaccountable trembling at the fingertips. What I
found inside was a check for three months’ salary, with a notification
to the effect that in consequence of my great success in having that
morning made _The Blunderer_ the laughing stock of all London, the
proprietors considered it due recognition of my talents that I should
not enter the office again. For explanation I was referred to the
enclosed cuttings from that day’s daily newspapers. I lifted one of the
slips from out of the envelope, and what then met my eyes caused me to
stagger back speechless and breathless against the wall, for there in
that brief announcement of the postponement at the last moment of ‘For
Life or Death,’ I saw the evidence of the horrible treachery of which I
had been a victim. The evidence of my own ruin, utter and irremediable,
stared me in the face. I had actually written a detailed report and
criticism of an audience which had never assembled, of actors who had
never appeared, of a piece which had never been produced!”

* * * * *

“What need is there for me to tell you more, when you can guess the
rest for yourself? You don’t want to hear that I and the papers with
which I had been connected became the by-word and scoff of England,
and that _The Bullseye_ in particular never survived the shock. Nor do
you need to be told that the few hundred enemies whom I had contrived
to raise around me by my exceeding smartness turned the story in
all ways so as to tell to my disadvantage, or that my journalistic
career, which meant my livelihood, was practically at an end, if you
can understand the charitable eyes with which an editor would be
apt to look upon that kind of mistake. Whatever I tried, wherever
I went, London or the provinces, it was always the same--the black
shadow pursued me and closed every door in my face. Lizzie, of all the
world, was the only one who clung to me in my trouble, and insisted on
carrying out her promise and marrying me in the teeth of her parents,
who threw her off when they found her bent on allying herself to a
pauper. She struggled on by my side for two years, comforting and
sustaining me in our bitterest adversity with her love and faith, until
one day she died in my arms, and the light of my life went out. Then,
having nothing else in the world to cling to, I clung to the drink the
while it dragged me down, down, down to what I am.

“One thing more I have to mention,” said the sandwich man, as he rose
from his seat and proceeded to hang the boards over his shoulders
again; “it was one day some months after the events described that I
met Scrubby. ‘I can’t for the life of me understand how you came to
fall into that terrible blunder,’ he said, ‘especially after the note
I left for you, telling how we had all gone down to the theatre on a
wild-goose chase, only to find that the piece was postponed until the
following week.’

“‘Note! Left for me by you!’ I ejaculated.

“‘Yes!--No! now I come to think of it, I didn’t leave the note. I
wanted to go down to the Parthenon to see the new burlesque, but I gave
it to a man who said he would be passing the club and would hand it
in. Let me see. Ah! I have it now--you know him--Loydall, the Olympian
heavy lead.’”

[Illustration]

A VISIT TO DEATH LAKE, FLORIDA.

BY LIEUT. W. R. HAMILTON.

Some years ago, I was stationed at Fort Barrancas, on the west coast of
Florida, and at the mouth of Pensacola Bay. It was the custom of the
military authorities every summer, as the sickly season approached, to
order all the troops stationed in garrisons along the southern coast
into camps among the pine-trees to escape the fatal yellow fever. The
camps were selected with a view to health and isolation combined.

In the year of which I write, we were ordered up into the pine woods
about thirty-six miles north-west of Pensacola. The camp was several
miles from the only line of railroad then existing in that country,
and fifteen miles from the nearest settlement, which happened to be
a railroad and telegraph station also. The yellow fever had already
broken out with terrible violence in New Orleans, and all the southern
coast was alarmed. Of course, we were obliged to maintain the strictest
quarantine to prevent any communication between our camp and the
outside world. This was necessary, as the country soon became filled
with refugees from the plague-stricken districts, yet it made our
existence particularly doleful. We received fresh meat only once a
week, and, as it was brought in an open cart thirty-six miles in the
hot sun, the term _fresh_ was about all there was of that significance
about it. We lived on potted meats and canned vegetables and fruits
almost entirely. Nothing was allowed inside the lines except the mails,
and even they had to be disinfected outside before admission. News of
the outside world was from a week to ten days old, and as the weather
was extremely hot, it can be easily imagined that our existence was not
particularly rose-colored.

Judge, then, of the delight and pleasure we all experienced when, one
sultry evening, when the very air was quivering and dancing with heat,
an old man came into camp with a large basket full of beautiful little
fresh-water fish. How he passed the line of sentinels no one cared to
inquire, the probability being that the guards, knowing what a boon
he had in his basket, winked at his passing. He came direct to the
line of officers’ tents, and in five minutes had sold all his fish at
a good price. We asked him where the fish came from, and he answered
“Death Lake.” I had heard of “Death Lake” a number of times, and the
negroes in the neighborhood always spoke of it with bated breath and a
mysterious air, so that my curiosity concerning it was much aroused. I
therefore asked the old man to my tent, where I could talk to him about
it. After he had seated himself and taken a drink of cool water, fresh
from the spring, I asked him the name of the fish and when and where he
caught them.

“They be brim, mister, and they wuz caught by me early this mawnin’ in
the lake.”

“But where is the lake?” I inquired, “and why is it called Death Lake?”

“Wal,” he answered, “it lies about six miles from here, in the middle
of a big swamp, and it is called Death Lake, I reckon, because no one
can’t git there without losing his life.”

“Yet you have been there, and you are alive,” I replied.

“Yes, but I’ve most lost my life as much as a dozen times, and I’m only
forty years old.”

He looked fully seventy, and he was much bowed and broken. His eyes
were deep sunk, and had a watery opaqueness; his cheeks were sallow,
and there were only a few straggling white hairs on his head. His
answer surprised me, and I pressed him to tell me his story, which,
after a while, he did, although he was much averse to it. After a time
I prevailed upon the old man to take me to the lake next day. “But it
is at your own risk, young man,” he said; “remember, if you dies, I
told you all about it, and you can’t blame me.”

“Not if I die,” I replied; “but I am strong and healthy, and willing to
take the risk.”

I easily obtained the necessary permission to leave the camp, as
I was not going near the settlements, or where the fever existed,
and I moreover promised to bring back a good string of fish for the
commanding officer. The next morning I met the old man at daybreak,
just outside the lines, and off we started together. He carried his
large basket and a couple of fish-poles made of reeds he had cut in the
swamps. I carried our lunch and a coffee-pot.

We tramped for about two hours through the woods, till we came to a
small river called “Perdido,” from the Spanish word for “lost.” “Lost
River” was a very good name for it, as it had its origin in Death Lake,
and lost itself completely in the swamps after many turnings. Close to
the bank, the old man had a flat-bottomed skiff moored, in which we
paddled up the stream for a half-mile, when we reached the confines of
the large swamp in which Death Lake is situated. The scenery here is of
the typical Florida nature. On either side the stream was bounded by
the swamp. Huge cypress trees lifted their weird limbs upward, and long
streamers of trailing moss floated from them, and even at times formed
a swinging arch across the entire width of the stream. The water was
dark and sullen, and on the banks, wherever a little sunshine happened
to strike, half a dozen alligators might be seen basking, which, on our
approach, would flop into the water with a tremendous splash. After
paddling up the sides of the swamp for a couple of miles we came to an
archway, which appeared to have been cut by man through the foliage of
trees and vines. It was not over four feet high and about eight wide,
and from it the water flowed with a scarcely perceptible current.

“Now, Loot’nent,” said the old man, “we’ve got to go up this creek,
and you’ll have to kneel down like this, for we have to stoop pretty
low in places.”

Once inside the arch, it became very dark, for though the sun was
shining brightly outside, it could not penetrate through the dense
foliage of the vines. The little stream turned and twisted in the most
tortuous channel I ever saw, and often it was with difficulty that we
managed to turn the boat round the sharp and narrow corners. At length,
after paddling in this fashion for over half a mile, we emerged into
the famous Death Lake.

Right well had it been named, for the very feeling one had in breathing
its atmosphere was of death. It seemed more like a river than a lake,
for though by its various windings and twistings it was several miles
long, it was never, in its broadest part, over sixty yards wide, and
throughout most of its length not over twenty yards. The banks were
lined by immense cypress trees that towered upward to a height of
eighty feet or more. From their branches hung long festoons and trails
of Florida moss, while the roots of the trees, half out of water,
assumed such weird and fantastic shapes that they seemed like immense
serpents that had become suddenly petrified in their writhings. So
dense was the foliage that it formed an impenetrable wall to both sun
and wind, and the sunlight never touched the water except between the
hours of 12 and 2 ~P. M.~ Not a breath had stirred the waters
for years, and they were covered to a depth of several inches with
a green vegetable slime, so that the first appearance was that of a
beautiful level floor, on which one might walk.

We reached the lake about ten minutes before the sun, and there was
consequently a very strange light over the water. It had much the
effect of a twilight above, through which the sun was breaking, while
close to the water hung a mist, heavy, silent and motionless. But the
tops of the trees the sun had touched with his master-strokes, and
created tints more beautiful than could any painter’s brush. So still
was the place that the silence was actually oppressive, and, though we
were startled at the sound of our own voices, we would have been glad
to have heard the noise of some animal life.

But all round us was death; no sign of life anywhere. No birds in the
trees; no insects in the air. Even the reptiles and snakes avoided the
fearful place. To breathe such air for an hour, except when the sun
was directly over the water, would be death to any living creature.
Even the water was lifeless, and the trees and all vegetation were
dead, except the moss, which lived at the expense of all else. The old
man had told me in his queer parlance that the lake had no bottom, for
although he had dropped 900 feet of line, he had never touched. I had
taken the precaution to bring with me two of my sea trolling-lines,
and fastening them together, I had a line 250 feet long. With this I
sounded in several places, but only proved the old man’s words, for I
never touched bottom. I afterwards learned, as the explanation of this,
that all Western Florida is of a limestone formation, and so I presume
this lake is one of those wonders that have their sources far away down
in the bowels of the earth.

As soon as the sun touched the water we let our fish-lines down to a
depth of about thirty feet, and soon began to pull out very quickly
the “brim”--a corruption of the name of bream. Although, when the hand
was thrust through the slime, the water had a horribly slimy, warm
feeling, the fish came up cold and firm, showing that below the water
was clear and cold. The fish had the same dull, opaque eyes as fish of
subterranean caves, proving that the vegetable mould on the water’s
surface had for many years formed a bar to any light in the water.

In the two hours we managed to nearly fill our boat, for the fish bit
as fast as we could throw the line overboard; so about two o’clock
we stopped, and paddled out as quickly as possible to avoid those
poisonous vapors that killed all animal life. Notwithstanding the
sport, so weird and unearthly strange was the place that I was glad
to leave it. I could well understand its name now, and as we passed
through the tortuous archway, I thought of the many negroes in the old
slavery days, that escaping to this swamp to find liberty found death
instead.

After reaching the river, the old man suggested our stopping at a place
on the banks, where the ground rose in a little knoll, and cooking
some of our freshly caught fish. I agreed to the proposition, and as
we reached the bank I jumped out and took three or four steps inland,
when the old man sharply cried, “Look out, Loot’nent! See there!”
at the same time pointing, as he stood up in the boat, to something
directly in front of me. I looked and beheld, about a yard from me, a
huge moccasin snake, the most deadly poisonous reptile of the South
upreared to strike me. I involuntarily took a step backward, and as I
did so I heard another hiss behind me, and then others on all sides.
One quick, horrified glance showed me that I was surrounded by at least
a dozen of these fearful reptiles, all coiled and ready to strike. For
an instant I was paralyzed and unable to move, and it was, perhaps,
well that it was so, as I should probably have stepped on one and been
bitten.

“Move carefully and come away,” the old man cried. “If you don’t git
close to them they can’t hurt you; they’re casting their skins.”

So it proved. It seems that this spot of ground, being drier than its
surroundings and more exposed to the sun, had, by the natural instinct
of the creatures, been selected as the place for the annual changing of
their skins. While this process is going on they are almost incapable
of motion. As a rule they will move off when disturbed, provided they
are not attacked, but in this case they could not; but had I got
within striking distance they would have bitten me. I picked my way
out very daintily, and stepped into the boat, with no further desire
to eat fish till I got back to camp. Indeed, I felt quite faint as I
realized my narrow escape. We paddled down the river, soon reached our
landing-place, and then made a bee-line for camp, which we reached just
at dark. With such a string of fish, my return was heartily welcomed;
but after hearing my adventures, no one else seemed anxious to make the
visit to the lake.

I wanted to revisit the lake, till one morning, about two weeks after
my visit, I was taken suddenly ill, and before the day was over I was
unconscious with the terrible “swamp fever.” I had a long and hard
fight for my life, and though I conquered in the end, I lost all desire
to ever see the horrible place again.

[Illustration]

AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

By J. MOTT HALLOWELL.

[Illustration: ~The Harvard Boat-houses.~]

At Harvard, and at nearly all other American colleges, athletics are
managed on a plan entirely different from that adopted by most of the
amateur athletic associations of this country. As a rule, an athletic
association has control of all contests played upon its grounds, track
and field athletics, boating, football, baseball, and all other games;
but at Cambridge, the origin and growth of each branch of athletics has
been so distinct in itself, and has had so little direct connection
with the development of the others, that, as a result, each athletic
sport is managed by a separate organization--the Harvard University
Boat Club managing the boating interests, the Baseball Club taking care
of the nine, while the Athletic Association has control only of the
winter meetings in the gymnasium and the track and field meetings out
of doors.

Of all the Harvard athletic clubs the Athletic Association deserves
first mention as the club which each year opens the athletic season.
If on the first Saturday in March, a little after one o’clock in the
afternoon, a stranger should happen to pass by the Hemenway Gymnasium,
his attention would be attracted by an incongruous, closely packed
crowd, patiently waiting upon the porch and steps. There are small
boys with pennies tightly clasped in closed fists, poking their
elbows into the sides of the “sport,” who is jotting down his last
entry in the book he has just made up on to-day’s games; a few of the
ubiquitous unwashed muddying the nicely polished shoes of some dainty
youths with big canes and high collars, and even a few poorly clad
individuals of studious mien, with perhaps a book under one arm, who
look as if they had crowded into the press in order to keep warm, in
marked contrast to the contented looking men, wrapped in large ulsters
and leisurely puffing cigars, who stand just at the edge. The crowd
is jolly--swaying, jostling, and cracking its jokes, while it eagerly
waits till the doors are opened to swarm into the gymnasium; for this
afternoon is held the first winter meeting of the Athletic Association.
Presently, by the time the first sparrers or wrestlers appear in the
ring, every seat is filled, and even standing room whence can be had a
view of the contestants.

This meeting is but one of seven that the Athletic Association holds
every year; two field meetings, the class games and university games
held every fall and every spring, and three winter meetings held in
the gymnasium. In 1873 the Athletic Association had not been formed,
and the only gymnasium for the use of the students was a wretched
little structure now used as a storehouse; now the Association leads
all the other colleges in its records, owns a hard cinder quarter-mile
track, and has the use of one of the best gymnasia, if not the best, in
America.

In July, 1874, at Saratoga, was held the first intercollegiate athletic
meeting between American colleges. Due notice of this meeting had been
sent round to the leading colleges, and the interest aroused by the
proposed contest led to the first athletic meeting at Cambridge. A
notice appeared in the Harvard _Advocate_ that, if sufficient interest
was felt by the students, some athletic sports would be held in the
Jarvis Field on the afternoon of Wednesday, June 17th. The program was
to consist of a mile running race, a mile walking race, a one hundred
yards dash, a three hundred yards dash, a running high jump, running
long jump, and a three-legged race; the entrance fee of 50 cents was
to be used in purchasing cups for prizes, and the notice ended with
an appeal to the students to give the games their generous support,
so that the college might be enabled to select representative men to
send to the intercollegiate games at Saratoga. No notice of the result
of these games appeared in the college papers, but their success was
sufficient to encourage four men to enter the Saratoga games, where
they succeeded in winning last place in most of their events, none
of their records being taken. The undergraduates seemed to have been
stirred up by this signal defeat, and in the fall of 1874 the Harvard
Athletic Association was formed for the purpose of encouraging track
and field athletics--unknown factors in college games at that time--in
order that the college might be fitly represented in intercollegiate
contests.

It is strange in the present period of great athletic interest, crowded
athletic meetings, and Faculty restrictions, to recall those days
only fifteen years ago, when the undergraduate had to be encouraged
to interest himself in athletic games. An editorial in the college
paper in the winter of 1874-5, speaking of the formation of the
Association, says: “While the bodies of the men now at the university
do not receive a tithe of the attention they ought, it is cheering to
note that more is being done towards inviting that attention than ever
before. In no other exercise than baseball and rowing has there been
any emulation, and never a general and systematic using of any set of
muscles sustained throughout the year. The average student has been
physically what he is now. At entering, President Eliot describes him
as of ‘undeveloped muscle, a bad carriage and an impaired digestion,
without skill in out-of-door games, and unable to ride, row, swim or
shoot.’ During his four or six years, short of a little spasmodic work
now and then, he does little towards becoming anything else, and with
just that body and most of these defects he starts into his life’s
work; and with growing labor and care, and little time to look after
his body, and no one by to spur him to it, that is just about the sort
of body he goes through life with, generally losing rather than gaining
vigor and power. A new door has been opened for the men who really mean
to be what they ought physically, and it is pleasant to see already
signs of a brisk rivalry in this direction. The legs--long neglected
members--are now to be put to their best, and at last we have the
various foot contests so well known in the British universities. They
began last fall, and the work done then was so little above mediocrity
that there is strong ground to hope for new winners in May. All the
running was slow, the jumping poor, and the walking nothing much.”

The Association when first formed was very primitive. Only about a
couple of hundred men belonged to it; members were given tickets of
admission to the games, which they could present to their friends,
while the admission fee, entitling a person to a life-membership and
free admission to all games ever held by the Association was only two
dollars. Gradually, as the games grew in importance, and interest
increased, the expenses of the Association became heavier; a track
costing about $600 was laid out on Jarvis Field; the necessary expenses
incurred in the winter meetings, held in the little gymnasium for
the first time in 1876, added an annual increase of expenditure (the
tickets of admission were then given away by members), until at last
the expedient was adopted of laying an assessment of fifty cents on all
members except Freshmen. The task of collecting this proved so great,
that, of the collectors appointed, some resigned, while the others
confessed their inability to proceed further.

[Illustration: THE HEMENWAY GYMNASIUM.]

In 1879 the Harvard Athletic Association, as well as the other athletic
clubs, received a great stimulus in the erection of the Hemenway
Gymnasium, the gift of Mr. Augustus Hemenway. Fifty years before, an
attempt had been made to found a gymnasium out of doors in the Delta
where Memorial Hall now stands, but the result had been unsuccessful.
Again, in 1860, a small gymnasium was erected at the corner of
Broadway and Cambridge Street, costing something less than $10,000;
but this building had become entirely inadequate for the needs of the
undergraduates, and in 1878 the ground was broken for the present
erection. When finished, it cost, including all its apparatus, over
$150,000, and is as complete as any gymnasium in the country. In the
second story is a rowing-room for the crew, fitted up with hydraulic
rowing-machines, while a gallery overlooking the main floor of the
gymnasium makes an excellent running track. On the floor below is the
gymnasium proper, fitted up with apparatus of every description, and
at one side, under the rowing-room, are lockers and bath-rooms. In
the basement is the “cage,” reserved for the winter practice of the
nine and the lacrosse team; but room is left for nine bowling alleys,
several hundred more lockers, a long open space for tug-of-war cleats,
and a room for the use of fencers and sparrers.

In 1880 the management hit upon the happy expedient of setting apart
one of the winter meetings in the gymnasium as a “Ladies’ Day,” on
which only such events as the light gymnastics, bar performances,
jumping, and light-weight sparring should be contested, the wrestling
and the heavy-weight sparring being reserved for one of the other
meetings. The next year another day was added as Ladies’ Day, so
that only one of the meetings remained open to men alone. At first
ladies were admitted free, the Association trusting to this additional
attraction to fill their coffers from the pockets of the men; but after
the success of Ladies’ Day was assured, the fair sex was put on an
equal footing with their escorts, and have since been obliged to pay
full price; indeed, they supply the principal source of revenue.

[Illustration: THE TUG-OF-WAR--“THE DROP.”]

From the date of their first admission, however, they inaugurated a war
against the sparring exhibitions which occur on one of their days. From
that time to the present they have continually protested against it,
and just as continually have they come in crowds to see it. There is
in the first President’s report (Harvard Athletic Association), after
the establishment of Ladies’ Day, a notice that “the ladies ought to
understand that if blood be drawn in the sparring, the men will not
leave the ring as they did last year;” and again in a report two years
later: “We decided last year to have light and feather weight sparring
on the first Ladies’ Day, and although there was at the time much talk
against it among a certain number of men, we did not find the apparent
interest of the ladies in any way less, or that their number decreased
from the year before, although it had been extensively advertised for
more than a month that there was to be sparring, and it is not to be
supposed that many of the ladies were ignorant of the fact that they
were to see it. Far would it be from me to force ladies to look at any
event that was distasteful to them, but I fail to see why the large
number who are entertained by sparring should be deprived of seeing
it in our winter meetings because certain others object to it, more
especially as the latter are in no way compelled to come unless they
chose to.” The “large number” has continued to come, and the sparring
still continues.

The financial status of the Association was assured by the success of
the winter meetings in the gymnasium, until, in time, it was able to
engage a track-master and trainer for the men, so that all competitors,
poor as well as rich, trying for places in the team which annually
competes for the intercollegiate cup, could have an equal chance of
responsible training. It was also able to contribute $1,000 towards
the construction of the hard cinder track round Holmes Field, finished
in 1883, and now is able to pay all the expenses of the team which
competes at the intercollegiate games. Besides the annual income
received from the winter games, it receives a large sum annually from
its membership roll. Though the fee is but small, only $3.00 for a
life-membership entitling free admission to all games, a regulation
forbidding any undergraduate to be present at the games unless he is a
member, annually forces nearly the entire freshman class to join.

[Illustration: THE HARVARD BASEBALL TEAM.]

There is not space in the limits of an article of this nature to
mention more than a few of the men who have been connected with the
rise and success of this Association. Some of them have already a
world-wide athletic reputation, while many stand at the head of all
college athletes. The fact that not until four years after Harvard’s
entry into the Intercollegiate Athletic Association did she win the
championship cup, but that then she won it for seven successive years,
shows the need that existed originally in the college for such an
association, besides demonstrating the success that has since attended
it. Mr. E. J. Wendell, ’82, did more in his day than any one else, not
only to increase its prosperity at home, but also to win laurels for
it in its intercollegiate contests; and the names of Soren, Goodwin,
Easton, Baker, Rogers and Wells show what strong representatives
the Association has had. Out of the twenty-four first prizes that
Harvard won the first four years she held the cup, W. Soren, ’83, won
seven; he gained first prize in every jump in the intercollegiate
program--running high, running broad, standing high and standing
broad--besides the pole vault, and in the standing high jump holds the
best amateur record in the world.

The following table shows the best records made under the Harvard
Athletic Association in events contested at the intercollegiate games:

100 Yards Dash 10s. E. J. Wendell, ’82.
220 Yards Dash 22s. W. Baker, ’86.
440 Yards Dash 50¼s. W. Baker, ’86.
Half-mile Run 1m. 59 1-5s. G. P. Coggswell, ’88.
Mile Run 4m. 38 3-5s. G. B. Morison, ’83.
Hurdle Race, 120 yards 17 3-5s. S. R. Bell, ’91.
Hurdle Race, 220 yards 26 4-5s. G. S. Mandell, ’89.
Mile Walk 6m. 59½s. H. H. Bemis, ’87.
Bicycle Race (2 miles) 6m. 2½s. R. H. Davis, ’91.
Running High Jump 5 ft. 10¾ in. H. L. Clark, ’87.
Pole Vault 10 ft. 5-8 in. R. G. Leavitt, ’89.
Throwing Hammer (16 lbs.) 93 ft. 2 in. H. B. Gibson, ’88.
Putting the Shot (16 lbs.) 40 ft. 1½ in. D. B. Chamberlain, ’86.
Running Broad Jump 20 ft. 10 in. W. Soren, ’83.

The following records have been made in other events:

125 Yards Dash 12 3-5s. W. Baker, ’86.
180 Yards Dash 18s. W. Baker, ’86.
Two-Mile Walk 15m. 10½s. H. H. Bemis, ’87.
Three-Mile Walk 24m. 24 2-5s. H. H. Bemis, ’87.
Seven-Mile Walk 58m. 52s. H. H. Bemis, ’87.
Standing High Jump 5 ft. 1¼ in. W. Soren, ’83.

Two days after Baker had graduated he made a record of 8s. in the
80-yard dash, 10s. in the 100-yard dash, and 47¾s. in the 440-yard
dash, all three of them counting as best amateur American records; but,
unfortunately, since he had received his degree, the Harvard Athletic
Association cannot claim these records. W. H. Goodwin, ’84, while he
was in college, also made a record of 1m. 56⅝s. in the half-mile
run, but as he did not make it in college games, this record was also
lost to the Harvard Athletic Association.

The tug-of-war is another event in which the Harvard Athletic
Association can hold no record, but in which it has had no rival. The
veteran anchor of the team, Easton, did more toward introducing science
into this seemingly unskilful sport than any other collegian in the
country. The amount of skill and team work cultivated in this contest
at Cambridge is shown by the fact that at the last intercollegiate
games, Harvard presented the class tug-of-war team of the senior class,
because the men had had long experience in pulling together; and this
class team defeated successively Princeton, Columbia, and Yale.

BASEBALL.

The game of baseball was first introduced into Cambridge in 1862.
Until that year no ball club had existed in the college, and no record
can be found of any games previously played. Baseball was brought to
Cambridge from Phillips Exeter Academy, by the class which entered
college from that school in 1862. “In December of that year,[3] George
A. Flagg and Frank Wright, members of the then Freshmen class, and
great enthusiasts over the game, established the ’66 Baseball Club.
During the spring of 1863 the interest in the new game and class
organization became very great, and the Cambridge city government
granted a petition for leave to use that part of the Common near the
Washington Elm for a practice-ground. Invitations to play were sent to
many of the colleges, and among the first to the Yale class of ’66;
but the latter replied that the game was not played by them, although
they hoped soon to be able to meet a Harvard nine on the ball field.”
A match was then arranged with the Sophomores of Brown University,
and was played on June 23, 1863. This was the first intercollegiate
baseball game ever played by Harvard, and resulted in the first of a
long line of victories. Following is the official score of the game, a
very different looking affair from our present complicated score card:

_Harvard, ’66._ _Pos._ _Outs._ _Runs._
Banker, H. 3 3
Wright, P. 1 5
Flagg, S. 5 2
Irons, A. 2 4
Fisher, B. 2 4
Greenleaf, C. 4 2
Nelson, L. 4 2
Abercrombie, M. 2 3
Tiffany, R. 4 2
-- --
27 27

_Brown, ’65._ _Pos._ _Outs._ _Runs._
Witter, P. 1 4
Finney, H. 4 2
Brown, S. 2 1
Rees, A. 4 1
Spink, B. 2 3
Deming, C. 4 1
Brayton, L. 2 3
Judson, M. 4 1
Field, R. 4 1
-- --
27 17

Umpire:--Miller, Lowell Club. Scorers, Harvard--J. J. Mason;
Brown--H. S. Hammond.

There were but few other college clubs at this time, and in order to
keep alive the interest in the game it was necessary to play an annual
championship series with the strongest local amateur nine that could be
found. The Lowell Club, of Boston, was then the best amateur club in
that part of the country, and the Harvards chose them for their regular
opponents. The games played on the Boston Common for the championship
and the possession of the silver ball offered as a trophy attracted
immense crowds, sometimes as many as ten thousand people; and not
only was college interest aroused, but also the worthy inhabitants of
Boston and Cambridge became eager and enthusiastic partisans of their
respective nines.

The first games with the Lowells were played by the class nine of ’66;
but in 1864 the other classes, having taken up the game, united their
forces and formed the University Baseball Club. The entire control of
the University nine, from its organization until the fall of 1866,
was left with the catcher, Flagg, and the pitcher, Wright--the former
managing the players in the field. The old ground on Cambridge Common
was abandoned, and the Delta, now covered in part by Memorial Hall, was
turned into a ball-field. The games with the Lowells were continued as
the principal event of the season until about 1870; for practice, the
nine playing against the various college and professional nines, and
occasionally getting a game with George Wright’s famous old team, the
Red Stockings of Cincinnati.

[Illustration: THE LAST LAP.]

In the summer of 1870 the nine spent nearly the entire vacation in
an extended tour through the West, playing all the principal amateur
clubs and many of the professionals, and winning forty-four out of
the fifty-four games they played. Their greatest victory was over the
Niagaras, in which they made 62 runs to their opponents’ 4, and 49
base hits with a total of 68, for 8 hits by the Niagaras. The latter
philosophically accepted their defeat, declaring that they could not
expect to play ball successfully against a nine whose reputation was
comparatively world-wide. The account in a contemporary paper, of the
game against the old Cincinnati Red Stockings is interesting as showing
what the general opinion at that time was of Harvard’s club. The Red
Stockings was the old champion nine in which the veterans George
Wright, Harry Wright, Leonard and McVey first made their reputations
as ball players. “Never before in the history of the Union Grounds
has so exciting a struggle taken place as that of yesterday between
the Harvard University and the first nine of the Cincinnati Club. We
heard many intimate that if the local favorites were beaten on their
own grounds, something hitherto unheard of, they preferred that the
deed of baseball glory should be accomplished by the gentlemen players
from Cambridge, rather than by the more dreaded professionals from the
East. The game was remarkably close, the Harvards outplaying their
opponents at the bat and in the field; but at a critical moment in the
last innings, professional training showed its superiority over amateur
excitability, and the Red Stockings won by 20 to 17.” The game at the
time was considered “one of the most remarkable on record--remarkable
for the inferiority both at the bat and on the field, of a club of
professionals who ought on their record to defeat their amateur
opponents easily. Nothing but sheer luck saved the Red Stockings from a
defeat which would have been honorable because administered them by the
Harvards.”

[Illustration: HARVARD INTERCOLLEGIATE ATHLETIC TEAM.]

This was what might be called the uncollegiate period of Harvard
baseball, for all of Harvard’s most important games were played with
other than college teams; indeed, there were none of the latter who
could compete with her. From 1867 until 1874 she did not lose a single
game to any college, although annually playing their best nines. Of
the many crack players during this period, A. McC. Bush, ’71, stands
head and shoulder’s over all others. He played in one hundred and four
games, was captain for one year, and his success in that office is
shown by the fact that Harvard never lost a game to an amateur club
during his captaincy.[4]

There is no time to trace further the development of baseball at
Harvard, and, indeed, there would be little point in doing so; for
the game there has simply kept pace with its progress throughout the
rest of the country. I have purposely given this short sketch of the
introduction of the game to show the early importance attached to it
at Cambridge, the prominent part that the latter took in introducing
the game among American colleges, and the general reputation that the
nine had at that time. The significant remark in the Cincinnati papers
about “the gentlemen players from Cambridge,” and many other comments
of a similar kind, were made at a time when Harvard played many games
against professionals--a privilege now forbidden.

Up to the present date, however, the game has retained its popularity,
although no longer can the college boast of seven successive years
without losing an intercollegiate game. After 1874 the team gradually
began to find more formidable opponents among the other colleges,
especially Princeton and Yale; but, nevertheless, Harvard won the
college championship in 1876, 1877, 1878, and 1879. Tyng and Ernst,
the famous battery of this period, still figure in the minds of the
undergraduates as traditional heroes. Then an Intercollegiate Baseball
Association was formed by a large number of the colleges; but not until
1885, under the captaincy of Winslow, ’85, and with the battery work of
Nichols and Allen, did Harvard again win the college championship; but
then she won every one of the ten championship games, and twenty-four
out of the twenty-five played during the whole season. Then followed
the withdrawal from the large college league, the formation of the
smaller one with Yale and Princeton, and the discomfiture of the
Harvard nine by the present Yale pitcher, Stagg. If any one wishes to
understand the position that baseball occupies in the college, it is
only necessary to go out on Holmes Field at the annual Harvard-Yale
match the day after Class Day. Games are played then which throw the
old Harvard-Lowell games on Boston Common completely in the shade.
A large part of the unpleasantly critical element is excluded by
enclosed grounds and an admission fee; but their places are taken by
thousands and thousands of enthusiasts, less critical, but even more
demonstrative.

To be continued.

[Illustration]

[3] The Harvard Book, vol. ii., page 269.

[4] Most of my material on the history of baseball I have taken
from an article by W. D. Sanborn, published ten years ago in
the Harvard Book.--J. M. H.

A RIDE TO A RUSSIAN WEDDING.

BY C. M. LITWIN.

A friend of mine sent me, not long ago, the recently published
translation of Count Tolstoï’s “The Snow Storm.” I had not read it
in the original, but the translation was a good one, and this little
picture of a ride in a snow-storm, drawn by a master’s hand, vividly
recalled to my mind many of my traveling experiences during ten years
of active service in Russia.

One of them--I don’t know why--presented itself to my mind with more
persistence than the others, and I have not been able to resist the
temptation of putting it on paper. I hasten to say, for fear of giving
a bad opinion of myself beforehand, it will not be an account of a
ride in a snow-storm, nor a description of such a storm, although I
have seen many and have often felt their embraces. Who, after having
read the Count’s little gem, would dare attempt a description of a
snow-storm? Would it not be the same as to attempt to paint a subject
treated by Rembrandt, or to mold another “Statue of Liberty?”

My tale is simply about an exciting ride taken in the winter, but early
in the season, with but little snow on the ground--for Russia--while
I was in a very excited state of mind over an event that was of more
importance to me then than the still pending Oriental question or
any other question of either hemisphere, namely, the wedding and the
wedding-ball of a girl with whom we had all been, or imagined ourselves
to be, a little in love. But I see that mature age is not always a
sufficient safeguard against excitement, and I confess that with this
glance back at those happy days I begin to feel something of that
youthful nervousness, always aspiring to something, always wishing for
something, and to put a check on it I begin my tale.

My headquarters were in Ladoga, the county seat of the district of the
same name, in the Province of St. Petersburg. The town is situated on
the Lake of Ladoga, at the mouth of the river Wolchow, which is large,
but very dangerous for navigation on account of its rapids. This stream
forms a link in the water-system connecting the Caspian Sea with St.
Petersburg and the Baltic.

The situation of Ladoga, its streets and buildings, have little of
picturesqueness, except the old church built on a slight elevation
just where the river enters the lake. On the high tower of this
church, almost at its summit, and on the side facing the lake, there
is a niche, protected from rain and wind by a pane of glass. Within
this niche is placed a picture of the Holy Mother, lighted by several
lamps burning day and night. These are kept there by the donations
of the fishermen and sailors, who hold the holy picture in great
veneration. They look for it from afar, not only with the eagerness of
a Cunarder’s captain watching through his glass for Sandy Hook or the
Fastnet lights, but also as worshipers, raising their eyes and hearts
to the Holy Mother with her Infant, imploring help and protection in
their lives of hardship and danger; for navigation on the lake is very
dangerous from undercurrents, and I have often heard marine officers
say that they would rather cross the ocean than make a trip on this
lake.

The town of Ladoga contains only a few thousand inhabitants, but, since
it is a county seat, all the government officers, military and civil,
are obliged to live there with their families. If you add the staffs of
the various regiments which are stationed there in turn, and several
wealthy landowners of the nobility, you can imagine that life in Ladoga
is gay.

In no other country than Russia are there so many private dancing
parties, suppers--or rather midnight dinners--and all sorts of
amusements, any one of which is, for the most part, a pretext for
eating, drinking and gambling. Even among ladies, every game of cards
is played for money, in a country where the paternal government says:
“You cannot read; I will read for you. You cannot write; I will write
for you. You cannot think; I will think for you.” Questions of public
interest there are none. If there is a vacancy in an office, every one
knows the Czar will make the appointment. If there is a famine, every
one says the Czar will send bread; thousands will die meanwhile, but
this is no matter. If there is a war, every one proclaims, “Our little
father, the Czar, will beat them; our mother, Russia, is invincible;
let him [the enemy] come, we will bury him under our caps.” One is
only permitted to think how to win more at cards, how to eat more
and not make himself ill, how to drink more and not be made drunk,
although this last condition is not considered at all degrading. On the
contrary, it awakens in every one charitable feelings, quite naturally,
for every one expects to be drunk himself, if not to-day, then, surely,
to-morrow. It is really edifying to see how a mantle of charity is
thrown over one who is drunk, and how tenderly he is carried home to
bed--more tenderly, indeed, than one who may have had the misfortune
to slip and break his leg. But the young men do not think merely of
cards, eating and drinking, although they do not lose much time before
entering upon these delights, and almost all show, very early, a
genius for them, probably by way of inheritance. The adherents and the
advocates of the theory of inherited inebriety would find in Russia
their task greatly simplified. In case of a hiatus in the genealogical
record, or in case of the utter impossibility of tracing one, they
would not be obliged to make a _salto mortale_ to Noah. Stretching out
their fingers triumphantly, they could at once point out son, father
and grandfather drunk in company.

There is, however, a time when a young man, even in Russia, thinks more
of dancing and flirtation than of anything else, and when he under no
circumstances would omit a dancing party or a ball, to say nothing of
a wedding-ball. A wedding and a wedding-ball were on the program for
the next day. I was young, recently graduated, held quite an enviable
office under government, and had been chosen by the bride to hold the
crown--not of diamonds, but of tinsel--over her head at the wedding
ceremony during her triple promenade round the pulpit, hand in hand
with her _fiancé_, which, according to the Greek rite, is a symbol of
the Gordian knot.

But something still better my stars had destined for me. It was that
the dear girl, just lost to all others except her husband, had selected
me from a score of aspirants to lead the mazurka with her at the
end of the ball. No sympathetic soul will wonder that, under these
circumstances, I thought myself of no less importance for the events of
the coming day than Bismarck for the Vaterland, and that while hurrying
on all the necessary preparations for my personal appearance, I was
plotting to prolong the mazurka at least one hour beyond the usual time.

Perhaps some one will question how it was that the honor of dancing the
principal dance with the bride was bestowed on me, and not reserved
for the bridegroom. Well, there were two reasons of the best kind. The
first--a secret I will not tell; but the other, known to all Ladoga,
was as follows: The groom’s left leg was shorter than the right. This
misfortune naturally prevented him from dancing that fiery dance.
Besides this, he belonged to that body of dignitaries entrusted by
the Father of all Russia with the power of deciding the fate of poor
delinquents, no matter in what category. Russia has her points of
etiquette. Was it possible for such a dignitary to hop for hours
through a mazurka? Certainly not. Even if both his legs had been of
the same length, he could not have done it, for his shoulders were
already loaded with a terrible weight of responsibility. To please his
own humane heart, and to please all the living steps above him, up
to the highest, who--no matter what Roman numeral is appended to his
name--is considered to be endowed with the most humane heart of all,
our dignitary had often to decide a question, frequently put to Russian
rulers: which penalty would be the most humane, several thousand
strokes of the knout, under which the sufferer might possibly die; or
twenty years in the mines, where he would probably die?

Now, since this subject is at present so eloquently presented before
the world in a work--for which, oh, so many thousands of hearts are
praying that it may bring the same blessed results as “Uncle Tom’s
Cabin”--I will only say that my bridegroom, being in a constant dilemma
himself on that point, carried his neck bent forward in addition to his
mismatched legs.

The evening before the wedding and the ball my preparations were all
accomplished to my satisfaction. My new uniform, new epaulets, new
boots, fitting so tightly that I could scarcely walk in them, but made
to my special order by the most reliable shoemaker in Ladoga, new white
gloves--in one word, everything new--lay spread about in my room on
tables and chairs. Imagine, then, my dismay, when, at five o’clock in
the evening, I received a dispatch ordering me to go at once on a very
important service to a place at a distance of ninety-six versts (about
sixty miles) from Ladoga.

In spite of my own excited anticipation of to-morrow’s enjoyment, I
must say that I was more tormented by the thought of the disappointment
of the poor girl. What would she think? What would she feel? Would she
not even consider my absence as a bad omen for all her future life?
To be absent! No, even for the Czar’s sake I was incapable of such
treachery. But what could I do? To report myself sick was impossible,
for in that case I could not appear at the ball. Delay was out of the
question. I was obliged to go. Fortunately I could calculate upon
performing my duties there before noon of the next day, and it only
remained to be sure if I could make the journey with the speed of the
wind. But I would not allow any obstacles to give me uneasiness. I
knew I could make the 192 versts easily in nineteen hours, and having
twenty-seven hours before me, I calculated upon having plenty of time,
both for the business and the journey.

So, without losing any time, I packed what was necessary for the trip,
sent at once for the post-horses, and ran to communicate the bad news
to my partner. As I anticipated, she was much startled, but by giving
her the most solemn promises that I would return _coûte que coûte_ in
time for the ball, at eight o’clock the next evening, I succeeded in
calming her.

As I have mentioned before, it was in the beginning of winter, so I
traveled in a sleigh. I left Ladoga at half-past six in the evening,
and arrived at my destination about three o’clock in the morning,
without any accident. Ordering at the post station a _samovar_, I
made tea for myself, drank several cups, gave orders that I should be
aroused at six in the morning, and without undressing, wrapped myself
in my fur cloak, and, pushing under my head my leather traveling
pillow, fell asleep on the station sofa.

I was aroused punctually as I had ordered at six, and after the
blessing of Russia--the _samovar_--had fulfilled its morning duty, I
hastened to mine. As I said, I had fully decided to rid my hands of
the unwelcome business in a very few hours, but I counted without my
host. Some individuals who were called as witnesses, but had not in
view a wedding hop, arrived late, and the village authorities, who
could not guess the reason of my feverish zeal in the Czar’s service,
moved and acted with the habitual slowness and apathy of the Russian
peasant. In short, it was already one o’clock in the afternoon when the
last document was duly signed, witnessed, and packed in my portfolio.
I rushed into my furs and through the door, before which the _trojka_
had been standing for more than an hour, the horses and the _jamszczyk_
shivering with the cold, and the bells tinkling.

I threw myself into the low, spacious sleigh, well filled with straw,
and shouted to the _jamszczyk_:

“_Poszol!_” (Go.)

A promise of one ruble if he would make the next station, a distance
of sixteen versts, in one hour, did not fail to produce the desired
effect. The horses, stimulated by the wild shouts of the _jamszczyk_,
and by the whip, on the end of which stuck the promised ruble, ran, as
the French say, _ventre à terre_, and the next village was reached at
but seven minutes past two.

The day was clear, but a strong northwester, blowing fiercely, made
the air bitterly cold. Snow having fallen some few days previously,
the road was excellent, and my only fear was that I might fail to find
horses at some station. In this case there would be no help. Every one,
even the Governor-general himself, if he arrives unexpectedly, must
wait till the return of the first span, and till the regulation two
hours for feeding the exhausted beasts passes away. But, trusting to my
good luck, and still more to the secret prayers of my partner in the
mazurka, I drove such gloomy anticipations as far as possible from my
mind.

The _starosta_ met me at the door of the station, which was at the same
time his house, invited me to enter and to warm myself with a cup of
tea. I declined, and having no heart to ask the question dreaded by
each traveler: “Are the horses at hand?” said that I was in a great
hurry and wished to go at once. He said, “All right!” and I entered the
room resolving to be polite and patient, knowing by experience that in
many cases politeness and patience produce more effect than shouting
and commands. Besides this, I was sure my former driver would not fail
to tell his comrades that I was a “good fare.” Scarcely ten minutes had
passed when the _starosta_ came in, announcing: “The horses are ready.”

With a light heart I hurried out, but my satisfaction was a little
checked by seeing that instead of three horses there were only two.
I asked the _starosta_ for the reason, and received the answer that
all the _jamsczyks_ were out, and that he would send his own boy, whom
he could not risk with a _trojka_. At the same moment a little bit
of a chap came out of the _izba_. He was not more than twelve years
old, but looked bright and smart: he was dressed in the full costume
of a genuine _jamszczyk_, and held in his hand his short whip, which
he snapped with the air of a connoisseur. Approaching the horses
deliberately, he walked round them, and imitating in every movement
an old _jamszczyk_, he began to examine and to try by shaking the
different parts of the harness, showing an especial fondness for the
big bell hanging over the head of the horse in the shafts. He was
evidently convincing himself that everything was in order for the
event--so important for him--of driving a real officer with a star on
his cap, instead of a simple peasant-delegate. Meanwhile the _starosta_
helped me into the sleigh, seated me on my leather cushion, and piled
heaps of straw round my legs and feet, pressing it so that it was
impossible for me to move. As the cold was increasing, I abandoned
myself to his tender care, which I could but consider as a mark of
atonement for the missing third horse.

Everything being ready, I said “Go!” and the little boy, faithful to
the end to the great rôle he was performing, took off his big cap,
crossed himself hastily thrice--as every Russian does before any
important, doubtful or dangerous occasion--seized the reins, threw
himself coquettishly on the front edge of the sleigh, leaving his short
legs hanging out, and in the manner of a well-bred _jamszczyk_, turned
toward me his merry face, without disturbing his acrobatic posture, and
asked, “Are you ready, sir?”

I gave a nod with my head just sticking out from the big collar of my
fur coat, and the _starosta_ said, “With God, Vaniusha [Johnny], and
take care.” Vaniusha replied, “All right!” and addressing the horses,
sang out with his silvery voice, “Eh, you, my little doves!” The doves
started, the bells jingled, and off we went.

Now, I must confess that in my heart I was wickedly glad to have for a
driver a child; “_cet âge est sans pitié_,” as the great fabulist has
said, and I knew he would not spare the little doves, even without the
one ruble _pour boire_.

The village being situated on a steep hill, the road from the station
went rapidly down at a grade which could delight only a tobogganist.
Besides this the road was not wide, and was bordered with _izbas_
and fences on both sides. The passers-by greeted Vaniusha, and the
village belles, attracted by the sounds of our chime, peeped out of
the windows. That the little rogue, being well aware of the general
admiration, felt himself in the seventh heaven, and was as proud as
a peacock, he proved by an impatience which brought us both within a
hair’s breadth of a bad end.

Not waiting to reach the plains, he began to tickle the tender parts
of the side horse with his short whip. The tickled horse, knowing
very well there are no flies in winter, instead of using his tail for
self-protection, used his leg and kicked fiercely. Unfortunately,
during this performance, the whiffle-tree became entangled in his
legs. There is no difference between the animals of a civilized and an
uncivilized country, and every one can easily guess what happened. The
kicks were redoubled; and the shaft-horse, alarmed by his neighbor’s
actions, kicked too, and both started on a wild race. The frightened
Lilliputian dropped the lines and grasped the sleigh with both hands.
I had no time to seize the reins before the sleigh tipped over. I was
imprisoned in my seat by the straw tightly packed round my feet, so
my body was forced to follow all the zigzags of the half-overturned
sleigh, dragged furiously downward by the runaway “doves,” which
seemed, indeed, to possess wings.

How long this lasted I cannot tell, for, thanks to the concussions that
I received, and the dizzy speed in such an unaccustomed position, I
lost all consciousness.

When I came to my senses I found myself stretched on the road.
Hastening to get on my feet as quickly as I could, I began to examine
myself, and was very glad to find everything all right.

I heard shouts of men running toward me, and perceived at some distance
behind me the poor boy, now without his whip and without his big cap,
standing in the middle of the road, bitterly crying and nursing one
hand tenderly with the other. Far ahead spasmodic sounds of a bell
resounded, and turning in that direction I saw my horses running round
a mill which stood isolated beyond the village, just as if they had
been performing a chariot-race at a circus.

I rushed to the boy and asked what was the matter. His pitiful sobs did
not permit him to utter a single word, and I was afraid he had broken
his arm.

Meanwhile the _starosta_ and a crowd of _moujiks_ reached us. Little
Johnny was brought into the nearest _izba_ and undressed. A careful
examination by a _znachar_ (village quack), fortunately present in the
crowd, having been made, I was glad to learn from the mouth of the
oracle that the bones were sound, though the wrist was sprained.

Several _moujiks_, who had run to catch the horses, brought them to the
door, and my gun, portfolio, and other things scattered on the road
were soon recovered.

This restored me to my full consciousness, and I exclaimed, “The
mazurka!”

Without losing a moment, I thrust my hand into my pocket, gave to the
still sobbing Vaniusha a “blue” (five paper rubles), and, addressing
the _starosta_, said that I must go on at once.

The _starosta_, whose conscience now pricked him doubly for having
economized on the third horse (for use of which he had already pocketed
the post-fare), and for trusting a life precious to the Czar’s service
to such childish hands, declared at once that he would drive himself.
The station-house being now a half-mile away, not to lose time, he
snatched, without much ceremony, from the nearest bystanders, things
necessary to protect him from the cold, and we started.

Although this occurrence made me lose more than a half-hour, each
minute of which was precious to me, I rendered thanks from my heart to
Providence for my preservation from having my head split in two on a
fence or on the corner of an _izba_.

The wind increased constantly, and snow began to fall and to melt on my
nose, so I wrapped myself closely in my furs, and, feeling some fatigue
from the excitement, sat perfectly quiet. Not so my driver. At first he
was as still as a mouse, probably fearing or expecting some strongly
flavored words from me, which he was sure he had deserved; but, seeing
me so quiet, his own feelings began to wander in other directions.
He grew angry. Had he not enough reason? His poor boy injured, and
himself, instead of sitting in a warm _izba_ and sipping tea, obliged
to perform the duty of a _jamszczyk_. Who was guilty of all this?
Certainly the doves, and to them he now turned all his attention. The
whip, being now in the paternal hands, began to perform the paternal
duty of bygone times. The doves could make no mistake this time about
flies or mosquitoes, and had no time to kick. They ran at the top of
their speed.

As it always was, and probably always will be--the one suffers, the
other rejoices. So the doves suffered and I rejoiced as they devoured
the space, and I flew with the speed of a state messenger bearing to
the White Czar the news of a new victory of his army. In less time
than any tip could have brought it about, we reached the next village,
and, without any delay, I proceeded farther. The next stage was a
long one, twenty-two versts, and the road led through the woods. Once
in the woods, the wind could not be felt so severely. Darkness was
coming on, and I felt sleepy. Moving hither and thither on my seat,
and sliding down a little, I fell into quite a comfortable position
and began to doze. My dreams, which constantly represented to my mind
a brilliantly lighted hall, with its peculiarly scented atmosphere and
incoherent rustle, all the beauties in their ball-dresses, and my still
more beautiful partner of the mazurka, were interrupted by a sense of
the cessation of motion, and by a voice saying, “_Barin_ [sir], eh,
_Barin!_ do you see?”

“What is there?”

“Wolves!”

Indeed, straining my eyes to pierce the darkness, I perceived in
the distance some points of light moving to and fro. I could hear
indistinct howlings, too.

“The deuce!” thought I “what shall we do now?”

It seemed to me strange to meet, at this season, with a pack of wolves.
The frosts had only begun, the snow was not deep, and generally these
beasts venture out of their retreats only when driven by hunger. But I
knew very well, too, that in such an encounter the most dangerous thing
is to stop or to retreat. Even wolves respect courage. So, seizing
my double-barreled gun, I said to the _jamszczyk_, “Go! go fast, but
steadily, and do not stop under any circumstances.”

He started, but soon stopped again. Seeing that mildness would have
no effect here, I applied to his head the strongest argument that I
could, not neglecting, in spite of the darkness, to hit with my fist
the lurking-place of his nerve of courage, indicated by Lavater. This
plan worked, and, with the flash of an electric transmitter, he
passed on the blow to the running nerves of the horses. They flew.
The _jamszczyk_ thrashed them without mercy, the bells jingled madly,
and I, holding my gun in both hands, tried at the same time, by all
possible means, not to tumble out of the sleigh. The points of light
grew nearer, the howlings became more distinct, but it seemed to me as
if it were dogs.

So it proved. Soon we came on a gypsy camp.

It was after seven in the evening when we reached the next station,
and I had only one more before me. Being obliged to wait some time for
fresh horses, and seeing that it would be impossible to arrive at the
very beginning of the ball, I began to grow restless in spite of the
conviction that the dear girl would never doubt my intentions, and
would not pout her charming lips by way of punishing me for the moments
of suspense.

At last the horses were announced, and I could proceed, but a new
disappointment was in store for me. The horses, being still tired
from a previous trip, showed themselves provokingly obedient to the
regulation speed, and all my own and the _jamszczyk’s_ efforts to urge
them on proved useless. It was half-past nine when we reached the
Wolchow. I think I have forgotten to say that my route being on the
right side of the river, which was not yet frozen, I had to cross it.
There was no bridge, and I think there never will be. Communication
being made by a ferryboat, built and handled on the ante-diluvian
principles, but quite safe in calm weather, I had now to cross the
river on it once more. Generally it takes half an hour for the floating
apparatus to make each trip, but I was prepared for this.

Imagine my surprise, then, when the ferryman--a weather-beaten
ex-fisherman--who knew the lake and the river as well as his own five
fingers, announced that the ferryboat was on the other side, and in
such weather it could not cross the river.

Having made the last half of my way almost entirely through the woods,
I was not aware of the increased fury of the elements. But now, jumping
from the sleigh and approaching the river, I could convince myself of
its condition.

Indeed it was an ugly sight. The wind blowing a gale, and coming from
the lake, stopped the current of the river and raised its water. Not
only white-caps, but whole mountains of waves were rolling in fiercely,
throwing foam and spray high in the air. I saw there was no use
even in promising a kingdom for a ferry. My feelings fell to a point
below zero. So near to my goal, and at the same time so far from it!
Nevertheless, I turned to the ferryman and asked him if there was no
other way to cross the river. He said if I wished he would take me
over in his little dory. I had noticed the little nutshell before, and
always wondered how it could carry such a big sail without tipping
over. But to think of it now! The bold proposal of the tar made me
shudder. It was true that I might expect to be drowned that night, but
though the Wolchow bubbled, sparkled and foamed, better than the driest
product of the famous widow--it was not champagne.

Again I questioned the man whether there were no other means for
crossing. He replied that, if I insisted upon it, I could have the
large rowboat, adding that there were some men, who had already waited
several hours in the ferry-house, to whom he had refused the boat, but
that an officer must be accommodated, and that he was sure they would
be glad to row me and themselves over.

I hastened to the shabby ferry-house, and found the company scattered
about the floor asleep. Arousing them as quickly as I could, I
explained to them the situation.

They were four in all--two peddlers and two peasants. Unanimously I was
proclaimed captain, and we went to the boat at once.

I took the seat at the stern and seized the rudder. One of the peddlers
took one oar, one of the peasants took the other. The second peddler,
still half asleep, tumbled into the dancing boat, and we only waited
for the remaining countryman.

What was my astonishment when I perceived him dragging something that
did not wish to go? What was it? What new passenger? Before he reached
the boat, however, I could guess by the squeals and peculiar noises
which my ear caught amid the howling of the wind and the roaring of the
river, that it was a pig.

Now, this was too much. My very epaulets revolted against such a
thing. To go on a perilous expedition in company with a pig, and, if
successful, to divide the honors with the pig!

I protested hotly. The owner of the pig implored, and the crew--true to
tradition--revolted against the captain and voted for the pig.

What could I do? The chances were equal. Without me they could not have
the boat; without them I could not manage it.

Fortunately at that critical moment--for to resist would be to lose the
mazurka, and to yield to lose authority, and heaven knows of what those
Tartars would not be capable in case of danger, once in the middle of
the stream!--a brilliant idea struck me. I have acknowledged already my
ignorance of nautical principles, but I had read in my boyhood, like
every one else, some piratical novels, and the idea of ballast flashed
through my mind.

The pig would be our ballast! And with this in view, I ordered the men
to bind the pig’s legs and throw it into the bottom of the craft.

The ferryman having once more warned me to keep the boat constantly
headed to the southwest, said to us, “Now, with God!” the two
improvised oarsmen bent to the oars, and we started.

On the river it was pitch dark. I could barely see the forms of my
companions. The boat danced wildly; nevertheless, I was in high
spirits--I was advancing. The boat was large and in good condition,
as the ferryman had assured me. All fears of capsizing disappeared
from my mind, thanks to my bright idea of the ballast, which now lay
gently grunting just in the centre of the boat. Besides, I had under my
command two men in reserve to relieve the two oarsmen in case of their
being exhausted, and we were provided with spare oars.

How long we pulled and struggled with the river I cannot say, for
I began to lose all idea of time. Twice already the oarsmen had
relieved each other, and in spite of this they began to show signs of
exhaustion. It seemed to me we were not advancing at all. Suddenly
the boat began to dance violently. From this I concluded that we must
be in the middle of the river. To cheer up the crew, I communicated
to them my nautical observations, but just at this moment a huge wave
raised us high up, and another, as in a fury of jealousy, struck us
vehemently. The boat made a terrible lurch. The frightened men raised
cries of terror, and--worst of all--the pig began to squeal horribly,
and, struggling with its bound legs, began to throw itself hither
and thither. I was frightened. I thought the struggling animal would
surely upset the boat; and in my turn I howled out, with a voice of
which I am sure a captain possessed of the strongest lungs would not
be ashamed, “Overboard with the pig!” But this command, instead of
ameliorating the situation aggravated it in the most unexpected way.
Its owner threw himself flat on the beast to protect it. The pig,
taken by surprise, and misjudging the man’s intention, redoubled its
tossings, and the man following each of them with his body, put the
boat in real danger.

Already I was prepared to give a new command, “Overboard with the two
pigs!” but hesitated for one moment.

At that time I had never killed anyone--though I must confess to having
afterwards sacrificed the lives of a few stupid Circassians who dared
to fight against the White Czar for their beautiful mountains and their
liberty--and I was glad that I hesitated. The man proved stronger than
the pig, overpowered it with his weight, and both man and pig lay still.

The boat recovering its buoyancy began again to follow the motions of
the waves. At the same moment I perceived the lights of Ladoga, but to
my horror those lights, instead of vanishing to the right, vanished
rapidly towards the left. I jumped on my feet and shouted, “For your
lives, men, pull stronger; we are drifting into the lake!”

A new struggle--a struggle for our lives--began. Each of us knew well
that once in the lake in such weather and darkness, we were lost. The
men threw their sheep-skins off. I did the same with my fur. We did not
need them--we were bathed in perspiration.

How long it lasted again I cannot tell. It seemed an eternity, and in
spite of our utmost efforts the lights vanished more and more to the
left.

Suddenly I felt something strike my head. My cap was snatched off,
and instinctively throwing my hand up to catch it, I struck a rope. I
seized it frantically, and shouted, “A rope! catch hold!”

The pig’s master was now the first to follow my command, and at the
same time I felt that the boat was striking something hard. This proved
to be a huge barge. A merciful Providence had guided us just under the
rope of her anchor. The rudder and the oars were abandoned; we all,
except the pig, clung to the rope, and began to call for help.

A voice above our heads shouted, “Who the devil is there?” and the
peddlers and the peasants, as with one voice, cried out, “It is a
_czinownik_!” (a government officer). This magic word proved no less
effective on sea than on land, and at once came the answer, “Hold
on--wait!”

In a few minutes a light appeared on the deck, some one threw us a rope
from the barge and we were dragged to the other side of the vessel.

I saw a man lying flat on his stomach and stretching down toward me
both his hands; another man held his feet. I seized the welcome hands,
or rather the welcome hands grasped mine vigorously, and I was hoisted
on the deck.

My companions followed me in the same way. What became of the pig I
don’t know.

My limbs trembled and almost refused to support me. From exhaustion and
excitement I was shivering all over. But I had no time to lose. I must
be on the shore as soon as possible, and my deliverers from an almost
certain death led me, supported on both sides, to the place where an
immense plank, some fifty feet long, connected the barge with the shore.

But if I could not walk very well on the deck, still less was it
possible for me to risk myself on this narrow plank. So I was seated on
it, and the boatswain of the barge pushed me over as carefully as if I
were a bale of most precious merchandise.

Once on _terra firma_ my legs recovered their elasticity as if by a
charm, and thrusting into the hand of the boatswain the whole contents
of my pocket-book, I ran to my lodgings.

With the help of my servant, who was fully initiated in all the
mysteries of an officer’s ball attire, it did not take me long to
get ready, but it was past two when I reached the house where all my
thoughts were concentrated. It was supper-time, and the servant led
me at once to the dining-room, brilliantly lighted and crowded to its
utmost capacity.

But I had no time to waste in reflections, and had scarcely tossed off
a few glasses of champagne in reply to toasts on my safe arrival when
the signal for the mazurka was given.

All who had both legs right did not wait for the end of the supper, but
seizing their partners rushed to the ballroom.

I need not say that I and my prize--I have the right to call her so,
for I had fought gallantly for her, and won her, not for life, but for
the mazurka--were at the head of all. We danced the mazurka, and danced
till six in the morning.

THE ACE OF HEARTS.

I never can see the ace of hearts
(Like a single splash of bright, red blood),
But a train of awful memory starts
And o’er me whirls like a seething flood.

I see the flash of a wicked knife
That settles for all the hot dispute--
A cruel end to a sweet young life,
A boyish face lying white and mute.

I can see it all--the lurid light
From th’ open fire on the mountaineers--
The far Sierras gleam cold and white,
And through the forest the wan moon peers.

My deal again--and again the ace
That horrid train of memory starts:
I can always see that dead boy’s face
And his cold hands clutching the ace of hearts.

_Edith Sessions Tupper._

[Illustration]

OUTDOOR LIFE OF THE PRESIDENTS.

BY JOHN P. FOLEY.

No. II.

~Thomas Jefferson~, the third President, was, like Washington,
a member of the rich, slave-owning aristocracy of Virginia. His father
was a large landed proprietor, and bequeathed to him a handsome estate
in the county of Albemarle. It was called Shadwell, after a parish in
London. To another son, younger, he left a property on the James River,
named Snowden, which commemorated the reputed birthplace of the family
in Wales. The Jefferson homestead was on the Shadwell lands. At a
distance of about two miles from where it stood there arose a beautiful
forest-clothed mountain, which commanded a wide view of the surrounding
country. It was a favorite resort of young Jefferson. When a boy, he
and a youthful companion used to climb its rocky sides, and in later
years they repaired to it for the purposes of study and recreation.
Under the shadow of a splendid oak they read their legal text-books,
and, in the ardor of their friendship, resolved that whoever died
first should be buried at its feet, and that, when the time came, the
survivor should rest beside him. This young friend, Dabney Carr, who
subsequently married a sister of Jefferson, died in early manhood, and
the romantic compact of boyhood was faithfully carried out. Half a
century later the remains of Jefferson were laid by his side.

The story is told that during one of their frequent rambles on the
mountain, Jefferson unfolded to Carr his intention to build his future
home amid the scenes where they had spent so many happy hours.

This tale is probably true, for soon after Jefferson became of age, the
majority of his slaves were set to work clearing away the top of the
mountain, now called, for the first time, Monticello, and preparing the
site for the mansion which was destined to an eternity of fame, because
of the splendid achievements of its illustrious owner.

Jefferson was only fourteen years old when his father died. He had
been nine years at school at the time; knew the rudiments of Latin
and Greek, and had some knowledge of French. In a letter written in
his old age to a grandson, whose education he was superintending, Mr.
Jefferson refers to this sad event in his life, and describes the
perils that surrounded his youth as follows: “When I recollect that
at fourteen years of age the whole care and education of myself was
thrown on myself, entirely without a relative or friend qualified to
advise or guide me, and recollect the various sorts of bad company
with which I associated from time to time, I am astonished that I did
not turn off with some of them and become as worthless to society
as they were.... From the circumstances of my position I was often
thrown into the society of horse-racers, card-players, fox-hunters,
scientific and professional men, and of dignified men; and many a time
have I asked myself in the enthusiastic moment of the death of a fox,
the victory of a favorite horse, the issue of a question eloquently
argued at the bar, or in the great council of the nation, ‘Well, which
of these kinds of reputation should I prefer? That of a horse-jockey, a
fox-hunter, an orator, or the honest advocate of my country’s rights?’”
The temptations to which he refers beset him, in all probability, when
he was at William and Mary College and immediately after, while he was
reading law in Williamsburg, the then capital of Virginia. That town
was the centre of the most refined society of the province; the seat of
the legislature; the headquarters of the army; and it was only natural
that the objectionable characters whom Jefferson condemns should have
been attracted to it. A young man just graduated with the highest
honors from the university, with a reputation for the possession of
great intellectual gifts, the heir to a fine estate, of agreeable and
cultivated manners, Jefferson was at once admitted into the very best
society of Williamsburg. He lived in a style befitting his position. He
had his horses and slaves, in fact all the luxuries which a rich young
gentleman of the time could command. At this period he fortunately
fell under the influence of three men who helped to mold his career
and turn him toward those pursuits which were ultimately crowned with
the highest honors an American can obtain. They were the first men in
the social and political life of Williamsburg; the first men, in fact,
in the whole province. One was George Wyeth, his legal preceptor, a
gentleman of the highest order of ability; in after years a signer of
the Declaration of Independence and Chancellor of Virginia. The second
was Dr. Small, one of the professors in the college, “who made him his
daily companion,” and the third Governor Fauquier, “the ablest man,”
says Jefferson, “who ever filled that office.” At the table of the
governor, Jefferson, not yet twenty years old, was a guest as often as
twice a week. He was also a member of a little musical society which
the representative of royalty in Virginia had organized. Fauquier was
one of the most accomplished men of his time. He was of a distinguished
English family, courtly in manner, a brilliant conversationalist,
with a wide knowledge of the world. He loved high play, and, it is
said, lost his fortune in one night to the celebrated Anson, who first
circumnavigated the globe.

Jefferson’s father, as we have said, died when his son was only
fourteen years of age; but, says Mr. Randall in his biography of the
third President, he had already taught young Thomas “to ride his horse,
fire his gun, boldly stem the Rivanna when the swollen river was
‘rolling red from brae to brae,’ and press his way with unflagging foot
through the rocky summits of the contiguous hills in pursuit of deer
and wild turkeys.” From youth to old age riding was the one amusement
of which Jefferson never tired. At college he kept his horses, the
very best that could be had. His stable was the one extravagance of
which, while there, he appears to have been guilty. His expenditures
in this respect were so heavy that he requested his guardian to charge
them to his portion of the estate, so that his brother and sisters
should not suffer; but the guardian declined, on the ground that if
he had thus sown his wild oats the property would be able to stand it
without very great loss. His taste for fine horses lasted all through
life. He rode and drove magnificent animals, says Mr. Randall, and in
his younger days was exceedingly “finical” in their treatment. When
his saddle-horse was led out he examined him carefully. If there was
a spot on his coat he rubbed it with a white pocket-handkerchief,
and if it was soiled, the groom was reprimanded. He preferred the
Virginian racehorse. He did not ride, and was scarcely willing to
drive, any other. He usually kept half a dozen brood mares of high
quality. Although not a turfman--he ran only one race in his life--he
had all the fondness of the Virginian for the sport, and rarely missed
seeing what promised to be a good contest. While he held the office
of Secretary of State, and, later on, when chief magistrate, he was
frequently seen on the race-courses near Philadelphia and the federal
city. Jefferson was not satisfied with slow and spiritless animals.
On the contrary, he always aimed to have fleet, powerful, mettlesome
creatures, and when these qualities could be obtained he was willing
to overlook a bad temper. Colonel Randolph, writing on this point,
remarks: “A bold and fearless rider; you saw at once from his easy and
confident seat that he was master of his horse.... The only impatience
of temper he ever exhibited was with his horse, which he subdued
to his will by a fearless application of the whip on the slightest
manifestation of restiveness. He retained to the last his fondness for
riding on horseback. He rode within three weeks of his death, when,
from disease, debility and age, he mounted with difficulty.” A servant
was rarely allowed to accompany him, for he loved solitude, and used
to say that the presence of an attendant annoyed him. In his young
days he never drew rein at broken ground, and when in haste he used to
dash into the Rivanna, even when it was swollen into a large and rapid
river by mountain torrents. His superb horsemanship served him well on
a memorable occasion during the Revolutionary War, when a detachment
of English troops visited Monticello in the hope of capturing him. He
had timely notice of their approach, and, having sent his family away
in carriages to one of his numerous farms, he ordered his horse to a
certain point, and returned to the house to secrete his papers. While
thus occupied a second alarm came, and he had barely time to mount and
dash into the woods, where he was safe from pursuit. Jefferson was
then governor of Virginia, and in after years his political opponents
charged that he ignominiously ran away from the enemy.

Mr. Jefferson’s classical tastes were indicated in the names of his
horses: “Caractacus” was one, “Arcturus” another, “Tarquin” a third,
“Celer” a fourth. Then he had “Diomed” and “Cucullin,” “Jacobin” and
“The General,” “Wildair” and “Eagle.” “Eagle” seems to have been his
favorite steed. He was fleet and fiery, and, withal, of a gentle
temper. This animal was ridden by Jefferson when he was so feeble
that he had to be assisted to mount. “Eagle,” it would appear, loved
his venerable master. The story is told that when a young kinsman of
Jefferson’s mounted the old horse to ride with a cavalcade to meet
Lafayette on his way to Monticello, in 1825, “Eagle” became so excited
by the sound of the drums and bugles that the young gentleman was
obliged to turn back and ride home. On one occasion, when Jefferson was
old and suffering severely from an injured wrist, a messenger brought
the intelligence to Monticello that a grandson of the ex-President
was severely ill at Charlottesville. Night was coming on, and the
sky was dark and threatening. Jefferson ordered that “Eagle” be led
to the door. His family, alarmed for his safety, vainly entreated
him not to attempt the journey. In the saddle, he gave “Eagle” a cut
which set him off at full speed. Mr. Jefferson’s family anxiously
listened, hoping that he would draw bridle at the “notch,” where the
mountain began to descend abruptly. The echoes of “Eagle’s” hoofs
over the rocks told them that the fearful speed was maintained. The
returning messenger was soon passed, and Charlottesville was reached
“in a time over such ground that would have reflected credit on the
boldest rider in Virginia.” “Arcturus” had the honor of being one of
the Presidential horses at Washington. His disposition was bad, and
he was exceedingly unmanageable. The crags of Monticello did not suit
him, and when he first arrived there he selected as a shying point a
rock which jutted out into the narrow road on the edge of a ravine.
The brute seemed to reason that his rider would not dare to punish
him at such a point. Jefferson indulged him two or three times, and
then determined to break him of the habit. The next time “Arcturus”
shied he punished him so severely that the animal was glad to put his
fore-feet on the rock and stand still. Mr. Jefferson kept a good stable
while he was President, although his political enemies were unwilling
to concede even that point in his favor. In one of the opposition
prints of the day we are told that he carried his affectation of
democratic simplicity so far that “he rode around the avenues of
Washington an ugly, shambling hack of a horse which was hardly fit to
draw a tumbril.” But this was a slander. There are conflicting stories
in regard to Mr. Jefferson’s inauguration. On the one hand, we are
assured that he rode to the Capitol alone, and, tying his horse to the
palings surrounding the grounds, went to the Senate chamber and took
the oath. Mr. Rayner, in his life of Jefferson, quotes the account of
the event by an eye-witness as follows: “The sun shone bright on that
morning. The Senate was convened. The members of the Republican party
that remained at the seat of government, the judges of the Supreme
Court, some citizens and gentry from the neighboring country, and about
a dozen ladies, made up the assembly in the Senate chamber.... Mr.
Jefferson had not yet arrived. He was seen walking from his lodgings,
which were not far distant, attended by five or six gentlemen, who
were his fellow-lodgers. Soon afterwards he entered, accompanied by a
committee of the Senate.... He took the oath, which was administered by
the Chief-Justice.... The new President walked home with two or three
gentlemen who lodged in the same house.” It is a well-known matter of
history that Jefferson abolished all the official and social pomp that
was so marked a feature of the administrations of his predecessors.
The levees were discontinued. He had only two days for the reception
of company--the 1st of January and the 4th of July, when he dispensed
a very liberal hospitality. The ladies of Washington bitterly opposed
this severe simplicity, and determined to make Mr. Jefferson return
to the old order of things. With that end in view, a number of them
visited the White House on the usual reception day. Jefferson was out
riding at the time, and on his return was informed of their presence.
A storm of wrath gathered on his brow, but was soon dispelled. Booted,
spurred, and covered with dust, he entered the room, and, riding-whip
in hand, chatted in the most delightful manner. The ladies saw they
were beaten, and never made a second attempt to get the levees back.
Mr. Jefferson on one of his solitary rides, while he was President, met
a feeble beggar sitting on the banks of a stream. The mendicant, not
knowing whom he addressed, asked to be helped across. Mr. Jefferson
directed him to mount behind, and carried him over. The pack was
forgotten, and Jefferson recrossed the stream for it.

From his youth Jefferson had an intense fondness for agriculture. The
care and management of his large estate devolved on him as soon as he
became of age. He was studying law at Williamsburg, but his summers
were spent at Shadwell. He kept a clock in his bedroom, and rose in
the early dawn. During the day he usually took a gallop, and in the
twilight walked to the top of Monticello. Nine o’clock in summer and
ten in winter were his hours for retiring. At a very early period he
introduced a minute and exact system into all his affairs. He kept a
large number of note-books. In one, “the garden book,” he recorded
facts and data about the vegetable world, more particularly information
bearing on the subject of horticulture. He also kept “a farm book,”
and books for “personal” and “general” expenses. Then there was a
meteorological register. In his account-books we find such entries as
these: “Paid 11d. to the barber; 4d. for whetting penknife; put 1s.
in the church box.” On the memorable Fourth of July, 1776, when the
Declaration of Independence was signed, he sets forth that he had “paid
Sparhank for a thermometer £3 5s.,” and “27s. for 7 pairs of women’s
gloves.” He gave “1s. 6d. in charity.” The weather record tells us that
on the same day at six ~A. M.~ the mercury stood 68° above; at noon,
76°, and at nine ~P. M.~, 73½°. Entries were made in this book
regularly three times a day. Special expenditures were set down by
themselves. All his outlay while President, for instance, is preserved
in one manuscript volume, which was among the literary treasures of the
late Samuel J. Tilden. A striking illustration of how Mr. Jefferson
could charge his mind with the smallest as well as the largest matters
of human concern is shown by the curious record which he kept of the
condition of the vegetable market in Washington during the eight
years of the Presidency. This table specifies thirty-seven different
articles, and gives the date of the appearance of each of them on the
table, or on the stands for sale. In his “garden book” he entered
the time of the planting, sprouting, and ripening of his multitude
of esculents. These entries were illustrated by diagrams, as neat as
engravings, of the different plots or beds. The rows are numbered,
and the seeds planted in them accurately given. Even small matters
concerning the household received his attention, and we are told how
much of this or that article will suffice for one person, or for a
family; how much oil will be required for a given number of hours;
the relative cost of oil and candles. His agricultural observations
were ranged under seventeen general heads, comprising more than fifty
subdivisions.

By birth and fortune Jefferson was an aristocrat, but his nature
revolted against the idle and voluptuous habits of the planter class
of that day. His ideas when he was about thirty years of age are well
expressed by himself, as follows: “Those who labor in the earth are the
chosen people of God, if ever he had a chosen people, whose breasts he
has made his peculiar deposit for substantial and genuine virtue. It
is the focus in which he keeps alive that sacred fire which otherwise
might escape from the face of the earth. Corruption of morals in the
aggregate mass of cultivators is a phenomenon of which no age nor
nation has furnished an example. It is the mark set on those who, not
looking up to heaven, to their own soil and industry, as does the
husbandman, for their subsistence, depend for it on the casualties and
caprice of customers. Dependence begets subservience and venality,
suffocates the germ of virtue, and prepares fit tools for the designs
of ambition. This, the natural progress and consequence of the arts,
has sometimes, perhaps, been retarded by accidental circumstances;
but, generally speaking, the proportion which the aggregate of the
other classes of citizens bears in any State to that of its husbandmen,
is the proportion of its unsound to its healthy parts, and is a good
enough barometer whereby to measure its degree of corruption.”

Mr. Jefferson was married January 1, 1772, to Mrs. Martha Skelton,
a rich young widow. The 1,900 acres inherited from his father he
had increased to 5,000 acres, all paid for, and his slaves numbered
nearly fifty. The farm yielded him about $2,000 a year, and his law
practice $3,000, which was a large income at that time. Mrs. Jefferson
inherited a fortune fully equal to that of her husband, so that when
the Revolution came he was a rich man. Shadwell house had been burned
down some years before, and the bride was taken to a wing of the new
one at Monticello, which was ready for occupation. The wedding trip
was inauspicious. The little phaeton in which the journey was made
became imbedded in the snow and had to be abandoned. The young couple
went the remainder of the distance on horseback, arrived at Monticello
at midnight, and found all the servants asleep. A small bottle of
wine, found behind some books in the library, constituted the bridal
supper. Jefferson, as we have said, began the erection of Monticello
when he reached his majority. The first work was to level the summit
of the mountain, which rose nearly eight hundred feet above the
surrounding country. This summit--an ellipsis of about ten acres--was
made perfectly smooth. The view from it is of surpassing grandeur and
beauty. At a distance of 100 miles, in some parts, the magnificent
ranges of the Alleghanies shut out the horizon on the west, and trend
away to the north and south. The Blue Ridge Mountains are visible
for 150 miles, while in the foreground of the picture lies a lovely
landscape of hill and valley, forest, stream and plain. The scene on
the east, to quote the words of Mr. Wirt in his eulogy on Jefferson,
“presents an extent of prospect bounded only by the spherical form of
the earth, in which nature seems to sleep in eternal repose, as if to
form one of the finest contrasts with the rude and rolling grandeur
of the West.” “From this summit,” says Mr. Wirt, “the philosopher
was wont to enjoy that spectacle, among the sublimest of nature’s
operations--the looming of the distant mountains--and to watch the
motions of the planets, and the greater revolutions of the celestial
spheres. From this summit, too, the patriot could look down with
uninterrupted vision upon the wide expanse of the world for which he
considered himself born, and upward to the open-vaulted heavens which
he seemed to approach, as if to keep him constantly in mind of his
great responsibility. It is, indeed, a prospect in which you see and
feel at once that nothing mean or little could live. It is a scene fit
to nourish those great and high-souled principles which formed the
elements of his character, and was a most noble and appropriate post
for such a sentinel over the rights and liberties of man.”

The mansion was probably the finest country residence on the continent
at the time. The main structure is one hundred feet in length and
about sixty feet in depth. The basement story rises six feet above
the ground. On it rests the principal story, twenty feet in height.
Above this is an attic eight feet high, the whole crowned by a lofty
dome twenty-eight feet in diameter. On the north and south fronts
were piazzas, opening on a floored terrace which ran one hundred feet
in a straight line, and then another hundred feet at right angles,
terminated by pavilions two stories high. The offices and quarters
of the servants were ranged under these terraces. The style of
architecture is Doric with balustrades on top. The main entrance opens
on a magnificent hall which is surrounded by a gallery connecting
the upper rooms of the house. An American eagle in bas-relief,
encircled by eighteen stars--the number of States when Jefferson
was President--looks down from the ceiling, and holds in its claws
a ponderous chandelier. This hall contained an immense number of
statues and busts, so arranged as to exhibit the historical progress
of sculpture from the rude attempts of the red Indian to Caracci’s
finished statue of Jefferson himself. There was a vast collection of
Indian paintings, ornaments, weapons, statues and idols, together with
a profusion of natural curiosities and fossils of every description.
The hall on one side opened on a spacious _salon_, through double doors
of glass. The design was Egyptian. Imbedded in the walls were Louis
XIV. mirrors, bought in France, while Mr. Jefferson was minister. It
contained many fine paintings, historical and scriptural. There were
portraits of Locke, Bacon, Newton, Jefferson’s “Trinity of great men;”
of Columbus, Vespuceius, Cortez, Magellan and Raleigh; of Washington,
Adams, Franklin, and other distinguished men of the Revolution.
Adjoining it was another splendid apartment, called the “tea room,”
fitted up in rich and becoming style. The southern wing was devoted to
the library, cabinet, and chamber of Mr. Jefferson. The library was
divided into three apartments, opening one into the other. In it, at
one time, was the finest private collection of books on the continent,
sold afterwards to Congress when the Capitol was burned in the second
war with England. The cabinet led to a greenhouse filled with rare
plants. In a room adjoining the study was a collection of mathematical,
scientific, and optical instruments, said to be the best possessed by
any private gentleman in the world. The erection and decoration of this
elegant home, and the improvement of the grounds surrounding it, cost
Mr. Jefferson more than $400,000. He was practically his own architect
and superintendent. The rough work was performed by American mechanics,
slave and free; but the decoration was wrought by foreign artisans,
who were brought for the purpose from Italy, Switzerland, and other
parts of Europe. Beneath the building are, or were, long subterranean
passages, cased with stone, through which a person could walk upright.
They were connected with the slave quarters and the stables, hundreds
of feet distant. The master of Monticello used to pass through one
of them from his bedchamber and mount his horse in the early morning
before the household arose.

All the appointments at Monticello were on a scale corresponding with
the style of the mansion. On the declivities of the mountain were
houses and buildings sufficient to make a small village. They were the
dwellings of his overseers and workmen; the quarters and workshops
of his mechanics. It was a little community complete in itself. Mr.
Jefferson’s millers ground in his own mill the corn and wheat raised on
his farms; his horses were shod by his own blacksmiths; the timber of
his woods was made into every article of use by his own carpenters, the
wool clipped from his own sheep was spun and woven by his own people.
He even made his own nails, and his mechanics were sufficiently skilful
to build his carriages.

The lawn and grounds, which were laid out under his direction,
were as beautiful as nature and art could make them. At the age of
twenty-three, according to an entry in his garden book, he planted a
great variety of fruit-trees, and about the same period he selected the
now historic burying-place where the young friend of his youth, his own
family, and himself are buried. The book is filled with memoranda like
these: “What to do with the grounds: Thin out the trees; cut out stumps
and undergrowth; remove old trees and other rubbish, except where they
may look well; cover the whole with grass. Intersperse jessamine,
honeysuckle, sweetbrier and hardy flowers which do not require
attention. Keep in the park deer, rabbits, and every other wild animal
except those of prey. Procure a buck elk, to be, as it were, monarch
of the wood. Put inscriptions in various places on the bark of the
trees, and make benches or seats of rock or turf.” There are directions
for the shrubbery. “To be planted: Alder, bastard-indigo, flowering
amorphia, barbery, cassioberry, carsine, chinquipin, Jersey tea,
dwarf-cherry, lilac, wild-cherry, dogwood, redwood, horse-chestnut,
magnolia, mulberry, locust, holly, juniper, laurel, yew.” “Hardy
perennial flowers: snapdragon, larkspur, anemone, lily-of-the-valley,
primrose, larkspur, sunflower, flower-de-luce, daisy, gilliflower,
violet, flag, etc.” That Mr. Jefferson carried out his plans in regard
to the deer is evident from the account which has been left us by the
Marquis de Chastellux, who visited Monticello in 1782. The Marquis
says: “Mr. Jefferson amuses himself by raising a score of these animals
[deer] in his park. They have become very familiar, which happens to
all the animals of America, for they are, in general, much easier to
tame than those of Europe. He amuses himself by feeding them with
Indian corn, of which they are very fond, and which they eat out of
his hand. I followed him one evening into a deep valley where they are
accustomed to assemble towards the close of the day, and saw them walk,
run and bound.”

The lawn was filled with lofty willows, poplars, acacias, catalpas, and
other native and foreign trees set out so as not to obstruct the view
in any direction from the centre where the house stood. Many of them
he had planted with his own hand, and all of them were placed where
they grew under his immediate superintendence. No wonder he declined to
leave this beautiful and ideal home and accept the commission to France
when it was first offered to him. The death of Mrs. Jefferson, in
1782, was so severe an affliction, however, that he gladly went abroad
as a means of escape from scenes which so forcibly reminded him of
his loss. His important and often vexatious diplomatic duties did not
prevent him from noting and sending home to his numerous correspondents
every hint and suggestion likely to benefit the agricultural interests
of the country. Almost every one of his many letters contains some
reference to his favorite pursuit. He was a member of the Agricultural
Society of Paris and of the Board of Agriculture of London. In 1785,
he writes from Paris that he recently “went to see a plough which was
worked by a windlass, without horses or oxen. It was a poor affair.
With a very troublesome apparatus, applicable only to a dead level,
four men could do the work of two horses.” To another correspondent he
writes about a new invention--“the working of grist-mills by steam,”
and adds, “I hear you are applying the same agent in America to
navigate boats.” Then comes the prediction, “I have little doubt but
that it will be applied generally to machines so as to supersede the
use of water-ponds, and, of course, to lay open all the streams for
navigation.” This improvement of the plough was one of Mr. Jefferson’s
great problems, and it is said that he was the first to lay down a
mathematical rule for shaping the mould-board. The first mention
of it in his writings is found in the journal of his trip through
Southern France, which was made partly for pleasure and partly to
obtain information on agricultural and other subjects that would be of
value to his countrymen at home. He received for the new mould-board a
gold medal from the Société d’Agriculture de la Seine. With the same
object in view, he also made a tour of Northern Italy. In a letter to
the Marquis de La Fayette he writes: “In the great cities I go to see
what travelers think alone worthy of being seen; but I make a job of
it, and generally gulp it all down in a day. On the other hand, I am
never satiated with rambling through the fields and farms, examining
the culture and cultivators with a degree of curiosity which makes
some take me to be a fool and others to be much wiser than I am. From
the first olive fields of Pierrelatte to the orangeries of Hieres has
been one continued rapture to me.” Mr. Jefferson was captivated by the
olive. He wrote home that he considered it the most precious gift of
heaven to man, and thought it was superior even to bread. He strongly
urged its cultivation, and also that of the fig and the mulberry.
The Southern States are indebted to him for upland rice. In 1790,
he procured a cask of that variety from Denbigh, in Africa; shipped
it to Charleston, where, by his direction, a part of it was sent to
Georgia. He also shipped a large number of olive plants, which throve
admirably in their new soil. “The greatest service,” says he, “which
can be rendered any country is to add a useful plant to its culture,
especially a bread grain. Next in value to bread is oil.” While in
Italy, he procured the seeds of three different species of rice from
Piedmont, Lombardy and the Levant, and sent them to South Carolina,
together with the seeds of the San Foin and other grasses. He was not
in favor of the cultivation of the vine in the United States--not,
however, on account of his temperance principles, but because he
thought men might be more profitably employed in other departments of
industry. While there he bought Merino sheep for his farm at Monticello.

While he was sending these gifts to the country, greater and more
valuable, perhaps, than all the parchment treaties that have come
across the Atlantic since our diplomacy began, he was at the same time
extremely zealous in making known every new discovery and invention
within the whole circle of the arts and sciences. For the great staple
productions of the country he eagerly sought new outlets and markets.
He labored long and earnestly with the Count de Vergennes, the French
Prime Minister, to break up the tobacco monopoly, so that the American
product could be sold in France. He endeavored to convince the Italian
merchants that they needed our whale-oil and lard, and thus laid
the foundation of what afterwards became a profitable trade. In the
literary and scientific circles of Paris he was a prominent figure,
honored for his great attainments, the nobility of his character, and
his services in the cause of human freedom. His fame had preceded him,
and he was welcomed by the savants of France as a worthy successor to
the immortal Franklin. He discussed natural history with M. de Buffon.
“I have made a particular acquaintance here,” he writes to a friend,
“with Monsieur de Buffon, and have a great desire to give him the best
idea I can of our elk.” He requests his correspondent to send him the
horns, skeleton and skin of one, if it is possible to procure them. In
order to gratify Mr. Jefferson, a grand hunting party was organized
in New Hampshire by his friends, and, after a day’s hard chase, a
fine animal was captured. It was stuffed and shipped to Paris at an
expense of over fifty pounds sterling. Daniel Webster used to tell
the story that its arrival was celebrated by a grand supper, at which
Buffon was, of course, a guest, and that, at the proper time, it was
introduced as the scientific course of the feast. Mr. Jefferson also
added to the King’s Cabinet of Natural History, in charge of Buffon,
our American grouse and pheasant, which he asked Francis Hopkinson to
buy for him in the markets of Philadelphia. But he began to weary of
France. Writing to Baron Geismer in the fall of 1785, he says: “I am
now of an age which does not easily accommodate itself to new manners
and new modes of living, and I am savage enough to prefer the woods,
the wilds and the independence of Monticello to all the brilliant
pleasures of this gay capital.” He was not, however, released from
his post until three years later. On his way home from Norfolk, where
he landed upon his return, he received an invitation from Washington,
then President-elect, to become Secretary of State. He reluctantly
accepted, and entered on his new duties March, 1790, in New York, which
was then the seat of government. Mr. Jefferson was duly beloved by his
slaves, and his reception by them on his arrival at Monticello showed
the reverence in which they held him. His daughter, Mrs. Randolph,
writes: “The negroes discovered the approach of the carriage as soon
as it reached Shadwell, and such a scene I never witnessed in my life.
They collected in crowds around it, and almost drew it up the mountain
by hand. The shouting, etc., had been sufficiently obstreperous
before, but the moment it reached the top of the mountain, it reached
the climax. When the door was opened, they lifted him in their arms
and bore him to the house, crowding around and kissing his hands and
feet--some blubbering and crying--others laughing. It seemed impossible
to satisfy their anxiety to touch and kiss the very earth which bore
him. They believed him to be one of the greatest, and they knew him to
be one of the very best of men and kindest of masters.”

Mr. Jefferson did not lose his interest in agricultural pursuits while
he was a member of the Washington administration. He made frequent
trips to Monticello, and directed the operations of his farmers,
laborers, and other workmen. In June, 1790, he writes from New York to
one of his daughters: “We did not have peas or asparagus here until the
8th day of this month. On the same day I heard the first whip-poor-will
whistle. Swallows and martins appeared here on the 21st of April.
When did they appear with you, and when had you peas and strawberries
and whip-poor-wills in Virginia? Take notice, hereafter, whether the
whip-poor-wills always come with the strawberries and peas.” When Mr.
Jefferson retired from the Washington Cabinet he immediately began to
repair the damages his long absence had caused on his estate. He then
owned 10,000 acres of land, of which 2,000 were under cultivation,
but they had been sadly mismanaged by his overseers. All the cleared
land was divided into nearly four equal parts, each containing about
280 acres. These were subdivided into fields of about forty acres in
extent, separated from one another by rows of peach-trees, 1,151 of
which were planted by him in one year alone. He had 154 slaves, 249
cattle, 390 hogs, 5 mules, and 34 horses, 9 of which were required
for the use of his household. To quote his own words at this time, he
gave himself up “to his family, his farms and his books.” His farming
operations were conducted on the most approved scientific principles,
and the first threshing-machine seen in Virginia was on his estate.
But in a short time his election to the Vice-Presidency recalled
him to the political arena, and “the rocks and wilds” of Monticello
were once more abandoned. Four years, and he became President. The
young capital, Washington, was then slowly assuming the form and
appearance of a town, if not of a city. Jefferson, who, as Secretary
of State at Philadelphia, had supervised the plan of its streets and
the architecture of its public buildings, took a keen delight in the
work of building and beautifying it. One of his biographers, writing
shortly after his death in 1826, says: “Almost everything that is
beautiful in the artificial scenery of Washington is due to the taste
and industry of Mr. Jefferson. He planted its walks with trees and
strewed its gardens with flowers. He was rarely seen returning from
his daily excursions on horseback without bringing some branches of
tree or shrub, or bunch of flowers, for the embellishment of the infant
capital. He was familiar with every tree and plant, from the oak of
the forest to the meanest flower of the valley. The willow-oak was
among his favorite trees, and he was often seen standing on his horse
gathering the acorns from this tree. He had it in view to raise a
nursery of them, which, when large enough to give shade, should be made
to adorn the walks of all the avenues in the city. In the meantime he
planted them with the Lombardy poplar, being of the most sudden growth,
contented that, though he could not enjoy their shade, his successors
would. Those who have stood on the western portico of the Capitol and
looked down the long avenue of a mile in length to the President’s
house, have been struck with the beautiful colonnade of trees which
adorns the whole distance on either side. They were all planted under
the direction of Mr. Jefferson, who joined in the task with his own
hands. He always lamented the spirit of extermination which had swept
off the noblest forest trees that overspread Capitol Hill, extending
down to the banks of the Tiber and the banks of the Potomac. He meant
to have converted the grounds into extensive parks and gardens. ‘The
loss is irreparable,’ said he to a European traveler, ‘nor can the evil
be prevented. When I have seen such depredations I have wished for a
moment to be a despot, that, in the possession of absolute power, I
might enforce the preservation of these valuable groves. Washington
might have boasted one of the noblest parks and most beautiful walks
attached to any city in the world.’” The Washington of even 1830 has
long since passed away. Where the long line of shade-trees from the
Capitol to the President’s house stood, the parallel rails of the
street-cars have long been laid, while the stream of classic name has
been inclosed in brick and stone, and made to serve the ignoble purpose
of a great drainage conduit. Jefferson’s dream of a beautiful capital
has been realized, however; and could he return to it he would not find
much to condemn in its avenues and parks except some of the statues
that disfigure them.

Mr. Jefferson’s long political service came to an end in March,
1809, and with it his final retirement to Monticello. He was then
sixty-six years of age. The journey to his home was one long triumphal
procession, the inhabitants of every town and village through which he
passed welcoming him with complimentary addresses and resolutions. He
had been forty years in the service of the public. His intellectual
powers were undecayed and his bodily health good. Seventeen years of
life were yet before him. The restoration of his property was his first
care. His lands were not in a compact body, and a great deal of riding
to and fro was necessary. One of the principal farms was in Bedford
County, more than a day’s journey from Monticello, and he usually spent
six or seven weeks there every year. In private as well as in public
life, Mr. Jefferson had made it a rule to be out of bed with the sun,
and to transact a large amount of business before breakfast. To this
rule he adhered even in his old age. In a letter to ex-President Adams,
in 1820, he says: “I can walk but little, but I ride six or eight
miles a day without fatigue; and, within a few days, I shall endeavor
to visit my other home, after a twelvemonths’ absence from it. Our
University, four miles distant, gives me frequent exercise, and the
oftener as I direct its architecture.” The building and equipment of
the University of Virginia was the crowning work of Mr. Jefferson’s
life. He visited it nearly every day, and when compelled to remain at
home, watched the workmen through a spyglass from his veranda. The
usual routine of his life at this period is thus described by one of
his biographers: “He rose with the sun. From that time to breakfast,
and often until noon, he was in his cabinet, chiefly employed in
epistolary correspondence. From breakfast, or noon at the latest, to
dinner he was engaged in his workshops, his garden, or on horseback
among his farms. From dinner to dark he gave to society and recreation
with his neighbors and friends; and from candle-light to bed-time he
devoted himself to reading and study.” A granddaughter has left us this
picture of him in the last years of his life: “He loved farming and
gardening, the fields, the orchards, and the asparagus beds. Of flowers
he was very fond. I remember the planting of the first hyacinths and
tulips. The precious roots were added to the earth under his own eye,
with a crowd of happy young faces of his grandchildren clustered around
to see the process and inquire anxiously the name of each separate
deposit. In the morning, immediately after breakfast, he used to visit
his flower-beds and gardens.” His retirement was invaded by a multitude
of admirers and curiosity seekers, whose entertainment became so great
a drain upon his resources that, coupled with other financial losses,
he became deeply involved in pecuniary difficulties. His creditors grew
clamorous, and he was compelled to ask the Legislature permission to
dispose of his property by lottery. The scheme embraced three great
prizes, namely, Monticello, valued at $71,000; the Shadwell Mills,
adjoining it, $30,000, and the Albemarle estate at $11,500. Public
attention having been thus called to his distress, meetings were held
in nearly all the principal cities of the Union, and a large sum of
money was subscribed for his benefit. But his life was now drawing to
a close, and he experienced very little relief from these voluntary
offerings. In the summer of 1826 he became very feeble, and he died on
the 4th of July, at ten minutes to one o’clock, “the day on which he
prayed that he might be permitted to depart.” Fifty years had passed
away since the great Declaration had been given to the world, and the
political independence of the Thirteen Colonies proclaimed. Away in
distant Quincy, noble old John Adams died almost at the same hour,
thanking God that “Thomas Jefferson still lives.”

MAN’S THREE FOLLIES.

A woman said to sage Voltaire:
“You men are really famous
For just three follies: they’re your share;
For more than three you blame us.

“Man never waits for fruit to fall,
But shakes the tree or beats it;
While woman, in no haste at all,
When fruit has ripened--eats it.

“Men rush to war, defying fate,
And fight as if for pleasure;
When death would come, if men would wait,
And take them at his leisure.

“Man follows woman: foolish chase,
For if he only knew her,
And would but turn from her fair face,
He need not thus pursue her.

“If she once thought man meant retreat,
All scruples she would swallow;
Grass would not grow beneath her feet,
So quickly would she follow.

“We’re not afraid this truth to tell
To men who oft deceive us
We’ve learned their ways, and we know well
That they will not believe us.

“Man will not, cannot turn away
From the fair face of woman;
Her sceptre she will always sway--
At least while man is human!”

_Egbert L. Bangs._

[Illustration]

THE LADIES’ EASTERN TRICYCLE TOUR.

FROM THE MERRIMAC TO NAUMKEAG.

BY DAISIE.

[Illustration]

“Ohne Hast” was our motto as, in the month of October, we cycled from
the banks of the Merrimac to old Naumkeag. We borrowed but one-half of
Goethe’s motto, for we did not care to add the “Ohne Rast,” and live up
to it. He gets much out of a cycle tour who wheels leisurely through
the country, for he exerts himself far less than does the pedestrian or
the equestrian; he sees no less of what is around and about him, and he
travels farther in a given time. There are those who derive no pleasure
from cycling unless they rush along, bent only on making quick time
between points; but this idea has never animated the ladies who yearly
wander awheel along the rocky coast of Northern Massachusetts.

“The Ladies’ Annual Tricycle Tour to the North Shore of Massachusetts”
is our rather cumbersome but all-inclusive title, and under it we
have had four very delightful outings. This tour was evolved during
the fall of 1885 from the mind of Miss Minna C. Smith, then on the
editorial staff of ~Outing~, and the first tour was carried
out under her direction, and became the subject of an article in this
magazine at that time--(the Ladies’ Tour to Kettle Cove, vol. vii.,
p. 431). Minna’s first idea was a tour for ladies alone; but she very
soon discovered that the ladies would not go without their husbands and
sweethearts, and it occurred to her mind, also, that the masculines
would be very handy in screwing up loose nuts, or repairing damages to
the machines. And so it was a mixed company that first essayed to run
awheel from Middlesex Fells to Kettle Cove. And it has come about that
ladies with gentlemen have composed all the succeeding tours, three
in number, though the ladies have always been in the majority, and the
rule that no gentleman can participate unless he is escort to a lady
has been rigidly adhered to. The gentlemen pay for the privilege of
attending the tour by arranging all the details and liquidating the
bills, and find their reward in the supreme satisfaction of which the
ladies give evidence in look and manner. Before I tell you how we went
and what we did, let me invite your attention to our itinerary.

Wednesday, October 3d.--By train from Boston to Newburyport--special
car to carry our cycles. Night at the Wolfe Tavern.

Thursday, October 4th.--Ride from Newburyport to Gloucester,
thirty miles. Through Newbury, Rowley, Ipswich, Essex Woods,
Manchester-by-the-Sea, Magnolia, and Gloucester.

Friday, October 5th.--Around Cape Ann, through Rockport, Lanesville,
Annisquam, Riverdale, West Gloucester, and Gloucester.

Saturday, October 6th.--A forenoon at Magnolia. In the afternoon, ride
to Salem, through Manchester-by-the-Sea, Beverly Farms, Beverly, and
Salem.

Sunday, October 7th.--A forenoon at Nahant, dinner at Lynn, and the
homeward ride in the afternoon.

There were twenty-four of us in all. Eight wives assisted their
husbands in pedaling eight tandems. Two pairs of girls propelled two
tandems. The veteran and his wife rode a tandem bicycle. One young lady
rode a single tricycle. One solitary gentleman rode a bicycle.

Our tandem bicycle was a seven-days’ wonder for the rustics on the
route, and they viewed it with open-eyed astonishment. They never
expected to see a lady on a bicycle, and they could hardly believe what
their eyes told them.

There were some who protested against travel by rail on any part of
a cycle tour, and spurned the idea of going to Newburyport in this
way. They were allowed to exercise their own sweet wills, so four of
the tourists wheeled forty miles to the rendezvous the day before the
start. We were quartered at the Wolfe Tavern, in front of which hung
a sign placed there in the last century, and bearing a portrait of
General Wolfe. It was an ugly daub, but interesting and attractive,
nevertheless. Hector thought it strange that a tavern should encourage
the presence of a “wolf at the door,” and suggested that the landlord
would have our assistance to drive him away when we came to pay our
bills, or “pay the shot,” as he put it.

Newburyport is a quaint old place, and on every hand are to be seen
suggestions of bygone days in the forms of a gambrel-roof house, a
colonial door, or the more common outside steps which follow the
front lines of the house and take one in at the front door by a turn.
Here is the mansion house of Lord Timothy Dexter, who sent a cargo of
warming-pans to the West Indies and made a large sum of money, not by
selling them for bed-warming purposes, but for the use to which the
natives quickly turned them of dipping up molasses from the vats. It is
told, also, of this eccentric individual, that he had a mock funeral
pass through the streets while he himself occupied the coffin, which
was carried in a hearse. The picture of his great house, in front of
which is a high fence with huge posts, each post a pedestal for a
statue, has become familiar in cheap prints.

Hector and I were up early and strolling through the town. Our riding
suits attracted no little attention, but one gets used to being
stared at after cycling experiences of a few months. Gentlemen in
knee-breeches are no uncommon sight in these days of tennis, baseball
and cycling, but legs clad in knee-breeches appearing below an overcoat
suggest an inharmonious grouping of garments, and I do not wonder that
they provoke a smile. We made straight for the cemetery, of course,
for in these quaint old places the cemetery is always interesting.
We found it hard-by the jail, and I thought their juxtaposition not
inappropriate. We read many epitaphs written a century ago, and could
not but smile at the queer ideas expressed.

The natives turned out in force to see us start. They had possibly seen
ladies ride tricycles before, but a large party like this, and one
couple on a tandem bicycle, was a decided novelty. Good Mother Nature
was kind to us on this the first day of our tour. She had been frowning
for weeks before and sending down rain, rain, till we began to think we
should have to tour in an ark instead of awheel. The gentlemen forgot
what a glorious riding year lay behind them, and I heard many remarks
more emphatic than polite. The frown on the face of the heavens changed
to a smile the night before the eventful day, and we started our wheels
toward Gloucester under pleasant skies. Molly was our pacemaker,
while I staid behind to help along the laggards and to signal Molly in
case of accident, and the Doctor’s wife looked after the drag which
conveyed our luggage and a few spare machines. We had a whistle code
which nobody took the trouble to learn, and our rules were very strict,
though nobody seemed to pay much regard to them. Six miles an hour was
the pace cut out by Molly, and this did not violate the motto, “Ohne
Hast,” except in the minds of the horses on the drag. Do we mind the
hills? Bless you, no! If the hill has a good hard surface we do not
mind it nearly so much as we do a level, sandy stretch.

It were useless to attempt to tell the delight of a tricycle ride
through a pleasant country, where Nature invites the eye to dwell upon
her charms, where the roads are firm and smooth, when the whole body
tingles with exhilaration born of quickened circulation and speedy
movement through the air. To experience is to know. The half cannot be
told.

We left the old town behind us and soon came to the river Parker (don’t
call it Parker River in the presence of a Newburyporter). On the
farther bank we were greeted by an old resident, who gave us apples to
eat and entertained us with stories of the old house in which he lives,
which, by the way, is the homestead of the Poor family, of which the
noted Ben. Perley Poor and our friend are members. To-day we see Cape
Ann under its rural aspect; tomorrow we shall see the bold shore and
the open sea.

A boy shouts after the gentleman from New York: “Say, mister, your
wheel’s goin’ round,” and the man from Manhattan nearly falls off his
wheel from the effect of this very new joke.

At Bean’s Crossing we stopped for a drink of cold water at the well,
and, if you will believe it, many of the ladies preferred to drink from
the old oaken bucket, and spurned the drinking-cups gallantly offered
by the gentlemen. The bucket was clean, however, without a suspicion of
dirty moss on it. The ride through Essex woods was a poem in cycling.
The summer residents have bought up large tracts of land in these woods
and perpetuated this beautiful driveway. The road-bed is good, and one
passes under arching trees for miles seeing nowhere any disturbance
of nature due to the hand of man, save only the path he is traveling.
Drink in this scene if you can, and garnish it with the glory of the
autumnal foliage.

Just before we entered the woods we were met by the Poet and the
Artist, who rode over from Gloucester to meet us and escort us on our
way. They approached us down-hill, as we ascended. Just before we came
up to them they performed a most artistic header in full sight of the
party, which we all enjoyed, after we had discovered they had come out
of it without injury. The poet dived through the air and alighted on
the grass many feet in front of the machine, while the artist found
himself under the machine, which illustrated the total depravity of
inanimate things by jumping on him and pinning him to the sod. At
Ipswich we drank again. Every pump is patronized by cycling tourists,
and I dare not estimate the number of glasses of spring water that
are consumed on a trip of this kind. Let me say that our tourists are
teetotalers. I know this, because I heard one of the gentlemen say,
after we had drunk from our fourth or fifth spring the first day, “I
never saw such a lot of teetotal drinkers as cyclers are.”

Just out of Ipswich there was a breakdown. The Doctor’s axle yielded to
his tremendously powerful pedaling, and a wrecked machine was cast upon
the road. Here came in the usefulness of the drag with its cargo of
spare machines. The wreck was taken on board and new machines were soon
under the castaway crew.

Dinner was taken in picnic style, under the trees, in a nook of the
Essex Woods, and ham sandwiches, chicken and eggs were washed down with
water from a neighboring spring. At four ~P. M.~ we drew up in
front of the Pavilion, at Gloucester. Then came the discussion over the
distance. ’Tis with our cyclometers as with our watches, none go just
alike, yet each believes his own. Some told us we had ridden thirty-two
miles, others said thirty. My fatigue indicated a ride of a short
distance, my hunger pointed to figures much larger than any cyclometer
told.

That night there was music and dancing in the parlor. To see that merry
company, who would think they had pedaled their “go-carts” over thirty
miles of good, bad, and indifferent roads during the day? Molly favored
the company with a number of recitations, the Doctor’s wife read an
original poem which teemed with personalities, and Mrs. Manhattan
played while we danced. We slept the sleep of the innocent that night,
lulled to slumber by the breakers on the beach, just beneath our
windows.

The second day is always the most important of the tour, for on it
we circle Cape Ann. The road runs out of Gloucester at the north,
belts the cape, and returns to Gloucester again from the west. Cape
Ann projects into Massachusetts Bay, as though nature had given a
great nose to the Old Commonwealth. The road follows the shore-line
northward, then turns inland, and takes the visitor through a country
of hills to the starting-point. I cannot believe that money or material
wealth in any form could tempt a cycler to travel this road if it were
not for the scenery. The length of the belt is only fifteen miles, but
experienced riders suffer more fatigue in traveling these, than forty
miles of ordinary roads would bring. A Boston newspaper pronounced it,
a few years ago, an unfit road for ladies to ride over. And yet we have
conquered it four times. Hill succeeds hill in constant succession,
and sandy surfaces make the levels hard to ride upon. But we must pay
for the good things of this life, and we cannot have Cape Ann scenery
without compensation.

Twenty of us responded to the call of the pacemaker at nine o’clock
Friday morning, and the drag was in position. Hector presented a
pretty spectacle this morning behind the white wings of a dove which
ornamented his tandem. The Doctor’s wife was suspected of this trick,
perpetrated to show her appreciation of the way in which Hector
sang his favorite song of “White Wings” for the entertainment of
the company. If Hector’s beauty ranked with his inability to sing
he would be another Adonis. The tourists were well avenged for the
peace-destroying notes that had been forced upon them, for every
shrill-voiced boy on the road that day--and we met several groups just
let loose from school--saluted the decorated machine with the chorus of
the well-worn song.

We went out of Gloucester with bright colors to the fore--on the
cheeks of the ladies. Leaving Gloucester, we passed the old stone barn
at Beaver Dam, then to Rockport, where we spent a pleasant half-hour
at the quarries, looking down from the stone bridge that carries the
roadway over the cut, into the great depths with the palisaded sides of
still unquarried granite. Some of the great blocks but recently taken
out were said to be twenty-five feet long and twenty tons in weight.
We took the statement on faith, for we had neither measuring rod nor
scales. A native took us to see a curio that is shown to visitors. A
schooner ran into a sloop. The jibboom of the former went clear through
the mast of the sloop and staid there. The mast with its unceremonious
visitor lies upon the wharf to excite the wonder of those who behold
it. “His Grace the Duke” cracked a very poor joke when he spoke of the
masterly stroke of the schooner, and one man said that schooners had
run into him without any such effect.

We were doing more walking than riding, for there are more hills than
levels in that district, and many hills make pedestrianism a charm.
Pigeon Cove came next in view. We saw several flights of ducks, but
no pigeons hereabouts. Here, on the extreme easterly point of Cape
Ann, we halted for lunch. An accommodating innkeeper, who had closed
his hostelry, and who was the sole occupant except his family, kindly
loaned us a table and the use of his range for the making of coffee.
Molly made the coffee, and proved herself an artist in beverages.

After dinner we strolled and climbed upon the rocks which were piled
up upon the point. Great slabs of granite that weighed ten, fifteen,
and even twenty tons, were shown us, and we were asked to believe that
they were thrown up by the sea, or moved rods away from their former
positions by the gale of March, 1888. It was a great tax upon our
credulity to view these massive stones and accept the tales that were
told of the sport which the waves had made with them. The landlady
showed an ugly and repulsive horned toad that had recently been sent
her from California. It was still alive, and several of the ladies were
courageous enough to take it in their hands, though the general verdict
was, “Ugh!”

Leaving Pigeon Cove behind us, we rode on to Folly Cove. Here the scene
is altogether different. The cove is surrounded by high land, from
which we looked down upon white-capped waters and saw white-winged
plyers of the deep in the middle ground and on the horizon, while just
beneath us fishermen were tending their nets, and lobster-catchers in
dories were hauling in their pots.

At Annisquam we visited the great boulder. Near the summit of a great
hill lies this mass of rock, not less than fifty feet in height and
width. Who put it there? Let the icebergs tell the story in scratches
on its side. A few venturesome ones, who were shod with rubber, climbed
to the top, and the photographer snapped his shutter and caught us as
we stood about the rock. Off in the distance is Coffin’s Beach. Two
schooners are on the sands, one at low-water mark, and the other far
above the waters. They were thrown up there from the sea by the gale of
last March, and they wait for the sands to engulf them. It will not pay
to save them, so slowly but surely they are sinking into the sands, and
before many months they will have gone down out of sight.

The Veteran brought pickled limes for our entertainment on the road.
There should have been a few left when we got to the boulder, so one of
the young ladies clambered into the drag to refresh herself, and soon
had the box in her lap. There was a screech from the drag and a rush of
the gentlemen toward it. When the maiden opened the box, she had found,
not pickled limes, but the horned toad from California, who winked his
ugly eyes at her as daylight was let in upon him. It appeared that
the Doctor’s wife had begged him from the landlady at Pigeon Cove and
without our knowledge had made him one of the party. He went with us
to the end, and the ladies soon gained courage enough to feed him with
flies.

We were back at Gloucester at half-past four. Then, after dinner, we
had more fun in the parlor during the evening, more song and more
story. Does anybody say we ought to have been tired after our long and
difficult ride? Bless you, we never think of being tired on these tours.

Saturday morning brought clouded skies. Out upon you, Mother Nature,
for marring our tour! It never yet rained on our touring days, then
why spoil the record? Weatherwise natives told us that it would not
rain long, and said that fair weather was ahead. Hector sententiously
remarked: “He who rides a cycle needs no reins.” We started for
Magnolia in a drizzle, and in a drizzle we did the place. Our wheels
were housed at Willow Cottage, and the tourists strolled over to
Rafe’s Chasm. It was a good day for surf studies, and the chasm is the
ideal place for this. The waters rush up into the great cleft and come
tumbling back white with anger, the waves beat upon the rocks, and the
spray is sent high in air. We looked at the iron cross erected to the
memory of Martha Marvin, who was washed into the sea from these rocks
a few years ago; and lying right before us was Norman’s Woe, whereon
the schooner _Hesperus_ was wrecked.

Meantime the heavens put on a thicker coat of gray, foreboding trouble
ahead for any who should dare venture unprotected beneath them. Two
o’clock was our hour for starting, but at that time the rain was
falling in torrents. No matter; let us drive on. It will not hurt us
to get wet, for our work will keep us warm. Let me choose between a
high wind and a rain-storm and I will take the rain in every case, and
so think all cyclers. Keep the body warm by quick action on the wheel,
change clothing at the end of the ride, and rub yourself well with a
coarse towel, and there is no evil effect from a ducking of this kind.

We rode twelve miles to Salem. The roads were heavy, and we had to
take the sidewalks. wherever we could, without paying any regard to
the law prohibiting sidewalk riding, for the blue-coated guardian of
the peace could never be so cruel as to arrest ladies for riding on
the sidewalk when the mud was six inches deep. It was: Go at your own
pace now; no matter about precedence. The word was: Get to Salem as
quick as you can! It was a race warm-bathward, as Miss Rives would say.
The tandem bicycle reached the hotel first of all, but close behind
were the Misses K---- on their tandem. Good English and Scotch blood
flows in the veins of these two young ladies, and they have the brawn
and sinew to put their machine over the road faster than many of the
gentlemen care to ride. We must have presented a ludicrous sight as
we passed through the villages drenched with rain and dropping water
from every projection. “Why don’t you drop it and run?” called out a
youngster after us as we hurried onward. When we came to the river,
Hector suggested that we should ride through it, “for,” said he, “we
can’t get any wetter than we are, and the experience will be novel.”
Declining the suggestion, we took the bridge. Only the week before they
had celebrated the centennial anniversary of the structure--old Beverly
Bridge--and we wondered if ever a stranger company had crossed from
shore to shore than this rain-drenched party of cyclists. The Doctor’s
wife tired of riding in the rain before half the journey was completed,
and she found a way to take solid comfort and keep dry. She got into
the drag and left her husband to pedal a double-seated machine alone,
but taking pity on him shortly, she threw him a rope and an umbrella.
The rope he attached to the machine and the umbrella was raised for
shelter. Thus was he towed along, to the delight of the small boys who
witnessed the peculiar spectacle. Salem was kind to us. Warm fires were
ready, and soon we were in dry clothing, with our wet garments hanging
before the fires. Thus was marred the afternoon of our third day.

We held a council of war in the parlor, and decided that the tour
should continue if the morning proved fair, otherwise it was to be
considered at an end. Morning came, and the rain was still falling. We
bade farewell to each other, and sought our homes as each deemed best.
A few of the more reckless riders mounted their wheels for another ride
in the rain, but this time home was their destination. Many went home
by train, and a few remained at Salem to await fair weather.

Thus ended the fourth North Shore tour of the ladies. We had two
glorious days and much pleasant experience. We had one half-day of rare
enjoyment on the rocks at Magnolia, and the monotony of our delight
was relieved by our cycle bath. They were red-letter days for us all.
Ye who tour by rail, by boat, or by carriage, know not one half the
delight one gets on the wheel. If you would be convinced of this, come
with us next year when we embark on the fifth annual tour.

[Illustration: Newburyport. Gloucester. Rockport. Magnolia. Beverly.
Salem. Boston. Finale]

A LOVE LETTER.

Here is her note. See how the courier pen,
All dizzy with delight, went zigzag down
The road that leads to Eros’ happy town!
See, here a steady pace; and here again
A sudden forward bound, as if, just then,
Her heart beat faster for the precious noun
That brought him near! and there, to match a frown,
A wavy course, as if doubt blurred his ken.

So, ever nearer to the self-same spot,
Bearing the message of my sweetheart true,
Her courier went rejoicing in his lot
To have for heavens eyes of tender blue:
Ah, Heart of mine! see, here’s a tiny blot--
A cloud for him--a tender tear for you.

_Frank Dempster Sherman._

[Illustration: Editor’s Open ~Window~.]

THE PAST CRICKET SEASON.

~The~ visit of the team of Irish amateur cricketers to the
United States this past season resulted in affording further proof
of the fact that Philadelphia is the home of cricket on this side of
the Atlantic. While the Irish gentlemen had almost a walk-over in
competing with the resident English cricketers of Canada, and were
successful without difficulty against the selected teams of Boston and
New York--though Boston gave them quite a close push--in Philadelphia
alone were they opposed by elevens of native American cricketers only,
whom they found their match. The success of the Philadelphia gentlemen
in winning both of their games with the Irish visitors should encourage
them to get up another team of American amateurs to cross the Atlantic
again in 1889.

* * * * *

~A noteworthy~ fact in local cricket this past season was that
the old St. George cricket field was once more the scene of a match
between elevens of the St. George and Manhattan clubs. The members of
the St. George Cricket Club have of late years become so absorbed in
lawn tennis that they have sadly neglected the old, manly English game
of cricket, which was the basis of their organization over thirty odd
years ago.

~Henry Chadwick.~

* * * * *

IN THE FOOTBALL FIELD.

~For~ years before the adoption of the game of football in
America our autumn season had no sport distinctively its own. Baseball
dragged out a lingering existence as the hands grew numb in the frosty
air. Boating shivered along into November in sweaters, but its life
was frozen. Until the advent of football many of our best athletes,
finding nothing to train for, strayed away from the strict regimen and
early hours to the seductive tobacco and beer and all-night cards.
Nor did they always return, for many refused to tear themselves away
when the spring came, while still others, after the first few days of
effort in the warm May weather, were so overcome with the longing for
the flesh-pots that they would fall out of the ranks, never again to
reappear. The athletes of to-day have an autumn sport the equal of any
in enjoyment and the superior in helping symmetrical development. Nor
is this the sole attraction. There is the generalship of a sport with
room for all the planning of a real campaign. Its tactics are but half
developed, and every year adds some new strategies.

The season of 1888 brought in a change of rules whereby there is a
marked increase in the liberty allowed to comrades assisting a runner.
Formerly the amount of aid they might render to one of their own
men when he had the ball was so small that it was seldom attempted
except in a crowd. The practice was to have all this done under the
cover of the rushing and surging line of forwards, and at the time
of the snap-back only. This led to many complications as the amount
of interference grew gradually greater, owing to the leniency of
umpires, until last season, when the play of all the teams in the
field was characterized by the most marked and deliberate holding in
the rush-line, oftentimes a runner was given an absolutely clean path
through the forwards by having these opponents dragged out of the
way by the men in front of him. Such was the state of affairs that
the question of the day bade fair to become whether or not all the
rushers could not be held so that the backs and halves would be the
only ones left to tackle. This line of development was manifestly a bad
one. Every move in that direction increased the personal contact of
players who did not have the ball in their possession. It is and has
been a noticeable fact in the history of the game in this country that
whenever a rule has been passed which admitted of an increase in the
liberty of laying hands upon a man who had not the ball, we have had a
greater amount of “squabbling and slugging.” It seemed best, therefore
to the Graduate Committee, who last year made the rules, to put forward
changes which should effectually end this hand-slapping, pushing, and
holding in the rush-line. In doing this, however, they wished to put no
check upon what seemed by no means an objectionable feature, namely,
assisting a runner by going alongside him and acting as an obstacle in
the path of those advancing to tackle him.

The rules were altered accordingly, and the alteration has marked
a decided advance in the sport. It has made the game more open by
increasing the chances of a successful run. Nothing so delights the
spectators as a long run. So keen is the excitement that it cannot be
pent up, but must out, and while the partisans of the side against
whom the run is being made stand holding their breath in fear lest the
runner reach the goal, his sympathizers are crying out encouragement
to him from all sides, and when at last he is brought to earth by some
determined tackler, the sympathizing shouts are in their turn fairly
drowned by the yell of exultation which goes up from the throats of the
other party. While the kicking game is always a beautiful one to watch,
it can never equal in excitement a game where long runs are made. The
tedious game is the one which was played when the rules admitted of
what was known as the “block game”--that is, where the ball was never
advanced more than a yard without a “down,” and all the playing was in
the centre. This style has fortunately been completely eliminated by
the rules. The change of rules this year has again demonstrated the
fact that the game is steadily advancing, and that every year brings it
nearer and nearer that point of perfection so earnestly sought after by
all its steadfast disciples, for no sport has more hearty, whole-souled
followers, nor is there any so richly deserving them.

~Walter C. Camp.~

* * * * *

COLLEGE SPORTS.

~The~ limited time which students have had since their return
from the summer vacation to indulge in their favorite pastimes, has not
been productive of any achievements worthy of special mention. Many
noted athletes were graduated in the class of ’88, and the Freshmen
have hardly had the opportunity to show their mettle. To be sure,
those semi-barbarous struggles known as rushes have taken place, and
in many cases sophomoric dignity has had to suffer from freshman zeal,
but such practices are frowned upon by college authorities and upper
classmen. Very often serious injuries are inflicted, and what good is
accomplished? None whatever. Want of organization always seriously
interferes with the success of the new comers, and the frantic
struggle, continued often for hours, to gain possession of and hold a
two-foot cane can scarcely be called sport. Much better, because more
satisfactory, are the class games of baseball and football. Here the
freshmen are not so handicapped, because many of the men who go to
college have received excellent preliminary training in the preparatory
schools, and furthermore, these contests develop material for the
college teams. Thus class feeling serves to call attention to and
bring out men who can reflect honor to the college they represent in
intercollegiate sports. A word with regard to these.

It is the opinion of many noted educators that such contests are
detrimental to good scholarship. In the first place, the few who
participate in them do not fairly represent the athletic development of
their respective colleges. The majority of students, after a week or
two of enthusiasm for sport immediately after college has begun, do not
go near the gymnasium, and can hardly be said to take any interest in
sport at all. Again, it is claimed that when the time for the holding
of these contests approaches, studies are neglected, because interests
centre in the success of the teams.

The readers of ~Outing~ will be interested to learn the result
of an investigation recently made at Cornell of the records of men who
engaged in intercollegiate sports since the opening of the college.
The result showed that the average scholarship of each man who rowed
in the crews was 70 per cent., that of baseball players 73 per cent.,
and that of track athletes 76 per cent., a standard of 70 per cent.
being necessary to graduate: 54 per cent. of all these men graduated,
which is 7 per cent. above the University percentage of graduation.
According to these figures, general scholarship does not suffer from
intercollegiate contests, provided they are kept within reasonable
limits. The standing in scholarship of noted athletes from Yale,
Harvard and Princeton also shows that they are not strangers to hard
study, while many of them are honor men and the winners of prizes in
special departments of study.

~J. C. Gerndt.~

* * * * *

DOG CHAT.

~The~ present year will ever be memorable in the history of
American “dogdom.” In it the battle between the American Kennel Club
and its opponents has been inaugurated. The enforcement of “compulsory
registration” in the American Kennel Club Stud Book, finally aroused
the long suppressed popular indignation at the manifest incompetency
of that body to administer its self-assumed control of kennel matters.
The club’s action was, however, in a measure sustained by the brilliant
success of the Westminster Kennel Club’s show, which was selected as
the lists in which the initial contest of the rival factions was to be
fought. So far, so good, for the A. K. C.

* * * * *

~The~ dog _breeders_ and exhibitors of America, however, have
long felt that a body composed of individuals was necessary for the
proper guidance of the kennel affairs of the continent, and to guard
their interests. The American Kennel Club is a club composed of clubs.
The local clubs are almost entirely made up of “dog lovers,” so
called--men who own perhaps but one dog, many of them none, and who
are utterly ignorant of dog matters in general, with perhaps one or
two “prominent” dog-men who hold the reins of power. It will be seen,
therefore, that as these few individuals are able to use the club name
and influence, should they wish it, in the furtherance of their private
ends, a dangerous amount of power is placed in their hands. The large
majority of our leading breeders were unattached, many of them living
at long distances from the headquarters of local clubs. They were,
therefore, without representation in the government of matters canine.
To remedy this evil and for the protection of breeders--the A. K. C.
having exhibited a criminal want of concern in their interests--the
National Dog Club was formed.

* * * * *

~The~ President, Dr. J. Frank Perry, better known as “Ashmont,”
was the prime mover. In May last, acting in accordance with the wishes
of many prominent gentlemen, he wrote to about fifty of the best known
and most successful breeders and exhibitors in America and in Canada,
requesting them to become charter members of a club, the initial
meeting of which was to be held during the Boston show in April.
Upwards of forty at once assented.

* * * * *

~At~ first the intention was to limit the membership to fifty;
but it was afterwards deemed advisable to make it unlimited. Upwards
of one hundred and fifty members are now enrolled, and this number
includes a majority of the most prominent and reputable owners of the
continent.

* * * * *

~From~ the outset the infant organization has had to contend
against fierce opposition and prejudice, incited by the friends of the
older club. But the promoters were not men to be easily turned aside
from their purpose, and in consequence of their endeavors the most
brilliant success has been achieved.

* * * * *

~The~ first show under the N. D. Club’s rules was that held by
the International Fair Association, at Buffalo, and its enemies tried
by every possible means to accomplish its ruin. Not only did they
“boycott” the show, but they neglected no course by which they could
injure it. Their defeat was a signal one.

* * * * *

~The~ Buffalo show was the best in the quality of dogs entered
of any show ever held outside New York or Boston, and indeed was but
little behind those giant rivals. The management, it is true, was
execrable; but that cannot be cited against the N. D. C.

* * * * *

~Honors~ are easy, therefore, between the rival factions,
although the fair-minded onlooker cannot but admit that the members of
the N. D. C. have set an example by their temperate and gentlemanly
behavior in the contest which their rivals by no means followed.

* * * * *

~Yet~ another National Kennel organization has been born within
the year, namely, the Canadian Kennel Club. A meeting of Canadian
dog-men was held for the purpose during the London, Ont., Show, and
the club was organized with Lord Stanley (Governor-General), Hon.
President; Mr. A. Gibson, London (of McEwen & Gibson, the leading
collie breeders), president; U. S. Jackson, Toronto (of Bedlington
terrier fame), first vice; Mr. M. Baumgarten, Montreal, second
vice; Mr. Thos. Johnston, Winnipeg, third vice; Mr. F. C. Wheeler,
London, secretary-treasurer; and Mr. C. M. Mills, Brantford (owner
of the celebrated Brant Cocker Kennels); Mr. F. H. F. Mercer, Ottawa
(invincible in clumber spaniels); Mr. W. B. Wells, Chatham; Mr. W.
Hendrie, Hamilton; Mr. J. S. Campbell, Simcoe (widely known for his
Gordon setters); Dr. Niven, London (of Gordon setter and spaniel
renown); and Mr. F. Mills, Hamilton, executive committee. This array of
names, embracing as it does nearly all the most prominent Canuck doggy
men, may be taken as a guarantee of success, and I trust the new club
will fulfil its fair promise.

~Dogwhip.~

* * * * *

THE PAST BASEBALL SEASON.

~The~ success of the New York Club in winning the championship
of the League for 1888 opens a new era in the contests for the pennant.
From 1872 to 1876 the Boston Club held the professional championship.
But in 1876, under the auspices of the newly organized National League,
the Chicago Club went to the front, and since then that club has almost
monopolized pennant honors in the League, Boston winning but three
times since 1876, while Providence was successful twice. Now, however,
the trophy has come East once more. The struggle was virtually confined
to a quintet of the eight competing clubs, viz., the New York, Chicago,
Detroit, Philadelphia and Boston clubs. Finally the contest for the
pennant lay between but three of them, while Pittsburgh, Indianapolis
and Washington were tail-enders throughout of the eight competitors.

* * * * *

“~Four~ times winner” is the honor claimed by the St. Louis
Club, the champion winners of 1888 in the American Association. This
result was mainly due to the important fact that the St. Louis Club
was the only one which presented for the pennant race a well-managed
and ably-captained team, all the others being to a greater or less
extent merely picked nines of star players. In no season has the
fact that team work--alike at the bat and in the field--is the most
important element of success in winning championship honors, been more
strikingly illustrated than in the race for the American Association
championship of 1888.

* * * * *

~Among~ the many clubs organized for the promotion of healthy
outdoor recreation, no feature has been more conducive to the best
interests of gentlemanly sports in the metropolitan district than
the friendly rivalry between the Staten Island Cricket and Baseball
Association and the Staten Island Athletic Club. Both organizations
have secured handsome grounds and club-houses. During the past season
they have given their members attractive exhibitions of amateur play
on their baseball, football, lacrosse and tennis fields. The former
club, however, has had an advantage in its cricket team, a game the
Athletic Club has not yet developed. The greatest attraction in their
field games has been their baseball exhibitions, which have surpassed
those of any other amateur organizations in the country except the
representatives of Harvard, Yale and Princeton colleges.

* * * * *

~The~ national game has at last become fashionable as one of
the sports at Newport. During the autumn a syndicate of admirers of
the game among the Newport cottage residents was formed to purchase a
plot of ground and lay out a baseball park to be ready for the season
of 1889. A diamond field is to be made and a grand-stand erected. Match
games will be played there by the rival college nines of Harvard, Yale
and Princeton next summer.

* * * * *

~The~ Boston ball grounds were the most liberally patronized
last season of those only boasting a National League club. The
attendance at the Boston-Chicago games during the season alone reached
a total of 59,020 people. This shows that it has paid to construct the
handsome ball grounds.

~Henry Chadwick.~

* * * * *

SKATING.

~The~ season of winter sports has opened in a way that
promises greater opportunities for indulgence in the fascinations
of skating than have been afforded for the last few years. Whether
this fair promise will be verified or not remains to be seen, but
the enthusiastic skater must have been indulging in pleasurable
anticipation of the joys of his favorite pastime.

Great, however, as is the individual enthusiasm in regard to this
recreation, there seems to be a lack of concerted effort to give the
sport the prominent place which it deserves. In England the prospects
of good ice are anxiously watched every season, in order that contests,
not only between the great skaters of England may be brought off, but
also that international races between such champions as “Fish” Smart,
and the pick of the Dutch and Scandinavian skaters, may take place.
Considering the very limited chances afforded by English weather, the
old country may well be proud of the feats performed by her sons.
Why, then, may not America do far greater things? And not only in
the professional, or semi-professional field, is there a chance for
improvement, but there is a noticeable lack of energy in arranging
races between amateurs. Surely skating can be made the vehicle for a
winter athletic meeting, when running, jumping, etc., are put out of
the question by the severity of the weather. We hope to see during this
winter contests of this description taking place.

~Sporting Tramp.~

[Illustration: ~The Outing Club.~]

THE SCIENTIFIC VIEW OF THE CYCLE.

~Wheelmen~ will read with interest the following quotation from
Sir Frederick Bramwell’s address to the British Association at Bath,
England:

“Consider the bicycles and tricycles of to-day--machines which afford
the means of healthful exercise to thousands, and which will, probably
within a very short time, prove of the very greatest possible use
for military purposes. The perfection to which these machines have
been brought is almost entirely due to strict attention to detail; in
the selection of the material of which the machines are made; in the
application of pure science (in its strictest sense) to the form and to
the proportioning of these parts, and also in the arrangement of these
various parts in relation the one to the other. The result is that the
greatest possible strength is afforded with only the least possible
weight, and that friction in working has been reduced to a minimum.
All of us who remember the hobby-horse of former years, and who
contrast that machine with the bicycle and tricycle of the present day,
realize how thoroughly satisfactory is the result of this attention to
detail--this appreciation of the ‘next to nothing.’”

A YACHT-TRIP ROUND THE GLOBE.

~We~ are pleased to hear from Hong Kong that the American yacht
_Coronet_--the winner of the yacht race across the Atlantic last
spring--arrived safely at Yokohama, Japan, en route round the world. We
next expect to hear from the _Coronet_ at Singapore, then at Bombay,
from which latter port the yacht will proceed to England, via the Suez
Canal and the Mediterranean Sea.

FIGHT BETWEEN A VIPER AND A HEDGEHOG.

~The~ Copenhagen _Jagttidente_ recently contained the following
curious account of a fight between a viper and a hedgehog, as related
by Dr. Bilandt, a Danish naturalist:

“One hot day, about noon, on the Billeslund estate, I espied a hedgehog
in a meadow with its eyes fixed intently on some spot in a hedge close
by, and, by following its gaze, I saw a viper lying on the bank curled
up, sunning itself. I sat down on the grass to watch them. For quite
an hour the two combatants remained immovable, the hedgehog keeping a
steady eye upon his prey. Then suddenly the viper began to move exactly
in the direction of his foe. The hedgehog let it nearly pass, when,
swift as lightning, it darted forwards, and, having seized the viper
by the tip of its tail with its teeth, rolled himself up. The viper
writhed under the bite, and dashed its body repeatedly against the
quills of the hedgehog till blood flowed, and in a short space of time
it had practically committed suicide. The hedgehog then devoured its
prey, from the tail upward, carrying away what he could not consume.”

GLASS-BALL SHOOTING EXTRAORDINARY.

~An~ incident in rifle-shooting this season was the feat
accomplished by the well-known rifle-shot, Dr. F. W. Carver, who, in
October, at the Pittsburgh Exposition Park, surpassed all previous
efforts in rifle-shooting. Dr. Carver had made a bet of $100 with
Adam Forepaugh, Jr., that he would break six glass balls thrown into
the air simultaneously before they fell to the ground. The shooting
was done with a Spencer repeating rifle in the presence of a few
invited guests. Dr. Carver had not the slightest trouble in performing
the feat, repeating it four times in succession. The doctor was not
satisfied with this, but threw up seven balls at once, all of which he
perforated before they fell to the ground. The cartridges used in these
rifle-shooting exhibitions, however, are not simply made of powder and
balls. They are prepared with shot in the place of bullets. Even with
shot the feat is remarkable; with bullets it would be an impossibility.

THE NOVELTY IN WHEEL MACHINES.

~With~ a flourish of trumpets, the advent of the road-sculler
was heralded into public notice. How far the machine will attain the
great popularity which its sponsors expect for it remains to be seen.
No one will attempt to deny that it has real merits; whether, however,
the machine has attained anything like its highest point of perfection
seems uncertain. During the contest between all the noted scullers of
the world at Madison Square Garden, there was undoubtedly far too high
an average of breakages, which, indeed, seriously interfered with the
interest of the show. But the average mortal is not such a creature
of thews and sinews as the grand specimens of humanity who entered
into that competition. Moreover, the ordinary use of the machine will
not be for racing purposes, but simply as a means of pleasure and
locomotion, and, therefore, the frailer parts of the mechanism will
not be put to such undue strain. The question also arises whether
the exercise is identical with sculling a boat, and the answer to
this appears decidedly to be that it only comprises a portion of the
muscular action necessary in sculling proper. At least two motions are
absent, viz., the act of feathering, and dropping the hands at the end
of the stroke. The action is a straight pull and a straight return. The
natural inclination on the part of an expert oarsman to drop his hands
was plainly observable, and possibly may have accounted for some of the
accidents which happened to the steel ropes. The general conclusion
will, however, be that the essential element which has gained rowing
such a prominent place among athletic sports--the exercising of every
muscle in the body, both arms and legs--is far from being lost, and
this is a point which is lacking in both bicycle and tricycle.

OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

THE FRENCH PLAYERS AT PALMER’S.

~A French~ company headed by M. Coquelin of the Théâtre
Française and Madame Jane Hading, of the Gymnase, Paris, made their
American début at Palmer’s, October 8th. Palmer’s Theatre! How
strange the name seems as it appears in print! It takes the place of
“Wallack’s”--a name around which cluster the traditions of a playhouse
that was the delight of New Yorkers for over a generation. Well!
“the king is dead,” and close upon his burial came the comedians of
France, to entertain an American public with French works in the home
of English Comedy. M. Coquelin inaugurated the French season with
Molière’s “Les Prècieuses Ridicules,” a couple of monologues, and a
one-act piece, “La Joie Fait Peur,” made familiar to theatre-goers
by Boucicault under the title of “Kerry.” New York gave the foreign
players on the first night a welcome which assured them at once
of the friendly spirit of an American audience. The visit of the
Coquelin-Hading Company to this country, it is to be hoped, will
be productive of good results. It was refreshing to be able to
witness a dramatic representation by a good company, where scenery
and costumes were secondary considerations. Coquelin in his acting
demonstrates close study of his art in every detail. As a comedian, he
is unapproachable. But when M. Coquelin attempts the heroes of romance
he fails. The company engaged to support, though not particularly
strong, have acquired much of the spirit of Coquelin’s acting. When one
considers the elaborate productions of the American stage and compares
them with the freedom from such show with which similar plays may be
given, when acting is not subordinated to scenery and dry goods, the
question naturally suggests itself, Is not much of this extravagant
display in many of our theatres a mistake? The scene painter and
costumer of to-day are of more account in a comic opera, for instance,
than a prima donna. An opera may be produced with a prima donna devoid
of singing voice, if she has shape, good looks, and sparse raiment
to recommend her, but without elaborate scenery, and plenty of color
and show, it would not run a fortnight. A similar state of affairs
exists on the dramatic stage. It takes a small fortune to keep up the
stage wardrobe of any actress who is called upon to play the heroine
or a lady of fashion in modern plays. One of the brightest and most
accomplished actresses of the American stage recently, after a great
success in a part, on being complimented by a friend, accepted the
compliment graciously enough, but felt considerably piqued because
the critics did not notice the nice new frocks she had had made for
the part, and which she expected to see praised quite as much as her
acting. If the advent of M. Coquelin and Mme. Hading to this country
will tend to correct some of these weaknesses, their coming among us
will be of more benefit than was anticipated by their managers when the
engagement was projected.

RE-OPENING OF DALY’S THEATRE.

Augustine Daly opened the doors of his theatre, Tuesday evening,
October 9, with an adaptation from the French of the comedy “Les
Surprises du Divorce.” Mr. Daly calls his work “The Lottery of Love.”
It was enthusiastically received on the first night, and it grew
in favor with subsequent repetition. During the season it is the
intention of Mr. Daly to produce, in addition to the more pretentious
part of his plans, a number of short one-act comedies. They will
precede the important attraction of the night’s entertainment. These
“curtain raisers,” as some writer has christened them, are oftentimes
very enjoyable. One of the most pleasing recollections of the last
theatrical season was the presentation of “Editha’s Burglar,” at the
Lyceum.

“LORD CHUMLEY” SOTHERN.

Speaking of the Lyceum, calls to mind the success of young Sothern in
“Lord Chumley.” Since the first night he appeared in the comedy, he has
crowded the handsome little theatre with well pleased auditors. The
success is due more to the acting and personality of Mr. Sothern as the
young lord, who is not such a fool as he looks, than to the merits of
the play or the acting of the company. Young Sothern’s “Lord Chumley”
is as good in its way as was the elder Sothern’s “Lord Dundreary.”
The play of “Lord Chumley” is a piece of literary patchwork, rather
skillfully put together, and afterward run through the sieve of
thorough rehearsals. Daniel Frohman may be congratulated on the success
of his promising young star and the good fortune he has brought to the
Lyceum.

THE PROSPERITY OF “A LEGAL WRECK.”

William Gillette’s victory with “A Legal Wreck,” in the very
theatre--the Madison Square--in which his first play, “The Professor,”
was brought before the footlights was complete. “A Legal Wreck” is
not a great play, and Mr. Gillette did not aim to make it so. He did,
however, attempt to make an interesting drama, and succeeded. Since
its first night it has steadily improved. Judicious cutting down, and
alterations in the stage business, have made it an effective acting
play. When it is taken from the Madison Square Theatre and sent to
other cities, it will meet with as much favor as here. When “A Legal
Wreck” was first put on the stage it was not expected to be played
more than a few weeks. It has exceeded expectations, and will run Mr.
Gillette’s entire season out. A. M. Palmer’s follows with the regular
Madison Square Company in a revival of “Partners,” after which he will
produce “Captain Swift,” an English drama of the “Jim the Penman”
order, which is highly spoken of by people who have seen it in London.

~Richard Neville.~

[Illustration]

[Illustration: ~Among the Books~]

~A story~ of the rough life of the ranch in the Far West, clad,
so to speak, in “purple and fine linen,” appears at first sight to
be somewhat of an anomaly. In this case, however, the contents are
worthy of the binding, and the story is not thrown into a shadowy
background by its luxurious and sumptuous equipment. “Ranch Life and
the Hunting-Trail,” by Theodore Roosevelt, has already made its bow to
the public in a series of papers issued in the _The Century_ magazine,
and the verdict has been given in its favor. Now it is published in a
veritable _édition de luxe_ by _The Century_ Company. The story loses
nothing of its merits in the process, while Mr. Frederic Remington’s
spirited and characteristic illustrations, so familiar to the readers
of ~Outing~, are shown to the greatest possible advantage.

* * * * *

~With~ the advance of popular education has arisen a demand
for standard historical works, which, avoiding diffusiveness and
elaboration of details, give the reader broad inductions and concise
results. The student of the present day requires a book which may be
regarded as absolutely authentic, and which will present to him, not
elaborate historical dissertations on knotty historical periods, but
able summaries and careful generalizations of the whole subject. Such a
work is the “Cyclopædia of Universal History,” by John Clark Ridpath,
LL.D. (The Jones Brothers Publishing Co., Cincinnati, and Phillips &
Hunt, New York), and it is by far the most successful effort which has
been hitherto made to supply this want of the modern student and the
average American citizen. The handsome appearance of the three volumes,
and the copious wealth of excellent illustrations, numbering twelve
hundred, vastly enhance the effect and merits of the text.

* * * * *

~The~ South, at the present time, would appear to be the coming
nursery of our light literature. The novels which have, of late,
created the greatest stir--whether by their genuine merits or their
sensationalism we do not propose to decide--have sprung from Southern
brains. Yet another work--and this, we believe, is a maiden effort--by
an author who hails from Tennessee, lies before us. But in “A Seaside
Romance,” by William Perry Brown (New York: John B. Alden, 1888), there
is nothing of the morbidly sensational. Though hardly to be classed as
a notable novel, or likely to create a great stir, it is a pleasant,
healthful story of Southern life. The characters are well drawn, though
some are rather thinly delineated, and a certain lack of vigor is
discernible in the action in places. It is, however, essentially a book
to afford a reader a pleasant hour or two.

* * * * *

~A slight~ infusion of medical science into a novel often
proves both instructive and interesting. But experiments of this
character require to be conducted with great care and judgment.
Such can hardly be said to be the case in “From the Beaten Path,”
by Edward R. Roe (Chicago: Laird Lee, 1888). Medical horrors are
crowded into the volume, and the reader is confronted with _cholera
infantum_ (symptoms fully described), a most unpleasant affection of
the eyes, and blindness resulting from rheumatism, within the first
two chapters, while dislocations, sprains, fevers, consumption, and
drunkenness--culminating in _mania a potu_--with a slight spice of
body-snatching, are negligently scattered through the pages. Thrilling
incidents are pitchforked into odd corners, and the thread of the story
is quite disconnected. The motive of the book would appear to be the
disparagement of allopathy, and commendation of faith-healing allied
to magnetic influences. The extreme ease with which the cures are
performed will, however, prove a somewhat hard pill for most people to
swallow.

* * * * *

~Sportsmen~ owe a debt of gratitude to any one who facilitates
their quest of sport. This object should be vastly furthered by a
little volume entitled “The Sportsman’s Guide,” compiled and edited
by William C. Harris, editor of _The American Angler_ (New York:
The Anglers’ Publishing Company, Chas. T. Dillingham). The enormous
number of hunting-grounds from which the sportsman has to choose are
tabulated, and all necessary information regarding them given. The
reports appear to be very accurate, the material being, for the most
part, derived from personal letters from individuals acquainted with
the localities. The condition of the shooting, whether good, bad, or
indifferent, is plainly stated.

* * * * *

~The~ fascination of that charming amusement, amateur
photography, year by year enlists a vast number of recruits for the
already great army of amateur photographers. To such recruits, good
textbooks are an indispensable feature, and for this purpose we can
heartily recommend “The Photographic Instructor” (New York: Scovill
Manufacturing Co., 1888). The volume consists of “the comprehensive
series of practical lessons issued to the students of the Chautauqua
School of Photography,” edited by W. I. Lincoln Adams, editor of _The
Photographic Times_, with an appendix by Prof. Charles Ehrmann. It
forms one of Scovill’s Complete Photographic Series.

~A little~ handbook is issued by the Red Star Line of steamers
entitled “Facts for Travelers.” In the mixture of useful and amusing
matter contained in it, travelers are sure to find something worth
noticing.

* * * * *

~A souvenir~ of the Montreal Amateur Athletic Association’s Fair
has reached us, entitled “Athletic Leaves.” The editors are Samuel L.
Baylis and William H. Whyte, and they have produced a very bright,
readable little volume, with notably good illustrations.

[Illustration: Amenities.]

RONDEAU.

[Illustration]

~Her~ starry eyes, with lightning glance,
Arrest me like a swift-thrown lance,
As I ride down the narrow lane;
And backward on my wheel I crane,
Another glimpse to catch askance.

My fickle steed begins to prance,
And leads me such a lively dance,
That danger signals glint in vain,
Her starry eyes.

O Fortune! if, by happy chance,
You’d throw this fair one in a trance,
Until I tumble on the plain--
But no! she cries a laughing rain--
A header dims my brief romance,
Her starry eyes.

And now whene’er I pass the seat
Where first I met that maiden sweet,
My aching heart is smote again;
The blush of shame o’ermounts my brow,
And bids me soft repeat the vow,
Her starry eyes.

_Jay Gee._

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Editor’s Scrap Book]

~First Baseball Player~: Did you go to Shortstop’s wedding
to-day?

~Second Baseball Player~: Of course I did.

~First Player~: How did it come off?

~Second Player~: Declared a tie.--_Once a Week._

* * * * *

~A Cape Cod~ fisherman calls his boat “The Kiss,” because it is
nothing but a smack.--_Puck._

* * * * *

~Many~ large wagers are chronicled from time to time, but Queen
Elizabeth still remains the greatest Bet in history.--_Exchange._

* * * * *

~Dealer~ (_to clerk_): I’m going to make those boys’ diagonal
suits fifteen dollars to-morrow.

~Clerk~: Fifteen dollars! Why, we’ve been selling them for ten
dollars right along.

~Dealer~: I know it; but I’m going to give away a baseball bat
with each one of them free of charge.--_Detroit Free Press._

* * * * *

~Lady~ (_to negro cook_): Can you poach eggs, Sambo?

~Sambo~: ’Deed I kin, missy, when dey grows up.--_Time._

* * * * *

~Cholly~: I say, Binx, did you ever witness a burial at sea?

~Binx~: No, never saw a burial, but we had a wake behind us all
the way over last trip.--_Harper’s Bazar._

* * * * *

“~What’s~ up, Billy?”

“Fut ball.”

“Well, ’fore I’d set up there in the cold watchin’ a lot of fellers
kick a ball up--”

“Ain’t watchin’ em kick no ball up; watchin’ of ’em kick each other
down!”--_Harper’s Weekly._

* * * * *

~A lost~ curve in baseball--the Arc that Noah pitched.--_Puck._

* * * * *

“~Well~, Tompkins, how did you come out at the last race
meeting?” asked a traveling man of a friend.

“As nearly as I can figure it, I came out about $1,500 ahead.”

“Fifteen hundred! That’s not bad. What horses did you back?”

“None. I had about $1,500 with me that I did not bet.”--_Merchant
Traveler._

* * * * *

“~What~ shall I play?” asked a meek-looking newly-appointed
organist, of a parson of a rather festive turn of mind when off duty.

“That depends on the kind of a hand you have,” responded his reverence,
in the most innocent manner.

* * * * *

~The~ man who is wild on the subject of yachting is an
ultra-marine.--_Puck._

* * * * *

~Spirits~ probably walk about for exorcise.--_Life._

* * * * *

~The~ yellow dog contemplates with satisfaction the advance in
the price of tin cans. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good.--_Life._

* * * * *

“~Do~ you ever bet on the races, stranger?” he asked, as the
boat approached Bay Ridge.

“I used to, but it cost me too much money.”

“You are a business man, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir; I sell ‘tips.’ I can give you a sure ten-to-one winner,
to-day--only twenty-five cents.”--_Time._

* * * * *

REFLECTIONS OF A CAT.

~The~ nicest bed is a pan of rising bread.

The old maid is the cat’s good Samaritan.

If it wasn’t for the rat I would be an outcast.

I think I have a pretty nose when it isn’t scratched.

The oven was about the hottest place I was ever in.

I am blamed for a great many things the girl breaks.

In all my experience I never yet saw a cat hit with a bootjack.

Every cat that gets on our back fence doesn’t come to see me.

When people go to sit down they never see I am asleep in the chair.

When I can’t get the ribbon off my neck I try to drag it in the dirt.

If I hadn’t talons the small boy would find no fun in pulling my tail.

The sailor is the only one who would sooner have a rat than a cat
around.

The missis and I can never agree as to the place where I shall bring up
my kittens.

Missis used to leave me only one kitten until after she had twins
herself, and then she left me two.--_Judge._

[Illustration: ~Our MONTHLY RECORD~]

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

ATHLETICS.

~The~ Pavilion Pastime Club, of Brooklyn--a new
organization--started in August last with a membership of twelve,
has rapidly increased, and now numbers over seventy. Its grounds on
Arlington Avenue, Jerome and Barbey streets, have been frequented daily
by enthusiastic lovers of outdoor sports. The club has developed a
number of excellent tennis players, among whom are the Misses Milan,
the Misses Crawford, Miss Pattison, Miss Hart, Rev. R. H. Baker,
Messrs. C. Palmer, J. H. Webster, and C. Wheeler. October 13, an evenly
contested set was played on the grounds, Miss Alice Linton and Mr. J.
A. Cruikshank defeating Miss Edith Linton and Dr. H. O. Rockefeller
after a very interesting set, the score being 7-5.

* * * * *

~A general~ meeting of the N. A. A. A. A. was held at the
Grand Union Hotel, in this city, on the evening of October 6. The
constitution and bylaws were revised. The alterations made were of a
radical character, and a general movement of reform was inaugurated.
The following clubs had delegates present: Missouri Amateur
Athletic Club, Manhattan Athletic Club, Intercollegiate Athletic
Association, Star Athletic Club, West Side Athletic Club, and Allerton
Athletic Club. The matter of changing the rules governing weight
competitions was referred to the executive committee, with power. The
Intercollegiate Athletic Association will in future be entitled to
one representative on the executive committee for every five colleges.
This will increase the college representation to four. The Allerton
Athletic Club, of New York City, was elected to membership, and other
clubs will be proposed at the next meeting of the executive committee.
The following meetings, under N. A. A. A. A. auspices, were announced:
The Association championship was to take place positively, rain or
shine, at the M. A. C. grounds, October 13. The Allerton Athletic Club
games, open to all amateurs, was to take place at Madison Square Garden
during November; the M. A. C. Winter games, open to all amateurs, same
place, during December; the Star Athletic Club winter games, open to
all amateurs, at same place, during January; the West Side Athletic
Club games, open to all amateurs, at same place, during February. The
International Athletic meeting, open to all amateurs, will take place
on the Saturday before the Intercollegiate championship meeting at
the M. A. C. grounds. In this meeting there will be fourteen scratch
events, and the winner of each event will be entitled to go to Europe
on the N. A. A. A. A. championship team, which team will compete
at the English and Irish championships and at the international
championship meeting at the Paris Exposition. The team will also
take part in special meetings gotten up under the auspices of the
National associations of the different countries. Among other large
subscriptions, G. M. L. Sacks gives $500 towards the expenses of the
team. The Columbia College Athletic Association will give its fall
games under Intercollegiate Athletic Association rules. The entries of
the N. A. A. A. A. athletes will be accepted in the open events. Other
clubs and associations have expressed their intention of holding games
under N. A. A. A. A. laws.

* * * * *

~The~ Perth Amboy, N. J., Athletic Association have elected
the following officers for the ensuing year: William H. McCormick
president; Mayor Thomas Armstrong, vice-president; Fred. F. Fox,
secretary and treasurer.

* * * * *

~An~ exhibition was given by the athletic team of the Irish
Gaelic Association at the Baseball grounds, Newark, N. J., October 20.
Results were as follows:

100-yards run--J. Connelly, first, no time being taken; T. J. Maloney,
second.

Hop, step and jump--Daniel Shanahan, first, 49 ft. 7½ in.; P. Looney
second.

Running long jump--D. Shanahan, first, 22 ft. 2 in.; J. Connelly,
second, 21 ft.

Putting the 56-pound weight--J. S. Mitchell cleared 25 ft. 9 in. in the
American style, and 32 ft. 5 in. according to Irish rules, J. C. Daly
being second, with 24 ft. 2 in. and 30 ft. 7 in. respectively.

Quarter-mile run--N. J. Kearns first, in 54s.; F. Conklin, second,
close up.

Throwing the 16-pound hammer from 9-ft. circle--J. S. Mitchell, first,
133 ft., the throw being made with a turn; J. C. Daly, second, 114 ft.
7 in.

Running high jump--O’Connor, first, 5 ft. 9½ in.; Connery, second, 5
ft. 3½ in.

The sports were brought to a close with the usual hurling
match, which was watched with interest.

* * * * *

~The~ members of the Young Men’s Christian Association of Yonkers,
N. Y., held their fall games October 20, the events resulting as
follows:

100-yards run, for boys--N. A. Ball, first, in 12½s.; G. W. Stephens
second.

Running long jump--G. A. Gahagan, first, 22 ft. 9½ in.; G. P. Holden
second.

220-yards run, boys--N. A. Ball, won in 28½s.

One mile run--Alexander Grieve, first, in 5m. 22s.; N. P. French second.

Running high jump--G. P. Holden won, 4 ft. 7 in.

100-yards run--M. Frazier, first; J. Atkinson second.

Half-mile run--F. A. Ware won, in 2m. 6½s.

One mile walk--Frank Brown, first, in 7m. 52½s.; C. L. Nicoll second.

Tug-of-war--Brooklyn Y. M. C. A. beat Yonkers Y. M. C. A. by a yard.

* * * * *

~The~ new athletic grounds, located at Morris Dock, on the Harlem
River, were opened October 20, by the Berkeley Athletic Club. The
opening event was a football match between teams representing the
Berkeley Club and the St. John’s College of Sing Sing, which the
latter won by a score of four touchdowns to nothing. The old Harvard
champion sprinter, Wendell Baker, then attempted to surpass the
record for running 280 yards, 29 4-5s., being assisted by his brother
Fred, the latter receiving thirty yards start, and himself essaying
to beat White’s 251-yard record of 31¼s. Owing to the heaviness of
the track both failed, although Wendell lowered the record for the
lesser distance to 26 3-5s. His time for 280 yards was 31 1-5s., while
Fred’s time for 251 yards was 31 2-5s. Then A. F. Copeland, of the
Manhattan Athletic Club, was successful in an attempt to break the
hurdling records at 75, 100 and 120 yards, timers being stationed at
the intermediate distances, and the new figures established being
respectively 8 3-5s., 12 4-5s. and 14 3-5s., the hurdles being 2 ft. 6
in. in height. The event taken altogether was a great success.

* * * * *

~The~ fourth annual fall games of the Missouri Amateur Athletic
Club took place at the Sportsman’s Park, St. Louis, October 14. The
weather was not favorable, and the attendance was small. A large
delegation from Chicago was present, and it must have been gratified at
the way the Chicago athletes distinguished themselves in the contests
in carrying off four firsts and five seconds. The games resulted as
follows:

100-yards run, _first heat_--Emile Reder, M. A. A. C., 5½ yards, won,
10 2-5s.; Walt Farrant, Chicago, 6½ yards, second, by six inches.
_Second heat_--Ed. Sampson, M. A. A. C., 9 yards, won, 10 4-5s.; Ed.
Smith, Chicago, 4½ yards and set back one, second, by two feet. _Third
heat_--A. C. Wignall, Chicago, 4½ yards, won, 10 3-5s.; A. J. Hellmich,
M. A. A. C., 7 yards, second, by a yard. _Fourth heat_--D. L. Cabanne,
Pastime A. C., 9 yards, won, 10 3-5s.; George Mark, M. A. A. C., 9
yards, second, by a foot. _Fifth heat_--John C. Meyers, M. A. A. C., 10
yards, won, 10 2-5s.; H. G. Perry, Chicago, 4 yards, second, by a yard.
_Final heat_--Cabanne, won, 10 2-5s.; Wignall second, by a half-yard;
Sampson third, Meyers fourth.

Weight contest for height--George Riddle easily won the 56-pound weight
contest for height, tossing the missile over the bar at 10 ft. 5 in.,
with Dan Leahy second, three inches less. Riddle afterward threw 11 ft.
1 in. and is good for much higher. Three others competed.

Running high kick--A. C. Baum, of the Missouri A. A. C., easily won the
running high kick with 8 ft. 11 in.; George Powell, same club, second,
at 8 ft. 8 in. Baum then tried for a record, and did 9 ft. 5½ in. C.
C. Lee, of Yale College, holds the world’s record, 9 ft. 8 in. H. G.
Perry, of Chicago, also competed.

440-yards run, handicap--_First heat_--W. S. Farrant, Chicago, 25
yards, won, 53 1-5s.; W. T. Nolan, M. A. A. C., 8 yards, second; R. J.
Leacock, M. A. A. C., 20 yards, third. _Second heat_--J. C. Meyers, M.
A. A. C., 30 yards, won, 52s.; James Price, Chicago, 30 yards, second;
A. J. Hellmich, M. A. A. C., third. _Final heat_--Farrant won, 51
1-5s.; Leacock, second, by three yards; Price, third, by two yards. The
start was too great for Farrant. Leacock’s effort was a good one, but
he had hard work beating Price.

Mile walk, handicap--H. H. Hentrichs, M. A. A. C., 125 yards, won
easily by twenty yards, 7m. 45s.; Ed. Gaines, M. A. A. C., scratch,
second. Two others started, but both stopped.

Mile run, handicap--Arthur Hunn, M. A. A. C., 110 yards, won easily by
ten yards, 4m. 43 2-5s.; R. K. McCullough, Chicago, 120 yards, a strong
second; T. K. Henderson, Chicago, scratch, third, by twenty yards. The
latter ran a game race.

Hurdle race, 220 yards, handicap--The _first heat_ was a walk-over for
George Mark, 15 yards, and A. J. Hellmich, 15 yards, in 30 3-5s. The
_second heat_ was won by Ed. Smith, Chicago, scratch, in 30 4-5s.; D.
L. Cabanne, Pastime A. C., 15 yards, second; J. C. Meyers, 15 yards,
third. _Final heat_--Mark won by two yards in 28 1-5s.; Smith second;
Hellmich third, by ten yards.

George Powell took the high jump with an actual jump of 5 ft. 9¼ in.,
George Riddle, Chicago, six inches, second, 5 ft. 9 in.

Half-mile run, scratch--Ed. Baker, Chicago, won, 2m. 6 1-5s.; T. T.
Lingo, St. Louis, second, by five yards.; W. T. Nolan, M. A. A. C.,
third, beaten off. R. J. Leacock, M. A. A. C., also started.

Hop, step and jump--Chas. Bayer, Jr., 4 feet, won, 43 ft. 11½ in.;
A. C. Wignall, Chicago, 4 feet, second, 43 ft. 9 in.

The members’ race was taken by A. H. Hitchings, in 37 2-5s.; B. A.
McFadden second, by a yard.

John C. Meyers won the amusing obstacle race in easy style, with F. H.
Armfield second, and Arthur Hunn third.

* * * * *

~The~ fall games of the Columbia Athletic Club, of Washington,
D. C., were held on Analostan Island, in the Potomac River, October 6.
The weather was disagreeable, and though the attendance of visitors was
comparatively small, the games themselves were a success. The grounds
and track were in fairly good condition, and the events resulted as
follows:

100-yards run--Samuel King first, in 10 2-5s.; L. T. Reed, second by a
yard.

Two-mile bicycle race, lap--W. E. Crist first, 26 points; Phil. Brown
second.

120-yards hurdle race--Lee Harban first, in 18 3-5s.; McCawley second.

One mile walk--A. T. Stoutenburg first, in 9m. 15s.; O’Leary second.

Bicycle race, mile, novice--W. E. Bell, first, in 3m. 25 1-5s.; T.
Hodgson second.

220-yards run--Sam. King, first, in 23s.; L. T. Reed, second.

One mile bicycle race--L. J. Barber, 75 yards start, first, in 2m. 47
4-5s.; W. E. Crist, scratch, second.

220-yard run--Sam King first, in 55 3-5s.

One mile run--J. M. Kenyon, first, Lee Harban second.

Throwing the hammer--T. C. Chalmers, first, 62 ft. 8 in.; Van
Rensselaer, second, 60 ft. 2 in.

Standing high jump--Robert Elder, first, 4 ft. 4 in.

Running long jump--S. E. Lewis, first, 20 ft.

Putting the shot--L. T. Reed, first, 34 ft. 7 in.

Running high jump--W. E. Buell, first, 5 ft.

Standing long jump--Robert Elder, 9 ft. 10 in.

Pole vault--Telfair Hodgson, first, 7 ft. 8 in.

Tug-of-war--Fat men defeated lean men.

* * * * *

~The~ thirteenth annual meeting of the National Association of
Amateur Athletes, for the Amateur Championship of America, was held
October 13, on the Manhattan Athletic Club Grounds. The Irish athletes
proved superior in three events--the 440-yards run, the running high
jump, and throwing the fifty-six pound weight. In putting the shot,
the method of J. S. Mitchell of the Irish team was objected to and
he withdrew from the contest. He made one effort, however, that
was allowed to count, and that gave him second place. In throwing
the fifty-six pound weight he lowered the American record six and
three-quarter inches. W. J. Barry, also of the Irish team, threw the
sixteen-pound hammer 120 ft. 11 in., as an exhibition of his own method
of throwing. Conneff, of the M. A. C., had an easy victory in the
five-mile run, winning by over a quarter of a mile. Results were as
follows:

100-yards run, _first heat_--Walk-over for F. Westing, M. A. C. _Second
heat_--A. F. Copeland, M. A. C., first. Time, 10 2-5s. _Third heat_--V.
E. Shifferstein, Olympic A. C., California, first. Time, 10 3-5s.
Trial heat for second men--J. Mooney, Gaelic A. A., first. _Final
heat_--F. Westing, first. Time, 10s. Dead heat between Copeland and
Schifferstein. Copeland won the run off in 10 2-5s.

One mile walk--E. D. Lange, M. A. C., first. Time, 6m. 53 4-5s.; C. L.
Nicoll, M. A. C., second.

One mile run--T. P. Conneff, M. A. C., first. Time, 4m. 32 3-5s.; W.
McCarthy, Gaelic A. A., second.

220-yards run--F. Westing, first. Time, 22 2-5s.; H. M. Banks, M. A.
C., second.

Two mile bicycle race--J. W. Powers, Jr., M. A. C., first. Time, 6m.
55s.; J. H. Hanson, M. A. C., second.

Three mile walk--E. D. Lange, first. Time, 22m. 49 3-5s.; C. L. Nicoll,
second.

120-yards hurdle race, _first heat_--A. F. Copeland first. Time,
17 2-5s.; Herbert Mapes, Columbia College A. C., second. _Second
heat_--Walk-over for H. S. Younghand, M. Vandervoort, M. A. C. _Final
heat_--A. F. Copeland, first. Time, 16 2-5s.; Herbert Mapes, second.

Half-mile run--J. W. Moffatt, Montreal A. A. A., first. Time, 2m. 2
1-5s.; J. C. Devereaux, Columbia College A. C. second.

440-yards run--T. J. O’Mahony, Gaelic A. A., first. Time, 53s.; T. J.
Norton, M. A. C., second.

220-yards hurdle race--A. F. Copeland, first. Time, 20 3-5s.; Herbert
Mapes, second.

Five mile run--T. P. Conneff, first. Time, 25m. 35s. S. J. Freeth,
Prospect Harriers, second.

Tug-of-war--D. S. Lord, J. Jenning, D. T. Brokaw and W. Revere, M. A.
C., against G. M. Elliott, F. M. R. Meikleham, E. C. Robinson and
Eugene Clapp, Columbia College. Manhattans won by two inches.

Tug-of-war--M. A. C. team against M. Mulhern, J. J. Van Houten, J.
Moran and C. Miltman, West Side A. C. Manhattans won by 7¾ in.

Pole vault--G. P. Quinn, University of Pennsylvania, first, 10 ft. 1
in.; J. J. Van Houten, West Side A. C., second, 9 ft. 10 in.

Putting the shot--F. L. Lambrecht, M. A. C., first, 42 ft. 4 in.; J. S.
Mitchell, Gaelic A. A., second, 41 ft. 9 in.

Running high jump--T. M. O’Connor, Gaelic A. A., first, 5 ft. 9½ in.;
M. W. Ford, Brooklyn, second, 5 ft. 8½ in.

Throwing 16-lb. hammer--F. L. Lambrecht, first, 105 ft. 1 in.; J. S.
Mitchell, second, 102 ft. 3 in.

Running broad jump--V. E. Schifferstein, first, 23 ft. 1¾ in.; A. F.
Copeland, second, 22 ft. ½ in.

Throwing 56-lb. weight--J. S. Mitchell, first, 26 ft. 10 in.; J. C.
Daly, Gaelic A. A., second, 26 ft. 8 in.

* * * * *

~The~ annual fall games of the Princeton College Athletic
Association were held at the University grounds, October 20. The
Princeton record in the half-mile run was broken by Roddy, ’91, who
covered the distance in 2m. 5 1-5s. Dohm, ’90, ran one hundred yards in
10 sec. The other events and winners were as follows:

Throwing the hammer--Brownlee, ’89, 81 ft. 9½ in.

Running high jump--Lemassena, ’90, 5 ft. 2 in.

Mile walk--Whitehead, ’91; time, 8m. 10 1-5s.

Putting the shot--Galt, ’91, 28 ft. 10 in.

Quarter-mile run--Somerby, ’92; time, 59s.

220-yards dash--Dohm, ’90; time, 23 1-5s.

Mile run--Phillips, ’90; time, 5m. 18s.

Two-mile bicycle race--Shick, ’92; time, 8m. 7 1-5s.

Running broad jump--Lemassena, ’90, 20 ft. 9½ in.

* * * * *

~The~ fall meeting of the Ridgefield Athletic Association took
place on the afternoon of October 8. The results were as follows:

100-yards dash--J. F. McDonald, three yards lead, first; J. H. Shepard,
six yards, second. Time, 10 3-5s.

Running broad jump--Ben. J. Worman, one foot allowance, first, 19 ft. 7
in.; F. R. Wells, second, 18 ft. 11 in.

440-yards run--J. F. McDonald, 10 yards lead, first; William
Grotenhuis, second. Time, 57 1-5s.

Hop, step and jump--Ben. J. Worman, allowance of three feet, first, 41
ft. 10 in.; F. R. Wells, second, 41 ft. ½ in.

100-yards dash, juniors, heats--J. H. Bailey first, E. L. Miller
second. Time, 11s.

220-yards dash--Wm. Grotenhuis, six yards lead, first; R. S. Calkins,
Jr., second. Time, 23½s.

Running high jump--H. M. Wilcox, allowance of four inches, first, 4 ft.
11 in.; F. R. Wells, second, 4 ft. 9½ in.

Putting 16-pound shot--F. R. Wells, first, 33 ft. 5½ in.; M.
Pennington, second, 29 ft. 4 in.

880 yards--W. Patterson first, F. R. Wells second. Time, 2m. 28 1-5s.

* * * * *

~The~ fall athletic sports of the University of Pennsylvania
took place October 20, with the following results:

Open 100-yards dash--Won by Sweet, of Swarthmore, in 10 4-5s.

100-yards dash--Won by Landreth, ’91, in 10 4-5s.

Pole vault--Won by Quinn (law), with 9 ft. 5½ in.

Throwing the hammer--Won by Bonsall (med.), with 96 ft.

Half-mile run--Won by Chamberlain, ’89, in 2m. 20 3-5s.

440-yards dash--Won by Kulp (med.), in 56s.

Mile walk--Won by Schofield (law), in 8m. 39 1-2s.

Running high jump--Won by Howard, ’91, with 5 ft. ⅞ in.

Running broad jump--Won by Landreth, ’91, with 19 ft. 5 in.

120-yards hurdle race--Won by Stroud, ’88, in 19s.

Mile bicycle race--Won by Cressman, ’90, in 3m. 25 1-5s.

Putting the shot--won by Bonsall (med.), with 33 ft. 6 in.

220-yards hurdle race--Won by Stroud, ’88, in 34 1-5s.

Mile run--Won by West, ’91, in 5m. 3s.

220-yards dash--Won by Landreth, in 25s.

* * * * *

~The~ fall meeting of the Yale University Athletic Association
was held October 20. There were 137 entries. The grounds were in
excellent condition. Results were as follows:

120-yards dash--Won by H. F. Walker, Yale, ’89, 6½ yards start, in
12 1-5s.

Mile run--J. T. Lloyd, Yale, ’91, 50 yards handicap, won in 4m. 43 2-5s.

Mile walk--L. R. Parker, Yale, ’92, won in 8m. 19 1-5s.

600-yards run--Won by C. W. Porter, Amherst, ’90, 24 yards handicap, in
1m. 13s.

120-yards hurdle race--Won by H. L. Williams, Yale, ’91, 5 yards
handicap, in 17 1-5s.

Two mile bicycle race--Won by F. A. Clark, Yale, ’91, Sheffield,
handicap, 50 yards; time, 6m. 33 1-5s.

300-yards run--Won by H. F. Walker, Yale, ’89; time, 32 2-5s.

220-yards hurdle race--H. L. Williams, Yale, ’91, handicap 6 yards, won
in 28 4-5s.

Three-quarter mile steeplechase--G. Y. Gilbert, N. Y. A. C., won in 4m.
38 4-5s.; C. A. Davenport, Harvard, ’90, and J. P. Lloyd, Yale, ’91,
ran a dead heat for second place, which had to be run off, when the
Harvard man won.

440-yards run--Won by E. B. Hinkley, Yale, ’89, in 52s.; F. W.
Robinson, Yale, ’90, was a very close second.

Running high jump--A. Nickerson, N. Y. A. C., handicap 4 in., won in 5
ft. 11½ in.

Throwing the hammer--H. A. Elcove, Yale, ’91, with a handicap of 3 ft.,
won with 81 feet, 1 in.

Running broad jump--E. P. Hinckley, Yale, ’89, handicap 3 ft. 6 in.,
jumped 22 ft. 8 in. and won.

Putting the shot--F. W. Robinson, Yale, ’90, handicap 4 ft., won with
35 ft. 8 in.

Pole vault--E. D. Ryder, Yale, ’91, with a handicap of 1 ft. 10 in.,
won with 10 ft. 2 in.; T. G. Shearman, Yale, ’89 was second.

* * * * *

~Delegates~ from the Manhattan, Star, Titan, Crescent, Brighton
and Allerton Athletic Clubs and the Missouri Athletic Association made
up the meeting of the National Cross-Country Association in this city,
October 23. The West Side Athletic Club was elected to membership.
The officers elected for the ensuing year are: President, F. A.
Ware, Crescent A. C.; vice-president, C. C. Hughes, Manhattan A. C.;
secretary, C. J. Harvey, Star A. C.; treasurer, E. J. Ryan, Allerton
A. C. Executive Committee--E. J. Ryan, Allerton, A. C.; D. J. Cox,
Brighton, A. C.; C. S. Busse, Crescent A. C.; C. C. Hughes, Manhattan
A. C.; J. A. Murphy, Missouri A. A. A.; C. J. Harvey, Star A. C.; J. L.
McAuliffe, Titan A. C.; J. D. Douglass, West Side A. C.

* * * * *

~The~ first annual meeting of the National Amateur Athletic
Union was held on the grounds of the Detroit Athletic Club, September
19. An attendance of five thousand witnessed the games, and the entire
management was a success. The referee was John F. Huneker of the
Athletic Club of the Schuylkill Navy. The judges were D. G. Trench,
Chicago Athletic Club; W. G. Schuyler, New York Athletic Club; J. H.
Booth and F. W. Janssen, Staten Island Athletic Club; P. E. Stanley and
F. D. Standish, Detroit Athletic Club. As timekeepers, the following
gentlemen officiated: Otto Ruhl and J. H. Abeel, Jr., New York Athletic
Club; Fred. T. Moran, Detroit Athletic Club; W. H. Robertson, Pastime
Club, and Hon. J. E. Reyburn, Cape May City Club. The measurers were J.
E. Sullivan, Pastime Club; Howard Perry, Columbia Club; J. W, Carter,
New York Club; Charles W. Lennon, Pullman Club, and W. H. Rogers,
Schuylkill Navy. George Turner, of Philadelphia, was starter, and
Sporting Editor, P. J. Donohue, of the New York _World_, was judge of
walking. Harry McMillan, of the Schuylkill Navy, was chief-marshal of
the day, and Fred. W. Burns, of the Brooklyn Athletic Club, official
announcer. The following were the results in the various events:

100-yards run--F. Westing, Manhattan Athletic Club, first; C. H.
Sherrill, Yale College, and Malcolm W. Ford, Staten Island Athletic
Club, tied for second place, Ford getting the place on the toss. Time,
first heat, 10 2-5s.; second heat, 10 3-5s.; third heat, 10 2-5s.;
final heat, 10 2-5s.

120-yards hurdle--A. A. Jordan, New York Athletic Club, first; A. F.
Copeland, Manhattan Athletic Club, second; E. M. Vandervoort, Manhattan
Athletic Club, third. Time, 16 1-5s.; won in one heat.

One-mile walk--W. R. Burkhardt, Pastime Athletic Club, first; C. L.
Nicoll, Manhattan Athletic Club, second. Time, 6m. 54 1-5s.

One-mile run--G. M. Gibbs, Toronto Athletic Club, first; T. P. Conneff,
Manhattan Athletic Club, second; P. D. Skillman, New York Athletic
Club. Time, 4m. 27 1-5s.

220-yards run--F. Westing, Manhattan Athletic Club, first; W. C. Dohm,
New York Athletic Club, second; H. F. Walker, Detroit Athletic Club,
third. Time, 22 1-5s.

220-yards hurdle race--Won in one heat--A. F. Copeland, Manhattan
Athletic Club, first; A. A. Jordan, New York Athletic Club, second; G.
Schwegler, Chicago Athletic Club, third. Time, 26 4-5s.

Three-mile walk--Won by E. D. Lange, of the Manhattan Athletic Club;
Otto Hassell, Chicago Amateur Athletic Club, second.

Two-mile bicycle race--W. E. Crist, Columbia Athletic Club, first.
Time, 6m. 49 1-5s.

440-yards run--W. C. Dohm, New York Athletic Club, first. Time, 51s.

880-yard run--G. Tracey, Wanderers’ Athletic Club, Chicago, first; C.
M. Smith, New York Athletic Club, second; C. L. Estes, Manhattan Club,
third. Time, 2m. 2 1-5s.

Five-mile run--T. P. Conneff, Manhattan Athletic Club, first; E. C.
Carter, New York Athletic Club, second. Time, 26m. 46 3-5s.

Running high jump--J. D. Webster, Manhattan Athletic Club, first, 5 ft.
6½, in.; W. M. Norris, Staten Island Athletic Club, second, 5 ft. 4½
in.; R. K. Pritchard, Staten Island Athletic Club, third, 5 ft. 4½ in.

Tug-of-war--Manhattan Athletic Club Team--D. S. Lord, anchor; W.
Revere, D. T. Brokaw, and J. Senning, against the “Busy Bees” Athletic
Association of Co. B, 22d Regiment, N. G. S. N. Y. Won by the “Busy
Bees,” in the first and third pulls.

Putting 16-lb. shot--G. R. Gray, New York Athletic Club, first, 42 ft.
10½ in.; F. L. Lambrecht, Manhattan Athletic Club, second, 40 ft. 6
in.; W. L. Coudon, New York Athletic Club, third, 40 ft. 4½ in.

Running long jump--W. Halpin, Olympic Athletic Club, first, 23 ft.; A.
F. Copeland, Manhattan Athletic Club, second, 22 ft. 11⅝ in.; A. A.
Jordan, New York Athletic Club, third, 22 ft. 9⅞ in.

Throwing 16-lb. hammer--W. J. M. Barry, Queen’s College, Cork, first,
127 ft. 1 in.; C. A. J. Queckberner, Staten Island Athletic Club,
second, 106 ft. 11 in.; F. L. Lambrecht, Manhattan Athletic Club,
third, 97 ft. 4 in.

Pole vault--L. D. Godshall, Manhattan Athletic Club, first, 10 ft.;
C. Whitehorn, Staten Island Athletic Club, second, 9 ft. 9 in.; A. A.
Jordan, New York Athletic Club, third, 9 ft.

Throwing 56-lb. weight--W. L. Coudon, New York Athletic Club, 27 ft. 9
in., beating the world’s record by 1 ft. 11 in.

* * * * *

~Columbia College~ students turned out in full force October
26, at the Manhattan Athletic Club grounds. The entries numbered
over 225. Three Columbia records were broken and one intercollegiate
record was equaled. H. Mapes, ’92 (mines), won the 220-yards hurdle
in 26 4-5s., beating the Columbia record by two seconds and equaling
the intercollegiate best time. He also beat the college record for
the 120-yards hurdle in 17 1-5s. A. S. Vosburgh, ’90 (arts), beat the
Columbia mile record by one second, making the distance in 4m. 53 2-5s.
The winners and seconds are as follows:

100-yards dash--Final, Herbert Mapes, 3 yards, first; H. M. Banks, Jr.,
scratch, second. Time, 10 3-5s.

220-yards run--H. M. Banks, scratch, first; Herbert Shipman, 7 yards,
second. Time, 23 2-5s.

440-yards run--J. C. Travis, 35 yards, first; Herbert Shipman, 18
yards, second. Time, 52s.

880-yards run--J. M. Hewlett, 40 yards, first; M. R. Strong, 10 yards,
second. Time, 2m. 5s.

Mile run--A. S. Vosburgh, scratch, first; J. S. Langthorn, 25 yards,
second. Time, 4m. 53 2-5s.

Mile walk--T. McIlvaine, scratch, first; H. G. Peck, second. Time, 8m.
8 4-5s.

Two-mile bicycle--W. H. Hall, 60 yards, first; G. A. Wardlaw, second.
Time, 7m. 50 4-5s.

220-yards novice race--S. R. Bradley, first; J. R. Steers, second.
Time, 25 4-5s.

880-yards novice race--F. E. Gunnison, first; J. A. Dempsey, second.
Time, 2m. 27s.

120-yards hurdle--H. Mapes, ’92 (mines), first; T. H. Havemeyer, 12
yards, second. Time, 17 1-5s.

220-yard hurdle--H. Mapes, scratch, first; Victor Mapes, 15 yards,
second. Time, 26 4-5s.

Putting 16-lb. shot--B. C. Hinman, actual distance 33 ft. 6 in., first;
M. C. Bogert, actual distance 31 ft., second.

Running high jump--F. C. Hooper, actual height, 5 ft. 4 in., first;
Alexander Stevens, 4 ft. 7 in., second.

Running broad jump--Victor Mapes, actual distance, 20 ft. 8 in., first;
J. C. Devereaux, 19 ft. 8 in., second.

Throwing 16-lb. hammer--B. C. Hinman, actual throw, 79 ft., first; M.
T. Bogert, 66 ft. 6 in., second.

Tug-of-war--’89 won from ’90 by 1 in.; ’92 won from ’91 by default; ’89
won from ’92 by default.

The winners in the open events were:

100-yards run, handicap--F. Westing, M. A. C. first; H. Shipman, 5
yards, second. Time, 10 2-3s.

Half-mile run--J. W. Moffatt, of Canada, scratch, first; D. I.
Tompkins, Manhattan Athletic Club, 24 yards, second. Time, 2m. 2-5s.

C. H. Mapes was referee; G. L. M. Sachs, S. C. Herriman, and D. L. R.
Dresser, judges; G. A. Avery, W. Hegeman, C. C. Hughes, timers, and H.
Pike, starter.

BASEBALL.

~The~ following is the official record of the League
Championship campaign, giving the victories and defeats of each club
and the deciding percentage of victories, on the basis of which every
club was placed in the race, from the pennant winner to the tail-ender:

A: New York.
B: Chicago.
C: Philadelphia.
D: Boston.
E: Detroit.
F: Pittsburgh.
G: Indianapolis.
H: Washington.
I: Games won.
J: Per cent. of victories.

---------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----
~Clubs~ | A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H || I | J
---------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----
New York |-- | 8 |14 |12 |11 |10 |11 |15 || 84 |.641
Chicago |11 |-- | 8 |12 |10 | 9 |14 |13 || 77 |.570
Philadelphia | 5 |10 |-- |10 | 7 |14 |13 |10 || 69 |.531
Boston | 8 | 7 | 9 |-- |10 |10 |11 |15 || 70 |.522
Detroit | 7 |10 |11 | 8 |-- |10 |11 |11 || 68 |.519
Pittsburgh | 7 |11 | 6 | 8 |10 |-- |14 |10 || 66 |.493
Indianapolis | 5 | 6 | 4 | 9 | 8 | 6 |-- |12 || 50 |.370
Washington | 4 | 6 | 9 | 5 | 7 | 9 | 8 |-- || 48 |.358
---------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----
Games lost |47 |58 |61 |64 |63 |68 |85 |86 ||532 |
---------------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---++----+----

Not only was the race close between New York and Chicago for first
place up to October, but the struggle for the third position between
Philadelphia, Boston, and Detroit, was interesting.

* * * * *

Here is a table giving the full statistics of the League campaign in
all the most essential particulars.

A: New York.
B: Chicago.
C: Philadelphia.
D: Boston.
E: Detroit.
F: Pittsburgh.
G: Indianapolis.
H: Washington.

-----------------------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----
| A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H
-----------------------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----
Victories | 84| 77| 69| 70| 68| 66| 50| 48
Defeats | 47| 58| 61| 64| 63| 68| 85| 86
Games played | 131| 135| 130| 134| 131| 134| 135| 134
Per cent. of victories |.641|.570|.531|.522|.519|.493|.370|.358
Drawn games | 7| 1| 1| 3| 3| 4| 1| 2
Series won | 5| 4| 2| 2| 3| 2| 1| 0
Series lost | 1| 1| 1| 2| 1| 2| 6| 5
Series tied | 0| 1| 0| 0| 2| 1| 0| 0
Series unfinished | 1| 1| 4| 3| 1| 3| 3| 3
Batting average |.240|.247|.229|.240|.243|.223|.233|.207
Fielding average |.918|.906|.919|.904|.916|.914|.904|.899
Victories at home | 44| 43| 37| 34| 41| 38| 31| 26
Victories abroad | 40| 34| 32| 36| 27| 28| 19| 22
Defeats at home | 23| 26| 31| 29| 26| 30| 35| 38
Defeats abroad | 24| 32| 30| 34| 37| 39| 50| 48
Extra innings games | 6| 2| 9| 2| 4| 4| 1| 1
Chicago victories | 18| 11| 16| 7| 10| 13| 6| 6
Chicago defeats | 3| 9| 6| 13| 5| 19| 11| 21
-----------------------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----

The appended table presents the statistics, in brief, of the thirteen
pennant races of the League, from 1876 to 1888, inclusive.

-----+------------+----------+--------+-----------+---------------
YEAR.| CHAMPION |VICTORIES.|DEFEATS.| Per cent. | CLUB
| CLUB. | | | of | MANAGER.
| | | | victories.|
-----+------------+----------+--------+-----------+---------------
1876 | Chicago | 52 | 14 | .788 | Spalding
1877 | Boston | 31 | 17 | .648 | Harry Wright
1878 | Boston | 41 | 19 | .683 | Harry Wright
1879 | Providence | 55 | 23 | .705 | George Wright
1880 | Chicago | 67 | 17 | .798 | Anson
1881 | Chicago | 56 | 28 | .667 | Anson
1882 | Chicago | 56 | 29 | .655 | Anson
1883 | Boston | 63 | 55 | .534 | Harry Wright
1884 | Providence | 84 | 28 | .750 | Frank Bancroft
1885 | Chicago | 87 | 25 | .776 | Anson
1886 | Chicago | 90 | 34 | .725 | Anson
1887 | Detroit | 79 | 45 | .637 | Watkins
1888 | New York | 84 | 47 | .641 | Mutrie
-----+------------+----------+--------+-----------+---------------

CANOE.

~The~ second series in the canoe sailing races for the
international challenge cup took place October 13 from Bechtel’s Rock,
Stapleton, Staten Island, over the usual course, which is two miles
long. The boats sailed over the course four times, making the distance
of the race eight miles. Col. C. L. Norton, of the New York Canoe Club,
acted as referee.

There was but one race in the forenoon, which was won by the _Eclipse_
of the Brooklyn Canoe Club, sailed by R. S. Blake, in 2h. 1m. 30s. The
_Charm_, of the Royal Canoe Club, sailed by Walter Stewart, took the
lead at first, but was overhauled and passed by the Yankee boat. The
time of the _Charm_ was 2h. 8m. 30s.

The afternoon race was won by the _Eclipse_, in 2h. 9m. 45s. The
_Charm_ was unable to round the offshore buoy according to the
requirements, and the Brooklyn boat went over the course alone. The
winning of the silver international cup by an American boat will
necessitate the next international canoe race to be sailed also in
American waters.

There were other races during the day for a prize flag. The first
race of this contest had three entries, and the boats finished in the
following order: _Fly_, time, 1h. 15m. 10s.; _Essex_, of the Essex
Club, 2h. 7m.; and the _Guinn_, Brooklyn Club, 2h. 8m. The course was
six miles.

The second race was decided in the following order: _Fly_, 1h. 34m.
45s.; _Guinn_, 1h. 36m. 30s.; _Vagabond_, 1h. 41m. 20s.; _If_, 1h. 45m.
45s.; _New York_, 1h. 48m.; _Essex_, 1h. 48m. 45s. _Will of the Wisp_
and _Nancy_ fell out of the race.

CRICKET.

~Cricket~ has closed for the year among the leading English
teams. During the season the following scores were made in first-class
matches: W. G. Grace, 215, 165, 153, and 148; W. W. Read, 338, 171,
109, and 103; W. Newham, 129 and 118; M. P. Bowden, 189, not out; J.
Eccles, 184; Abel, 160; Painter, 150; P. J. T. Henery, 138, not out;
Jesse Hide, 130; Hall, 129, not out; Briggs, 126, not out; S. W. Scott,
121, not out; Maurice Read, 109; K. J. Key, 108; Wainright, 105; Frank
Sugg, 102, not out. The 153 and 148 of W. G. Grace were made in one
match.

* * * * *

~The~ Irish Gentlemen cricketers, who have been visiting the
principal cricket clubs in this country and Canada, sailed for home
October 3, on the _City of Rome_. The Irishmen speak in warm terms of
the way in which they were treated by their brother sportsmen here.
They have reason to be proud of their performance. During six weeks
they have played thirteen matches, of which they have won eleven and
lost two. Both games were lost in Philadelphia, one by seven runs, the
other by thirty-nine. In Canada the Home Rulers defeated Kingston’s
and Ottawa’s best players by large scores, and in a match against
all Canada they had eighty-six runs, and an innings to spare. In the
United States they defeated all the best elevens, except those in
Philadelphia. New York’s best team came within nine wickets of the
Irishmen in a two-innings match. The highest score made by any member
of the visiting team was 126, made by J. Dunn, in the New York match.

CURLING.

~The~ annual meeting of the Ontario Branch of the Royal
Caledonia Curling Club was held in Montreal, October 16. The following
is a list of the officers elected: His Excellency the Governor-General,
Patron; Robert Ferguson, president; vice-presidents, John Harvey and
Dr. Bouchier; chaplain, Rev. D. J. Macdonnell; secretary-treasurer,
J. S. Russell; council of management, W. Badenach, Toronto Granite
Club; W. Rennie, Toronto Caledonian Club; Dr. Beaton, Orillia Club; T.
McGaw, Toronto Club; W. Leggatt, Hamilton Thistle Club, and Dr. Berth,
Bowmanville Club.

CYCLING.

~S. G. Whittaker~ continues to make new records abroad.
September 22, at the Long Eaton Recreation Grounds, England, he made
the attempt to beat the record for twenty-five miles, and succeeded in
creating new figures for every mile from two to the finish. Time for
the full distance, 1h. 11m. 5⅔s.

* * * * *

~G. R. White~, in England, at the annual North Road Cycling
Club’s 100-mile road ride, September 22, over the usual course, on
an “Ordinary,” rode the entire distance without dismounting, in 6h.
48m. 14s. The previous record was 7h. 6m. 18s., and was made by F. H.
Williams.

* * * * *

~The~ Y. M. C. A., of Worcester, Mass., had games October 20,
and in the one-mile bicycle race D. W. Rolston made the mile in 3m. 18
1-5s., James Wilson, Jr., coming in second, in 3m. 18 3-5s.

* * * * *

~The~ Pennsylvania five-mile handicap race was run October 20.
The contest resulted as follows: J. H. Draper, half-lap handicap,
first, in 22m. 25s.; D. A. Longaker, one lap, second; J. G. Fuller,
scratch, third; C. L. Leisen, one lap, fourth; Al. Kohler, one lap,
fifth; John A. Wells, one lap, sixth; L. J. McCloskey and W. W.
Randall, each with two laps, finishing seventh and eighth. The track
was soft and the wind strong.

* * * * *

~A. C. and W. D. Banker~, of Pittsburgh, Pa., rode a mile,
tandem, Sunday, October 21, in 2m. 41 4-5s. The course was rough, and a
strong wind prevailed against the riders.

* * * * *

~The~ Danvers, Mass., Cycle Club races were run October 20 on
a heavy track. The results: Mile novice--J. Ogden, of Middletown,
3m. 4s. Half-mile, club challenge, two in three--M. W. Robson, of
Salem. Mile tandem tricycle--R. H. Robson and mate, of Salem, 4m. 50s.
Mile handicap--E. A. Bailey, of Somerville (scratch), 3m. 37s. Mile
tricycle--R. H. Robson, of Salem, 5m. 15s. Two mile--E. A. Bailey, 8m.
15s. Mile county championship--H. Robson, of Salem, 4m. 14s. Referee,
W. S. Atwell, of Boston.

* * * * *

~The~ five-mile Peninsula championship, decided at the
Wilmington (Del.) Fair, was won by McDaniel; Pyle second; Jefferies
third.

* * * * *

~I. P. Hail~, of Albany, Oregon, recently made a four hundred
mile trip through Southern Oregon to Coos Bay and return. He crossed
the Coast Range Mountains twice, and traveled one hundred and fifty
miles over a rough mountain trail, over which no bicycle had ever
passed.

* * * * *

~John M. Cook~ has presented an eight-in-hand cycle to a college
for the blind, at Upper Norwood, England. The eight-in-hand is arranged
for the girls of the institution to ride. Two four-in-hands and a
tandem will enable the boys to take exercise and recreation.

* * * * *

~The~ tournament of the Pittsburgh Cycling and Athletic Club
was held at Pittsburgh, September 24, 25 and 26. It was a show in
which professionals and amateurs took part. “The tournament,” says
the _Wheelmen’s Gazette_, “was a success from a sporting standpoint,”
whatever that may mean, “but there was little or no financial benefit.”
The following is a summary of the races:

_Monday, September 24._

One-half-mile bicycle scratch--W. W. Windle, first; time, 1m. 23s.
One-mile novice--W. D. George, first; time, 3m. 20s. Five-mile
professional championship--First heat of championship series--W. A.
Rowe, first; time 15m. 22 1-5s. One-half-mile bicycle, 1:35 class--W.
D. George, first; time, 1m. 35 1-5s. Two-mile professional lap race--H.
G. Crocker, first, 31 points; time, 6m. 42s. Two-mile Pennsylvania
Division State championship--A. C. Banker, first; time, 6m. 3 1-5s.
One-mile bicycle, 3:30 class--W. D. George, first; time, 3m. 21 2-5s.
One-mile professional handicap--W. F. Knapp, 30 yards, first; time, 2m.
52 3-5s. Two-mile bicycle scratch--W. W. Windle, first; time, 6m. 15s.

_Tuesday, September 25._

One-mile bicycle lap race--W. W. Windle, first, 14 points; time,
2m. 55s. One-half-mile bicycle novice--W. D. George, first; time,
1m. 38s. Three-mile bicycle professional, second heat of world’s
championship--W. A. Rowe, first; time, 8m. 57s. One-mile bicycle, 3:10
class--W. D. George, first; time, 3m. 19 1-5s. One-mile professional
handicap--R. A. Neilson, 50 yards, first. One-mile bicycle scratch--W.
W. Windle, first; time 3m. 2-5s. Two-mile bicycle professional--W. F.
Knapp, first; time, 6m. 14s. Three-mile bicycle amateur handicap--W. W.
Windle, scratch, first. Time, 8m. 59s.

_Wednesday, September 26._

One-mile bicycle amateur handicap--W. W. Windle, scratch, first; time,
2m. 58½s. One-mile professional bicycle scratch--R. A. Neilson, first;
time, 3m. 12s. Two-mile bicycle amateur, 6:20 class--W. D. George,
first; time, 7m. 2s. Two-mile bicycle amateur lap race--W. W. Windle,
first; time, 6m. 20s. One-mile professional bicycle, final heat world’s
championship--W. A. Rowe, first; time, 3m. One-mile bicycle amateur
scratch--W. W. Windle, first; time, 2m. 55 3-5s. One-mile bicycle, 3:20
class--W. D. George, first; time, 3m. 23s. Two-mile bicycle handicap,
professional--H. G. Crocker, 20 yards, first; time, 6m. 11s. Five-mile
bicycle L. A.W. State championship--W. D. Banker, first; time, 16m. 28s.

* * * * *

~The~ Indianapolis Wheelmen held their first annual race meet at the
Exposition Grounds, September 29. The track was bad, the weather was
wretched, and time poor. The results were as follows: The one-mile
novice race was won by W. C. Marmon, in 3m. 20 4-5s.; the five mile
State championship by L. M. Hollingsworth, in 17m. 6 4-5s.; the
one-half mile heat by A. B. Taylor, in 1m. 31s.; the one mile club
championship by Tom Hay, in 3m. 59 4-5s.; the two-mile lap by L. M.
Hollingsworth, in 7m. 7s.; the quarter-mile heat by A. B. Taylor, in
42s.; the one-mile, 3:30 class, by Chas. McKeen, in 3m. 42s.; the
one-half mile heat by L. M. Barber, in 1m. 34s.; the one-mile rover
safety by A. L. Tabor, in 3m. 56s.; the quarter-mile heat by A. B.
Taylor, in 43 2-5s.; the one-mile open by A. J. Lee, in 3m. 51¼s.; the
one-half mile, 1:30 class, by Josh Zimmerman, in 1m. 39 2-5s.; the
two-mile handicap by L. M. Hollingsworth, in 6m. 42 3-5s.

* * * * *

~The~ bicycle races at Wilmington, Del., October 18 and 19, resulted
as follows: Mile open--S. W. Merrihew, W. W. C., 4m. 7¾.; E. J.
Halstead, Y. M. C. A., second. Mile, 3m. class--Merrihew, 4m.
54½s.; Ludwig, Honeybrook, Pa., second. Three-mile lap race--W. I.
Wilhelm, won, 19 points, 13m. 28s.; Merrihew, second, with 14 points.
Half-mile open--Wilhelm, 1m. 45½s.; Halstead, second. Two-mile 6.20
class--Merrihew won in 8m. 4½s., but was protested as being out of
his class. The race will go to McDaniels--Mile novice--C. R. Guiding,
Reading, Pa., 4m. 26¾s.; J. D. Kurtz, Jr., second. Half-mile, state
championship--B. F. McDaniels, Wilmington, 1m. 34½s. Victor Pyle, 2d.
Five mile state championship--McDaniels won, 19m. 51s.; Victor Pyle,
2d. Mile, 3:30 class--McDaniels won, 3m. 37s., J. D. Kurtz, 2d.

* * * * *

~The~ races at Quincy, Ill., October 11, resulted: Half-mile--Percy
Stone, St. Louis, first; Lumsden, Chicago, second: Colie Bell, third;
1m. 48¾s. Quarter-mile, hands off--J. Harry Gordon, St. Louis, 1m.
38s.; Frank Peters, Newton, Kas., second. Mile, open--R. A. Neilson,
Boston, won, 3m. 10s.; Munger, Chicago, second; Knapp, Denver, third;
Crocker, Boston, fourth. The grand-stand fell in during the races,
injuring many people.

* * * * *

~Our~ cycling friends will read the following with pleasure, as
it shows that there is a probability of the improvement of the Madison
Avenue pavement being accomplished shortly:

~Office of the Board of Aldermen~, }
~No. 8 City Hall, New York~. }
October 24, 1888. }

_To the Editor of_ ~Outing~.

Dear Sir: I have the pleasure of informing you that at the Board
meeting yesterday your resolution for a noiseless pavement on
Madison Avenue, between 32d Street and 59th Street, was passed.

Yours very truly,

~Geo. H. Forster~.

~Department of Public Works~, }
~Commissioner’s Office~, }
~No. 31 Chambers St., New York~. }
October 24, 1888. }

_To the Editor of_ ~Outing~.

Sir: In answer to your letter of the 6th inst., urging the
desirability of continuing the asphalt pavement on Madison Avenue,
from 32d Street to 59th Street, I beg to say that this work
was included in the Department Estimate for “Repairing Streets
and Avenues” for 1889, and that the work will be done by this
Department next year if the Departmental Estimate is approved by
the Board of Estimate and Apportionment.

Very respectfully,

~D. Lowber Smith~,

_Deputy and Acting Commissioner
of Public Works_.

FOOTBALL.

~An~ Interscholastic Football Association has been formed in
Boston, in which the following schools are represented: Roxbury Latin,
Boston Latin, Chauncy Hall, Cambridge High and Latin combined, Mr.
Hopkinson’s, Mr. Hale’s and Mr. Nichols’ and Mr. Stone’s combined,
and Mr. Noble’s. The officers are as follows: President, R. B. Beals,
Roxbury Latin School; vice-president, E. B. Randall, Mr. Noble’s
school; secretary, F. W. Lord, Mr. Hale’s school; treasurer, F. Loring,
Mr. Nichols’ school. The series of games consists of one game with each
school, to be played on grounds mutually agreed on, for a cup to be
called the Boston School Football Challenge Cup.

* * * * *

~The~ first game of football in the United States was played in
New Haven, in 1840, between the classes of ’42 and ’43 of Yale College.

* * * * *

~The~ Intercollegiate Football Association held its annual
meeting in New York, October 13. The colleges represented were:
Yale--Camp, Corbin and King; Harvard--Brooks, Palmer and Sears;
University of Pennsylvania--Hill and Hulme; Wesleyan--Coffin and
Manchester; Princeton--Barr and Cowan. The interpretation of the rules
as regards blocking was left as suggested by the Graduate Advisory
Committee.

* * * * *

~The~ New England Intercollegiate Football Association held
its annual meeting in Springfield, Mass., September 28. Trinity
withdrew from the Association and Williams was admitted. The colleges
represented this year are: Amherst, Dartmouth, Massachusetts Institute
of Technology, Stevens’ Institute of Technology, and Williams.

* * * * *

~The~ Graduate Advisory Committee of the Intercollegiate
Football Association met at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, October 6, to
select umpires for the several association championship matches.
The delegates present were: J. A. Hodge, of Princeton; Mr. Brooks,
of Harvard; W. C. Camp, of Yale; J. C. Bell, of the University of
Pennsylvania, and Mr. Beattys, of Wesleyan. It was decided to ask the
following gentlemen to act: Yale vs. Harvard--R. Hodge, Princeton; Yale
vs. Princeton--F. Fisk, Harvard, F. R. Remington, alternate; Yale vs.
Pennsylvania--R. Hodge, Princeton; Yale vs. Wesleyan--F. Fisk, Harvard;
Harvard vs. Princeton--E. Richards, Yale, A. Baker, alternate; Harvard
vs. Pennsylvania--L. Price, Princeton, H. Beecher, Yale, alternate;
Harvard vs. Wesleyan--J. A. Saxe; Princeton vs. Pennsylvania--H.
Morris, Harvard College; Princeton vs. Wesleyan--W. A. Brooks, Harvard;
Wesleyan vs. Pennsylvania--R. Hodge, Princeton, W. A. Brooks, alternate.

After the delegates had reached an agreement about the umpires they
proceeded to give interpretations to Rules 10, 24 and 25, which read
as follows:

Rule 10--Interference is using the hands or arms in any way to obstruct
or hold a player who has not the ball, not the runner.

Rule 24 (a)--A player is put off side if, during a scrimmage, he gets
in front of the ball, or if the ball has been last touched by his own
side behind him. It is impossible for a player to be off side in his
own goal. No player when off side shall touch the ball, or interrupt or
obstruct opponent with his hands or arms until again on side.

Rule 25--No player shall lay his hands upon or interfere by use of
hands or arms, with an opponent, unless he has the ball.

The Princeton delegate wished to have these rules so changed that
a rusher should be allowed to block with his arms and also to use
his open hands in pushing his opponent. The committee came to the
conclusion that such a radical change should be left to the meeting
of undergraduates and therefore decided merely to put the following
interpretations on the rules:

(_a._) The side which has the ball can only interfere (or block) with
the body, and no use of the hands or arms will be permitted in any
shape.

(_b._) The side which has not the ball can use the hands and arms as
heretofore, so long as they do not get “off side.”

The great idea in these rules is to do away with the disagreeable
“slugging” feature that has characterized intercollegiate football
matches for the past five or six years.

* * * * *

~The~ Harvard team defeated the Technology team at football,
October 13, by a score of 18 to 0. There was a large crowd of
spectators despite the drizzling rain. Some of Harvard’s best men were
not on the team, but they won nevertheless.

* * * * *

~The~ opening game of the American Football Union took place on
the grounds of the Staten Island Cricket Club, at Livingston, October
13. The teams of the Orange Athletic Club and the Staten Island Cricket
Club took part in it. The game was a hot one, and ended by the Orange
team winning. The score was 4 to 0. Mr. Larkin was referee.

* * * * *

~The~ Princeton team beat Stevens’ Institute at football, on
the grounds at Princeton, N. J., October 13, by a score of 80 to 0.
The Institute team lacked training, but some good individual work was
displayed.

* * * * *

~Harvard’s~ Football team won the contest with the Worcester
Technology Eleven on Jarvis Field, Cambridge, October 27. The score was
68 to 0.

KENNEL.

~The~ National Dog Club held a meeting in this city, October
15. Twenty new members were admitted. Among other business transacted,
writes Secretary H. W. Huntingdon, it was decided--

“That the American Kennel Club be formally notified that the National
Dog Club of America is ready and will be pleased to aid it in advancing
the interests of the breeders and exhibitors of this country.

“That should the American Kennel Club desire to confer with the
National Dog Club, the latter, on receiving such expression, will meet
it in the person of Dr. J. Frank Perry, the chosen representative of
the executive committee.

“That hereafter at all bench shows there shall be appointees of the
executive committee of the National Dog Club to take charge of the dogs
of those of the club’s members who are unable to attend, to see that
such dogs are properly benched, fed, watered, groomed, brought before
the judges, etc., and at the end of the show to superintend their
reshipment. The expense of such service to be borne by the National Dog
Club.”

* * * * *

~The~ New England Kennel Club will hold its next annual show in
Boston, April 2, 3, 4 and 5, 1889.

* * * * *

~The~ chances of a bench show in Pittsburgh this winter are
slight. The last venture in that direction was not a success.

* * * * *

~The~ Richmond Dog Show was a very creditable exhibition. The
enterprise, however, was not successful financially.

* * * * *

~The~ Erminie Kennels, Mount Vernon, N. Y., have purchased from
Mr. Jarvis, Scarborough, Eng., the well-known rough-coated St. Bernard,
Lysander; also the imported smooth-coated St. Bernard dog, Barry out of
Bella, own sister to the celebrated Guide.

* * * * *

~A special~ meeting of the American Pet Dog Club was held
October 15. The following members were present: Mrs. Charles
Wheatleigh, Mrs. M. E. Randolph, Mrs. John Draper, Mrs. Frank Leslie,
Miss Marion Bannister, Dr. M. H. Cryer, Mr. W. J. Fryer, Jr., Mrs.
Henry B. Cowles, Mrs. Landreau. By a resolution of the club, Mr. C.
Ormsby was expelled from membership and the office of secretary which
he held was declared vacant.

* * * * *

~The~ third annual meeting of the American Coursing Club was
held at Great Bend, Ind., October 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 and 20. It proved
a great success. The winner of the Great Bend Derby was Master Hare, a
perfect specimen of his breed. Thorn, the winner of the Silver Cup, is
a well-known greyhound in the neighborhood of Great Bend. The annual
meeting of the club was held on the evening of October 19. President
David Taylor of Emporia, Vice-President D. W. Heizer of Great Bend,
Secretary F. K. Doan of St. Louis, Treasurer V. Prinkman of Great Bend,
were re-elected for the ensuing year. Mr. D. V. Heizer, Mr. H. C. Lowe
and Mr. W. W. Carney were elected as the executive committee.

* * * * *

~At~ the last meeting of the American Kennel Club, the following
changes in the contemplated new Constitution and Rules were offered by
Mr. Hitchcock:

Amendment to Article V., Section 1, of the Constitution, by adding “and
no delegate shall represent more than one club.”

The following are the amendments to the Rules:

Now Rule III. by changing in Section No. 3, the words “Kennel Club
Show” to “show recognized by the American Kennel Club.”

Proposed Rule XVI.: “unit of weight” should read “limit of weight.”

Add to proposed Rule XVII. to list of classes “Kennel Classes”; and add
to Rule VIII.: “The Kennel Class shall be for kennels of dogs of the
same breed to compete as a kennel. The number of dogs to comprise a
kennel must be fixed by the Show Committee.”

Proposed Rule XVII., Section 6, by changing the word “four” on second
line to “five.”

Proposed Rule XVII., by adding to Section 5, “and for dogs for which no
challenge class has been provided.”

Last section of proposed Rule XVII. so as to read: “All dogs qualified
to compete in a Champion Class previous to January 1, 1889, shall
compete in the Challenge Class. The winnings referred to in these rules
apply only to shows recognized by the American Kennel Club, a list of
which, together with these Rules, must be published in the Premium List
and Catalogue of each Show.”

~Herman F. Schellhass~,

_Sec’y pro tem. A. K. C._

LACROSSE.

~A Lacrosse~ match for the Eastern Championship and the
Oelrichs’ Cup was played October 13, at Staten Island. The contestants
were the teams of the Staten Island Athletic Club and the Brooklyn
Lacrosse Club. The latter won after a desperate struggle by a score
of 4 goals to 3. Canadian lacrosse men present stated that it was the
finest exhibition of lacrosse they had ever witnessed.

* * * * *

~A match~ game between the teams of the Montreal Club from
Canada and the Cambridges was held on the Union Grounds, Boston Mass.,
October 6. Heavy rains interfered somewhat with the games. The Montreal
team won by a score of 6 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ Victoria team defeated the Orients, both of Montreal,
during the week ending October 6, by a score of 3 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ Crescents also the same week, in the same city, beat the
team of the St. Lawrence Club after the same fashion.

* * * * *

~The~ Hawthornes and the Jerseys, two other Canadian clubs, also
during the same week had a match game, in which the Hawthornes were the
victors by a score of 3 to 1.

* * * * *

~The~ Waltham and the Cambridge Lacrosse Teams met on the
grounds of the Cambridge Club, October 13, to contest for the Boston
_Herald_ Cup and the New England Championship. The Waltham team won
by a score of 2 to 0. The following was the organization of the
contestants:

Flohr Goal Phalen
Young Point Clacy
Cook Cover point Ritchie
Clements { Defense } Watson
C. Brown { field } Wyman
Menard { } Phillips
Smith Centre Gilmore
Stanley { } Crocker
Barton { Attack } Rourke
A. Brown { field } Clancy
Ballard First home Wells
Eyrick Second home Crocker

LAWN TENNIS.

~Mr. C. A. Chase~, the Champion of the Western States, goes
into winter quarters with quite a brilliant record for the season. He
began this year by winning the Western Championship, following this up
by capturing the honors at the Wright & Ditson tournament. He also won
again the following week at the invitation tourney at Nahant, and added
to his victories the last of September the Middle States Championship
at Rochester.

~The~ fifth annual tournament of the Intercollegiate Lawn Tennis
Association was held on the grounds of the New Haven Lawn Tennis Club,
October 8, 9 and 10. Eight colleges were represented and the play
resulted as follows:

Singles, Preliminary Round--Vernon, Princeton, beat Woodruff, Amherst,
6-3, 7-5; Ludington, Yale, beat Mapes, Columbia, 5-2, 6-0; Campbell,
Columbia, beat Wheden, Brown, 8-6, 7-5; Hurd, Yale, beat Banks,
Williams, 6-1, 6-2; Sears, Harvard, beat Johnston, Princeton, 6-1, 6-2;
Wright, Trinity, h beat Deane, Amherst, 7-5, 6-4; Hall, Columbia, beat
Brown, Harvard, 6-2, 6-2. First round--Hall beat Ludington, 6-3, 6-3;
Hovey, Brown, beat Vernon, 6-3, 6-3; Campbell beat Hurd, 6-3, 3-6, 6-3;
Sears beat Wright, 6-2, 6-2. Second round--Hall beat Hovey, 6-3, 6-2;
Sears beat Campbell, 6-3, 5-7, 8-6, 6-4. Final game--Sears beat Hall,
7-5, 4-6, 6-2, 4-6, 6-2. Game for second prize--Campbell beat Wright,
6-3, 6-3.

Doubles, Preliminary Round--Hurd and Huntington, Yale, beat Wheden
and Hovey, Brown, 3-6, 6-1, 6-3; Chase and Tailer, Harvard, beat
Woodruff and Deane, Amherst, 6-0, 6-1; Campbell and Hall, Columbia,
beat Banks and Meigs, Williams, 6-1, 6-3. First round--Chase and Tailer
beat Woodruff and Deane, 6-0, 6-1; Campbell and Hall beat Ludington
and Beach, Yale, 8-6, 6-3; Sears and Shaw, Harvard, beat Hurd and
Huntington, 6-3, 6-4; Vernon and Johnson, Princeton, beat Wright and
Scott, Trinity, 6-4, 6-4. Second round--Campbell and Hall beat Chase
and Tailer, 6-4, 6-4; Sears and Shaw beat Vernon and Johnson, 6-1, 6-2.
Final game--Campbell and Hall beat Shaw and Sears, 7-5, 6-2, 6-3. Games
for second place--Ludington and Beach beat Chase and Tailer, 6-1, 2-6,
6-2. Final game--Sears and Shaw beat Ludington and Beach, 5-3, 8-6.

The officers of the Association for the ensuing year are: G. A. Hurd,
Yale, ’90, president; Q. A. Shaw, Harvard, ’91, vice-president; and O.
S. Campbell, Columbia, ’91, secretary. The next tournament will be held
as usual on the New Haven grounds.

* * * * *

~The~ Boston _Herald_ of October 14, says, regarding the
champions of the world and the premier lawn tennis players of both
sexes in two continents:

The comparative playing-form of both sexes in England has been tested
on two or three occasions during the past season. At Exmouth, says
London _Pastime_, the champion gave the lady champion 30 and defeated
her by 2 sets to 1, after a very hard match. At Manchester, Miss
L. Dodd won by 2 sets to love against W. Renshaw at the same odds,
and at half 30 she beat W. Grove, setless. How far Miss L. Dodd is
above the acknowledged next best player, Mrs. Hillyard, was proved at
Exmouth, when she gave the ex-lady champion half 30 for a bisque and
defeated her. This performance vies with E. Renshaw’s victory over G.
W. Hillyard at Torquay, when owing him half 40, for the glory of being
the most remarkable match of the year. The champions for 1888-9 are as
follows:

England--Champion, E. Renshaw; lady champion, Miss L. Dodd; doubles
champions, E. Renshaw, W. Renshaw; ladies’ doubles champions, Miss L.
Dodd, Miss May Langrishe.

Ireland--Champion, E. Renshaw; lady champion, Mrs. Hillyard; doubles
champions, W. J. Hamilton, T. S. Campion; ladies’ doubles champions,
Miss M. Steedman, Miss B. Steedman.

Scotland--Champion, P. B. Lyon; lady champion, Miss Butler; doubles
champions, H. B. Lyon and P. B. Lyon.

Wales--Champion, W. J. Hamilton; lady champion, Mrs. Hillyard.

Covered Court--Champion, E. W. Lewis.

United States--Champion, H. Slocum, Jr.; doubles champions, V. G. Hall
and O. S. Campbell.

The United States National Lawn Tennis Association has not yet
recognized a lady championship, and if any such championship is claimed
it is open to question.

* * * * *

~The~ lawn tennis season in England has ended, and from the
results of play for the year an interesting review has been completed
by the London _Pastime_. This shows that hardly a tournament, after
the end of May, was free from the serious inconveniences caused by
heavy falls of rain. Among the principal features of the season was the
defeat of W. Renshaw by W. J. Hamilton, in the championship tournament
at Wimbledon, and the success of his twin brother, Ernest Renshaw, at
the same meeting. The champion, E. Renshaw, has not once been defeated
on level terms, and his record against the first-class players is an
excellent one. Against the second-class players his average is not
as good as those of the other men in his class. He lost two sets out
of eight played, while Lewis lost only that number out of twelve,
and Hamilton three out of seventeen. The two sets lost by Renshaw
were in his match with Wilberforce, at Wimbledon, on the day that W.
Renshaw was defeated by Hamilton, when the ground was in a very soft
condition. Neither Renshaw or Lewis lost a set to a third-class man.
The classification of the leading English lawn-tennis players for the
season of 1888, based on actual public performances, in matches on
level terms, is as follows:

First class--E. Renshaw, W. J. Hamilton, E. W. Lewis.

Second class--W. Renshaw, E. G. Meers, H. F. Lawford, H. Chipp, P.
B. Lyon, A. G. Ziffo, H. Grove, H. S. Barlow, E. de S. Browne, H. W.
Wilberforce, J. Pine, J. Baldwin, C. G. Eames, H. S. Scrivner, T. S.
Campion, F. A. Bowlby.

Third class--H. S. Stone, F. L. Rawson, W. D. Hamilton, W. C. Taylor,
C. L. Sweet, M. S. Constable, W. C. Hillyard, C. H. Ross, J. R. Deykin,
F. S. Noon, P. B. Brown, A. Thompson, A. de C. Wilson, G. R. Newburn,
W. Baddeley, F. O. Stoker, H. S. Mahoney.

The placing of W. Renshaw, ex-champion, in the second class is due to
the rule that no player beaten by a player in the second class, without
having defeated one in the first class, shall be placed in the first.

* * * * *

~The~ development of tennis in the Southern States, both as to
the number of clubs and players and the improvement shown in play, is
wonderful; and, although the first open tournament at Washington, in
September, resulted in the honors being brought to Boston by Messrs.
Mansfield and Hoppin, the Northern players who were in attendance
during the week of the tournament all look forward to seeing two, if
not three, strong players from the South in the national championship
of next year. Mr. Post, of Baltimore, is perhaps the most promising
among the younger set. He is only seventeen years of age, yet taking
the odds of half-fifteen from Tom Pettitt, he made a very creditable
showing, winning the first set. Charles L. McCawley, of the Marine
barracks, is another rising player, and with his partner, Mr. Post,
they made a strong fight in the final doubles against Hoppin and
Mansfield. The above championship was played on dirt courts, and the
Country Club contemplates covering the courts in. Thus the Southern
players will be able to keep in practice all the year round. With the
many advantages for play afforded the players in the South, they will
before long make dangerous rivals for our Northern cracks. Already
there are more than 100 lawn tennis clubs and many new ones are
springing up every day.

* * * * *

~The~ Hunnewell Tennis Court, near Dartmouth Street, Boston, has
been reopened pending the completion of the courts in the new building
of the Boston Athletic Association on the Back Bay. Tom Pettitt is
again in charge, and Messrs. Hunnewell, Warren, Metcalf, Dr. Haven, and
other lovers of the game, are in regular practice.

POLO.

~The~ New England Association of Polo Clubs, at Hartford,
October 22, elected the following officers: President, T. H. McDonald,
New Haven; vice-president, F. C. Bancroft, Springfield; secretary and
treasurer, F. E. Sands, Meriden; directors, H. W. Putnam, Salem; H.
P. Merrill, Springfield; C. F. Clark, Boston; Chas. Soby, Hartford.
Messrs. Clark and Putnam urged a consolidation of the Connecticut and
Massachusetts divisions, by taking in Boston and Worcester, the Salem
team to remove to Worcester, but the Connecticut representatives would
not consent, and Messrs. Clark and Putnam announced an intention of
forming a league of six clubs.

The Connecticut division elected the following officers: President,
E. J. Smith, Hartford; vice-president, W. N. Harris, Bridgeport;
secretary, T. H. McDonald, New Haven; treasurer, F. E. Sands, Meriden;
directors, F. C. Bancroft, Springfield, and Chas. Soby, Hartford. Mr.
Bancroft’s location at Springfield was approved. Secretary McDonald was
authorized to receive applications for appointment as referees.

ROWING.

~The~ record on the Paramatta Championship course in Australia
was broken recently in a race between Henry E. Searle and James
Stadsbury. Stadsbury is not yet out of his teens. Searle covered the
first mile in 5m. 35s., and the 3 miles 300 yards in 19m. 53s. The men
rowed with the tide. The best previous record made over the course,
20m. 29s., was made by Beach in his race with Hanlan in August, 1884.
Searle has been matched to row Kemp at Sydney, N. S. W., on the 27th
inst.

* * * * *

~Goepfert~ of the Metropolitan Rowing Association of this city,
who was charged by James Pilkington, his partner in the double-scull
race at the National Regatta, July 19, at Sunbury, Pa., with selling
out the race, was found guilty by the executive committee of the
National Association of Amateur Oarsmen, at a meeting held October 13,
and expelled from the amateur ranks. When Goepfert’s conduct was first
reported, ~Outing~ took occasion to point out the bad results
sure to follow unless the most rigid measures were adopted to get at
the truth of the charges made against him, and if they were found true
the severest punishment should be meted out to him. The executive
committee has done the amateur athletes a good service.

* * * * *

~The~ Harlem Regatta Association held its Fall regatta October
13. The Association is now in its twenty-first year. The course was one
mile straightaway. Weather threatening; slight shower; wind light;
water smooth. The following is the summary of the contests:

Four-oared gigs, with coxswains--Nautilus B. C., Bay Ridge, L. I.,
F. Oleson (bow), D. Voorhees, C. Sutton, M. Donally (stroke), J.
Schellenburg (coxswain), won in 5m. 51s.; Atalanta B. C., M. Lau (bow),
W. Lau, J. Miller, G. K. Storm (stroke), E. J. Byrne (coxswain), second
in 6m. 2-5s.; Nonpareil B. C., J. Plummer (bow), F. Zellecke, J.
Canavan, I. Maas (stroke), H. W. Nelson (coxswain), third.

Senior single-scull shells--O. J. Stephens, Union R. C., was the
winner in 6m. 50s.; J. Pilkington, M. B. C., 7m. 3s.; W. Goodbody,
Metropolitan R. C., third.

Junior four-oared shells--Metropolitan R. C., G. C. Johnston (bow),
J. T. Hettrick, J. E. Nagle, J. A. Heraty (stroke), came in winner in
5m. 41s.; Nonpareil R. C., C. Schilling (bow), J. Meehan, T. Wade,
F. Zellecke (stroke), 5m. 50s.; New York Athletic Club, E. Valentine
(bow), S. G. Carr, R. Fisher, J. E. Lambden (stroke), third. Nonpareil
was impeded by N. Y. A. C.

Pair-oared shells--New York Rowing Club, C. L. Andrews (bow), J. C.
Livingston (stroke), were the victors, 6m. 23s.; Union R. C., G. J.
Eltz (bow), M. B. Kaesche (stroke), second; Nonpareil R. C., G. A.
Delancy (bow), J. J. Delaney (stroke), quit at half way.

Junior single-scull shells--E. R. de Wolfe, A. B. C., came in first,
6m. 16s.; O. D. Thees, Nassau B. C., second; A. J. Davenport, A. B. C.,
third.

Pair-oared gigs, with coxswains--Atalanta B. C., M. Lau (bow), W. Lau
(stroke), E. J. Byrne (coxswain), won in 6m. 13s.; Columbia B. C., Glen
Echo, N. J., J. A. Dempsey (bow), G. C. Dempsey (stroke), N. Southard
(coxswain), 6m. 19s.; New York Athletic Club, G. D. Phillips (bow), J.
W. Burr (stroke), E. Freeman (coxswain), 6m. 23 2-5s.; Nonpareil B. C.,
G. Bates (bow), P. H. Morgan (stroke), H. W. Nelson (coxswain), 6m. 25
2-5s.

Double-scull shells--Ravenswood (L. I. City) B. C., A. J. Buschmann
(bow), J. Flatt, Jr. (stroke), reached the goal in 5m. 11s.; Union B.
C., O. J. Stephens (bow), E. T. Haubold (stroke), 5m. 33s.; Nonpareil
B. C., G. A. Delancy (bow), H. Zwinger (stroke), 5m. 37s.; Varuna B.
C., Brooklyn, L. I., G. E. Laing (bow), T. Hield (stroke), fourth;
Metropolitan B. C., R. Keat (bow), J. Pilkington (stroke) did not
finish.

Senior four-oared shells--Metropolitan B. C., G. C. Johnston (bow), J.
T. Hettrick, J. E. Nagle, J. A. Heraty (stroke), captured the prize in
5m. 17s.; Nonpareil B. C., G. A. Delancy (bow), H. Zwinger, I. Maas,
J. I. Delancy (stroke), second, by several lengths; Union B. C., H.
Roche (bow), E. T. Donovan, M. B. Kaesche, G. J. Eltz (stroke), third;
Atalanta B. C., M. Lau (bow), W. Lau, J. Miller, G. K. Storm (stroke),
fourth. The Metropolitan crew were the same four men who rowed and won
the junior four-oared race two hours before.

Eight-oared shells, with coxswains--New York Athletic Club, E. W.
Knickerbocker (bow), E. Weinacht, W. O. Inglis, I. Spalding, F. G.
McDougall, J. Cremins, M. J. Austin, E. J. Giannini (stroke), E.
Freeman (coxswain), won in 5m. 14s.; Nonpareil B. C., G. Bates (bow),
P. H. Morgan, C. H. Beck, H. Zwinger, T. Wade, H. C. Boedecker, I.
Maas, J. J. Delancy (stroke), H. W. Nelson (coxswain), 4m. 19s.;
Dauntless B. C., A. F. Camacho (bow), C. J. Connell, J. K. Mumford,
H. W. Walter, F. H. Burke, L. M. Edgar, V. Mott, M. F. Connell
(stroke), I. C. Egerton (coxswain), 5m. 23s.; Metropolitan B. C., D.
H. Bransfield (bow), G. C. Johnston, T. S. Mahoney, J. T. Hettrick,
J. E. Nagle, J. A. Heraty, K. Kent, J. Pilkington (stroke), M. B. Foy
(coxswain), 5m. 33s.

* * * * *

~The~ eighth annual regatta of the Union Boat Club was held on
the Harlem River, October 20. The course was from Macomb’s Dam Bridge
over a straightaway course of nearly a mile.

In the race for single gigs T. A. Fitzsimmons started off with an easy,
telling stroke, which he kept up to the finish, winning apparently
without effort, F. J. Burke making second place.

In the double-shell race George, J. Eltz and Harry Roche were defeated
by E. Haubold and Olin J. Stephens by three lengths.

The four-oared gig contest was an exciting event. Four crews entered.
The winning one was composed of S. Van Zandt (stroke), Louis Walter, F.
J. Burke, E. T. Donovan and William Schneider (coxswain). The crew of
Coxswain E. P. Murtha got second place.

The starters in the junior single-shell race were Harry Roche, E.
T. Haubold and Charles Halkett. When half way over the course Roche
dropped out, and while Halkett was overhauling Haubold, the latter
upset, making the race a paddle over for Halkett.

The eight-oared shell contest was won by George T. Eltz (stroke), E.
B. Schile, William D. Kelley, E. T. Donovan, Charles Halkett, John J.
Schile, J. P. Donovan, Harry Roche and Olin J. Stephens (coxswain).
Coxswain Schneider’s crew was second.

* * * * *

~James R. Finlay~, ’91, of Colorado Springs, Col., has been
chosen to fill the vacancy caused by the resignation of Captain Storrow
of the Harvard University Crew.

* * * * *

~George W. Woodruff~ has been elected to succeed Carter as
captain of the Vale University Crew. Woodruff rowed in the University
eight and has played football on the eleven for three years.

* * * * *

~Yale~ class races were rowed October 13, on Lake Saltonstall.
The weather was bad. The single scull race for the Cleveland cup was
declared off on account of a foul. The mile race between ’92 and ’91 S.
was won by ’92 in 5m. 51s. The two-mile race between ’90 and ’91 was
won by ’91 in 11m. 36s.

* * * * *

~The~ Harvard class races came off on the Charles River, October
26. Considerable pluck was displayed by the contestants. With a broken
oar the sophomore crew made a gallant struggle. The juniors, too, made
a manly fight and were beaten only by about half a length by ’90, with
’92 a good third. The seniors thus won their first class race with this
crew--Bow, E. W. Dunstan; 2, J. H. Proctor; 3, C. A. Hight; 4, E. P.
Pfeiffer; 5, F. E. Parker, captain; 6, A. P. Hebard; 7, E. C. Storrow;
stroke, C. E. Schroll; coxswain, J. E. Whitney.

* * * * *

~The~ annual fall regatta of the Columbia College Boat Club
was held on the Harlem River, October 19. The contests were between
crews in six-oared barges from the Freshman classes in the Schools of
Arts and Mines, and between eight-oared shells in which the crews were
chosen by lot.

The first race, three-quarters of a mile to a finish opposite the
boat-house, was between the freshmen. For a short distance the crews
kept together, but after that the Arts crew drew ahead, and landed a
winner by four lengths. The victorious crew were: J. C. Travis, bow;
F. W. DeGray, No. 2; J. A. Barnard, No. 3; E. P. Smith, No. 4; E.
H. Sisson, No. 5; A. C. Hazen, stroke; H. C. Pelton, ’89, coxswain.
Their opponents were H. Ries, bow; C. B. Anel, No. 2; E. Wenland, No.
3; E. Flint, No. 4; B. Robertson, No. 5; H. Weatherspoon, stroke; W.
Robertson, ’91, coxswain.

The next race between four scratch-eights was more closely contested
and more surprising to the students, as the crew that won had been
thought an excellent candidate for third place. The winning crew were:
Jopling, ’89 (mines), bow; Douglass, ’90 (mines), No. 2; Camman, ’81
(arts), No. 3; Bunzle, ’88 (arts), No. 4; Dempsey, ’91 (law), No. 5;
Hewlett, ’90 (mines), No. 6; Bradley, ’90 (mines), No. 7; Pelton, ’89
(mines), stroke; Cheeseborough, ’91 (arts), coxswain.

* * * * *

~The~ Harvard Boat Club held its annual meeting October 9. The
following officers were elected for the ensuing year: President, G. F.
Keyes, ’89; vice-president, J. P. Hutchinson, ’90; secretary, C. F.
Crehore, ’90; manager and treasurer, S. Dexter, ’90.

SHOOTING.

~The~ Minnesota National Guard Rifle Association had a very
successful meeting at Fort Snelling. The meeting lasted five days. The
weather was miserable except the first day.

The Judgment Match, two shots at 100, 200, 300, 400, 500, and 600
yards, was won by Lieut. T. C. Clark, whose scores at 100, 200, 300,
400, 500, and 600 yards were 3, 3; 4, 4; 4, 5; 5, 5; 3, 5; 3, 5. Total,
49.

The Stillwater Match at 200, 300, and 500 yards, was won by Prof. C.
Mandlin with the following fine score: 42, 49, 47, respectively. Total,
138.

Rapidity Match at 200 yards, sixty seconds to fire--won by C. M.
Skinner; total. 38 out of 86 hits. On the targets there was not a
bulls-eye made.

The Pillsbury Match--cup valued at $100, donated by C. Pillsbury & Co.,
for teams of six men, 5 shots each, at 200 and 500 yards, was won by
Co. C, 1st Regiment Minnesota N. G., with a total of 280 points, and
Co. A., 1st Regiment Minn., 259 points; Muscatine Team (Iowa), 215
points.

The Reeve Match (open to commissioned officers of the M. N. G.)--Capt.
Skinner, 58, first; Lieut. E. W. Bird, 58, second.

Minneapolis Match (7 shots each at 200, 500 and 600 yards), won by W.
J. Bain. Total, 86.

Commissioned Officers Match (10 shots at 200 and 500 yards)--won by
Lieut. E. W. Bird. Total, 80.

Enlisted Men’s Match (5 shots at 100, 200, 300 and 500 yards)--won by
Corporal Falk, 79.

Company Team Match (7 men, 7 shots each at 200 and 500 yards)--Co. C,
1st Regiment Minnesota, 340; Co. G, 1st Regiment Minnesota, 334; Co.
A, 1st Regiment Minnesota, 333; Co. K, 1st Regiment Minnesota, 272;
Wisconsin Team, No. 1, 370; Wisconsin Team, No. 2, 370.

Regimental Team Match (10 men from the 1st, 2d and 3d Regiments, M. N.
G., 10 shots each at 200, 300 and 500 yards)--1st prize, the State cup,
value $250, to be won three years before it becomes the property of
the regiment. The 1st Regiment now owns it, having won it three years
in succession. The scores were: 1st Regiment Team, M. N. G., 1250; 3d
Regiment Team, Wis. N. G., 1225; 3d Regiment Team, M. N. G., 1033; 2d
Regiment Team, M. N. G., 838. (The last had but three men.)

Washburn Match (State team match at 200 and 500 yards, to be held by
the Adjutant-general of the State winning it for the year)--Minnesota
Team, 984; Wisconsin Team, 964; Iowa Team, 846.

St. Paul Match--(10 shots at 200, 300, 500 and 600 yards)--Cole
Mandlin, 1st, 164; W. J. Bain, 2d, 163: H. T. Martin, 3d, 162; E. W.
Bird, 4th, 161; J. H. Bacon, 5th, 160. The Springfield U. S. musket was
used in all the matches.

* * * * *

~At~ the Ohio State Trap Shooters’ League, the league offered
$80 in cash prizes for the best average in all shoots except the
championship, which was won as follows: Mr. Heikes, of Dayton, O.,
214, 1st; Al. Bandle, Cincinnati, O., and C. W. Hart, Huron, O., 213,
2d; Mr. Benscotten, 210, 3d. The championship was undecided as Hart
and Heikes tied so often. The shooting of each was very fine. They
tied first on 48 out of a possible 50; their second tie was 47 out of
a possible 50, and third tie was 49 out of a possible 50. Both being
out of cartridges the match was postponed to a future day, and as Mr.
Heikes won the cup last year he retains it until this match is decided.

* * * * *

~A match~ between the Wawaset Gun Club, of Trenton, N. J., and
the Wingohocking, of Philadelphia, was shot at Germantown, Pa., October
18. Teams of 11 men to shoot at 25 birds--15 single rises and 5 double
rises. The Wawaset Club won by 27 birds, the scores being Wawaset,
211; Wingohocking, 184. Of singles, Wawaset hit 138, missed 27; and in
doubles, hit 73 and missed 37. Total singles, 211; Total doubles, 64.
Wingohocking in singles hit 117 and missed 48, and in doubles hit 67
and missed 43. Total singles, 184; total doubles, 91.

* * * * *

~The~ annual rifle meeting of the 3d Division Rifle Association,
of Albany, N. Y., was finished at Rensselaerwyck range, October 13.

The Continuous Military Match (200 yards), with 112 entries, was won by
Major C. H. Gaus, with a score of 46; Sergt. Miles, 2d, 46; W. C. Gomp,
3d, 46.

Standard American Target Match--re-entry, 91 entries--W. C. Gomp, 1st,
79; B. C. Andrews, 2d, 79; J. J. Newbery, 3d, 79; A. Donner, 4th, 79.

Championship Marksmanship Badge, open to members of the National Guard,
New York, was won by Private D. H. Ogden, with the score of 22 at 200
yards, 25 at 500 yards--total 47; Major Gaus, 2d, with 21 at 200 yards,
25 at 500 yards.

Rest Match at 200 yards, 33 entries--S. Schreiber, 1st, 108--possible,
144.

The Stevens Target Pistol Match--distance, 30 yards, open to pistols
and revolvers, 109 entries--Major C. H. Gaus, 85, 1st; M. Roberts, 85,
2d; J. J. Newbery, 82, 3d.

The 2d Separate Company of Binghampton won the 3d Brigade Team Match--a
trophy valued at $100, presented by the State. The same Company also
won the Company Match, $50, presented by the 10th Battalion, N. G. S.
N. Y.

* * * * *

~Mr. J. B. Fellows~, a member of the Massachusetts Rifle
Association, at the range at Walnut Hill, October 13, did some fine
shooting with a single-shot pistol, 22 calibre, at so yards. The
weather conditions were not favorable for big scores. The scores were:
91, 90, 92, 91, 85--total, 449.

* * * * *

~Mr. C. W. Weeks~, President of the Minneapolis (Minn.) Rifle
Club, accomplished some extra fine work with the long range rifle,
October 10, on a very trying day for rifle-shooting. The shooting was
at 800, 900 and 1000 yards, his total of 221 out of a possible 225
being an extremely fine score for such a poor day. His scores were: 800
yards, 73, possible 75; 900 yards, 75, possible 75; 1000 yards, 73,
possible 75--total, 221, possible 225.

* * * * *

~The~ Connecticut National Guard held the annual Brigade
Rifle Tournament at Hartford, October 17. The day was miserable for
rifle-shooting, rain falling nearly all day. The scores made for such
a day were good. The Presentation Sword for the best score made by an
officer in the Regimental Team match, was won by Lieut. Col. C. E.
Thompson, 1st Regiment, with the following score: 28 points at 200
yards--possible 35; 32 points at 500 yards--possible 35.

The enlisted men’s prize, a cabinet, was won by Corporal George Kerr,
4th Regiment, making 31 points at 200 yards--possible 35; 30 points at
500--possible 35.

Sergeant Ripley, of the Hartford City Guard, won the gold badge for
highest score in the Company Team match.

The Regimental Team Match (at 200 and 500 yards, 12 men each, 7 shots
each, man at each range), was won as follows:

200 YDS. 500 YDS. TOTAL.

1st Regiment 326 319 645
2d “ 316 310 626
3d “ 311 293 604
4th “ 307 290 597
5th Battalion 260 194 454

Company Team Match (at 200 and 500 yards, 6 men, 5 shots per man at
each distance), was won as follows:

200 YDS. 500 YDS. TOTAL.

Company K, 1st Regiment 115 117 232
Company C, 4th “ 109 104 213
Company F, 1st “ 113 99 212
Company K, 2d “ 108 98 206
Field and Staff, 1st “ 98 106 204
Company C, 2d “ 109 94 203
Company B, 4th “ 98 101 199
Field and Staff, 2d “ 106 89 195
Company A, 2d “ 97 93 190
Company I, 3d “ 95 91 186
Company D, 2d “ 100 83 183
Company G, 3d “ 93 88 181

TOBOGGAN.

~The~ Essex County Toboggan Club of Orange County elected the
following Board of Governors for the season of 1885-89: John Firth,
T. W. Hall, E. P. Hamilton, Charles T. Minton, Clarence D. Newell,
John H. Sprague, Louis E. Chandler, Dr. T. A. Levy, Dr. G. B. Dowling,
R. G. Hopper, Frank Lyman, D. H. Carstaers, Charles Hendricks, N. B.
Woodworth, and C. F. Whiting.

YACHTING.

~The~ Ohio Yacht Club at its last annual meeting, October 14,
elected the following board of officers Commodore, Geo. H. Ketcham;
vice-commodore, H. R. Klauser; rear-commodore, M. T. Huntley;
secretary, J. E. Gunckel; treasurer, J. M. Kelsey; fleet surgeon, Dr.
J. T. Woods; fleet captain, E. E. Kirk; directors, Geo. H. Ketcham, H.
R. Klauser, J. E. Gunckel, J. M. Kelsey, G. W. Bills, W. H. McLyman,
E. Bateman, Ed. Mitchell, C. E. Curtis; measurer. E. P. Day; regatta
committee, James Dority, Henry Marshall, J. A. Faskins.

* * * * *

~Can~ any of our readers inform us what has become of the
following clubs, and what are their present addresses?

_Canoe_: Cincinnati Canoe Club, Cincinnati, O.; Hub Canoe Club, Boston,
Mass.; Union Canoe Club, Boston, Mass.; Lake George Canoe Club, Lake
George, N. Y.; Philadelphia Canoe Club, Philadelphia; Quaker City Canoe
Club, Philadelphia; Chicago Canoe Club, Chicago, Ill.

_Rifle_: Empire Rifle Club, New York City; Germania Rifle Club, Boston,
Mass.

_Yachting_: Phœnix Yacht Club, Chicago, Ill.

_Cycling_: Port Schuyler Wheelmen, Port Schuyler, N. Y.; Junior
Wheelmen, Washington, D. C.; Clyde Cyclers, Clyde, N. Y.; Clarion
Bicycle Club, Philadelphia; Colorado Bicycle Club, Denver, Col.

_Rod and Gun_: Acme Club, Brooklyn, N. Y.; Independent Club, Montreal,
Can; St. Lawrence Club, Montreal, P. Q., Can.

_Fishing_: “I Don’t Know” Fishing Club, Cincinnati, O.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

[_This department of_ ~Outing~ _is devoted to answers to
correspondents seeking information on subjects appertaining to all
sports._]

_A. L. M., Boston, Mass._--We think that you are wrong in your ideas.
Dr. L. Wolff, of Philadelphia, after speaking of the complete freedom
from ordinary adulteration which he had found in wines and brandy
supplied by the California Vintage Co., of 21 Park Place, N. Y. City,
goes on to say: “I have also determined their alcoholic strength, and
found them to correspond strictly in this respect with the standard
of pure and natural wines. As a native of a wine-producing country, I
consider myself somewhat of a judge of wines, and regard your products
as comparing more than favorably with the wines from abroad.”

* * * * *

_E. M. H., Harrisburg, Pa._--Yes. We have seen some specimens of
absolute novelties in calendars. They are of celluloid, decorated in
artistic designs, and, besides being useful as calendars, will serve
admirably as bric-à-brac ornaments, and are original, pretty, and
inexpensive. They are made by Messrs. Weeks & Campbell, 149 Church
Street, N. Y. City.

* * * * *

_Professor, St. Charles, Mo._--To gain such a knowledge of football as
you desire, your best plan is to obtain copies of the “Book of Rules”
and “Football; How to Coach a Team.” Should you desire to do so, you
can obtain copies through ~Outing~.

* * * * *

_John S., Wilkesbarre, Pa._--The owner of the canoe is the only man who
can furnish you with the required information.

* * * * *

_E. W. C., East Hampton, Mass._--In the opinion of experts, fencing
cannot be learnt without a master; but it would be easier to dispense
with a master after some progress had been made, than before acquiring
the rudiments of the art. It is almost impossible to learn the
parries and attacks without some one showing you how to execute them.
There are no books of any value on fencing in the English language.
The best articles ever published in America on the subject were in
~Outing~ (October, 1887, and February, 1888). All reference to
books in French can be found in the former number. The best “theory”
ever published is that used by the French army, and published by the
Minister of War. It can be obtained on application. But this is a
professor’s book, and would be of little value to a pupil ignorant
of the first rudiments of the art. Professor Rondelle, whose fencing
academy is at No. 106 West 42d Street, and who is the _maître d’armes_
of the Knickerbocker Fencing Club and of the Manhattan Athletic Club,
is now at work on a book on fencing, which, when finished, will be
the most complete, thorough, and interesting book of the kind ever
published.

* * * * *

_A. M. R., Newark, N. J._--For the purpose you mention you can hardly
do better than buy some of Rogers’ groups of statuary. They are
excellent, both in design and treatment.

* * * * *

_J. H. D., Philadelphia._--You say nothing of the present state of
the lawn. We should think that in case you want to refresh an already
well-laid lawn, a slight sprinkling of wood ashes would be better than
soot.

* * * * *

_Doggy, Milwaukee, Wis._--A whippet is now considered a distinct
variety. Originally, it came from a cross between the terrier and
greyhound, possibly the Italian greyhound.

* * * * *

_Choke-Bore, 23d Street, City._--We believe the largest bag ever made
in one day was that on Mr. Lloyd Price’s estate in North Wales in
1885, viz., 5,086 rabbits, 1 grouse, 1 snipe, and 1 woodpigeon. Lord
Walsingham’s big bag of grouse, of which you will find an account in
the Outing Club, is, however, much more remarkable.

* * * * *

_Fox-hunter, Baltimore, Md._--You will find that you can obtain
first-rate riding-boots from R. M. Sheridan, 30 Broad Street, New York
City.

* * * * *

_Medicus, Pittsburgh._--Dogs of large breeds grow until they are about
two years old. You need not, therefore, be perturbed about your puppy,
for he will probably be as large as you can desire.

* * * * *

_Joseph M. R. City._--If you want a dog “as fast as a greyhound” he
must be of that breed, for no other dog is as fast. But for the purpose
you mention, we should think such cross as between a Scotch deerhound
and a Great Dane would suit you.

* * * * *

_Sportsman, Quebec, Can._--The best receipt for making ordinary cloth
goods water-proof is the following, which was used by old Jack Russell,
the noted Devonshire sporting parson. Take alum 6 ozs., sugar of lead 3
ozs.; dissolve this in 12 quarts of boiling water, and let the mixture
stand 6 hours, with an occasional stir. Then strain off the liquid, and
soak the cloth for 48 hours, and dry it in the shade. It is scarcely
necessary to say that the cloth is best treated thus _before_ being
made up into a suit.

* * * * *

_Gymnast, Pittsburgh, Pa._--For a gymnast’s outfit, as well as for all
kinds of gymnastic apparatus, you will do well to apply to Messrs. A.
J. Reach & Co., 1,022 Market Street, Philadelphia.

* * * * *

_Farmer, Westchester Co., N. Y._--The wonderful amount of butter made
from the milk of one cow, as to which you inquire, is the record
of “Shadeland Maud,” one of the Holstein-Friesian herd belonging
to Messrs. Powell Bros., Springboro, Crawford County, Pa. This
extraordinary record has, however, since been eclipsed by their
“Shadeland Boon.”

* * * * *

_Cruiser, Lake George._--You cannot do better than write to the Western
Arms and Cartridge Company, 47 and 49 State Street, Chicago, Ill., for
a catalogue of Douglass’s boats, for which they are agents. You can
purchase from them such a craft as you desire for a very reasonable
sum.

[Illustration:

COPYRIGHTED.

ICE-YACHT “NORTHERN LIGHT,” FEBRUARY 14, 1887.

FROM AN INSTANTANEOUS PHOTOGRAPH BY C. E. SCHAFFER, OF POUGHKEEPSIE, N.
Y.]

~Outing.~

~Vol. XIII.~ JANUARY, 1889. ~No.~ 4.

AMONG THE TAURUS MOUNTAINS.

BY L. B. PLATT.

Quitting the broad highways of travel, it is often refreshing to turn
aside from beaten paths and strike off into new regions, where foot
of tourist and pen of magazine writer have not awakened the sacred
silences, startled the resident deities, and broadcast their treasures
upon the world.

Through such a byway among the mountains of Taurus, in Asia Minor, from
the sea-coast at Mersina, through half-ruined Tarsus, and across the
wide Cilician Plain to the ancient cities of Marash and Aintab we made
our journey.

There were three of us, Gould, a picturesque youth of seventeen
mild summers, with carefully mapped side-whiskers of a style that
had never before invaded that sequestered portion of the world, and
afforded unceasing entertainment to the curious and admiring natives,
Lee, a missionary at Marash, in the interior, and myself, the modest
chronicler of our adventures. With three horses of the light-stepping
Arabian blood, whose native turf is the sharp, loose stones of the
mountains, another of less noble lineage to carry our pack, and an
Armenian servant to run behind, we entered upon the Great Plain of
Cilicia.

Immediately we were upon historic ground. Alexander had been here
before us, wading breast-deep around that rugged promontory in the
distance, beaten by the thundering Mediterranean surges, and sweeping
the plain of his enemies with the velocity and destructiveness of
a cyclone. He had met Darius the Persian here and annihilated his
magnificent array in the world-famous battle of Issus, where “all day
long the noise of battle rolled between the mountains and the (summer)
sea.”

Cicero had been here as Roman Governor of the Province of Cilicia;
had chased the bandit mountaineers into the fastnesses of the hills,
defeating them there and flushing his maiden sword with victory, for
which he ambitiously claimed, but never received, a Roman Triumph.

Antony and Cleopatra had been here, sailing the River Cydnus--the same
Cydnus in whose cold waters Alexander bathed, overheated by the tropic
sun, and almost lost his life. And poor Antony, also overheated, lost
body and soul together by the no less tropic love glances of the
Egyptian Queen. And who could wonder at it, if, as Shakespeare tells
us--

“The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar’d all description: she did lie
In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue--
O’er-picturing that Venus where we see
The fancy outwork nature: on each side her
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids.

* * * * *

At the helm
A seeming mermaid steers.”

[Illustration: A CARPENTER OF THE TAURUS.]

And here also, on the banks of this same river, swollen and rapid
with the melting snows of Taurus, not far from the sea, is the
forlorn-looking city where Saul of Tarsus was born to the trade of a
tentmaker and the exalted career of the greatest of the Apostles. In
Tarsus, once a free city under the Roman Empire, her coins proudly
stamped “Metropolis,” at one time more illustrious with academies and
schools of philosophy than Athens or Alexandria, the ancient Marseilles
of the Mediterranean, real estate has taken a fearful tumble since Paul
boasted that he was a citizen of “no mean city,” for he “was born in
Tarsus.” Seven thousand squalid inhabitants still cling with amazing
tenacity to life, and carry most of the real estate around with them
as personal property. There is absolutely nothing of interest to be
said of it, for it is not even a ruin. It is the degenerate scion of a
noble ancestry, in “looped and windowed raggedness,” whose only claim
to respectability is the “high connections” of past history; and of
these the most is made, for among other pretensions not the least is
the ancient one, that to this very port the prophet Jonah set sail when
“he entered into a ship of Tarshish and paid the fare thereof.”

Riding leisurely through the suburbs, we are soon in the heart of
the Great Plain. Two hundred and seventy miles from east to west,
sixty-eight in greatest breadth from white-capped sea to snow-capped
mountain, are the vast dimensions of this Cilician prairie. The soil
is as fertile as nature ever made, the rich alluvium of three rivers
constantly depositing itself in thick layers, century after century,
and yet it is a comparative desert, often stricken to death with famine
and calling upon the pitying world for help from starvation. And why is
it? The only sufficient answer is--the Turkish Government!

Our first night we spent in the city of Adana, the present metropolis
of the Plain, a city of 30,000 inhabitants, as geographers tell us,
and, as they do not tell us, of as many mosquitoes to each inhabitant.
We made a careful estimate of them that very night. In fact it was
not without considerable anxiety that we waited to see how many, and
in what condition the survivors would be who would respond to the
breakfast call next morning. For myself, I had thought that that
morning would never come; or, if it did, it would come too late for
me to derive any benefit from it in this present life. I noticed that
the roosters around town seemed to entertain the same opinion. They
started in about midnight with considerable confidence, and once in a
while would all take hold and lift together in one grand crow, and then
settle back disappointed--there was a hitch somewhere, the sun would
not up. In the meantime, a tender regard for the feelings of my readers
would not allow me to attempt any description of our sufferings--only
this, that after exhausting every stratagem I could think of to outwit
the enemy--all to no purpose--I simply threw back the bedclothes in
the madness of despair, and said,“Come on, then, if you want to!” And
they came. They came in ranks and squadrons, wing touching wing, like
Milton’s fallen angels when they went down with whir and rustle and
clatter of stumpy wings into the pit. And as fast as they came I lifted
my hand and slaughtered them--or rather, _thought_ I did.

Then it occurred to me, in my half-asleep condition, that I would
gather up those dead mosquitoes and pile them into a monument, so that
if I should be devoured alive there would at least be something to
mark the spot. But before I could find mosquitoes enough to lay the
corner-stone, I fell asleep. I dreamed I was bodily lifted up on wings
and borne through the air. I passed over island and ocean and continent
and ocean again. And just as I came in sight of my home and saw my
mother on the doorstep, there was an awful crash, and then a groan, and
somebody said, “Great Caesar!” I awoke to see my friend Lee sitting
upright in bed, listening with head bent forward, as if his life
depended on his hearing something--his hands were uplifted and spread
wide. Then there was the feeble first note of a song in the air, and
the hands came together with fearful precision, and I thought, “Well,
that mosquito has sung his doxology any way.” But there was no more
sleep that night, and when the morning came we were a sorry company to
think of starting on a long pilgrimage that day.

[Illustration: A TIN-SMITH’S SHOP.]

All the forenoon we were making preparations for our journey. There
were horses to obtain, and donkeys and saddles and provisions and
servants, so that it was the middle of the afternoon before we were
ready to start. We were going that day’s journey in company with a
small caravan. Now, if a person has never seen a caravan get under way,
he has something still in this world to live for. In the first place,
when the horses and donkeys are brought together, as they were in this
case, into the narrow courtyard of the house to be loaded, it seems to
occur to all of them at once that the proper thing for them to do under
such circumstances is--to kick. And they evidently think that what is
worth doing at all, is worth doing well.

[Illustration: A MOUNTAIN MENDICANT.]

I left my horse standing a moment to run up stairs, and when I
returned, which was at the call of Mr. Lee to “come and hold your
horse,” that animal of mine had made a circuit round that yard, like a
comet round the sun--heels first, and left a clean swath behind him all
the way. And when you add to all this confusion the crying of servants,
the barking and yelping of dogs, the howling of babies, and above all,
the screaming of camels and that excruciating bray of the jackass which
makes you willing to stake all you possess that he can’t do that again
and live through it; why, then you can gather some faint idea of what
the starting of a caravan is on a small scale.

We mounted our horses and marched off in magnificent procession. They
say that the grandest moment in the life of a boy--that moment when
first he feels that there was no hap-hazard about his being born, but
is conscious that he came into this world for a purpose, is when for
the first time he gets on a pair of red-topped boots. They are the
cradle and that is the birthday of all his after greatness. And I think
that it is equally true that the very sublimest and _topmost_ event
in the life of any young man is when, with a belt full of pistols, a
heart bursting with valor and a spur on his heel he puts his foot into
the stirrup and swings himself across the back of a horse. I am ready
to admit that it was so with me. I felt as though somebody ought to
go ahead on the road and let people know that I was coming but that
I wasn’t dangerous and probably wouldn’t hurt anybody. I remembered
that it was the same country where the Apostle Paul had been taken for
Mercury and Barnabas for Jupiter, and I thought that likely enough this
people would take it into their heads that I was the War God, Mars, let
loose upon them and careering through their country breathing fire from
my nostrils and striking out hot lightnings from my horse’s hoofs.

[Illustration: A COUNTRY BELLE.]

I had two pistols; one of them had a barrel about the size of a quill
tooth-pick. But I knew from what experience I had had with that weapon
that all that was necessary would be to find the right man and somebody
to hold him and it would then be only a question of time--I should
certainly kill him. But my other pistol was altogether a different
affair. It was as much too large as the other was too small. It was
somewhere from one to three feet long and extended from my third rib
down to my knee-pan, like a lightning rod down the side of a chimney,
and kept me bolt upright and stiff in my saddle. It was so formidable
that I would not have liked to fire it off without getting behind
something. And I thought that if worse come to worst and we met a
Circassian coming to rob us, I would just hand it over to him and let
him discharge it, and watch and see what became of him.

But there was one member of our party whom I must not forget to
mention, and that was the soldier or military police--the “zabtieh”
as he is called. For the sake of convenience we will call him the
“Government,” because he represents the Government. The advantage of
having him with you is, not so much that he is a kind of traveling
masked battery, concealed mostly by earthworks, nor that he always
provides himself with a fast horse so that in case anything happens
he can turn tail and make off so speedily that the next party going
over the road will not be left without a guide and protector--not so
much either that his gun is likely to be a flint-lock without any
flint in it, as that when you have one of these ornamental gentlemen
traveling in your company, and are attacked and plundered, the Turkish
Government is bound to make good your losses in such a way that your
great grandchildren, if they are healthy and long-lived, will have the
benefit of them. It was this last consideration which determined us
to take a zabtieh. One of the most interesting relics of antiquity,
and almost the only voice out of the past, from this historic plain,
is a simple monument of a single stone with the Latin inscription to
the effect that a certain Roman captain--giving his name--“erects
this pillar to the gods of his native land.” It was the Roman way of
giving vent to homesickness, and this true patriot, stationed on these
inhospitable shores so far from home, has left this pathetic monument
of his longing to return. It is a beautiful tribute to that tender
touch of nature which makes the whole world kin. A good, true heart he
must have buckled under that Roman cuirass. Let us hope that he got his
furlough with full pay.

[Illustration: HADJAM--OR NATIVE BARBER.]

The sun had dropped behind the mountain wall and the moon had taken
his place with scarce diminished radiance when we approached the
long-forgotten town of Mopsuestia. The atmosphere was so clear that we
had seen the town for at least three hours, apparently only just ahead
of us, but it never seemed to come any nearer. In fact, it seemed to be
moving ahead on the road somewhat faster than our party. I tried to
remember whether I had not somewhere read that at a certain season of
the year corresponding with our first of May, the inhabitants of this
country take up their houses on their backs and go off with them to a
new place. But I could not make myself remember anything like that.

[Illustration: ON THE MARCH.]

At last it became dark, and I was glad of it, because I thought that
if those people _were_ really going off with that city, they would
probably want to set it down and rest when night came on, and then we
should have a chance to overtake them.

And now the moonlight had effect upon us and we began to sing. First
our Armenian servant, Crecor, started in. I thought I recognized the
tune and was about to join in, when suddenly it changed to something
else. At first I was sure it was “I need thee every hour”--next minute
it was “Pull for the shore.” And I said: “All right, I would just as
lief sing that.” But before I could pull my diapason and get my mouth
open, it had changed again to “I want to be an angel.” “All right,”
said I, “so do I.” But before I could join with him and be an angel,
he had flown the track and was off again. When at last he wound up and
put on the flourishes with a strain that limped on one leg like “Yankee
Doodle,” and on the other like the “Old Hundredth,” and finally leaped
up into the air and vanished in a heart-rending cry of anguish topped
off by a howl that shook the stars, I did not try to follow him. I
secretly suspected that, no matter how badly he wanted to be an angel,
he never would be until he could make better music than that.

At last we came to the old river Pyramus. As we passed over the ancient
stone bridge, fast falling into ruin, the musical click-clang of our
horses’ hoofs on the archway was echoed back by the swift-running
waters of the river beneath. Each wave of the stream seemed to be
lifting itself to look at us and was struck down again by the arrowy
glance of the moon, shivering and running away to tell the pebbles
along the shore what a strange people with hats on, and even shirts and
pants, they had seen.

But now, right ahead of us loomed up the walls of the hotel where we
were to pass the night. It was by far the most high-toned hotel in the
place--in fact it was the only one. It consisted of four stone walls
about ten feet high without any roof. There was no bed-chamber, no
bed, no carpet, no floor, no light, no fire, nothing to sit down on,
nothing to eat and, so far as we could discover, no proprietor. But
there _was_ a door and it was locked for fear someone might imagine
there was something inside, I suppose, and then go in and steal it;
and by ill-luck someone had gone off with the key. Crecor went off to
hunt it up and soon returned with the clerk of the hotel who ushered
us in, horses and all, through the front door into the parlor. We had
thought of telegraphing ahead to have the best chamber reserved for us,
but were glad that we had saved ourselves that expense. For it happened
that we were the first who registered that night, with the exception
of a donkey and a man and his wife, and so we had the whole range of
the hotel. We selected the corner where there seemed to be the fewest
stones and least rubbish and cleared a place to put up our tent. And
now for something to eat.

[Illustration: CIRCASSIAN MOUNTAINEERS.]

Lee had brought along a chest full of bread, cake, canned goods,
chicken, eggs, etc., so we were well provided with all but the
appetite. We did not any of us want anything after that long, hot,
dusty ride but just a watermelon apiece, and then to go to bed in the
shortest and speediest manner. But to fall asleep was another matter.
How it seemed to my traveling companions I don’t know, but there was
such a horror of desolation about that place, such an awful, oppressive
night-silence that made me think of all that I had ever read in the
Bible about jackals howling in ruined places, hooting owls and
creeping foxes and satyrs crying to their fellows, that I determined
as soon as I struck the bed that if anybody got to sleep before I did
he would have to be lively about it. I wasn’t going to be the last
awake that night, anyway, and so I bent all my energies to the task. I
had heard that if anyone would start slowly and count five hundred, it
would surely put them to sleep. And so I began. I reached four hundred
and fifty, and was just falling off into slumber when it occurred to
me that I had only fifty more to count, and maybe I wouldn’t make it,
and, of course, that excited me and woke me up. I thought that perhaps
I had counted too fast, and concluded to give it another trial. began
more slowly. I kept saying to myself, “Now, not too fast!” and of
course. that kept me awake. I reached 499, and while I was waiting for
something to happen before I said 500, the thought flashed through my
head, “Well now, it seems to me it wasn’t 500 that puts folks to sleep
after all, it was a thousand.” All right, I would try a thousand. I
did. I went on to two thousand, three thousand, five thousand. I
became wrought up. I said to myself, “I’ll do it if it takes forty
thousand. I’ll lie on this bed all night, and all day to-morrow, if
need be, and count a million.” And I believe I would have done it, if
another plan had not happened to occur to me.

[Illustration: A NOMAD MOTHER.]

I had read somewhere that if a person could only get their body into
a certain position, no matter how wide awake they might be, sleep
would immediately follow. I said to myself: “Now, how glad I am that I
happened to think of that.” But, then, I couldn’t remember what that
position was. Never mind, I would try them all, and see if I could
strike it. I had rather a narrow field to operate in, for my iron
bedstead wasn’t wide enough to turn over in without rolling out. And
it wasn’t long enough, so that my feet could not go to bed at the same
time I did. At last I think I must have hit it, for I fell asleep,
and my last thought was, “I’m glad my mother does not know where I am
to-night.”

Strange to say, it had not rained in that country for four solid
months, but that night it rained as though it had been saved up for
our special benefit. It waked us up at midnight. It drove in above
and ran in below. It rolled down the folds of the tent like so many
waterspouts. We all sat up in bed and looked at each other. We wanted
to say something, all of us, but each seemed to be waiting for the
other and wishing he would say it first, until, there being nothing
else to do, Lee carefully gathered together the folds of the tent so
that the water all ran down into his bed (which he didn’t discover
until he laid down again). I put on my overcoat and again crawled into
bed. The last I saw of Gould, he was lying flat on his back holding an
umbrella with both hands, hoisted and spread over him, and trying to
sleep.

Next morning we arose before daylight, called for our hotel bill,
paid it (it was only fifteen cents for the whole company), mounted
our horses and rode out of the front door with a long day’s journey
of forty-five miles before us, a blazing sun above us, and the River
Pyramus flowing by our side. The memory of that day is like one of
those winterbird’s nests swinging on the tree, frozen stiff with
rain and dreary enough, without a warm feather in it or a note of
song. I have a confused recollection of a sun that was unmistakably
hot, a white road that made it hotter, and a desert wind that was
“Hottentotter.” I recollect, too, that I rode a horse that was never
happy unless he was ahead, and I was never happy unless he was behind.
I remember that I carried a sun umbrella, and every time a horse tried
to go ahead of mine he would elevate his hind feet and lift me into the
air, still holding on to my umbrella, until I had all the experience of
going up in a balloon. But I _do_ have a very distinct recollection of
every time I came down again. It seemed to me that that saddle was all
pommel, for though I went up and came down perhaps a hundred times, I
never could land anywhere else.

We passed trains of camels, herds of donkeys, men and women on foot,
and here and there a Mohammedan under the shade of a tree or wall going
through with a gymnastic performance of standing on his head, which is
the way he prefers to say his prayers. On every side was wilderness,
parched and withered, without a spear of grass or a green leaf. But all
things must have an end, and so must our journey. We made up our minds
when we went to bed on the third night that next morning we would get
up at three o’clock and push through, a journey of a day and a half, to
Marash.

And what a morning that was!

We had pitched our tent in a valley, between the high perpendicular
walls of two mountains. The moon rode full overhead and passed along
just on the broken edge of one of them, now leaping a chasm, now
dodging behind a crag, now looking down through a leafy gorge with
a brilliancy of glory such as our moon never attains, except in the
frostiest nights of winter, by the aid of a ground covered with snow.
I was able to read a newspaper with ease. I tried it, holding it off
at a natural distance. I could see distinctly every feature and line
of a photograph of my mother which I took from my inside vest pocket
and gazed at, as I thought possibly for the last time. I could even
see to read my own writing as I penned what I thought might possibly
be my last words. What made me think so was this: We were to start
that morning through a mountain pass infested by robbers. Now, I hope
my readers will meditate on this, and try to be as scared as I was. It
was the same pass in which Mr. Montgomery, of Marash, with a friend,
had been robbed but a short time previous. They had passed a group of
Circassians, the highwaymen of that region, lying by the roadside,
holding their horses and waiting for someone to come along. They had
gone but a short distance when there was a clatter of hoofs around the
bend of the mountain, a flashing of pistol barrels leveled straight at
their heads, and a command to dismount and give over. And there was
nothing else to do. The five Circassians stood over them with knives
and made them empty their pockets and give up their weapons. Then they
took their horses and left them to make the best of their way home on
foot, some twenty or thirty miles across the mountain. And now we were
entering that same pass. And it was night.

We had not gone far, groping our way up the narrow trail in single file
over rough stones, not speaking above a whisper, and wishing that our
horses’ hoofs were shod with velvet, when Lee turned about and said:
“Have you got your shooting-irons ready? We must be pretty near the
place now where Montgomery was robbed.”

Oh dear! I felt awful. I wanted to go back. It wasn’t what I came
for, to be shot down on that cold mountain in the dark by a shirtless
Circassian. The next moment we came where there was a big tree right
ahead of us and oh, horrors! we could hear distinctly the voices
of several men in conversation. At the same time I thought I heard
something in the bushes beside me. Then I was sure of it. Then I saw
it move. Then a man stepped out into the road close to me. I drew my
pistol and held it where he could see the flash of the barrel in the
moonlight.

He stood still and I passed him, turning round in my saddle to keep my
eye on him.

We all had our pistols out and were ready with pale cheeks, and hearts
that thumped like drumsticks.

But we passed by unmolested.

Lee said afterwards that if we had not been well armed and looked so
formidable we should probably have been attacked and robbed. I was glad
that I _looked_ so.

The only other incident of any importance before we reached Marash was
the downfall of the Turkish “Government.” He was riding ahead in grand
style, full of the proud consciousness of having brought us safely
through the mountains, pricking his horse with the sharp corner of the
stirrup, which is used for a spur, and then playfully reining him up
on his haunches, when suddenly, but with the utmost grace, horse and
rider, with pistols and knives and gun, with brown rags and red rags
fluttering in the wind, head down and feet uppermost, went tumbling
over into the bushes. When he appeared again, unhurt but drooping at
both ends like a dog when the boys have just got the pan securely
fastened and are urging him to run, it was a sight that did us all
good. We hadn’t laughed before in three days, and from that moment our
feelings began steadily to improve. At last we came out into the open
plain and ascending a rise of ground, saw in the far distance, hanging
on the side of the mountain like an avalanche which has run half-way
down and stopped in a gorge, the white houses of the city of Marash.

Three hours after we were riding through its streets, climbing up and
up until we reached the high wall surrounding the buildings of the
Mission. We rode in through the gate, and before we could dismount the
missionaries were upon us. They welcomed us so heartily that we could
not have been happier if we had returned home to America.

[Illustration]

CALIFORNIAN LYRICS.

A MORNING TRYST.

The oleander bends its boughs above the running water,
Sing, robins! call, orioles! coo, wild doves, coo!
Ah! the iris skies above her have a less bewildering blue
Than the eyes of the rancher’s daughter.

The oleander shall hear vows above the running water;
Sing, robins! call, orioles! coo, wild doves, coo!
If she choose me for her lover, she shall find me fond and true,
True and fond for the rancher’s daughter.

The oleander swings its blooms above the running water;
Sing, robins! call, orioles! coo, wild doves, coo!
In the clover bees are humming: shall I dare be bold and sue
For the lips of the rancher’s daughter?

The oleander breathes perfumes above the running water;
Sing, robins! call, orioles! coo, wild doves, coo!
Shyly, shyly she is coming while the sun is in the dew
On her path--ah! the rancher’s daughter.

II.

SNOW-WIND.

Down from the stately Sierras, down through our valley of flowers
Sweeps the snow-wind from far summits; the white rose trembles and
cowers;
The red rose flaming beside it, bends quivering and yields
Its homage to the strong wind, rushing on to the green wheat fields.

III.

A PINE-CONE FIRE.

Not two, not three, but twenty! Now half of twenty more--
Huge cones that the kings of the forest, the kings of the forest
bore.
Now, snap and blaze and sparkle, oh, banners of fire that flow
Towards fire of the stars! Glow royally, hearthstone, glow;
Burn, cones, in fiery blossoms. Each crown-like flower disclose
Your petals of coals that drop down in ashes of rose.

_Minna Caroline Smith._

[Illustration]

AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

I.--HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

BY J. MOTT HALLOWELL.

(Continued from page 241.)

ROWING.

A History of the development of boating at Cambridge would in itself
fill a large-sized volume, and would only be a repetition of what has
been often written before. The boating interest of the college dates
its rise from a time long antecedent to that of any other athletic
contests, as we understand them now, and the first intercollegiate
race, in 1852, was rowed more than ten years before Harvard began her
intercollegiate baseball games. At first desultory races with Yale
were rowed, in which Harvard was usually victorious; then the National
Rowing Association of American Colleges was formed, and Harvard
annually sent a crew to the Intercollegiate regatta. About this time
also, 1869, a four-oared crew was sent to England, but was defeated
by six seconds in a four-mile race with Oxford University. Endless
disputes, before and after the races, and the occurrence of many fouls
caused by the large number of entries, at last caused Harvard and Yale
to withdraw in disgust from the National Rowing Association, and in
1878 were begun the annual boat races between the two colleges, rowed
on the Thames at New London. These races are still continued and now
form the only intercollegiate boat races in which the university crew
rows. For seven years Columbia also rowed on the same course, but last
year this race was abandoned. With Yale eleven races have been rowed
over the Thames course, Yale winning six and Harvard five.

Of all athletic training at Cambridge, that for the university crew is
the longest and most trying. Soon after college opens in the fall, the
captain collects a crew of the most promising candidates who are not in
training for football, and begins a little desultory practice on the
river. About the first of December the work begins in earnest and from
then until the Yale race the following June, the candidates for the
crew pursue systematic training. During the winter, social pleasure is
cut down, as the men have to be in bed at an early hour, with possibly
the privilege of sitting up one night in the week. Daily practice is
taken upon the rowing-machines in the gymnasium accompanied by light
chest-weight work and a run out-of-doors. As soon as the ice is off
the river, the crew begins work on the water and soon after goes to
a training table for the rest of the year. Then not only are regular
hours of retiring necessary, but the men must report at eight o’clock
every morning for a short walk before breakfast. This sort of training
accompanied by work on the river, gradually increased in severity,
continues until the last of June, the day of the Yale race.

The Charles River flows within five minutes’ walk of the college yard,
furnishing a fairly good piece of water for practice; and a little
over a mile below the college, it opens into “the basin,” a broad
sheet of water almost two miles in length. On this course are rowed the
class races every May. The three principal rowing events of the year
at Harvard are comprised in these class-races, the Freshman race with
Columbia College and the contest with Yale University.

THE LACROSSE TEAM.

[Illustration: THE LACROSSE TEAM.]

FOOTBALL.

In October, 1872, the first University Football Association was formed
at Harvard. At this time football as a game was but little known in the
United States; a few of the other colleges had formed a league, but the
character of their game was absolutely different from that now played
in America. It was modeled after the English “Association” game, and
was played entirely with the feet; the ball could not be touched by
the hands while the game was in progress, but instead was kicked or
“dribbled” by the player in making his runs. At Harvard the game had a
strong resemblance to our present method, and American football is a
distinct outgrowth of a rough, rushing game as played for some fifty
years on the college campus at Cambridge, a game at first modeled on no
pattern, begun with no rules, but of an irregular, unrestrained growth,
a sort of curious combination of “Association” football as played in
England, and the college rush of those days in which an unlimited use
of the hands and fists was allowed in order to gain possession of the
coveted prize. About the year 1872, however, some Harvard men who had
become acquainted with the English “Rugby” game, seeing the resemblance
between it and the Harvard game, made a careful study of the former,
and recognizing the need of regular rules, adopted a set of rules
peculiarly like the Rugby, but adapted to the method of play then in
vogue at Cambridge.

Thus was evolved a regular game limited by rules which were the
result of a curious combination of three different factors: the
game informally played by “sides” chosen from athletically inclined
students, the rough fights of the Freshman and Sophomore classes in
the annual rush, and lastly the influence of the adapted rules of the
English Rugby game.

[Illustration: THE CREW AT THEIR WINTER WORK.]

In the fall of 1874 Yale issued a call to Princeton, Harvard,
Columbia and Rutgers to form an Intercollegiate Football Association,
but Harvard could not join, because her game was so radically
different from that played at the other colleges. The Yale _Record_
remarked: “Harvard said that her game was so strictly scientific
as to prevent her from ever contending with other colleges whose
games were so entirely devoid of skill.” If Harvard had consented to
join the League, American football to-day would be a very different
game, but she could not have retained her own rules as they were
fundamentally different from those in use at the other four colleges,
and they, naturally wishing to retain their own rules, could have
out-voted her. By her action in refusing to join the League, and her
superiority--principally shown in games against Canadian teams--she
forced first Yale and then the other colleges to adopt the Harvard
game. In 1875 the first Yale-Harvard game was played under the
Rugby Union Rules, practically the same as those used at Cambridge;
and in 1876 the Intercollegiate Football Association was formed
between Harvard, Yale, Columbia and Princeton. The game that Harvard
introduced, Yale and Princeton have since developed.

[Illustration: HARVARD SHOOTING CLUB.]

In 1875 Harvard defeated Yale by four goals and four touch-downs to
nothing. The next year she suffered defeat from Yale by one goal to
three touch-downs, and since that time the Cambridge team has won not
a single Yale game, and only a few from Princeton. The season of 1884
was especially disastrous. In vain the college paper, the _Crimson_,
published semiweekly exhortations to the players to play better
football, and to the undergraduates to take more interest in the team.
The make-up of the eleven was excessively weak, and both the players
and the rest of the undergraduates seemed indifferent concerning
its success, so that at the close of the season it was disgracefully
beaten by Yale and Princeton, and was defeated even by Wesleyan and the
University of Pennsylvania. The undergraduates felt little regret when
the Athletic Committee, who had for a long time been opposed to the
game on account of its brutality as then played, announced that they
considered it “brutal and demoralizing,” and that thereafter Harvard
was forbidden to engage in any Intercollegiate football games. For a
year the rule was enforced, but in 1886 it was reconsidered and Harvard
again took her place in the football arena.

[Illustration: THE CREW’S NEW LONDON QUARTERS.]

That year’s rest was fortunate, for it served as a breathing spell in
which the college could pause and reflect for a brief space, so as to
discern just what the fault was that had sent Harvard to the rear in
football, while she still retained her prominent position in other
games. When in 1886 she was allowed to resume her old position in the
League, she began work with a grim determination to recover her lost
prestige. With comparatively untried material to work upon, Brooks,
’87, the new captain, produced an eleven which was second only to
Princeton and Yale. The record of Captain Holden’s eleven in 1887,
the defeat of Princeton, the game lost to Yale at the New York Polo
Grounds, and the dissatisfaction and dispute over the result, are still
too fresh in the memory to need repetition.

The football played at Cambridge in the last two seasons shows that
Harvard has regained her position as one of the leaders on the football
field. For the seven or eight preceding years, Harvard football had
been nothing more than a weak imitation of the game of Yale and
Princeton. Upon the re-establishment of Harvard in the League, in the
autumn of 1886, the game was first played with a slight attempt at
originality. But the previous decline had been too great to admit of
more than an attempt, and most of the time had to be spent in learning
what the other colleges already knew. In 1887 for the first time in
many years Harvard began the season on an equal footing with Yale and
Princeton, with an equal knowledge of the science of the game and as
clear a perception of what the requirements of the coming year would
be. Instead of tamely imitating the game of the previous year as played
by the two other colleges, she mapped out a plan of work of her own,
and developed a scientific, heavy, rushing game, a system in striking
contrast to the Yale and Princeton style, and entirely different from
the heavy, bull-headed, rushing game as played by all the colleges
six years ago. This style of play had its defects, but it possessed
that which more than counterbalanced them all--it showed that at last
Harvard football was logical and scientific, original in its conception
and systematic in its play, and that the college again had taken her
position as one of the leaders in the development of the American game
of football.

LACROSSE.

Although lacrosse is not a game very generally adopted in this country,
it has been successfully played at Cambridge for nearly ten years.
The Association is but a young brother of the other clubs, having
been formed as late as 1879. It was quickly followed in 1881 by the
formation of the Intercollegiate League, with Harvard as a leading
member, and in 1881, 1882, 1883, 1885, 1886 and 1887 the lacrosse
championship fell to Cambridge, and in two of these years the Oelrich’s
Cup was also secured at the annual tournament in New York. When
lacrosse was first played at Cambridge, fifteen dollars expended for
advertising and policemen, and seven dollars received as gate receipts
was not an unknown experience at a championship game. But successful
teams, and the natural advantages of the game, have gradually extended
its popularity, and now each year the rapidly increasing number of
players attests the growing interest felt by the college.

There are also many other athletic clubs of more or less importance
in the college, which, however, seldom take part in intercollegiate
games--the polo, shooting, canoe and bicycle clubs, and the sparring
association. In tennis, Harvard has furnished some of the leading
players in the country--R. D. Sears, H. A. Taylor, J. S. Clark, P. S.
Sears and Q. A. Shaw; and the extent to which the game is now played
is shown by the fact that, in reply to the questions of the Faculty
athletic committee, out of 1,031 men who replied, over 600 named tennis
as one of their usual forms of outdoor exercise.

FACULTY REGULATION OF ATHLETICS.

In 1882 there entered into Harvard Athletics a new factor, in the shape
of interference with, or rather attempted guidance of, athletics by
the college authorities. With this purpose in view, a committee on
athletics was appointed, consisting of Prof. C. E. Norton, Prof. J. W.
White and Dr. Sargent; a committee which for a time was more discussed,
more abused, and more misunderstood than any other unfortunates who
ever had the complimentary misfortune of being appointed to guide
college athletes into the path they ought to follow. The immediate
cause of its appointment was to prevent several abuses which the
Faculty believed they saw increasing coincidently with the growth of
intercollegiate athletics.

The public sentiment of the undergraduates was favorably inclined
toward the regulating action of the Faculty, and although some of the
overzealous raised an outcry against any interference on the ground
that such would injure their chances of success, the majority and the
more cool-headed undergraduates agreed that some regulation of the
growth of athletics was needed.

The members of the committee were all very strongly of the opinion that
athletics were essential to the highest welfare of the students; but at
the same time they thought they saw tendencies growing which, unless
checked, would be likely to more than offset all the advantages which
were to be gained. They felt that the drift of affairs during the past
few years had been toward the effacement of that clearly defined line
which separates amateur from professional athletics, and that for the
preservation of intercollegiate athletics a strict observance of this
line was necessary. The first step in interfering with the _laissez
faire_ system of athletics was to dismiss the men employed as trainers
by the Athletic Association, and to forbid any “professional” trainer
from appearing on the college grounds. Till that time each would-be
athlete had chosen his own trainer, usually the professional selected
by the H. A. A., but often some professional walker or sprinter who
had no connection with the college. As a result petty disputes arose
among the various trainers, and were continued on the track; and there
was bitter rivalry in obtaining the best runners, in order to secure
the advertisement of having trained a “record” man. Of course, imbued
with this feeling, the trainers neglected the development of the weaker
men who entered into track athletics for the sake of exercise, but
with no hope of breaking a record. It was to remedy this evil that the
committee on athletics forbade professional trainers to appear upon
the college grounds. At the same time, realizing how necessary it was
for the men in training to have some one to look after them, they sent
a request to the corporation that some man might be appointed with a
fixed salary, to have a place in the gymnasium and to act as a trainer
for all the athletes. Their recommendation was accepted, and after a
delay of about a year Mr. J. G. Lothrop was engaged to superintend the
general exercise of all the track men, and also the special work of
those training for the intercollegiate games, and he was installed in
the gymnasium as “assistant in the department of physical science.” The
satisfaction occasioned by this change has borne fruit in the large
number who now work in the gymnasium classes during the winter, the
many candidates for the intercollegiate team of track athletes, and the
brilliant record of the team in annual intercollegiate games.

The second step taken by the committee, in 1882, was to prohibit
the Harvard baseball nine from playing games against professionals.
Previous to this, President Eliot had written to the Faculties of all
the colleges with which the Harvard nine played matches, asking them
whether they would forbid the nines of their respective colleges to
play games with professional clubs in case Harvard took the initiative.
Affirmative answers were received from all except Yale, and she alone
rejected the proposition. Nevertheless, in October, 1882, the Harvard
athletic committee forbade the nine to play further games against
professionals; but the other colleges, instead of adopting the plan,
as, naturally, it was supposed they would, neglected to support the
position taken by Harvard, and up to the present time every college
nine in the country except Harvard is allowed professional practice. At
Cambridge the rule has been strictly enforced since it was adopted in
1882.

If the athletic committee won any favor with the undergraduates by
their successful regulation of track and field athletics, it was all
lost by this baseball regulation. The step was taken with the idea of
drawing a strongly marked line between amateurs and professionals,
thus effectually preventing the professional tendency from increasing
in college athletics; and also to prevent the game from becoming a
monopoly played by a few skilled players, instead of being participated
in by the whole college. It was a measure passed with a good aim,
but nevertheless one which has flown wide of its mark, for its only
practical result has been to heavily handicap the Harvard nine.

When any game in any branch of athletics is successfully played
by a university team, experience shows that greater interest is
always aroused throughout the entire college in that particular
sport; that more “scrub” teams are formed, and a larger number of
undergraduates practise the game, than when they have only a weak,
defeated university team as a model. A higher standard of ’varsity
play may, perhaps, lessen the number of candidates for the team;
but these candidates form only a very small proportion of the
number who incidentally play the game, while the greater enthusiasm
aroused largely increases the number of mediocre players. Thus this
prohibition, besides weakening the nine, besides enforcing more work
on the captain and the team, really defeats the very aim that the
committee had in view, and lessens rather than increases the number of
men who play the game for general recreation.

As regards the anti-professional reason, it is impossible to say
what would be the status of the Harvard nine if this rule had not
been passed. Judging from the other college nines who annually play
professionals for practice, there would be but little difference from
what now exists. The difference, so difficult to discover on the
ball field, exists chiefly in the minds of men whose knowledge of
baseball is derived principally from discussions in the college Faculty
meetings. Although it is difficult to surmise how even there such a
discriminating distinction can be drawn between local unrestrained,
would-be-but-couldn’t-be professionals, and the disciplined league
players; the former eager by any means fair or foul, to score a point
against the “college boys,” the latter playing a practice game simply
as a business matter. The Harvard Faculty, it is presumed, do not
approve of professional sparring as an avocation for students, but they
have not yet forbidden undergraduates to take lessons of competent
teachers, even although the latter may have occasionally fought a
prize-fight; and such lessons are deemed even less contaminating, from
a professional point of view, than would be friendly and unpaid bouts
with celebrated locals who hoped in the future to enter the ring.

The position of the committee towards college football has been unique.
Football in this country is a game still in a state of development, and
the Harvard athletic committee have taken an active part in developing
it in the right direction. In November, 1883, the attention of the
committee was first called to a serious consideration of football.
The game as played that fall was one of the roughest ever played in
the country; and of a kind of roughness where brutality and unfair
play were put at a premium. On Thanksgiving Day, Harvard was scheduled
to play the final championship game with Yale on the Polo Grounds,
New York. Imagine the chagrin and astonishment of the undergraduates
when, on November 22, a letter was received from the committee by R.
M. Appleton, the captain of the eleven, stating that Harvard would not
be allowed to play any more intercollegiate games, until substantial
changes in the rules were made. Some of these rules appeared to the
committee “to allow of no other inference than that the manly spirit
of fair play is not expected to govern the conduct of all players,
but on the contrary, that the spirit of sharpers and roughs has to be
guarded against. The committee believes that the games hotly played
under these rules have already begun to degenerate from a manly, if
rough, sport, into brutal and dangerous contests. They regard this as
a serious misfortune in the interest of the game, which, if played in
a gentlemanly spirit, may be one of the most useful college sports
as a means of physical development. They regret that they did not
give earlier attention to the character of these rules, and thus
earlier come to the conclusion which they have now reached, namely,
that the Harvard eleven cannot be allowed to take part in any further
intercollegiate match games until substantial changes in the rules have
been made.” The objectionable rules were:

Rule 19. The referee shall disqualify any player whom he has _warned
twice for intentional_ off-side play, _intentional_ tackling in touch
or _intentional_ violation of Rule 28.

Rule 28. No kicking, throttling, butting, tripping-up, tackling below
the hips, or striking with closed fists shall be allowed.

Rule 38. No players shall _intentionally_ lay hands upon or interfere
with an opponent unless he has the ball.

In other words, a man could intentionally knock down another player
with a straight blow from the shoulder; he could do it again if he
wished, but not until he had done it the third time could he be
disqualified. It was to this and its practice that the athletic
committee objected. Most of the New York papers sneered at it as
“Harvard delicacy;” while a scatter-brained undergraduate, in an open
letter in the _Crimson_, abused the committee for obliging our eleven
to break its agreement, for robbing the Yale team of some $1,500, its
expected share in the gate-money, and ended by solemnly declaring, “We
sincerely hope that the time will sometime come when our feelings of
honor will have some weight with the Faculty in its decisions.”

That the athletic committee, however, were not irredeemably lost to
all consideration of the honor of the students and were not quite as
prudish or unreasonable as the New York press represented them, was
soon shown by their allowing the game to be played when the respective
captains of the Harvard and Yale teams informed them that the
objectionable rules had been changed. The important changes were that
the referee was allowed to disqualify a player without any previous
warning, and that no more than two disqualified men on either side
should have their places filled by substitutes; also that no player
should lay hands on or interfere with an opponent unless he had the
ball. The game was played, and, as was expected, Harvard was beaten.
The football of the succeeding year was fully as bad as it had been in
1883, and consequently there was a large body among the students ready
to support the athletic committee when, at the close of the season,
they announced that they considered the game as then played to be
brutal and demoralizing, and on this account should request the Faculty
to prohibit Harvard from playing it against other colleges. A short
delay was granted before presenting this report in order to give the
students a chance for a hearing; but no satisfactory results came from
the delay, and in January, 1885, Harvard was forbidden to engage in any
more intercollegiate football contests.

So much has been said and written about this action of the athletic
committee, so much abuse has been heaped by the newspapers on the
“Harvard dudes,” and so much misrepresentation has been spread abroad
concerning the so-called “Harvard daintiness,” that it is only fair,
even at this late date, to consider, for a few moments, what it was
that influenced the committee in their action, and whether this Harvard
daintiness was the result of an unmanly avoidance of the roughness
of the game, or whether it was actuated by a feeling that no sport
encourages true manliness when it has such an alloy of brutality and
unfair play as football had at that period.

The committee had attended the four principal championship games of
the season, and at each of these games they had stationed themselves
in different parts of the field, in order to notice what seemed to be
the objectionable features of the play. Their report says: “In every
one of these games there was brutal fighting with the fists when
the men had to be separated by other players, or by the judges and
referee, or by the bystanders and the police. In addition there were
numerous instances where a single blow was struck, instances that
occurred in every one of the games. A man was felled by a blow in
the face in the Harvard-Princeton game, in the Harvard-Yale game and
in the Yale-Princeton game. In the Wesleyan-Pennsylvania game a man
was thrown unfairly, out of bounds, by an opposing player. Then, as
he was rising, but before he was on his feet, his antagonist turned,
struck him in the face and knocked him down, and returned in triumph
with the ball. In all of the games the manifestations of gentlemanly
spirit were lacking--the spirit that scorns to take an unfair advantage
of an opponent. The teams _played to win_ by fair means or by foul.
If two teams are at all evenly matched, and one plays a gentlemanly
and the other an unfair game, the self-respecting team will always be
beaten.... In the four games which we attended there were but two cases
where a player was punished for brutal or unfair play. In several cases
the team was punished by having a ‘down’ given to the other side, but
only twice was a man disqualified.”

In 1885 an important change was made in the personnel of the committee
by increasing their number from three to five; of the five members two
to be representative undergraduate athletes, one a recent graduate, one
a physician, resident in Boston or in Cambridge, and the director of
the gymnasium, who is also a member of the Faculty. The other colleges,
urged on by a natural spirit of progress in the development of
football, and spurred still further by the public attention which had
been attracted to its abuses, had materially altered its character. The
committee carefully watched it progress as shown in the championship
contests between the other colleges, and after careful consideration,
came to the conclusion that a decided change had taken place; that it
had largely lost its brutality, and, although rough, its roughness was
of a kind that often encouraged a manly spirit; that although still far
from perfect, it was but in a transient stage of development, and that
the new rules, with a few slight exceptions, had proved efficacious in
regard to the evils they sought to remedy. They therefore recommended
that the Faculty should allow Harvard to renew her intercollegiate
games of football. The report was accepted and Harvard was reinstated
in her position in the intercollegiate league.

Since the reinstatement of Harvard into the football league, no
important action has been taken by the athletic committee. The
committee have been much abused, and still more ridiculed, but a calm
survey of the work they have done, however much one may differ with
them on a few measures, must be convincing that they have been needed
as a restraint upon the exceeding growth and concomitant abuses of
athletics, and that their work has usually been successful.

The formation and growth of the different athletic organizations up to
about 1882 formed by itself a distinct period in Harvard athletics;
then began a new period, marked by their curtailment, or, more justly
speaking, the curtailment of what seemed to be their abuses, by Faculty
restrictions. Within the last few years has begun still a third period,
marked by distinctly new athletic action; this is the curtailment by
the students themselves of Harvard participation in intercollegiate
athletics; a feeling that the intercollegiate athletic interests of the
college have become too complicated and too cumbrous, and that action
should be taken to restrain them.

When, in order to win an intercollegiate athletic meeting, it is
necessary, as is the case, not only to send good athletes upon the
field, but also to train good amateur detectives in order to ferret out
unfair entries from other colleges, the time certainly has arrived when
some sharp remedy should be applied. Often, it may be, these unfair
entries are not sought by the college under whose colors they compete,
they may be simply “mug hunters,” attracted by the rich prizes, and
the wide reputation which attaches itself to an intercollegiate
prize-winner; but, nevertheless, such entries are oftener and more
easily made, and are more readily winked at when there are thirteen
colleges and over two hundred entries, than when there are only two
colleges and fifty entries. A clearly drawn distinction between college
and non-college athletics is absolutely essential for the true welfare
of college athletics, and this line it is hard to preserve in any large
intercollegiate league.

Never yet has there been a large intercollegiate league in any
important branch of athletics which has not been productive of bitter
ill-feeling and charges of unfair play. The generous rivalry begun on
the athletic field has far too often borne fruit at the conventions in
underhand combinations worthy only of those political conventions of
which they are cheap imitations, and too often victory on the athletic
field must be preceded by a victory on paper, insignificant, perhaps,
to the uninitiated, but which under its apparently harmless words
conceals the future _coup d’état_ by which victory is to be won. The
defeated team, smarting at the recognition that it has been tricked, is
obliged quietly to submit or be taunted with not having pluck enough to
accept defeat; or else it may carry on a wordy war which no one outside
the college understands, which brings no satisfaction, and which
usually ends in nothing being accomplished. This is followed the next
year very naturally by a sullen determination to return the compliment,
not only on the field but also in the convention. These disputes, this
ill-feeling, this idea that victory even meanly won, is well won,
are real troubles which must be guarded against. They are practical
signs of a partial disappearance of the line which ought to separate
professional from college athletics, and the origin of them is largely
due to the existence of intercollegiate leagues.

No quack medicine in the shape of edicts against what the world
calls “professionals,” will stop this tendency. Such attempts remind
one of the nobleman who, because his son was nightly attacked by
the nightmare, hung all the old women, so-called witches, in his
neighborhood, instead of regulating the boy’s evening diet. Nor can the
trouble be prevented by abolishing all intercollegiate contests. Such
a remedy would be like cutting off a man’s hand in order to extract a
splinter. This plan was proposed last spring in an eccentric report
presented by a majority of the committee on athletics appointed by
the board of overseers, but, nipped in the bud by its own apparent
weakness, it was suffered to pass quietly out of sight. The Faculty,
however, aroused by the fresh importance attached to the subject,
appointed a committee to investigate thoroughly the entire athletic
question; statistics were collected having reference to the general
standing in college of athletic men, and the effect of athletic sports
upon the colleges as a whole; and the conclusion reached was that,
although several abuses still exist, they are greatly overestimated;
that the physical standard of undergraduates has been greatly raised
since the general introduction of athletics; that as a usual thing the
rank of athletic men is higher than the average, and the report ended
by recommending the authorities at once to secure fresh land for new
athletic ground, and to build an addition to the gymnasium. This report
representing--as concerns athletics--the most conservative college in
the country, practically puts an end to the opposition to athletics
as a factor in college life, and recognizes the fact that college
intercollegiate contests will and ought to retain a permanent and
important position in the college world.

Now that the Harvard authorities have at last given official
recognition of the importance and permanency of college athletics, it
is all the more important that these evils arising from intercollegiate
leagues should be driven out of existence. The quickest and only
thorough way of effecting this is for Harvard to withdraw from all
intercollegiate leagues, and to confine her annual championship
contests to Yale alone. There are many other reasons besides those
given in this article why Harvard’s position in intercollegiate
leagues acts as a drag upon her true interests; increased expenses
both in training and traveling attendant upon so many championship
contests; the longer time necessarily spent in preparation for matches
not important in themselves, but which lost by accident would impair
the chances of winning the championship; the element of chance in
determining the winner of the intercollegiate track athletic games,
ever increasing with the admission of so many smaller colleges which
have no hope of ever securing first place. The only solution of
the present athletic problem for Harvard is a withdrawal from the
intercollegiate leagues. As the case now stands, in most branches of
athletics the contest eventually narrows itself down to one final
effort between Yale and Harvard. There is everything to gain and
nothing to lose by the change. The idea is rapidly gaining ground at
Cambridge: a free discussion of it in the college papers has only added
new converts. Dissolution from all athletic leagues, practice games
against the best teams in the country, and championship games with
Yale alone, would cure many of the evils which seem to have attached
themselves to Harvard athletics.

~Note.~--The illustrations of the different groups of
athletic, football, baseball, lacrosse, and other teams in this
series of articles on college athletics, are from photographs by
Pach Brothers, of 841 Broadway.

THE FAUN DANCE.

In gladsome grouping
The fauns come trooping,
With frolic steps and fleet.
The short crisp grasses,
As each one passes,
Rebound beneath his feet.

Now Pan goes trilling
A measure thrilling
With wild ecstatic mirth.
The fauns leap after,
With mad, sweet laughter,
Their footsteps kiss the earth.

The revel hushes
The shy brown thrushes;
They silent sit and peer.
With lithe limbs shining,
With arms entwining,
The fauns leap there, leap here.

The brown feet twinkle,
While harebells tinkle
In tune, with graceful nod.
The sun-flecks racing,
In antic chasing,
Seem dancing on the sod.

Light zephyrs swaying
The boughs, are playing
A soft Æolian air.
The owlet, rousing
From daytime drowsing,
Looks down with sleepy stare.

A cloud stoops o’er them;
Behind, before them
The pattering rain-drops fall.
Then, helter-skelter,
They fly for shelter
Beneath the oak-tree tall.

_M. E. Gorham._

[Illustration]

MASK AND FOIL FOR LADIES.

BY CHARLES E. CLAY.

[Illustration]

Among the infant nations of the world woman was expected to share
the labors of the field with her lord. The exotic conditions of a
pernicious civilization, as wealth accumulated and luxury grew, imposed
trammels on woman and relegated her to the enervating confinement of
the house in order that she might preserve a more delicate and pleasing
form for the gratification of man returning after the day’s toil. Woman
was, however, originally intended to be a much more competent companion
and helpmate than the selfishness of man will concede.

So long as a community remained pastoral and nomadic, so surely did
woman retain a physical development equal and perfect as that of her
mate. Thus, we find that Atalanta was as fleet of foot as any of her
male companions, and not until she allowed her cupidity to get the
better of her judgment, while striving to secure the golden apples
dropped by Hippomenes during the race, was she vanquished. That woman
was once as skillful as man in the practice and art of venery, was
symbolized by the fact that men did not deem it unworthy to worship a
virgin huntress, and called upon Diana to lend them her knowledge and
support in the chase. That war even claimed their services is evidenced
by Herodotus and other ancient historians; and although the prowess of
the doughty Amazons, who, in order that they might not be impeded in
the use of the bow, mutilated their right breasts, may be in a great
measure mythical, still such testimony goes to prove conclusively that
woman, while perhaps not endowed with the same brute strength as man,
can be his peer in most games, pastimes and recreations that call for
dexterity and quickness of hand, foot and eye.

No one can gainsay the fact that the long-continued seclusion of
our fair sisters from sports and exercises has undoubtedly much
deteriorated the physical stamina of the female race, at least in
civilized countries. They are not capable of undergoing the fatigue,
exertion and exposure nature intended they should; they are the victims
of many ailments that have become hereditary to their sex simply from
inaction. They are not (I am talking now of the upper and leisure
classes of civilized society more especially) in as thoroughly a
healthy physical condition to sustain the burdens of maternity and
its consequent strain upon the system as they ought to be, as it was
intended by nature that they should be, and as they undoubtedly would
be, if healthy exercise was more universally prevalent among the
sex. If any reader doubts this statement he has only to analyze the
statistics of any European nation that bear upon this subject to be
convinced.

Happily, the baneful results of an indoor life of inaction have been
realized before its effects have become ineradicable, and the growing
superiority of the physical development of the Anglo-Saxon over her
Latin sister is due chiefly to the revival of athletic outdoor
exercise among the women of this family. English girls may surely claim
the lead in the good work of athletic regeneration. They are closely
followed by their fair sisters and rivals on this side of the Atlantic,
and both are head and shoulders ahead of the daughters of France,
Germany, and the other Continental nations. I will not waste words
in contrasting the physical condition of the women of the West with
the deplorable state of the sex in the East. It would be an insult to
Christianity.

[Illustration: EN GARDE.

FIRST POSITION. SECOND POSITION.]

I need hardly enumerate the rich catalogue of sports, games and
recreations that claim the attention of our enlightened sisters of
to-day, but this much I will say, that there is not an exercise that
will repay a girl so well, and at the same time rouse her enthusiasm
and enjoyment so thoroughly as the practice of fencing--and in that
term I include the handling of foil, broadsword and single-stick. In
considering the art of fencing in the present article I shall not
attempt to give any instruction in the rudiments or the more finished
evolutions of the science, because, in the first place, to treat only
the principal thrusts and parries would occupy more space than I have
at my command, and in the second, _fencing cannot be learned from the
book_. One lesson from a competent _maitre d’armes_ will effect more
than the perusal of a volume. I shall, however, endeavor to point out
the beneficial results to be reaped from the exercise, to create a
feeling, if possible, that fencing ought really to be an indispensable
necessity of a young lady’s complete physical education, and to offer a
few hints and suggestions as to the best means of learning and enjoying
the art, as well as the proper dress and equipment to be employed.

Fencing, then, may be popularly defined as the art and science of
attack and defense, the weapon used being the foil for pleasure, and
the rapier in a duel of deadly intent. The attack consists of a number
of thrusts, points and lunges, the latter being an extension of the
thrust. The defense is the art of warding off an adversary’s thrusts by
evolutions, termed guards or parries. It is also admissible to advance
the whole body while dealing thrusts or to assist the execution of the
guard by a timely retreat. The participation in this exercise by two
persons is called a “bout,” or a “passage,” with the foils, and when
one line of assailants faces another, fencing two and two, this general
bout is distinguished as an assault of arms.

The exercise will give to the carriage and general poise of the body
a grace, dignity and freedom, with majesty of step and mien to be
attained in a like degree by no other means. Some finniking miss will,
perhaps, venture that dancing and the idiotic steps of deportment
taught by a mincing Frenchman is all the setting up that a young
lady properly brought up should require; but there is just as much
difference in the walk of a young lady who has been well drilled in
a _salle d’armes_ and a dancing-school miss as there is between the
walk of a lithe young panther and a cat stepping over hot bricks. In
fencing, every part of the body is brought into play. The strain on
the wrist, and the rapid movements with the foil work every muscle in
the shoulder and forearm. The quick advance and hasty retreat develop
the lower limbs. The tension of the whole body brings into healthy
action the internal organs. The chest expands, the lungs are quickened
and produce a stronger circulation; the whole frame is invigorated,
hardened, strengthened and braced up. Moreover, exercise with the foils
does not abnormally develop one member, or one set of muscles to the
detriment of others equally important. For, as Captain Nicholas, of
the New York Fencers’ Club, very happily expressed it to me, “fencing
rather places the muscles of the body in the very best position to
perform their several functions to the best advantage.” That some
pastimes, notably lawn tennis, will develop one member to an inordinate
degree, if pursued to excess, is proved by the experience of many of
the fashionable dressmakers, one of whom assured me not long ago, that
since the general craze for tennis among her customers she has found
it necessary to measure _both_ arms and shoulders of her most ardent
tennis-playing _clientèle_, as she finds as much as three to four
inches difference in the deltoid and biceps measurements of the playing
arm. And many of my lady friends have assured me that since taking up
tennis they have found it impossible to put on the right hand the mate
of the glove that snugly fits their left. In fencing this cannot occur,
for the lessons are always given equally with left and right hand
holding the foil.

[Illustration: LOW QUARTE.]

To prove that this healthy exercise is one of the very best means that
can be employed to efface the serious effects to the lungs and heart
involved by a narrow contracted chest and stooping shoulders, let me
instance the experience of one of the young Viennese lady fencers at
present with Professor Hartl’s accomplished troupe, as Fraulein A.
related it to me herself. “Oh, no; it is not at all for the money
that I continue to remain with Professor Hartl, neither did I join
his excellent school in Vienna with the idea of ever going before a
public audience, but I first took up fencing on my doctor’s orders,
and the wonderful results in the improvement of my health from this
training made me loth to quit the exercise.” “You would hardly think,”
said the fraulein, smiling archly at me as I surveyed her plump and
comely figure, “that barely twelve months ago I was so puny and sickly
a creature that I could not rise from my chair nor walk across the
room without assistance. I stooped like a broken-down old woman, my
chest was so hollow and bent inwards that it was pain for me to draw
a breath, and I was troubled all the time with a dry, hacking cough
that was as distressing to my dear mother as it was painful to me. I
had been for months in the doctor’s hands and nothing bettered by his
treatment, though he was one of the leading physicians in Vienna. At
last he told my mother that if I did not mend shortly she would be
childless (for I am her only child), and as a last resource he would
recommend my being sent to Professor Hartl’s fencing school. My mother
was astounded, and demurred; but I, like some drowning wretch catching
at a straw, was bent on going, and carried the day. I was conveyed to
his _salle d’armes_ in a carriage. The professor was very kind and
prescribed a course of exercise as gentle and easily progressive as it
was judicious. In three weeks I could walk, breathe and move my limbs
as well as any of the other girls. Then my lessons with the foil
commenced--very short and very feeble attempts they were at first, I
can tell you, but I grew stronger and heartier every day. I became
straight and strong, my chest became full, and my shoulders humped
no longer. I had such an appetite, too, that my mother was appalled.
Then the professor made arrangements to come to America. The doctor
told me the sea voyage would be most beneficial. My mother reluctantly
consented as I wanted much to see this great country. _Ainsi me voici,
monsieur!_” Pretty conclusive evidence that, I take it, as regards the
benefits of fencing to a weak constitution.

Let us now consider the subject of the most suitable costume to wear
while taking a turn with the foils. In the first place let me say
that, as a general thing, young ladies fashionably dressed in the
prevailing styles are not properly attired even for a walk to do them
any real good from an athletic point of view. The waist is too tightly
laced. The bodice is worn too tight at shoulders and in the sleeves
to give the freedom of play necessary for arms and shoulders, to walk
beneficially. The dresses are “pulled back” to such a degree that
they cramp the forward movement of hip and knee. The abominable shoes,
with a tiny heel, with head no bigger than a dime, planted almost in
the middle of the foot, tilt the body forward in such a manner that it
becomes a miracle why ladies don’t pitch forward more often on their
noses. Besides, this abnormal elevation of the heel throws the whole
weight of the body on the ball and toe of the foot, causes a fearful
strain on the instep and the extensor muscles of the leg, and throws
all the posterior muscles of the calf and ankle out of use.

[Illustration: OCTAVE.]

Such being the case of affairs, my advice to a young lady commencing
to fence would be: Discard all the impedimenta and addenda, especially
the latter, with which you so successfully break “the continuity of
beauty’s lines and curves” on the street. Don a skirt of flannel,
velvet or tweed that is moderately heavy, _i. e._, heavy enough to stay
down without being weighted at the bottom with leads. The skirt should
be amply kilted or plaited to a good broad, strong band, which when
fastened round the waist should act the part of a man’s gymnasium belt.
The plaits, of course, should be made so that they open easily at the
bottom to allow the easy and rapid advance of the leg. The length may
be left to the good taste and judgment of the wearer, only don’t have
it made so long that when extended at your full length in the lunge
the skirt will trail round the heel of the rear foot, for if this is
the case you may be apt to step on the skirt as you recover to the “en
garde” position.

Another style of dress much in vogue, and especially approved by ladies
of the theatrical profession, is the divided skirt. Any one who has
seen pretty Rosina Vokes in this costume will readily recognize that
when properly made and artistically managed it gives the greatest scope
for perfect freedom of action with the acme of grace in movement. But
the plain kilted skirt is the simpler and more natural garment, and I
recommend it to young ladies who practice fencing as an amusement and
occasionally cross foils with their brothers or their male friends.

It is absolutely necessary that the upper portion of the figure should
be well supported, and for this purpose a short underwaist reaching
barely to the waistband of the skirt should be worn. This should be
made of some twilled or ribbed material and laced snugly down the
back, but should not contain whalebone or steel of any kind. I believe
they are known as corset-waists. The ordinary steel corsets extend too
low over the hips and are apt to be inconvenient when lunging. A good,
elastic, silk jersey is the very best thing for a waist. But let it
give ample room under the arms and across the chest. Many girls wear a
simple blouse or sailor jacket, and they are very serviceable; but the
jersey is preferable, inasmuch as it clings closely to the arm and the
foil is not so likely to get caught in the sleeve as is apt to happen
with a sailor-jacket sleeve. Let the throat be bare and wear no collar.
Nothing, in fact, that will come above the neck of the plastron, or
chest shield. Be shod with tennis shoes; they are better than high
boots, because they allow more play to the ankle. If leather soles are
worn it will be well to rub them liberally with some preparation that
will prevent the foot slipping.

The accoutrements necessary are a plastron, or chest shield, mask,
gauntlets, and a foil. The plastron is generally of finely dressed
leather, quilted chamois leather, padded canvas or buckram. All these
equally serve their purpose, which is to protect the chest when
sharply struck with the button of the foil. They are made of various
thicknesses and weights. Those thickly quilted and cotton stuffed, of
course, insure perfect immunity from the blow, but they are ungainly,
heavy-looking coverings, and for ordinary practice, I think a stout
canvas or leather plastron will be found to be all that is required.
They slip over the shoulders on which the straps rest, are cut out
under the armpits, and are buckled at the back or side; if at the side,
better on the left. They should fit closely round the neck and lie
perfectly flat upon the chest.

[Illustration: PRIME.]

In choosing the gauntlets care should be taken to have the fingers,
and especially the thumbs, thoroughly well padded. They should be
perforated in the palm, and the wrist shield should be stiff and extend
half-way up to the elbow. The mask must fit easily and comfortably well
over the head and completely under the chin, protecting as much as
possible the throat as well. The foil should be of best tempered steel
and, for young girls particularly, as light as possible. The French
make the best fencing paraphernalia, and if a young lady wants to get
a thoroughly serviceable equipment, my advice would be to take counsel
with some experienced male fencing friend on the selection, or perhaps
better, to go to one of the leading _maitres d’armes_ and trust him to
get the complete outfit. One caution, and a most serious one I will
emphasize, which every fencer, young or old, expert or tyro, should
always bear in mind, and that is, _never use a foil until you have
thoroughly satisfied yourself that the button is firmly on the point_,
and that it is well covered. Negligence in this important particular
may risk life. I vividly recall an instance that occurred in the class
of Professor Angelo, of London, of which I was a member at the time. We
were awaiting the advent of our teacher, being, as boys are very apt to
be, a little before the appointed hour. Two of my classmates, donning
masks and gauntlets but no plastrons, took their foils and were soon
engaged in a furious bout, all the more earnest because of the keen
rivalry that existed between them. Both were fairly expert fencers, and
thrust and lunge and parry and feint succeeded with lightning rapidity.
Suddenly young C---- received his adversary’s foil full on the chest,
and with a sharp cry of anguish staggered backward, dropping his foil
and falling heavily into a chair: a ghastly pallor overspread his face
and a small red stream of blood trickled slowly from his parted lips.
We hurried to him and hastily divested him of waistcoat and shirt,
which we found stained with blood. We laid bare the chest and found a
nasty livid-looking puncture just above the nipple of the left breast.
The poor boy never spoke again, and before we could summon medical
aid he expired. The cause of this tragedy was found to be that his
opponent’s foil had lost its button; whether it was off before they
engaged or was knocked off during the bout could not be ascertained,
but the moral is easy to point. Never skylark with foils, broadswords
or single-sticks, unless you are thoroughly dressed and prepared for
the bout.

The proper method of holding the foil, as well as the correct position
to assume, I quote from Mr. Van Schaick’s excellent article on fencing
which appeared in ~Outing~ for October, 1887:

The body must be placed so as to present a profile to the adversary.
The right foot forward, the right arm half bent, with the elbow at the
distance of about ten inches from the body, the left foot some twenty
inches behind the right and at right angles to it. The knees bent,
the body erect and well poised on the hips, but a trifle more on the
left than on the right, so as not to interfere with the right leg
when “lunging.” The general position must be such that the shoulders,
the arms and the right leg will have the same direction towards the
adversary; the purpose is to cover the vital parts and facilitate the
lunge. The right arm, half bent, the wrist at the height of the breast,
and the point of the foil at that of the eye. The left hand must be at
the height of the head, the fingers well rounded, the thumb free. The
head erect, looking in the direction of the right shoulder. The eyes
fixed frankly on those of the adversary. The whole posture must be free
and easy.

Advance takes place when the contestants are too far apart; retreat
when too near. In order to advance, carry the right foot forward
without in any way disturbing the position of the body or that of the
sword, and bring immediately the left foot within its proper distance
of the right (twenty inches). In order to retreat, carry the left foot
backwards without in any way disturbing the position of the body or
that of the sword, and bring immediately the right foot within its
proper distance of the left.

The foil must be held so that the hand will take the direction of the
forearm, and the point of the blade will be at the height of the eye.
Hold the foil very firmly only when thrusting or parrying; if you
grasp it tightly during a bout of any length, the muscles of your hand
will become cramped and will prevent your handling the foil with the
necessary delicacy.

The hand can assume three different positions when thrusting or
parrying.

(1.) In _quarte_, where the palm is uppermost.

(2.) In _tierce_, where the knuckles are uppermost.

(3.) And in _six_, where the thumb is uppermost and the fingers are on
the left; this last position is also called _middling_.

And to this article I refer all my young lady readers and fencers, but
recommend you, as he himself would, to go to a master first and study
his instructions as an aid to your maitre’s practical teaching.

There are a number of excellent teachers of fencing in New York. Among
the best will be found Captain Nicholas, of the New York Fencers’ Club;
Mons. Regis Senac, of the New York Athletic Club; Mons. Tronchet, of
the Manhattan A. C., and Mons. Louis Rondell, of the Knickerbocker
Fencing Club. The last two named gentlemen are graduates of the
celebrated French Military Academy, at Joinville-les-Ponts, France,
the highest authority on this subject in the world.

A last point I will make ere I close. Learn fencing, if for no other
reason, at least as an additional means of protection and self-defense
in case of a sudden emergency.

Although you, my fair sisters, may not be called upon to defend
yourselves against the murderous attacks of drunken or lawless
ruffians, yet instances are on record where women have been compelled
literally to fight for the lives of themselves and their children. With
the knowledge and practical experience gained in the _salle d’armes_,
or the friendly bouts with foil and single-stick that helped to while
away a winter afternoon, they have been able to hold their own, nay,
even to come off victorious in a contest in which the stakes were life
against life. I remember an instance of such a nature which, when
told round the jovial mess-table, with clinking glasses and flashing
lights and bursts of jocund laughter, hushed every tongue and caused
the breath to come with panting gasps from breasts suffocating with
feelings of hatred and vengeance.

A gay young subaltern returning to India after his first leave of
absence, brought with him a tall, fair flower of English girlhood,
gathered from a quiet vicarage away in Devonshire. Passing her life in
the free enjoyment of the glorious English air, taking long rambles
o’er fen and field and wold with her father, or joining in the more
hardy sports by flood and field when her brothers were home for the
holidays, she had built up a constitution that defied the weather
and had acquired a freedom of action, a superb grace of deportment
that would have been the envy of the sylvan Diana. She was a perfect
horsewoman, a capital shot with gun and pistol, and could give points
to most of her brothers at pool or billiards. Mrs. K---- had been well
drilled in fencing and single-stick practice, and was passionately fond
of the pastime; often after the early morning parade the young husband
would invite some one or other of his brother officers to their cool
bungalow veranda, where many a lusty bout was fought by the ardent
young swordswoman, while the happy husband laughed merrily at the
discomfiture of his warrior brothers.

But this pleasant scene was soon to change. Rumors of the deadly mutiny
raging in Bengal were brought to the out-of-the-way cantonment. The
swarthy Punjaubees, who a month or two before had paraded so quietly
and calmly, and were so alert to obey orders, came now to drill or
stables with dogged step and sullen brow.

It was an anxious time for every one. The officers were keenly alive
to the volcano on which they trod, yet dared not show any semblance
of fear or mistrust. All ammunition was carefully removed to the
mess-house, and the sabres and lances of the men (for Lieutenant
K----‘s was a cavalry regiment) were only issued for parade, when every
officer carried loaded revolvers and a goodly stock of cartridges. At
last, one morning, the regiment was paraded to attend the funeral of a
young officer who had sickened and died. The men had already drilled
that morning, and as they mustered for the funeral, ominous signs of
disorder and disaffection were rife. With heavy and anxious hearts the
little knot of officers gathered to perform the last sad rites to their
dead comrade. But they were destined never to complete their mournful
task. Just as the adjutant had formed the parade and the officers were
awaiting the coming of the colonel, at a given signal, preconcerted
doubtless, the entire regiment broke ranks and stampeded helter-skelter
over the parade-ground.

The majority of the mutineers hurried to their huts, and gathering
together all their chattels decamped as soon as possible to join
the headquarters of insurgent sepoys. But a band of more desperate
characters, longing to steep their hands in English blood, and eager
to join their revolted brethren with the prestige born of some glaring
deed of butchery, hastened to the colonel’s residence, where the only
two ladies of the regiment were known to be. Most of the officers
were at the bungalow of their deceased comrade, which was situated on
the opposite side of the parade-ground. The adjutant and the officers
on parade retreated, immediately on the outbreak, to the mess-house,
which had been prepared for defense in anticipation of just such an
occurrence. The colonel, coming from the orderly room, took in the
status of affairs and hastened to join the mess-house defenders.

In the meanwhile the ladies had been watching the forming of the
parade from the colonel’s private smoking den, where there was
littered in truly masculine chaos the thousand and one articles with
which a keen sportsman and soldier loves to surround himself--a well
selected battery of rifles and shotguns, half a dozen pig spears,
a varied and choice assortment of hunting-knives, powder-flasks,
bullet moulds, rods and whips, and crops of all descriptions were
everywhere. Hanging in a little more order and by themselves were the
colonel’s military accoutrements, a couple of cavalry sabres, a pair
of pistols, an old sabretache, and an extra set of bits and bridles.
The ladies gazing out from this sportsman’s snuggery saw with a thrill
of horror the stampede, witnessed the hurried retreat of the officers
to the mess-bungalow, and before their dazed senses realized the awful
catastrophe saw some half-dozen yelling sowars making for the house in
which they were. The colonel’s wife, perceiving the peril with which
they were threatened, uttered one piercing shriek and fell fainting on
the floor. But young Mrs. K. was made of sterner stuff. She, too, saw
the danger, but it stirred her to action: Self-reliant and heroic by
nature, she rose grandly to the occasion. No help was to be expected
from the servants. Peons, kitmutgar, syces and chokras all had fled.
But not a moment was to be lost. As she dashed frantically to the
entrance, and as she closed and bolted the teak doors, she heard
menaces that chilled the very marrow in her bones. She flew to every
window and barred the blinds--poor weak defenses at best!--yet the
breaking of them would gain a moment’s respite for her to prepare for
the attack. She then retreated to the room in which the colonel’s wife
still lay as she had fallen. There was no time to care for her. Mrs.
K. took down the heavy cavalry pistols and ascertained with delight
that they were loaded. She next drew the heavy barrack-table in front
of her fallen friend and facing the door. Placing the pistols at hand
on the table, she took down from a peg on the wall the mask with
head protector used for broadsword exercise, and as she adjusted the
cumbrous thing over her bonny waves of golden hair, she thought sadly
of the pleasant bouts she had had with the bluff old gentleman whose
property it was, and how the gallant soldier would puff and blow in his
attempts to make good his cranium against the blows which she rained
with lightning rapidity on each exposed point.

Heavy blows on door and windows cut short her meditations, and
selecting the lighter of the two sabres (made more to wear at dress
parades or levées than actual warfare) the brave girl took up her
position behind the table. The fiends did not keep her waiting long.
The stout old veranda chairs, hurled with the force of battering rams
by the strong arms of the now thoroughly infuriated natives, soon
wrenched the door from its hinges, and with a thundering crash it fell
inwards, creating havoc with the dainty little tables, with their
delicate bric-a-brac. She heard the exulting shout of the troopers and
the tramp of their heavy boots as they scoured the house in search of
their intended victims. With dauntless mien and white lips the young
wife grasped the pistol, and with one short muttered prayer for him she
loved, awaited the supreme moment. A rush--a heavy thud as of bodies
hurled against the door--a smashing of wood, and four burly sowars
tumbled headlong into the room. As the first sepoy with a horrid oath
picked himself hastily up, Mrs. K.’s pistol was discharged within a
dozen feet of the would-be murderer’s breast, and with a choking sob
the ruffian fell backwards. Instantly catching up the second weapon
she fired at the advancing trio. Another howl of anguish told that
the true ball found fatal lodgment. She seized her sabre as the table
was overturned, and found herself hotly assailed by the two surviving
troopers. Skillfully she parried the savage onslaught. With the rage
of baffled demons they plied her with a perfect hailstorm of blows
regardless of method or science. Some she eluded by her activity, some
she caught on the frail blade she wielded, and she felt that some had
wounded her on arm and side. She grew faint and dizzy--a black mist
spread before her darkening eyes. She staggered--reeled--and fell
upon the still unconscious form of Mrs. P. A hoarse shout from behind
arrested the murderers. They turned one moment. It was their last. A
couple of pistol-shots rang out, and the assassins fell dead on the
bodies of their antagonist.

The rescue is easily explained. When the officers perceived the
attack was meant for the colonel’s house, and that the mess-house was
comparatively safe, the colonel, adjutant, and a couple of others
rushed after the attacking mutineers, and arrived in time to turn the
tables on the dastardly cowards. The whole affray, assault, defense,
and vengeance, was enacted in less moments than it takes to read the
account. Mrs. K. recovered after long months of illness, and is now
living among the scenes of her childhood.

[Illustration]

SPORT--PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE.

BY ALEXANDER HUNTER.

PART II.

For four years the game in Virginia, all undisturbed, increased and
multiplied at an astonishing rate. There was no shot to be had in
the Confederacy, and the only way an ardent sportsman, when home on
furlough, could take a shy at the game, was to hammer out from a leaden
bullet long, square blocks, and then cutting off the ends with a knife,
to use a brick to roll these bits on the floor until each pellet became
round enough for use. It would take a man a day, and exhaust all his
patience, to make one pound of shot; and he would naturally be very
chary about using his ammunition, and rarely pull a trigger except
when certain of his game. In most sections of Virginia to fire a gun
was a dangerous pastime, for what with raids, irruptions, incursions
and forays, the people were in a state of siege, and the report of
a firearm was as likely as not to be followed by a bullet from some
traveling soldier, prowling bushwhacker, or passing cavalryman, thrown
just for good luck in the direction of the sound. Then, if it should
happen that a raid was in progress, the shot would attract the
videttes and scouts, and the luckless gunner would find himself in
hostile hands; and if too old or too young for military service, he
might consider himself lucky if he were allowed to depart minus his
fowling-piece and dog.

In the mountains of Virginia the wild turkeys were more numerous than
they ever were before, the various bivouacs furnishing them in winter
with an ample supply of food, while, best of all, they were allowed to
feed unmolested. The water-fowl on the Potomac kept up their ratio of
increase, for except the officers of the gunboats patrolling up and
down the river, none dared to fire a gun. There were hunters of men in
those times scattered along the banks, as well as floating on the bosom
of the blue water. The explosion of a sportsman’s gun, and its smoke,
might serve as an admirable target for the boatswain of an iron-clad
with a crew nearly dead with listlessness and _ennui_, and glad to get
an excuse to blaze away at anything.

In the fall of 1865, those Virginians who loved sporting, and had the
good luck to return to the homes of their youth with their arms and
legs intact, had a rare and royal time among the fur and feather, and
a moderate shot would return in the evening and show such a bag as
the result of the day’s sport as would last the family for a week. A
couple of sportsmen living about ten miles from Culpeper Court House,
Virginia, killed, in one day, eighty-four rabbits and fourteen wild
turkeys. If a gunner can start even half a dozen cotton-tails now in
a long day’s tramp he considers himself fortunate, and he won’t see
a wild turkey in a season’s shooting. I well remember a hunt that I
had in the autumn of 1865, just after the war ended. It was a perfect
day in November, with the morning mists still hanging around the
tree-tops. I had borrowed a double-barrel from one friend, and a good,
staunch pointer named “Josh” from another. I climbed the fence of an
orchard, and put the dog out in a huge field near Warrenton Junction,
where portions of both armies had often encamped. Josh had not gone
seventy-five yards before he came to a dead stand, and with beating
heart I advanced and hied him on. As the birds rose I let fly both
barrels, and--did not touch a feather! Loading up, I again sent Josh
careering over the stubble. In ten minutes he had pointed a covey, and
I again emptied the gun with the same result as before. If ever a dog’s
face expressed contempt Josh’s was surely the one. His dewlaps curled
up, and he absolutely showed his teeth, whether in anger or derision
I never found out. The third time I approached a covey that Josh
had cornered in a big patch of briers, and two more loads were sent
harmless as Macbeth’s sword “cutting the intrenchant air.” This was
enough for that disgusted dog. He sneaked off, and I never laid my eyes
upon him again.

It was no great matter, the birds were so plentiful that I had merely
to walk up and down the field, and I banged away most lustily. All in
vain! I could not touch one. I fired with both eyes open, then with
one shut, and still no partridge lingered on that account. I became
superstitious and fired with both eyes shut. I doubled the charges,
until I swept that meadow with leaden pellets, as a field is cleared
by grape-shot. But there were no dead. At last, in my despair, I would
shoot even if the bird was half a mile off. I went home that evening,
after shooting away about ten pounds of shot, with one solitary
partridge in my game-bag, and this bird, when I flushed him suddenly,
was so scared that he flew from the edge of the field across a fence
and against the trunk of a black-jack tree with such force as to knock
himself silly, and before he could hustle himself away I had jumped the
fence and wrung his neck.

[Illustration: SHOOTING OVER DECOYS.]

There was apparently enough fur and feather in Virginia just after the
war to supply the whole of America with small game, but in one decade
the state of the case was completely altered. First came the invention
of the breech-loader, which enables one to shoot all day without
intermission. The game stood but little chance against these machines
of perpetual destruction. But worse even than the breech-loader was
the old army musket, loaded with a handful of shot, with a lately
enfranchised freedman behind the big end of it. The darkey is a
nocturnal prowler, as much so as a ’coon or ’possum, and his prowls
through meadow, woods and fallow cause him frequently to stumble on the
wary turkey that forgets his cunning as he struts around preparatory
to flying to his roost, generally a dead limb on a lofty tree. He
bags many a molly cotton-tail loping down the road to get his evening
drink at the branch. But it is when “our friend and brother” catches
sight, in the shades of the evening, of a flock of partridges settling
in some field for their night’s rest, that he becomes dangerous. It
is then that the old army musket is converted into a terror, and when
its muzzle bears upon the whole covey squatted in a space that can be
covered by a bandana handkerchief, and its contents are turned loose,
every bird will be either killed or crippled.

[Illustration: RED-HEAD DUCKS AT HOME.]

The freedman’s musket, battered and patched though it be, must look
down upon the handsome, resplendent breechloader as a great orator
does upon the garrulous, loquacious youth who talks upon every subject
at any time, and at any length, while he only opens his mouth to make
knock-down arguments, or to utter words of great import that thrill
and convince. When the reverberating roar of that old A. M. was heard,
it was safe to bet that something that did not come from the barnyard
would fill the shooter’s iron pot that night.

A weather-beaten old darkey said to me once: “It dun cos’ me nearly
five cents to load that air musket, countin’ powder, caps, shot and
everythin’, an’ I ain’t gwine to let er off ’less I knows I’se sartin
to make by de shot.”

The baybird-shooting in the summer, and the duck-shooting outside
the Virginia capes, was at its zenith some fifteen years ago. Then,
too, the canvas-back, that king of water-fowl, before whose name the
gourmand bows in homage, still lingered in the tributaries of the
Chesapeake Bay, but now it is nearly extinct. A sportsman may gun for
a whole winter in the bay and not kill half a dozen “canvas-backs,”
but, if a good shot over the decoys, he can count on the kind known as
the “red-head”--and if he knew how to pull out a few feathers, as does
the professional pot-hunter, he could easily follow that gentleman’s
example and sell them at fancy figures for “canvas-backs,” which in
another decade will be as utterly annihilated as the dodo. Still, great
is the culinary _chef’s_ art, and if he can, by the magic power of his
sauces, herbs and seasonings, pass calf’s head off for green turtle,
and the skillpot for diamond-back terrapin stew, then nobody is hurt.
His patrons enjoy it just the same, and to the average man the red-head
duck tastes as well with his champagne as its incomparable relative.

[Illustration: POTOMAC SHOOTING--OLD STYLE.]

[Illustration: ROBIN-SNIPE.]

Fifteen years ago--even ten years--many an amateur would pack his trunk
with ammunition, and taking steamer for Old Point Comfort, disembark
there, and after a few hours’ wait at the Hygeia Hotel, proceed on his
way to the eastern shore of Virginia by crossing the Chesapeake Bay.
Or he would go outside the capes, and stop at Cape Charles, or Cobb’s
Island. Once at his objective point, he could be certain in the right
season of having his fill of shooting every day at the baybirds.
They were so plentiful that all along the Virginia Broadwater every
oyster-bar or mud-flat would be covered with them, and all the shooter
would have to do would be to make a blind out of sea-grass, place
his decoys around him, and then try his hand on singles, doubles and
flocks, striking them on the turn, while a hundred pair of yellow-legs,
or willet, would not be considered anything out of the way. As it is
now--well, the finest shot in the country could not kill that many
snipe in a week, simply because they are not there to kill. The vast
flocks of robin-snipe that tarried in their migrations along the
shores of the Chesapeake and the Broadwater of the Atlantic coast have
entirely disappeared. The curlew still haunt their favorite places,
but have become so wary that neither blind nor decoys can lure them,
except, indeed, at the earliest dawn of day, before their eyes are
wide open. Half a dozen curlew, between sunrise and sunset, in the
blinds, is something for a sportsman to be proud of, for no crow is
keener-eyed, more suspicious, and keeps a sharper lookout than these
birds. Fifteen years ago I have often killed from thirty to fifty from
sun to sun, at Smith Island or Cape Charles, but now one has to load
his shell with No. 3 shot to bring down the high-circling, distrustful
curlew.

The willet is still fairly plentiful. They lay their eggs and rear
their young in the neighboring sea-meadows, and though preyed upon by
crabs, snakes and raccoons from the time the egg is laid until the bird
is able to fly, they still hold their own. They are such sociable birds
that whenever a flock of snipe is fired into, one of the dead is almost
certain to be a willet.

The ox-eye, another variety of the snipe family, is found in abundance
on the shores and sea-meadows, and they owe their preservation, like
the sandpipers, to their insignificant size. There are no birds in
existence that keep so close together when on the wing as these
ox-eyes. A large flock resembles a solid mass, and dire is the
destruction that a double-barrel makes as it pours forth its contents
of No. 8 shot at point-blank distance and strikes them on the turn. I
asked old Nathan Cobb, of Cobb’s Island, which is outside the Virginia
capes--a pot-hunter of half a century’s experience, who has grown
independent from the proceeds of his gun--what was the greatest number
of snipe he had ever killed by one discharge of his double-barrel.

[Illustration: POTOMAC SHOOTING--NEW STYLE.]

“Wal,” said Nathan, with his Eastern Shore drawl, “I was out gunning
one spring, about thirty years ago, and had a No. 8 muzzle-loader that
would hold comfortably six ounces of shot. I ran in on a solid acre of
robin-snipe on the beach, and fired one load raking them as they fed,
giving them the other barrel as they rose. I picked up three hundred
and two.”

I next asked him the greatest number of brant he had ever killed in one
day over the decoys, with single shots.

“I bagged,” he answered, “about ten years ago, one hundred and seventy
brant, and nearly every one of them was a single shot.”

I can easily believe this, for I have shot in blinds with many
sportsmen, at redhead, shufflers, black duck and brant, and I never yet
saw amateur, professional, or pot-hunter, whose aim was so unerring
and deadly at the flying ducks as Nathan Cobb’s. I do not believe this
score has ever been beaten in this country.

At the present day this same story of the disappearance of the
waterfowl on the Virginia coast and along the Capes becomes dreary from
repetition. It does not pay the sportsman to go to Cobb’s Island now.
I spent three seasons there in the winter, during the “Eighties,” and
found that the brant were so wild that they would not stool. Then I
went to Cape Charles, just outside the Capes, and, though it is a most
inaccessible place, the brant would not come near the decoys.

Two winters ago, I tried Currituck Sound, and found palatial
club-houses open all about that noble sheet of water. Some of these
houses are so splendid in appointment that when you glance around the
elegantly furnished rooms, with their damask curtains, Brussels carpets
and open grates where the anthracite is piled high, it is impossible
to imagine that just outside roll the dark waters of the Sound, while
miles upon miles of barren sea-meadows, marshes and swamp separate the
house from civilization. All of these club-houses are owned by Northern
men--rich in world’s gear, of course--men who count their incomes by
thousands, where ordinary bread-winners of the professions count their
earnings by tens. Think of having in the magazine of a club-house
thirty thousand dollars in guns! Gordon Cumming, starting for a ten
years’ game hunt in the jungles of Africa, or Stanley, setting out to
fight his way through the “Dark Continent,” with countless hordes of
savage “Wawangi” disputing his passage, never had that amount invested
in weapons--and all to kill the wary geese and swift-flying ducks.

Even with such perfection of outfit--with guns of every imaginable
make from the 12 to the 4 bore, and trained gunners to oversee every
arrangement, the clubmen were talking gloomily about the sport fast
deteriorating. Pot-hunters, “duck pirates,” countrymen, freedmen--all
who lived or robbed along the shores of the Sound had their shy at the
ducks, day in and night out, and such a fusillade was never heard since
Burnside stormed and carried Roanoke Island, some miles below, in the
glinting spring days of 1862. I found good enough sport on the private
point of a friend who lived on a large farm by the shores of the Sound.
Still the birds were thinning rapidly.

Last winter’s experience with Currituck made me determine never to go
to that spot again for sport. I do not think I overstate matters when
I say that wildfowl-shooting on the finest grounds in the world is
doomed. Gone are the vast flocks, decimated are the swans and geese
that were so plentiful in certain localities even three short years
ago, and indigo blue are the rich sportsmen who quaff their champagne
in silence and puff moodily at their twenty-five cent cigars as they
think of the meagre bags they have made, and how matters, now so bad,
are always getting worse, thereby proving the old saw which saith
“Nothing can be so bad that it cannot be made worse.” The club men
should, however, be glad that the snipe will always be with them.

For keen trading, guileless equivocation and general deviltry commend
me to the “cracker” of the North Carolina Coast. He could discount
the Jersey Yankee upstairs and down-stairs. The typical specimen is
slab-sided and always thin; I never met a fat one yet. Their complexion
shows that they have wrestled for years with “chills,” and their cheeks
are as yellow as a newly-pulled gourd; they drawl in their speech,
look at you with half-shut eyes, are afraid of neither man nor devil,
have no hero-worship in their composition, and are as familiar with
the captain of a yacht as with the roustabout. They are as keen as a
brier, despite their listless, indifferent air, and to them more than
any other cause is due the extermination of the wild fowl in Currituck
Sound. They cleaned out the wild geese by setting steel traps on the
bars. What they did not catch they frightened away.

Mr. William Palmer, the superintendent of the Palmer Island Club,
states, moreover, that the number of sportsmen who come to Currituck
to shoot has increased twenty-five per cent., while the natives have
crowded the Sound with their blinds, and every male “cracker” who can
hold a gun straight is on the watch.

It is true that there are stringent State Laws against the illegal
killing of wild fowl, and also a close season. If these rules were
enforced there would be first-class shooting in Currituck Sound for
years to come, but the laws seem to be completely ignored; there is not
even a pretense of observing them. The law makes a strong provision
against a gun being fired at a duck after sunset, but there are numbers
of murderous, greedy natives who have their skiffs hid in the woods and
swamps in which are the huge ducking guns already referred to. Every
hour during the night can be heard the sullen boom of these swivels
floating across the waters, and the true sportsman, as he listens to
the echoing roar, can only grind his teeth with rage, for he knows
what a slaughter is going on, and how the survivors will take wing and
abandon the Sound for good and all.

But the worst remains to be told. As if steel traps and big guns were
not enough to destroy the wild fowl, the ingenious natives make fires
on the banks of the creeks that run through the marshes, and, as
the ducks float in ricks up to the illuminated waters, the ambushed
assassin gets in his deadly work. Unless the sportsmen who own the
club-houses on the Sound, by concerted action and vast outlay, can
prosecute the offenders, then “Othello’s occupation’s gone.”

My own idea is that these clubs are too exclusive. They should make it
a point to cultivate the _entente cordiale_ with the sportsmen of the
State of North Carolina, and thus, by gaining their co-operation, they
could induce the State authorities to take stringent action against
the law-breakers. Unless this is done the sporting code will remain a
dead letter as far as Currituck is concerned. The people shrug their
shoulders when the subject is mentioned and say, “Those fancy Northern
sportsmen don’t want a North Carolinian to kill a North Carolina duck
in North Carolina waters,” and so on, and so on. Had I the arranging
and the forming of a game protective association of the club men in
Currituck, I would extend a pressing and standing invitation to every
member of the Legislature and every officer of the State Government to
make the club-houses their own, and the Governor and his staff should
be kidnapped every winter, and be made to enjoy the gilt-edge sport of
the “Yankee” clubs.

Seeing in a State paper that the Light-house Board intended to abandon
the Pamlico (N. C.) Light-house, I applied to the Treasury Department
to turn it over to me for a “shooting box.” This was done, and I hope
to have some good sporting in the future.

Southward the sportsmen must make their way, and find more inaccessible
spots than Currituck to establish club-houses. This being the case, the
topography and charts of the regions lying south of Currituck become
interesting to the handlers of the gun. Four miles across the mainland
is that grand sheet of water, the Albemarle Sound, some fifteen miles
wide. Though this sound cannot compare with Currituck for the number
and variety of its waterfowl in past years, at the present time it is
filled with the birds that have been driven by night-shooting away from
Currituck to find safer quarters there. Undoubtedly there will, in the
next few years, be erected many club-houses in Albemarle Sound. Some
twelve miles as the crow flies across the peninsula, another sheet of
water is encountered. This is the Crotan Sound, apparently of about the
area of Currituck. There is an abundance of waterfowl here, and but
few, if any, club-houses, which will, however, soon follow.

Ten miles southward, across a swampy, barren pine country, there
appears the largest and grandest sound of all, the Pamlico. I have
no data to furnish the exact size, but the steamer travels over 100
miles before it arrives at Pamlico Point light, at the spot where the
Pamlico River enters the Sound. Here is the home and haunt of the swan,
and, as they have been but comparatively little hunted, they furnish
fine sport to those who have their own yachts and plenty of time.
There are no spots at Currituck that can afford more exciting sport
or show a greater abundance of all kinds of waterfowl than Pamlico
Point, Porpoise Point, about five miles distant, or Brant Island, some
twelve miles away. The inaccessibility of the place prevents the shore
pot-hunters from disturbing the game, and the “duck murderer,” with his
night-shooting, has not yet put in an appearance.

The water of Pamlico Sound is neutral to the taste; sometimes fresh,
again decidedly saline, but, for most of the time, it is simply
brackish. This condition arises from the fact that the Neuse and
Pamlico Rivers pour fresh waters into its area, while New Hatteras
and Oregon inlets and Core Sound admit the salt waters of the ocean.
This mixture of fresh, brackish and salt waters in a common receptacle
naturally attracts every variety of waterfowl. The red-head and
shuffler haunt the mingling of the fresh-water rivers with the Sound
waters, while the black duck, mallard, and that king of aquatic birds,
the gamest of all--the brant, stay in the vicinity of Oregon Inlet.
In my opinion, within a few years Pamlico Sound is destined to be the
greatest sporting-ground in the country, and the costly and expensive
club-houses at Currituck will be discounted by the new ones at Pamlico
Sound.

How long it will be before the breech-loader in the hands of the
natives and the swivel gun, killing in the night, will drive the wild
fowl out of that extensive region is a question that none can answer.
Many sportsmen who have been forced southward and still southward
during the past years in quest of game hope that Pamlico Sound will
furnish winter sport to last them at least the balance of their days.

[Illustration]

MR. PERKER’S BEAR; OR, MR. BEAR’S PERKER?

BY PRESIDENT BATES.

Since his marriage with Effie Cameron, Mr. Perker has greatly improved
in many respects. In his attire, his wheel, and his general style, Mr.
Perker still retains his proud pre-eminence as the pink of fashion of
the club. Taken all in all, he is the nattiest wheelman that ever sat
on a saddle. But now it is a chastened and refined glory. The little
“loudness,” indicative of an ambition soaring after effects not quite
attainable, which formerly marred Mr. Perker’s brilliancy at times, has
given place to a subdued chasteness, suggesting that he could be still
more elegant if a rival should appear. Plainly he exhibits evidences of
being toned by feminine taste.

Mr. Perker still clings fondly to his bicycle gun, but nowadays he
keeps it in the barn. Mrs. Effie will not permit it to be brought
into the house. I mention this for the tranquilization of visiting
wheelmen, so that they need not hesitate to accept an invitation to
one of the elegant lunches with which Mrs. Effie is wont to regale
the club and its guests on occasions. And pilgrim wheelmen, who have
read ~Outing~ in former years, do not need to be assured that
Mrs. Effie Perker is an altogether charming hostess, and one of the
prettiest and most warm-hearted Scotchwomen that ever made a home happy.

Former readers of ~Outing~ also know that Mr. Perker’s
remarkable dog, Smart, gave promise in his puppyhood of becoming one
of the most intelligent animals in the country. In fact, he achieved
wide notoriety in his early career. He is now famous for sagacity and
accumulated wisdom. As a bicycle hunting dog he is not only peerless,
but the founder of a new race--bicycle hunting dogs--a species of dog
not hitherto known; and several clubs have obtained specimens of his
progeny.

When Mr. Perker was required by the firm to whose interests he
devotes his talents to visit a settlement upon the northern coast of
Lake Michigan, upon business that would occupy him for two or three
weeks, he determined to take with him his dog, his bicycle gun and
his wheel. Mrs. Perker protested mildly; but yielded sweetly upon
hearing Mr. Perker’s solemn promise not to hunt wildcats. For a woman
whose girlhood was spent in the frontier wilds of Canada, Mrs. Perker
entertains a singular apprehension of wildcats--all on Mr. Perker’s
account. Of course, he is a hero in her wifely estimation; but she
does not consider him a wildcat hero. And she has very little faith in
Mr. Perker’s bicycle gun, or in the tried courage and sagacity of Mr.
Perker’s dog Smart, as against wildcats. She mingled with the packing
of Mr. Perker’s clean linen a loving remonstrance against hunting
wildcats; and she mixed with Mr. Perker’s toothbrush and razor a tender
warning against being led by “that fool, Smart,” into danger. Mr.
Perker solemnly promised, with his parting kiss, to take good care of
himself. And he meant it.

When Mr. Perker left the city, in Southern Michigan, the spring was
well advanced. The roads had dried and were ridable, while the trees
were beginning to show yellow-green buds. When, however, he arrived
in the Northern woods, the snow still lingered in patches in the dim
shades of the pine and hemlock forests, and ice clung to the shores
of the lake. The rivers and brooks had cleared themselves, but were
still in spring flood. The sharp frosts at night were followed by warm,
sunny days, and occasionally by a day that remained cold enough not to
melt the surface frost. There was no chance to ride except along the
lake shore, where the sloping sands had frozen smoothly and were firm
when their surface was unmelted. At various distances from the shore,
generally ten to thirty rods, ice-banks, in some places twenty feet
high, had formed in the shoal water, from great fields of drifting
ice being driven upon the coast by the winter gales, and breaking and
piling up their shore edges. Between the ice-banks and the shore sands
the ice was reasonably flat, with a top surface of roughly frozen snow.
Wherever a swollen river discharged into the lake, its freshet had cut
an open channel through the flat ice and through the ice-banks, though
the ice-banks still furnished bridges by which to cross the channels of
the smaller streams.

At that season of the year there was little hunting, for most game
was protected by the game-laws. To be sure the open spaces of water
were visited by flocks of wild fowl flying northward, and there were
rabbits in the woods, and of them Mr. Perker bagged a few. But, as of
old, his hunter’s soul longed for larger game, and only his solemn
promise to Effie prevented his joining the settlers in their wildcat
hunting. There were wolves in the woods--large gray wolves. But it
requires good hunting to get sight of one of these wary prowlers; and
Mr. Perker had not the time to take long tramps into the swamps where
they kept their lairs. The bears had also come out from their winter
sleep, and almost every day Mr. Perker heard of their slaughter. But
bears require skilled hunting, unless one happens upon a specimen by
accident. If there was any one thing more than another that Mr. Perker
longed for it was a bear. He ached for the glory of killing a bear. A
bearskin, captured by his own hand, would elevate him several degrees
in the estimation of the club and would greatly enhance the reputation
of his bicycle gun. But the days of his sojourn in the wilderness were
waning fast, and an encounter with a real live bear still remained the
thing “he long had sought and mourned because he found it not,” as the
hymn-book feelingly remarks. What made his disappointment more bitter
was the fact that everybody in the settlement freely conceded that
Smart undoubtedly possessed all the faculties and qualities of a good
bear dog, except that of finding a bear. Smart, with his master, had
made the acquaintance of every dead bear brought into the settlement,
but the live bears perversely avoided his distinguished society.

Bears have provokingly peculiar ways. When you arm yourself with
rifle, axe, knife and dog, and go hunting expressly for bear society,
every bear in the woods hangs out a sign, “not at home,” and declines
to be interviewed. When you particularly prefer not to be disturbed
in your solitude, as your gun is at home, and you forgot to bring
either axe or knife, and your dog is a mile off, rushing around after
fugacious rabbits, then is the time that the largest and savagest, and
most impudent of all bears is most apt to thrust himself upon your
attention, with alarming indications of begging for a chew.

Mr. Perker had reached the last day of his stay in the settlement. It
was a fine but cold Sunday. There was a moderate northwest wind swaying
the dull evergreen tree-tops and ruffling the gray-blue waters of the
lake, but in the woods and along the shore, sheltered by the bordering
pines and hemlocks, the air was still and just cool enough not to melt
the surface of the frozen sand. Five miles up the shore lived a man
with whom Mr. Perker had done business for the firm. Mr. Perker desired
to call upon him once more, not really on business, but to show him
attention and leave a good impression. This man had a thirteen-year-old
boy who, during a visit to a city the previous summer, had seen cowboys
perform in a circus, and this had fired his youthful spirit with
ambition to lasso something. Mr. Perker thought to win the heart--and
custom--of the father by making the boy a present of a lasso. To this
end he bought a suitable rope, thirty-six feet long. On one end he had
a sailor make a Turk’s-head knot, to prevent its slipping through the
grasp. On the other end was the lasso loop. But, lest the ambitious
youth should accidentally strangle his younger brother, or his father’s
favorite calf or pig, the sailor put a knot in the rope so that the
loop could close sufficiently to hold but not to choke. The rope was
stretched and limbered with oil and wax, making it a very good lasso
for a boy, and strong enough to hold a mule.

Mr. Perker would not go a-hunting on Sunday--he never did. There was,
however, no service till evening, so he determined to ride along the
beach on his wheel, make the visit, return in time for the service,
and start for home on Monday morning. He coiled the lasso and tied it
with a thread, so that he could, easily carry it on the head of his
wheel, and though he did not take his bicycle gun, Smart, of course,
accompanied him. The beach sand proved hard and moderately smooth, so
that the riding was fair. He was in good spirits, having succeeded well
in his business, and at peace with the world, and had no thought of
seeing game of any kind.

He had gone nearly half-way, and was riding quietly and comfortably
along, minding his own business, when he was startled by seeing a large
bear come out of the woods, ahead of him, and walk down to the shore,
where it turned and went leisurely forward, evidently not having seen
him.

Smart, as was his habit, was--very sagaciously--somewhere else when
he was wanted to put himself in danger. If Smart had reasoned that
he did not know that his master would meet a bear but, in case his
master should meet a bear, it would be a great deal safer for him to
be absent, he could not have acted with shrewder wisdom. At that
moment he was a quarter of a mile behind in the woods, enjoying
himself greatly, trying to ram himself down a woodchuck’s hole, at the
bottom of which, his wise nose informed him, a woodchuck either was or
recently had been. He was sternly resolved to have that woodchuck out,
if it took all day. So now and then he would pull out his head to bark,
by way of signaling his master for help, and then ram it down the hole
again, so that the woodchuck couldn’t get out without running down his
yawning throat.

In the absence of Smart, Mr. Perker conceived a brilliant scheme for
the capture of the bear. He would lasso the beast, and then call Smart,
whom he supposed to be somewhere close at hand. So breaking the thread
that kept the coils of the rope together, he opened the loop, slipped
the knotted end under his right thigh, and drew it around the saddle
behind him, holding the knot in his left hand, and then pedaled rapidly
toward the unconscious and innocent forest monarch, the rubber-tired
wheel making no noise. As he was an excellent rider, he could have done
this without using either hand; but he kept his left hand, with the
knotted end of the lasso in it, upon the handle-bar.

He was almost upon the bear, stealing silently upon his prey, when the
bear caught a glimpse of him over his shoulder. Instantly the bear
wheeled about, reared upon his hind legs, exhibited a frightfully open
countenance and spread claws, at least three inches long, in a way that
betokened a warm welcome. At the same time every hair on the animal’s
body seemed to bristle with fury, and it snarled in a blood-curdling
baritone voice, which would have made a fortune for an opera star
villain.

Mr. Perker was not entirely prepared for this reception. It had not
occurred to him that his advances toward a familiar acquaintance would
be met in that way. He hastily concluded not to intrude. But not having
his right hand upon the handle-bar, in a position to put down the
break, it was a great deal easier to wish to stop than to accomplish
it. Therefore, he simply stood on the pedals, and they pitched him
headlong over the handles, right at the bear, like heaving a bag of
bran off a wagon.

It was now the bear’s turn to be astonished. He had not calculated
upon any such method of assault. He was prepared for a fair fight; but
he wasn’t used to having men thrown at him, all doubled up in a wad.
“Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves shall never tremble.”
But _that_ shape!--well, he was the scaredest bear probably ever seen
upon the coast of Lake Michigan. He was so scared that he didn’t have
presence of mind enough to run into the woods; but, with a loud snort
of panic, he scattered the frozen sand straight down the beach.

In falling Mr. Perker somehow gave the lasso loop such a flirt that it
went over the head of the bear and drew about his neck, when he started
to run. Mr. Perker did not intend to do it, and the bear ought not
to have laid it up against Mr. Perker. It was purely an accident--a
liberty with a stranger that Mr. Perker would not have taken under
such circumstances, if he could have helped it. In fact he couldn’t
have lassoed a bear by the neck if the bear hadn’t been surprised by
his header, for a bear on guard is as practiced a boxer as can be
found, and one can no more get a noose about his neck than one can
over a man’s neck with his hands and arms free to fend it off. As it
was, however, the bear was caught; and, as he ran, the knot of the
rope caught under the bicycle saddle, and that machine was dragged,
rattling, bounding, banging and glittering after the flying brute,
adding to his panic, like a tin-pan tied to a dog’s tail.

Mr. Perker scrambled to his feet quicker than he ever did before in his
life. His first instinctive impulse was to ascertain if he was still
alive, with none of his members missing. Having discovered that he was
all there, his next impulse was to run after his beloved wheel, which
he did, shouting like a lunatic for “Smart! Smart!” This did not tend
to lessen the fright, nor diminish the speed of the bear--quite the
contrary.

About twenty rods ahead a small brook had cut a channel through the
flat ice with its spring flood, but the ice-banks were still intact a
dozen rods from the shore, compelling the outflowing flood to find a
channel beneath them. When Mr. Perker first formed the scheme to lasso
the bear he had counted upon this open water to stop the animal in
case he ran that way. Now he expected the bear to either turn into the
woods or else go around the open mouth of the brook on the ice-bank.
But, as may be guessed, Mr. Perker was not familiar with bears. This
bear, frightened half out of his wits by the bicycle clattering at his
heels at the end of the rope, didn’t turn at the brook. On the contrary
he plunged into it and swam across, no doubt with the notion that his
mysterious pursuer could be stopped by the icy water. Clambering out on
the ice on the opposite side, as soon as he got the length of the rope
from the brink the bicycle caught under the ice and anchored him. This
the more easily because the ice upon which he stood was glassy smooth
from the recent overflow, and gave his claws no hold, let him strain,
and yank, and dig in his toes and swear as savagely as he might.

Seeing this Mr. Perker hurried faster and shouted louder, doing his
best to get around the end of the open channel by way of the ice-bank.
He was afraid that the rope would break or be gnawed off and let his
beloved wheel sink where the water was probably twenty feet deep.
Coming around the head of the channel, he ran along the edge of the
ice to get between the bear and the water, and haul up the bicycle.
If he could recover his wheel he would be willing to let the bear
go. Meanwhile he kept shouting for Smart. On his approach the bear
redoubled his efforts to break away, but in vain. Mr. Perker reached
the spot and managed to loosen his wheel from its hold under the ice by
pulling on its handle-bar. It naturally came up out of the water with a
jerk that upset Mr. Perker with great violence, jamming one of his feet
between the spokes as he fell.

The bear now set off again, plunging and snarling, this time toward the
woods, only a hundred feet away, dragging Mr. Perker by the foot, flat
on his back. In hopes of stopping the procession, Mr. Perker flopped
over upon his breast, and tried to dig his hands into the ice. No go.
He only skinned his hands. As he struck the rougher ice it felt hot
from friction, and he turned over again on his back. But it was equally
hot that way. When he struck the sand, it seemed red-hot. It was like
being drawn over a rasp. Luckily the sand was only a few feet wide,
the woods coming down at this point almost to the shore. Here the bear
turned slightly, and in a moment Mr. Perker’s free leg went on one side
of a small tree, while his caught leg went on the other side. The tree
did not break nor his leg pull out by the roots, though Mr. Perker
thought for a moment that it would, and the procession was anchored
again. By way of backing the anchor Mr. Perker threw his arms about the
tree and hugged it with all his might, while he yelled for Smart.

The frightened bear, after a few frantic tugs, became convinced that
he could not get away. Then he turned upon the prostrate and yelling
Perker with dire intent; but the instant the strain slackened on the
rope, Mr. Perker was able to kick, and a single kick freed his caught
foot. Before he could rise, however, the bear would have been upon him
but for an interruption. That interruption was from Smart who came
tearing around the ice-bank and charged bravely to the rescue of his
imperiled master.

Finding that the woodchuck--if there was any woodchuck in the
hole--evidently intended to stay there, Smart paused in the work of
excavation, and sat down to reflect and catch his breath. The instant
he was thus quiet he heard the far-off voice of his master calling him
in a manner that indicated urgency. Smart ran after his master at full
speed, and coming to the spot where Mr. Perker first encountered the
bear, stopped as if he had run against something. His nose whispered
“bear!” to his brain. The hair on his back bristled. Then he heard
Perker shout, and set off on his track again. Coming around the open
channel by way of the ice-bank he caught sight of the bear, and charged
fiercely upon the unknown enemy, intending to incontinently scatter his
vitals all over that part of the coast.

Attacked by the dog, the bear halted in his rush at Mr. Perker, sat
up on his haunches, and bestowed a buffet upon poor Smart that rolled
him over and over, a dozen feet away. Smart, though a remarkably
intelligent dog, did not know much about bears; but that single cuff
taught him much. He caught the general idea immediately, and rushed
behind Mr. Perker for protection, while the bear rushed after him. Mr.
Perker shinned up that small tree very much faster than a boy after
a bird’s nest. By the time he was up his own length, spreading his
legs as wide as he could, to get them higher, Smart, with admirable
strategy, perceiving that the shelter of Mr. Perker’s legs was
withdrawn, ran around the tree, looking for a good place to climb it
also. The bear ran around after Smart. This wound the rope around the
tree; and, when Smart ran off at a tangent, the bear rushing after him
was brought up with such a violent jerk of the noose upon his neck that
he turned end for end and hit Smart with his hind legs, like the snap
of a whip, while every bone in his back cracked. The shock almost
jerked Mr. Perker out of the tree, but he hung on grimly, and crawled
up a few feet farther. By the time he was eight feet from the ground,
however, the tree, which was only as large as a man’s leg at the
bottom, began to bend over with his weight, and he could go no higher.

The dog being out of his reach, the bear now ran back at Mr. Perker,
and rearing up against the tree, tried to reach him. Mr. Perker again
spread his legs wide apart, and drew himself up as far as he could. The
bear cautiously raised himself a little higher and managed to give one
of Mr. Perker’s swaying legs a scratch that drew from him a yell of
pain and fear. Then Smart rushed in and hung upon the bear’s flank, and
the bear and Smart dropped upon Mr. Perker’s wheel. The bear got one
foot through the spokes, and he and Smart went wildly cavorting about
with the wheel, till Mr. Perker’s anguish of mind and failure of muscle
let him drop with a yell upon them, knocking the bear down. He did not,
however, hold the bear down. On the contrary, he executed a prompt
strategic movement, and did not stop rolling over until he brought up
twenty feet away. Smart followed him, with that devotion for which he
is noted, and the bear followed Smart, until snubbed again by the rope.

At this moment, when Mr. Perker most needed repose, his nerves were
startled by the crack of a rifle. The ball sang over his head and
pierced that of the bear, who immediately turned slowly around twice,
and then sank down in a heap, quivering and kicking, whereupon Smart,
with renewed courage, ran in and tugged terribly at one of his ears. As
soon as Mr. Perker could comprehend what had happened, he was grateful.
He thought the voice of the man who ran forward and asked: “Are you
hurt?” was the most welcome sound he had ever heard. He replied that
he was “only just a little out of breath.” This reply, wasn’t strictly
accurate. A sorrier looking object than Mr. Perker has rarely been seen
on Sunday.

The man kicked Smart off the bear’s ear, and then said, looking
curiously at the disconsolate Mr. Perker:

“Why! Mr. Perker! how are you?”

Perker limply took his hand, looked at him, and answered:

“Hello! Smith!”

Then he shook Smith’s hand heartily, for Smith was the identical man he
was going to see. With Smith was the boy to whom Mr. Perker was taking
the lasso. The boy had stood gazing in open-mouthed wonder at the
lassoed bear, at Perker, and at Smart, with which sagacious beast he
had already struck up a treaty of amity and mutual admiration.

Smith noticed the rope and drew it from the neck of the dead bear.

“Was a tame critter, eh?” he asked.

Perker answered with unnecessary heat: “Tame! not by a blamed sight!”

“You wasn’t trying to lead a wild bear into town with a rope, was you?”
asked Smith, grinning.

“That’s what I started to do,” said Perker, seeing that honest
confession was best, “but he came near leading me into his camp.”

Then Perker told the whole story, and Smith sat down and laughed till
exhausted. Finally he slapped Perker on the shoulder and said, with
vast soberness:

“Well, Perker, you’re the pluckiest chap I ever met! You couldn’t have
hired any man about here to undertake that job for ten dollars an hour!”

And he laughed again and fell to skinning the bear, chuckling. Then the
boy wanted to know what he was going to do with the rope. This reminded
Perker and he gave it to him. Never was a boy so thoroughly delighted.
He had a lasso that had actually lassoed and held a wild bear, and a
big one at that!

Perker found his idolized wheel in a sad state. Its rim was
badly buckled, and half a dozen spokes were bent, but after some
straightening and tightening, with Smith’s aid, except for a wet
saddle, rapidly drying, the wheel was as good as ever.

Mr. Smith proposed to cure the skin and send it to Mr. Perker, taking
his city address for that purpose. This pleased Perker immensely; and
they parted with mutual satisfaction.

When Mr. Perker reached the city, he limped home, and Mrs. Effie, while
she tended his hurts, remarked: “Theophilus, you’re too big a fool to
be trusted to go alone into the woods! And the sooner you get rid of
that fool of a dog the longer you’ll be likely to dodge the Foolkiller!”

Mr. Perker did not report this observation to the Club, but Mrs.
Perker’s kitchen-girl reported it to Mrs. Littleweed’s cook, and a
course of pumping, by the Club wits, extracted the other facts from Mr.
Perker.

This is the reason the members, when Mr. Perker proudly exhibits the
bear-skin, sometimes speak of “Mr. Perker’s bear,” and sometimes of
“Mr. Bear’s Perker.”

FAST ICE-YACHTS.

HOW THEY ARE BUILT, RIGGED AND HANDLED.

BY CHARLES LEDYARD NORTON.

On a rocky promontory of the Hudson River, a few miles above
Poughkeepsie, there stands, half hidden by the foliage in the summer,
a long, low, neatly painted structure instantly suggestive to the
nautically inclined of boats and their belongings.

But there is an unaccountable lack of the familiar characteristics
of such localities. Even in midsummer there are few, if any, boats
anchored in the cove, or hauled up on the shelving rock that serves
in lieu of a beach. Through the open doors of the boat-house one may,
perhaps, see certain varnishing and rigging operations under way.
There are bundles of sails, coils of rope, rows of blocks, and long,
curiously curved spars resting upon racks--long enough they are to
serve as topgallant-yards for an old-fashioned man-of-war, but no
ordinary sailorman would see any use for them with their nautically
impossible curves and angles, and their unfamiliar and unshipshape
attachments of galvanized iron.

This boat-house, however, is the headquarters of a yacht club that
stands easily at the head of its class in all the world; but its fleet
of racers is dismantled and laid aside in summers when other yachts are
in the height of their glory. This fleet goes into commission only when
the floating fields of new ice are fast welded together, and the river
surface is solid from the Highlands to the Mohawk.

The Hudson River is by no means the only club, though it may not
unfairly be designated as the leading one. At the neighboring towns
of Poughkeepsie, New Hamburg and Newburg, and up stream at Hudson,
Athens, Saugerties, Albany, and elsewhere, are other associations, with
fleets of yachts always eager to try conclusions with their down-stream
rivals. Poughkeepsie, and its immediate vicinity, however, has always
been, and is likely to remain, the headquarters for ice-yachting.

This is due to several favorable conditions, natural as well
as artificial. The river narrows and becomes tortuous at the
Highlands--about forty miles from the sea--and this natural obstacle
largely determines the permanency of ice in the river above. In a
large stream the ice rarely forms across from shore to shore in a
single night. It freezes in bands and patches, which become detached
from the shore and float up and down with the tide until they become
jammed and frozen together. North of the Highlands, too, the average
winter temperature is considerably lower than it is to the southward,
and sharp frosts come earlier and stay later. The beautiful and
picturesque banks, moreover, have since early colonial times proved
attractive to lovers of the country, and the riverside is for many
miles almost continuously occupied by residents who have abundant means
and leisure for such recreations as suit them best. Again, the great
harvest field of the Hudson River ice-crop finds here its southernmost
limit. At this point in the stream the admixture of sea-water renders
the ice more or less unmarketable, and the ice-yachtsmen are therefore
not so likely to be interfered with by the armies of men who are set to
work by the great companies as soon as the ice is thick enough to pay
for cutting and storage.

It is proverbial that no sooner is a good surface formed for
ice-yachting than it is hopelessly buried under a shroud of snow; but
here again nature comes to the rescue, for the latitude is far enough
south to render alternations of frost and thaw probable all through the
winter. Accordingly the white surface soon becomes streaked with gray,
and ere long the yachtsman looks out of a morning and sees his highway
once more practicable for steel runners.

This year engineering science has arrayed itself on the side of the
yachtsman, and has built two huge piers in the river at Poughkeepsie.
Primarily these are intended for the new cantilever railroad bridge,
but incidentally they are welcomed by the winter-sailing clubs, because
they will undoubtedly keep the ice in the river longer than it has
heretofore been in the habit of staying. This is highly important in
their eyes, for not infrequently there are cold “spells” in March which
render the ice available for good sport, provided it could be held in
position long enough to be temporarily re-frozen and prevented from
floating away down stream on the ebb tide.

Despite all these favorable conditions, however, the goddess who
presides over the destinies of ice-yachting is but a coy and fickle
divinity. Sometimes she vouchsafes to her devotees not more than a day
or two of sailing in an entire winter. Often she limits her favors to
ten or fifteen days, and only at rare intervals does she smile upon
them for thirty days, all told. The ice-yachtsman may, therefore, plume
himself upon being the most select and exclusive of all sportsmen. He
cannot, if he would, spend very much time _en voyage_, so he makes up
for it as well as he may by contriving and perfecting all the details
of his craft during her hours of enforced idleness. The result is that
he has evolved a fabric that is a marvel of construction, adapted for
lightness and strength in a wonderful degree.

Many of our readers have never seen an ice-yacht, but probably most
of them have seen and made a common diamond-shaped kite--the simplest
and easiest form of kite known to ingenious boyhood. This frame is
in its general principles of construction identical with that of the
modern ice-yacht, as shown in the working plans published herewith. The
cross-piece corresponds with the runner-plank, the upright represents
the center-timber, and the cord that passes around the whole is
identical with the side-stays. (See Fig. 1.)

It is only necessary to set up a mast at or near the intersection,
rig sails upon it, attach some kind of runners to the ends of the
runner-plank and to the long or aftermost end of the center-timber, and
you will have a very passable model, constructionally speaking, of the
modern ice-yacht. Magnify it a hundred-fold, substitute wire-rope with
turn-buckles for the side-stays, fit the timber ends with cast-metal
caps, bolt everything together with cunningly contrived fittings, mount
her upon a set of hardened iron runners, equip her with a “tailor-made”
suit of sails, launch her on reasonably smooth ice, and, given a
twenty-mile breeze, she will carry you forty miles, or maybe sixty
miles, an hour, if you know how to make her do her best.

It may be remarked in passing that very pretty sport may be had with
model ice-yachts, constructed somewhat after the manner indicated.
Pieces of tin or sheet-iron will do for runners and steering-gear at
a pinch, and if the sails are moderate in area and the center-timber
tolerably long, so that ballast can be suitably adjusted, she will go
like a witch and skim over a mere veneering of ice to the admiration
of all beholders. There are always several days at the beginning of
winter before the ice is available for skating, when model ice-yachts
might be made to do duty instead of the sticks and stones with which
impatient boyhood usually disports itself, thereby ruining the ice for
the legitimate pastimes of colder weather.

In the regions where the ice rarely becomes thick enough for
satisfactory skating, these little ice-yachts may easily afford a
deal of not altogether unprofitable amusement. Model yachts have not
as yet gained much of a foothold in the nonfreezing United States,
but in England, where there are prosperous clubs almost everywhere,
even in Hyde Park, in the heart of London, the conditions are very
favorable. Sails and rigging are all ready and need only to be mounted
upon a suitable frame with runners, steering gear and adjustable
ballast. The average Englishman may probably regard this suggestion
as unwarrantable, because ice-yachting is wholly beyond his range of
experience, but if once he tries it he will find that it opens up
possibilities of seamanship not dreamed of heretofore, and he will
cover the frozen Serpentine with miniature fleets that will rival in
beauty and vastly excel in speed those that dance over its ripples
during the summer months.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.--A KITE-FRAME FOR AN ICE-YACHT.]

In its main features the Hudson River ice-yacht now closely approaches
perfection. Improvements will, of course, be made from time to time
in the minor details of rig, and occasionally some phenomenally fast
boat will be built, the secret of her speed remaining perhaps, in some
degree, unexplained.

A few years ago the lateen rig was simultaneously adopted by the
Hudson River and Shrewsbury (N. J.) clubs, and for a time it bade
fair to supersede the jib and mainsail boats that had long held the
championship pennant. Several very large lateen-rigged yachts were
constructed, notably the _Scud_ of the Shrewsbury, and the _Avalanche_
of the Hudson River Club. Experience has shown, however, that craft of
that size and rig are phenomenally fast only when the wind rises to No.
70 of Beaufort’s scale, that is to say, something nearly approaching a
full-grown hurricane. With such a wind the big lateens are undoubtedly
very fast, but the rarity of such conditions leaves them in the lurch
on ordinary racing days, and it is by no means certain that even in a
hurricane they are sure to win when pitted against a jib and mainsail.
At all events, some of the large lateens have been altered to the sloop
rig, and their owners are not disposed to try back.

On small or moderate sized yachts, however, the lateen is an admirable
rig, and in average racing weather such boats not infrequently distance
their larger competitors. In this connection it may be well to compare
the respective weights of the two rigs as taken by Mr. John A.
Roosevelt, Commodore of the Hudson River Club.

Comparative weights of the _Icicle_ (sloop) and _Avalanche_ (lateen):

_Icicle._ _Avalanche._

Center-timber and box, lbs. 776½ lbs. 768½
Runner-plank and strap, 565 520
Mast, 250 361
Runners, 150 186½
Boom and two blocks, 146½ 451½
Rigging, 125 --
Blocks, -- 93
Rudder-post and tiller, 91 81½
Gaff, 47½ --
Yard, -- 198
Jib-boom and two blocks, 47 --
Blocks, -- 18½
Blocks and halyards, 62 50
Sails, 172 206
--------- ---------
lbs. 2,432½ lbs. 3,007¾

It is seen, therefore, that the lateen outscales her rival by about
575 lbs., the two boats being nearly the same size. Theoretically, the
_Avalanche_ having only a single sail--and that capable of being set
almost as tight and flat as a drumhead--should out-point and out-foot
anything of her size, but practically the extra weight hinders more
than the better fitting canvas helps her.

The “cat-rig,” too, has been tried, but without the good results
anticipated, and a sharpie rig has, it is said, done fairly well with a
small boat on the Shrewsbury.

It may be confidently stated that the sloop rig is the safest to count
upon for allround work, particularly in the largest-sized boats. In
boats of the second and third class the lateen may be used with a
chance, not altogether assured, of superlatively good results.

It is not likely that ice-yachts will ever be built larger than the
present, the _Avalanche_, _Icicle_, _Northern Light_, _Scud_, and their
class, _i. e._, about fifty feet long, and spreading something like 600
square feet of canvas. To sustain such a boat requires comparatively
heavy ice; to drive her at a high rate of speed calls for a living gale
of wind, and to tow her home when becalmed, or collect her scattered
fragments should she chance to be shipwrecked, is a work demanding a
large store of patience and endurance. In average blustering wintry
weather, with a wind not to exceed, say, twenty-five miles an hour,
boats of the second class stand a very fair chance of beating those of
a larger spread and heavier weight.

The art of sailing an ice-yacht is _sui generis_. It is, indeed, of
comparatively modern origin. A generation ago sheets were started
on an ice-yacht when running free, much as they are in an ordinary
sailing-boat, and the singular properties of the close-hauled sail
were not understood. The modern ice-yachtsman never slacks away his
sheet except, perhaps, when he wants to turn a stake with certainty, or
when the ice softens. Given a hard surface and a stiff breeze, he will
outrun the wind in any direction.

One who hears this paradox stated for the first time may be pardoned
for incredulity, nor is it easy in all cases to make clear the
possibility of such a feat. A very large majority of intelligent
people when confronted with the proposition, simply say that it is
impossible and absurd, and are hardly convinced when they actually
see an ice-yacht running straight down the wind, with her pennant
streaming out astern. To yachtsmen. it had been known for several
years that a comparatively light wind would send ice-yachts ahead of
the fast express trains on the Hudson River Railroad. After a time
the mathematical experts heard of it, and they said it could not be
so; they took their little slates and proved their position to the
satisfaction of all properly constituted scientific minds. But this did
not prevent the yachtsmen from sailing faster and faster, and presently
other mathematicians rose up and demonstrated the contrary of the
proposition, thereby showing, for the ten-thousandth time, that all
save the truth can be proven by figures.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.--THE SAILING PARADOX.]

The fundamental principle of sailing an ice-yacht faster than the wind
may be readily demonstrated by means of a very simple mechanical device.

Let A, E, B, F be an open frame, A-B a wire stretched diagonally from
corner to corner, and G a ring running upon the wire. C-D, another
wire, reaches from end to end of the frame, passing also through the
ring G at the intersection of the wires. This second wire (C-D) is
movable back and forth between A-F and E-B, and parallel to them. It is
evident that when C-D is moved the ring G will slide along both wires,
and that while C-D is passing from A-F to E-B, G will slide from A to
B--twice as far, that is, as the distance traversed by C-D, the moving
agent.

[Illustration: SAIL PLAN OF A MODERN ICE-YACHT.]

Now, suppose G to be an ice-yacht; let the movement of C-D across the
frame represent the direction and velocity of the wind and the diagonal
A-B the distance to be traversed. The ice-yacht G moves twice as far,
that is to say, twice as fast as does C-D (the wind) that drives it.
Such is, perhaps, as plain a statement of the conditions as can be
devised. In practice the elements become more complicated. Let Fig.
3 represent a section of frozen river, with the wind blowing across
it in the direction indicated by the arrows. Applying the principle
shown in Fig. 2, an ice-yacht may run from A to B while the wind is
moving across the river from A-F to E-B. It is not the purpose of this
paper to go into the logistics of sailing in general, but any one who
can sail a boat will see at a glance, that with the wind as shown in
Fig. 3, an ordinary boat would sail nearly or quite as fast from C to
D, or from E to F, as she would from A to B. The same rules apply,
of course, to an ice-yacht, but with this important difference, while
an ordinary sailing-boat meets with increasing resistance from the
water the faster she goes through it, an ice-yacht meets less and less
frictional resistance from the ice the faster she goes over it. Again,
if she is pointing more or less toward the wind (as on a line from E to
F), she increases the apparent force of the wind by her own motion. The
only considerable resistance is that offered by spars, rigging, etc.,
in passing through the air, and this is trifling when compared with her
large sail area, and the propulsive energy of even a moderate breeze.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.--THE SAILING PARADOX IN PRACTICE.]

In sailing an ice-yacht there is none of the vexatious handling of
ropes unavoidable in an ordinary sailing-boat. The sheets usually take
care of themselves in going about, and the steersman has only to move
his tiller a little to starboard or port to secure instant obedience
and an eagle-like swoop of the yacht in the desired direction. In
high winds, however, the yacht is apt to lift her weather runner
clear of the ice, upon which she at once becomes unmanageable and
must be brought down to her bearings as soon as possible. If properly
balanced she should shortly do this of her own accord, but during the
few seconds when she has the bit between her teeth she may do untold
mischief.

The astonishing rapidity with which an ice-yacht under control may
be handled was well instanced last winter in an encounter between
the _Polaris_ and _Arrow_, as indicated in the diagram, Fig. 4. The
_Polaris_ was running dead before the wind, heading to pass a space
of open water where ice-cutters were at work, when her steersman
became aware of the _Arrow_ approaching on his starboard hand at a
fearful rate of speed, but with her weather runner in the air, and
evidently with the bit between her teeth. A collision was imminent,
for the _Polaris_ could not bear away in either direction; on one
side was open water and on the other was the _Arrow_, too near to be
passed astern. Under the circumstances it was instinct rather than a
process of reasoning that led Commodore Roosevelt to jam his helm hard
a-starboard and send the _Polaris_ spinning on her center, making a
complete revolution almost within her own length (see Fig. 4). She
did it, and was on her former course again almost before any one knew
what had happened, her jib-boom barely clearing the after leach of the
_Arrow’s_ mainsail as she passed astern of her. Such a gyration as
this is justifiable only in extreme cases, for of course everything is
subjected to a sudden and tremendous strain, and if nothing gives way
it speaks well for the perfection of equipment.

Sometimes an ice-yacht will perform this maneuver on her own
responsibility and without an instant’s warning, and this is especially
true of the smaller class of lateen-rigged boats. With them, however,
damage is less likely to result, as the strains are proportionately
less severe.

Sailing on the wind is a comparatively simple matter, though, of
course, where a number of boats are breaking tacks, as in a thrash
to windward on a regatta day, a quick eye and a steady hand are
indispensable if collisions are to be avoided and the most made of
every turn.

Running down the wind, however, calls for the more skillful seamanship,
and involves a closer calculation of chances. Not many years ago,
when a fleet of ice-yachts sailed down the wind, it was a straight run
with lifted sheets, but after a while some bright fellow discovered
that by putting his boat on the wind at her very best point for speed,
she would in a few seconds attain a maximum velocity. Then, bearing
away, she would run sometimes for several minutes _through_ the wind,
her pennant flying out astern, and she sliding past her free-sailing
competitors at an astonishing rate.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.--A CLOSE CALL.]

Fig. 5 roughly shows the comparative courses of two ice-yachts, A
running dead to leeward and B tacking after the method described. The
proportions between the tacks across the wind and the runs through
it cannot be preserved on so small a map; but it is evident that B
traverses a far longer course. That she invariably beats A, other
things being equal, is the unanimous testimony of all practical ice
sailors. In other words, if a balloon could be persuaded to drift down
the wind at a convenient height above the ice, B could let it have a
fair start, and could, if properly handled, sail completely around it
in a run of two or three miles.

This “proper handling,” however, is not so simple as it seems. It
involves an intimate knowledge of and sympathy with one’s boat. Her
best point of sailing varies with every variation in the force of the
wind, and her skipper should know by instinct exactly when she is doing
her very best under existing conditions. She must not be forced so that
she will lift her weather runner clear of the ice, for the moment that
runner lifts the grip of the lee runner weakens, and the yacht is in
danger of making leeway. She must not be turned too sharply, for the
rudder checks her headway, and so does the lateral resistance that she
encounters while changing directions. A knowledge of the course is of
vital importance. Instead of the currents and tide-rips of summer,
the winter yachtsman must be familiar with the “windrows,” air-holes,
cracks, ice-imbedded drift-wood, and the like, that beset his course.
After every storm these are liable to change and new obstructions from
similar causes likely to appear. Hence every tack must be calculated to
a nicety, so that the next change of direction can be made to the best
advantage.

When running for the stake it is important to gauge headway so that
the turn can be made without being carried too far beyond the mark;
and here again a personal knowledge of the boat and her whims is
indispensable for nice seamanship. In the excitement of the moment one
may readily lose control, and it is said to be a good plan to slack
away the peak halyards a trifle just before rounding. This enables the
rudder to act with certainty, and as soon as the turn has been made the
halyards can be again hauled taut. This operation necessitates the best
modern appliances in the way of hoisting-tackle, for the halyards all
lead aft to the “box,” and one man should be able to slack away or haul
taut with one hand. Then, of course, there are all the devices known to
sailing experts intensified a hundred-fold by the altered conditions.

[Illustration: FIG. 5.]

An absolutely even start can always be had since the contestants can
be held at anchor till the signal is given, though, of course, the
windward position gives an advantage. Once under way seamanship and
knowledge of the course begin to tell, and bold maneuvering may quite
as often win a race as in the slower evolutions of regular sailing
craft. The swiftness with which any plan can be executed renders the
game extremely exciting. One sees an opponent making a short and
seemingly unnecessary tack. The natural results must be comprehended
instantly or, peradventure, one may find one’s self presently forced
to yield the right of way when every second is of the last importance.
It is jockeying, perhaps, but when one knows that by crowding a
dangerous rival a trifle he will be forced to tack a mile farther on
by an insurmountable windrow, one were more than mortal to resist the
temptation. It calls for quick thinking and equally quick action to
sail an ice-yacht successfully and well in a modern regatta; but the
excitement is of the wildest description, and all the accessories are
fascinating in the extreme to one who has robust health and does not
care a rap for exposure in a northern midwinter.

Our frontispiece is from an instantaneous photograph which caught the
_Northern Light_ (holder at the time of the Challenge Pennant) just
as she was rounding the home stake, off Poughkeepsie, on Valentine’s
Day, 1887. She was probably moving at the rate of twenty miles an hour
when the picture was taken. The sleet thrown up by her lee runner can
be seen flying off astern. Her weather runner was, in fact, just clear
of the ice at the moment, though so slightly as to be imperceptible in
the picture. This is probably the best photograph of a moving ice-yacht
that has ever been taken.

Every year sees improvements in fittings and rig. The “Haggarty hoist”
is now used on the mainsails of the best boats instead of the ordinary
mast-hoops. This hoist consists of a series of metal clamps attached to
the luff of the sail and engaging a wooden cleat shaped like a T-rail
and fastened vertically to the after-side of the mast.

To secure a better “set” the luff of the sail is no longer doubled
over on itself, but instead, a canvas binding is sewed on. This gives
three thicknesses of canvas instead of five thicknesses, as was often
the case under the old system, and, consequently, the sail stretches
along the mast, where the greatest hoisting strain falls, and where any
inequality is most readily taken up without causing wrinkles elsewhere.
The elliptical box, with its comfortable cushions and its central
hand-rail for the passengers to grasp in case of need, is suggestive
of luxury but in itself it is largely delusive, for no position is
less endurable than a half-reclining one with the head raised, as was
formerly unavoidable. To render the sitting position possible the iron
tiller is now given an upward curve, so that the steersman can sit with
his legs across the center-timber, the tiller swinging freely above his
knees. This posture, however, necessitates some sort of a backboard,
and the best appears to be an upholstered iron frame, as shown in Fig.
6.

[Illustration: FIG 6.--A BACK-REST.]

The flat extensions, A A, pass under the cushion, and a firm back
and brace is thus supplied. Another device is to make the central
portion of the side of the box higher than the rest, with a narrow
cushion to fit, effecting the same end. This matter of cushions is
not mere luxury. The rapid passage of the runners over any save the
very smoothest of ice produces a jarring motion that speedily becomes
unendurable wherever the person rests against a hard or angular
surface. In previous articles it has been suggested that stout
chair-seats, with arms and back, might be adjusted to the center-timber
in connection with a foot steering-gear, similar to those used in
canoes. Such seats could be fastened anywhere on the center-timber by
means of thumb-screws, thus moving the weight forward or aft according
to the special conditions of wind or weather.

The season for ice-yachting in the latitude of New York rarely begins
before January and often holds off until February. The daily morning
papers always mention the condition of the ice on the preceding
day, and by taking an early morning train one may easily reach the
sailing-ground by noon or shortly after. The weather, in New York is no
criterion of that north of the Highlands. It is often raining on the
coast when the sky is clear and the weather fine in the interior. When,
therefore, good ice is announced by the papers, the correct thing to do
is to take the next train to Poughkeepsie, irrespective of weather. You
may be disappointed, for wind and temperature are proverbially fickle;
but if you have reasonably good luck you may see the finest ice-yachts
in the world, and learn by personal observation how they are managed.

THE LAKE CHAMPLAIN YACHT CLUB.

FREDERIC G. MATHER.

“This is a great day for Lake Champlain,” said a rustic who had been
discussing with his fellow the difference between a cat-boat and a
sloop. “I may not know the difference, but there’s plenty about here
who do--and I say, ‘Hurrah for old Champlain! anyhow.’”

The rustic, like many others who are right, spoke better than he knew.
It was a mild morning in September last. Rain had fallen all through
the neighborhood, and more was to come according to that never failing
test--the low-hung clouds which still covered the eastern slopes of the
Adirondacks and refused to lift even when an occasional ray of sunshine
gave them every chance. From the opposite shore of New York the early
morning hours were watched with intense interest. The alternate layers
of mist and mountain showed also stretches of lake, and the larger
objects in Burlington appeared through the rifts--the whole making
nature’s _mise en scène_ for what was to come.

And, indeed, it was a great day. The Lake Champlain Yacht Club was
organized May 16, 1887, with a constitution, by-laws and sailing
regulations patterned closely after those of the New York Yacht Club.
Its rules for sailing were no stricter than its rules for uniforms.
In a word, at the time of the regatta everything that experience and
enterprise could suggest had been in preparation for sixteen months
under the guidance of such gentlemen as W. Boerum Wetmore, commodore;
W. A. Crombie, vice-commodore; J. Gregory Smith, president; W. S. Webb,
first vice-president; Henry Ballard, second vice-president; Joseph
Auld, secretary, and Horatio Hickok, treasurer. An executive committee
of thirty included not only the above but also such names as H. J.
Brookes, H. Le Grand Cannon, H. H. Noble, Jacob G. Sanders, J. A.
Averill, A. C. Tuttle, W. H. H. Murray and Alvaro Adsit--all of them
well-known sailors upon fresh water; while the total membership of two
hundred took in navigators as far to the southward as Albany and New
York. In fact, it will be noticed that many of the names are those of
New Yorkers who spend the summer months along the shores of Champlain,
and one enthusiastic member, Robert W. Rogers, comes all the way from
New Orleans. Among the members who have not, according to popular
belief, made any aquatic record is G. F. Edmunds, the U. S. Senator
from the State of Vermont.

Thus all that hard work, good discipline and natty uniforms could do
had been done. The day was a great one because it would bring what
had been attempted to a practical test. The lake is about one hundred
miles long with a breadth varying from half a mile at the southern end
to twenty miles (including islands) at the northern end, so that the
greatest stretch of clear water from east to west is ten miles, and
the longest unobstructed sweep lengthwise is forty miles. There is no
perceptible current, although the drainage is northward into the valley
of the St. Lawrence. The prevailing winds are from the south, with
occasional winds from the north and, near the shores, frequent puffs
that come down through the notches in the Green Mountains on one side
and the Adirondack Mountains on the other. Given, then, such a lake not
so steady for sailing purposes as Long Island Sound, the chain of the
Great Lakes, or even the inland lakes of Chautauqua, Seneca and Cayuga
with their low-crowned banks, and yet less treacherous than smaller
mountain lakes, like George and Memphremagog--to find the craft that
will sail it best with speed and safety. This was the problem that had
been discussed and solved and solved over again for months, and which
had now come to the point where all theories must show their value or
cease to be entertained.

Yachting on Lake Champlain was a plant of slow growth. It was hardly an
exotic, because some kind of craft had been known there for 250 years.
The xebecs of the early French gave way to the sloops and schooners
of the English; and the latter, in the decline of commerce, have been
followed by the “long-lakers,” and the Canadian square-sail galleys
of to-day. Sail boats of uncertain age, and still more uncertain
origin, have flitted about the lake for generations; but nothing was
ever evolved from them that met the requirements of the modern yacht.
It was reserved for the Rev. W. H. H. Murray to bring thither some of
the ideas that he had gathered among the oystermen along the coast of
Connecticut and to adapt them to a fresh-water lake. Everyone credits
Mr. Murray, better known as “Adirondack,” with calling attention to the
broad expanse of lake opposite Burlington that had not been used as it
might be by sails and hulls of modern cut; and everybody agrees that
the present yacht club is the outcome of his earlier efforts, although,
in many respects, it has outgrown what he developed and contended for
at the first. So Mr. Murray shall have the credit in these pages.

[Illustration: THE “GYPSIE,” PHELPS & SON, BURLINGTON, VT.]

[Illustration: THE “VIRGINIA”--PETER THUST, ST. JOHNS, CANADA.]

It had occurred to Mr. Murray that the type of oyster-boat known on
Long Island Sound as the “sharpie,” would fill all the conditions
on Champlain noted above. The sharpie was the successor of the old
V-shaped punts, or “flat-iron” scows, that brought the earlier oysters
to market. When the demand for more bivalves led to the transplanting
of Southern oysters to Long Island Sound, the larger boat, the sharpie,
was produced, as the one which would combine cheapness, light draught,
broad bottom, ready handling with the sail or oar, sea-worthiness, and
fair sailing qualities.

[Illustration: THE “FLYAWAY”--DR. W. S. WEBB.]

[Illustration: COMMODORE’S LAUNCH “DOLPHIN.”]

So Mr. Murray constructed the _White Wings_ in Connecticut, and brought
it to Burlington to show his faith in his new theory. We may quote
liberally from his description of a sharpie adapted for use on Lake
Champlain. The length over-all is 50 feet; depth, 4 feet amidships;
extreme width of deck, 12 feet; length of center-board, 16 feet; width,
5 feet; distance between masts, 30 feet; sail-area, 200 to 300 yards;
length of foremast, 50 feet; length of mainmast, 47 feet. The sails are
laced to small booms, or the sprit can be used. The sails can be of
strictly “leg-o’-mutton” shape or “clubbed” in form, which is desirable
when a large spread of canvas is demanded, because it allows a large
sail area, and, at the same time, keeps the major section of the sail
low down, where the wind-pressure should be located. These boats are
decked and staved in hard woods--oak, cherry, birch or Southern pine.
White pine is of course allowed, but it is soft and liable to be
marred by indentations. The sides are of white pine plank, 2 inches
in thickness, 8 inches wide, and from 16 to 20 feet in length. Such
plank-work is easily shaped, and makes a strong boat. The bottom is
of Southern pine, finest quality, 2 inches thick and 6 wide, and the
stern-piece of best white oak, with plenty of size to it. Fourteen feet
abaft the stem is the front of the cabin, and the length of cabin is
adapted to suit service. If for home sailing, it can be twelve feet,
divided amidships into two apartments--one for men, the other for
women. The front section of each apartment, say 4 × 5, is fitted with
a lavatory like a Pullman car; height of cabin, six feet in the clear.
This gives an elevation of sides above deck-line of, say, two feet,
three sides to be built in two or three panels which can be opened
inward in fair weather, and buttoned to cabin roof. The cabin is thus
converted, at will, into a charming sitting-room, in which ladies and
children can be protected from the sun, and yet enjoy the sight of
water and mountains beyond. If the boat is intended for cruising, the
cabin can be made longer, say twenty-two feet. This would still leave
a large cockpit, and accommodate a party of a dozen with berths and
tables for sleeping and eating, whether the weather was fair or foul.
The table-leaf can be hinged to the center-board case, so as to hang
vertically to it and take up no room when not in use. Berths, on bed
frames, made of wicker, 6 × 2 feet, are hinged to the cabin sides,
and like the table, hang pendant when not in use. Cook’s galley,
immediately ahead of the cabin, is entered by a hatch of large size,
say 3 × 4 feet, built to be slid forward in close-fitting grooves, so
that in rough weather it would be practically water-tight. The cabin
should be of quartered oak or cherry, or any desirable wood. Fifty
chairs can be placed in the cabins and cockpit.

Such were the boats of which Mr. Murray wrote: “They are well adapted
to meet the wants of amateurs, and will do much to make yachting a
popular recreation to a degree never hitherto realized.” The appearance
of the _White Wings_ led to the building of other sharpies, and an
organization under the name of the Sharpie Yacht Club of Burlington
became the nucleus of the present yacht club.

Since Burlington boasts no canoe or rowing clubs, it was Mr. Murray’s
idea to combine all the boating interests as a part of a general scheme
which should take charge of all kinds of sports and pastimes natural to
such a magnificent body of inland water, and yet the boating section of
the club was to be devoted to sharpies--the model to which Mr. Murray
still pins his faith. As the club grew it showed decided tendencies
toward a regular yacht club. This carried with it the erection of
a $5,000 club-house on one of the best wharves in the harbor at a
point about which all the boating tendencies of the lake might rally,
the expenses of membership being only $10 yearly with no financial
responsibility beyond this figure.

As an illustration of the very effective and concise way of doing
things, it will be of interest to repeat a statement that was posted
upon the bulletin board: “The regatta committee will announce before
each race in which direction the course shall be sailed, which will
depend upon the wind. If the course is first to the north from the
club-house, all yachts will pass to the right of all rounding marks,
leaving them on their port sides. In case an overlap exists between
two yachts when both of them, without tacking, are about to pass a
mark on the required side, then the outside yacht must give the inside
yacht room to pass clear of the mark. A yacht shall not, however,
be justified in attempting to establish an overlap and thus force a
passage between another yacht and the mark after the latter yacht has
altered her helm for the purpose of rounding. When a yacht is in danger
of running aground, or of touching a pier, rock or other obstruction,
and cannot go clear by altering her course without fouling another
yacht, then this latter shall on being hailed by the former, at once
give room, and in case one yacht is forced to tack or to bear away in
order to give room, the other shall also tack or bear away, as the
case may be, at as near the same time as is possible without danger of
fouling.”

The regatta should have taken place on the first Tuesday in August,
and that will be the date hereafter; but last year it was postponed
till September 21, in the hope that certain new boats might be finished
and enter the races. The _Nautilus_, the most eagerly expected of all,
failed to appear. We will make note of her later on.

[Illustration: SHARPIE YACHT “BURLINGTON”--JOSEPH AULD AND OTHERS,
BURLINGTON, VT.]

It was required in every instance that there should be three starters
or no race. The club course of about 8-5/16 miles commenced on a line
inside the breakwater and at right angles to the club-house, round the
south end of the breakwater, south of Rock Dunder, south of Juniper
Ledge buoy, west end of Juniper Island, north end of breakwater to
starting line. This was the course for the first class sailing yachts
(33 feet and upward), the time not to exceed 2¾ hours. The first prize
was $60, and the second $20.

[Illustration: W. S. WEBB, FIRST VICE-PRESIDENT.

W. A. CROMBIE, VICE-COMMODORE. JOSEPH AULD, SECRETARY.
]

There had been a brush, a few days before, for the championship
pennant. The _Flyaway_, a sloop built by Lawler, of Boston, for Dr.
W. S. Webb. had covered the course in 1h. 30m. 42s. Next came the
_Ripple_, a sloop built and owned by Adsit and Bigelow, in 1h. 32m.
50s.; and last came the sharpie, _White Wings_, built under Murray’s
eye, and owned by C. B. Gray, her time being 1h. 48m. 30s. The same
boats started in the first class race, except that the sharpie,
_Burlington_, owned by Joseph Auld and others, having less freeboard
and an improved stern, took the place of the _White Wings_. Time
allowance was waived by the _Ripple_ and the _Burlington_. The _Ripple_
came over the line first and held the lead till, on rounding Juniper
Island, she was passed by the _Flyaway_. Then came a very close
contest, the _Ripple_ afterward claiming she would have won if she had
had the time allowance. The elapsed time was: _Flyaway_, 1h. 45m. 3s.;
_Ripple_, 1h. 46m. 33s. The _Burlington_ was becalmed and withdrew.

By this time a drizzling rain had set in; but the yachtsmen and their
friends had had enough taste of the sport to want more. The second
class race was for sailing yachts measuring between 20 and 33 feet.
The prizes were $45 and $15. The course was the club course, omitting
the turning of Juniper Ledge buoy--distance, 7⅓ miles, to be covered
in 2¾ hours. There were five starters, and the prospects were for the
best race of the day. But the rain beat down the wind; the race became
a drifting match, and was postponed till the next day. The starters
were: the _White Wings_, sharpie; the _Agnes T._, a sloop owned by T.
A. Taft; the _Princess_, a sloop owned by R. W. Rogers; the _Puritan_,
a sloop owned by W. C. Witherbee, and the _Eagle_, a schooner-rigged
keel-boat owned by W. S. Hopkins. The same yachts were allowed to sail
in the postponed race on the following day, but only the _Agnes T._
appeared. She sailed over the course in 1h. 14m. 25s. Two entries of
the day before were barred out because they did not start at that time.

There was still more rain and still less wind when the third class
yachts (under 20 feet) were called. The course was 5-13/16 miles,
starting around the north end of the breakwater, thence about Rock
Dunder, and homeward around the south end of the breakwater. Two hours
was the time limit; and the prizes were $30 and $10. The only starter
was the sloop _Goat_, owned by W. C. Witherbee--and so the race was
declared off.

[Illustration: THE BURLINGTON Y. C. HOUSE.]

But no amount of rain or lack of wind could keep back the steam and
naphtha launches of under 50 feet from racing for the $100 cup offered
by Commodore Wetmore. The course was around the north end of the
breakwater, north of Appletree buoy, south of Proctor’s shoal buoy and
around the south end of the breakwater, a distance of 7 1-5 miles. The
time limit was 1½ hours. Four of the starters finished the race; the
fifth, the _Idlewild_, owned by Averill & Kellogg, having passed the
first buoy only. The starters, together with their owners and elapsed
time, were these: the _Nymph_, Dr. W. S. Webb, 41m. 55s.; the _Cecil_,
Myers & Clough, 49m. 33s.; the _Adonis_, J. B. Tressidder, 52m. 14½s.;
the _Comus_, R. W. Rogers, 58m. 17s. It was evident from the start that
the _Nymph_ would win--but there was a very exciting contest for second
place, the _Cecil_ finally leading the _Adonis_. In figuring the result
the Isherwood rule was used, because the lengths of all the boats were
less than 50 feet. If they had been more than 50 feet, the Emory rules
of the American yacht club would have held. The Isherwood rules provide
that the speed in knots per hour is divided by the cube root of the
length on the waterline of the yachts respectively, and the quotients
represent, relatively, the merits of the different yachts. Based on
this rule, the ratios were: _Nymph_, 1.13; _Cecil_, 0.97; _Adonis_,
0.91.

The _Nymph_ is 46 feet long, 8 feet beam, and 3 feet draught. She
divides with the _Dolphin_, owned by Commodore Wetmore, the honor of
being the fastest steam launch on the lake. The _Dolphin_ is 42 feet
long, with the same beam and draught as the _Nymph_. On October 15
there was a test of speed between the two for the champion pennant of
the lake. The _Nymph_ won by 11½s. over a 7-mile course, there being no
time allowance. On November 1 another race over a course of 6½ miles
was won by the _Dolphin_ by 32½s. We may look for good time from both
the _Dolphin_ and the _Nymph_ in the steam race of 1889.

[Illustration: COMMODORE B. WETMORE.]

The greatest race of all came off upon Saturday, September 22, the
second and final day of the regatta. This was for the $500 cup made
by Tiffany, and presented by the ladies of Burlington. It is an
elaborately-made punch-bowl, with a fine engraving, on the outside,
of the harbor of Burlington. According to the rules of the club, “the
Ladies’ Cup” shall be a perpetual challenge, and shall be sailed for
each year by the yachts belonging to the members of the club at their
annual regatta. The course shall be about ten miles, and the sailing
allowances, etc., shall be governed by such rules of the club, as
from time to time may obtain. The course, etc., may be changed from
time to time by the regatta committee as the exigencies of the club
may require. They, or their successors in office, are made custodians
of the cup for the club, and shall award the same each year to the
successful yacht; which yacht shall have its name and the date of the
regatta engraved on the cup by the committee, and shall hold it until
the next annual regatta, giving bonds to the committee in the sum of
$600 for the safe keeping of the same. Any damage or loss to the cup
while in the possession of a yacht shall be appraised and deducted
by the committee from the bond on the return of the cup, which shall
be one week before the next annual meeting. Owners of yachts failing
to return the cup at the time specified, shall sacrifice their bonds
and cease to be members of the club. A yacht holding the cup and not
competing for its possession, is considered as having competed and
lost. In all races, at least three yachts must start or no race, unless
a race has been postponed; but should the yacht which is in possession
of the cup be a competitor, she may sail the course, without this limit
as to the number starting.

The wind being from an unfavorable quarter, the course of 9⅞ miles was
reversed. It led from the south end of the breakwater, south of Rock
Dunder, south of Juniper Ledge buoy, west of Juniper Island, north
of Appletree buoy, and around the north end of the breakwater. Eight
yachts entered the lists; the _Flyaway_, the _Agnes T._, the _Ripple_,
the _White Wings_, the _Burlington_, the _Gypsie_, Phelps & Son, the
_Surprise_, Joseph Labelle, and the _Virginia_, Peter Thust, the two
latter being Canadians. There was a splendid start, the eight boats all
crossing the line within a space of 1m. 14s. They kept well together,
and on turning the Ledge buoy they were so closely bunched as to be in
each other’s way. Then came more than four miles of beating. The _White
Wings_ capsized in trying to house her jib, and the Canadian boats
gave up the fight. The _Agnes T._ had led thus far with a prospect of
winning, because she was allowed 2m. 10s.--a figure that would have
given her the race over the _Flyaway_ the day before. But her narrow
beam kept down the area of her sails, and she dropped out, while the
_Flyaway_ spread her gaff-topsail and shot ahead. The _Burlington_ held
her port tack well into the broad lake, the _Gypsie_ tacking nearly as
long. It was evident the race belonged to the _Flyaway_ or the _Agnes
T._ The latter was 6½m. behind in turning the Appletree buoy. Then the
race homeward was commenced. The _Flyaway_ set her jib-topsail, and the
_Agnes T._ set her spinnaker. It was to be a very close thing--for the
_Flyaway_ had allowed her rival 2m. 26s., and the _Gypsie_ 9m. 50s. Had
not the spinnaker gone overboard, the _Agnes T._ might have won.

The score stood--

_Elapsed_ _Corrected_
_Time._ _Time._
H. M. S. H. M. S.
Flyaway 2 03 19 2 03 19
Agnes T. 2 09 10 2 06 44
Gypsie 2 17 20 2 07 30
Burlington 2 16 28 2 22 55

It should be stated that the _Burlington_ was obliged to give an
allowance of 6m. 27s. to the winner--thus making her fourth, although
she was third in elapsed time. As soon as the _Flyaway_ crossed the
line there was a welcome from all the steam-whistles in and about the
harbor, such as old Champlain had never heard before.

Now came an incident that showed the _esprit de corps_ of the new
yacht club. Many of the older clubs do not venture upon the Corinthian
race, wherein every boat must be sailed by its owner, assisted solely
by members of the club to which he belongs. Even if the members want
a race of this sort, it is only after years of hard work and constant
sailing contests, that it will be worth the trouble. But Commodore
Wetmore had with him upon the _Dolphin_--the official boat--Col. W.
A. Crombie, vice-commodore; Chester Griswold, fleet captain; Joseph
Auld, secretary; Maj. M. B. Adams, U. S. Engineers; Captain Abbott,
of the 6th U. S. Cavalry, and one or two civilians, who were also
land-lubbers. It was suggested to the commodore that it was of no use
to start the Corinthian race because there could be none--the _Agnes
T._ alone offering to sail. But the commodore blew his whistles, the
proper flag appeared on the club-house, and the race was started in
good form--all except the boats. Then the Commodore delivered himself:
“I propose to let everybody know that we go through the forms of
starting every race, whether there is anybody to start or not. Next
year every boatman and every visitor will know just what to expect. It
is better to start our first regatta right and educate everybody up to
the proper way to do these things.”

The final whistle was blown and the first annual regatta of the Lake
Champlain Yacht Club was over; and over with great credit, thanks more
particularly to the energetic Regatta Committee, W. Boerum Wetmore,
Chester Griswold and H. Le G. Cannon, of New York, and Elias Lyman and
Lieut. A. S. Cummins, of Burlington. Then the sharpies, cutters, sloops
and cats sailed away; and if you were “handy there” you must have heard
the old refrain taken up and echoed back from the hills!--

[Illustration: THE “AGNES T.”--T. A. TAFT.]

“Watch her! catch her!
Jump up in a ju-ba-ju;
Give her sheet and let her howl,
We’re the boys to put her through.
Oh! you ought to hear her howling
When the wind is blowing free.”

Among the sailing-yachts that did not race, were--the _Emily_, Rev. C.
H. Kimball, of Hartford, Conn.; and the _Champlain_, J. Armor Knox, of
New York. The list would not be complete without a mention of three
screw-yachts: the _Sappho_, owned and sailed by the ever-hospitable Dr.
W. S. Webb; the _Scionda_, which knows every reef and bay of Champlain,
under the guidance of the genial commodore, Jacob G. Sanders; and the
_Alexandria_, upon whose decks and within whose cabins Mr. Alexander
Macdonald, of St. Johns, dispensed true Canadian hospitality, and added
much to the social features of the regatta by the presence of his
guests, Mayor Macdonald, U. S. Consul Bertrand, and Mr. Charles Aspin,
of St. Johns, and Judge Davidson, Col. and Mrs. Bond, Miss Bond, Miss
Wood, and Miss Grant, of Montreal.

It is hoped, and rather expected, that another year we may see a race
for steam yachts. The _Sappho_ is 104 feet long, 15 feet beam and 7
feet 6 inches in draught. The _Scionda_ is 98 feet long, 17 feet beam
and 6 feet in draught. The _Alexandria_ is about 85 feet long, with a
beam and draught nearly the same as the _Scionda_. She is built not
so much for speed as for porpoise and other fishing off the coast of
Newfoundland, and all of her arrangements and appliances are of the
most complete and compact kind. An engine, from Providence, R. I.,
gives the motive-power.

The new yacht club starts with all the advantages that the experience
of the older clubs can offer. It is really the pioneer of strict
yachting on the inland waters of the United States. Even on salt water
the history of yachting commences with the New York Yacht Club less
than fifty years ago; and all the developments of the present day date
from within the past twenty years. The pioneer of clubs in New England,
the Boston, was not formed till 1865. The South Boston was formed in
1868; and the Bunker Hill and the Portland in 1869. At the latter
date there were only fifteen clubs in the United States--all of them
on salt water. So the new club enters the lists not much behind the
others in age, and with every inducement and opportunity to avoid their
mistakes, and to profit by their success. In these days of steam-power
the yachtsmen are the only ones left to keep alive the tone and vigor
of the old-time seamanship which was the theme of song and story. And
when the American navy finds its reserve--as it surely will--in the
well-trained yachtsmen of the day, then the Champlain Club will offer
aid that is worth having upon a lake that saw the transit of arms for
more than 200 years.

But the Lake Champlain Yacht Club is thus early in the process of
changing from its original design and scope. We have already seen
how it has grown beyond the sharpie. In spite of schooner or barque
rigs and lower freeboards and more cutter-like sterns the sharpies
that entered the races showed that they were both out-pointed and
out-footed by the sloops. In other words, they failed to hold that grip
upon the water that all boats must have when beating. Their narrow
beams also keep down the area of their sails. As racers, therefore,
the regatta showed them to be failures--although they are safe, roomy
and comfortable boats for cruising. The accident to the _White Wings_
should not tell against the sharpie model, for even a broader beamed
boat is liable to go over when a gybe comes along and the booms and the
ballast are on the same side of the keel. In running before the wind,
however, the sharpie proves to be a safe and a fairly speedy boat.

The other extreme--to which the club seems to be tending--is the
salt-water sloop of the latest design. Such an one, the _Nautilus_,
was expected to be ready for this regatta, but it will surely be on
hand next year, prepared to beat all comers, if what is claimed can be
proved. The hull floats a mile or two down the lake, and the spars and
boom are laid aside till another season. Burgess, of Boston, finished
the lines, and they are very nearly those of the _Volunteer_, the
defender of the _America’s_ Cup, but on a smaller scale. The length
on deck is 53 feet, and on the waterline 40 feet. The beam is 15 feet
and 3 inches, and the draught is 5 feet--or about 13 feet with the
12-foot center-board down. The color is white, but the gunwales are of
oak, and the combings are of mahogany. Steel rigging is used. The mast
is 42 feet high, and the topmast is 34 feet more, a total of 76 feet
from the deck. From the step of the mast to the end of the bowsprit is
39 feet, while the boom is 47 feet long. This makes the lower edge of
the sail-plan triangle 86 feet. With a single rig of sails spread the
_Nautilus_ will carry about 350 square yards, but if the flying-jib,
the spinnaker, and other extra sails are included, the area will reach
about 700 square yards.

Of course the building of the _Nautilus_ is tentative. It remains to be
seen whether as much sail area as can be spread to the steady breezes
of salt water can be spread with profit, or even with safety, to the
comparatively unsteady and uncertain winds of an inland lake that is
surrounded by mountains. The American Canoe Association has proved,
on a smaller scale, that big sails on a mountain-locked lake are to
be avoided. Experience has shown that a moderate area of sail, well
handled, wins the day; but there are times when a light wind gives
the race to the man who has the largest area. The same experience is
likely to come to the yacht club, and our prediction is that it will
soon be shown that the _Nautilus_ has too many and too large sails for
her hull, and that by the time of the regatta in August she will appear
with a smaller area. But if the _Nautilus_ can go through the narrow
pass in the lake known as Split Rock, with its varying currents of air
and water, and its sudden and terrific squalls from off Whallon’s bay,
then she can do anything; for that is the test of seamanship, according
to the old sailors on the lake. Such a severe trial, however, should
not be asked of the _Nautilus_, or of any other new boat that is built
for the same purpose. Her mission is not so much to tempt Providence as
to mark an era in the advancement of yachting upon the unsalted waters.

Whatever may be thought of Burlington as a place of winter resort, it
is certain that it is developing into a more popular place for the
passing of the warmer months. Instead of the winter carnivals we have
not only yacht-racing, but all the other pleasures that the water can
afford. While the principal rivers of the New York shore are bounded
by rocks, those on the Vermont shore are bounded by long bars of sand.
To the northward of Burlington the Lamoille sends out a long sand-bar
on which, with a little assistance by men, a drive has been formed to
one of the larger islands. It goes by the name of the Sandbar Bridge.
Then there is the Winooski, or Onion River, which empties into the lake
seven or eight miles south of the Lamoille River, and a mile or so
north of Burlington. The river rises close to the Connecticut River,
on the southern borders of Vermont breaks through the range of the
Green Mountains and shows caves at Duxbury and many other points along
the slope of the Camel’s Hump. The river, in fact, runs through the
valley between Mansfield and the Camel’s Hump, and presents a series of
surprises to the tourist.

Burlington was in the old seigniory of La Manaudiere on both sides
of the Lamoille River, and belonged to Pierre Rainbault, who was one
of the French victims at the time of the conquest of Canada by the
English. Burlington has many beautiful spots, and the monuments to
Lafayette and Allen are especially worth visiting. The isolated rock
Dunder, only a mile or two off from the wharves, has always been an
object of mystery, many claiming that it was the original boundary
between the French and English Indians. Then there is Juniper Island,
on which the United States has established a light-house, and the
breakwater which forms the real harbor of the city except when, as
occasionally happens, the waves break down the breakwater itself. Only
a short distance down the lake are Shelburne town, and the neighboring
resort known as Cedar Beach. Then we come to the extensive grounds,
thousands of acres in area, recently purchased by the Vanderbilts and
their connections, and now developed into most beautiful parks and
all kinds of driveways, that would do credit to cities of much larger
growth.

Indeed, Burlington is the city which Edward Everett Hale recently
described as a fitting answer to Matthew Arnold’s strictures upon the
homeliness of Americans and their surroundings. Mr. Hale spoke of the
new hospital in Burlington, and its fund of half a million dollars, and
said: “If this be a commonplace monument, let us thank God that we live
in a commonplace land.” He spoke of the public library with its choice
collections, and was informed that it was a question whether there were
three or four paupers in the poorhouse. Then Mr. Hale went on to say:
“This is so distinguished a condition of affairs that I should not dare
tell that story in any social science congress in Europe. It would be
set down as a Yankee exaggeration. People would say it was impossible.
It is not impossible, because the men and women of Burlington have
known how to give themselves to the administration of the wealth in
common.”

THE BREAKING OF WINTER.

BY PATIENCE STAPLETON.

“That’s the fust funerel I’ve went to sence I was a gal, but that I
drove to the graveyard.”

“I dunno as that done the corp enny good.”

“An’ seems all to onc’t I miss old Tige,” muttered the first speaker
half to herself.

It was snowing now, a fine mist sifting down on deep-drifted
stone-walls and hard, shining roads, and the tinkle of sleigh-bells,
as a far-away black line wound over the hill to the bleak graveyard,
sounded musical and sweet in the muffled air. Two black figures in the
dazzling white landscape left the traveled road and ploughed heavily
along a lane leading to a grove of maples, cold and naked in the winter
scene.

“They say Ann Kirk left a good prop’ty,” said the first speaker, a
woman of fifty, with sharp black eyes, red cheeks, few wrinkles and
fewer gray hairs in the black waves under her pumpkin hood. She pulled
her worn fur cape around her neck and took a new grasp on her shawl,
pinning it tight. “Ann an’ me used to take a sight of comfort driving
old Tige.”

The man, her companion, grunted and went sturdily ahead. He was
enveloped in a big overcoat, a scarf wound around his neck and a
moth-eaten fur cap pulled down over his ears. His blue eyes were watery
from the cold, his nose and chin peaked and purple, and frost clung to
the short gray beard about his mouth.

“Who’ll git the prop’ty?” panted the woman. She held her gown up in
front, disclosing a pair of blue socks drawn over her shoes.

“Relashuns, I s’pose.”

“She was allus so savin’, keepin’ drippins for fryin’, and sellin’
nearly every mite of butter they made; an’ I’ve heered the Boston
relashuns was extravagant. Her sister hed on a black silk to the
funerel to ride to the grave in; I guess they are well-to-do.”

“Dunno,” gruffly.

Somehow then the woman remembered that glossy silk, and that she had
never had one. Then this sister’s husband, how attentive he was leading
his wife out to the sleigh, and she had seen them walking arm-in-arm
the past summer, when no man in Corinth ever offered his arm to his
wife unless it were to a funeral and they were first mourners. “Silas
never give me his arm but the fust Sunday we were merried,” she
thought; “bein’ kind to wimmen wan’t never the Lowell’s way.” A sharp
pain in her side made her catch her breath and stop a moment, but the
man paid no heed to her distress. At the end of a meadow on a little
rise looking down a long, shady lane, stood a gray old farm-house, to
which age had given picturesqueness and beauty, and here Maria Lowell
had lived the thirty years of her married life. She unlocked the door
and went into the cold kitchen where the fire had died down. A lean cat
came purring from under the table, and the old clock seemed to tick
more cheerily now the mistress had returned.

“A buryin’ on Christmas Eve, the minister said, and how sad it were,
and I felt like tellin’ him Ann an’ me never knowed Christmas from enny
other day, even to vittles, for turkeys fetched better prices then, an’
we sold ourn.” She went into a frozen bedroom, for Corinth folks would
have thought a man crazy to have a fire in a sleeping-room except in
sickness; she folded her shawl and cape and laid them carefully on the
feather bed, covered with its gay quilt, the fruit of her lonely hours.
Mechanically she set about getting supper, stirring the fire, putting
a pan of soda biscuits in to bake, and setting a dish of dried-apple
sauce and a plate of ginger cookies on the table. “Berried on Chrismus
Eve, but little she ever thought of it, nor me, and little of it Jimmy
hed here to home.”

She looked at her biscuits, slammed the oven door, glanced cautiously
around to see if Silas, who had gone to milk the cow, were coming;
then drawing her thin lips tighter, went back into the cold bedroom.
With ruthless hand tearing open an old wound, she unlocked a drawer
in the old mahogany bureau and took out something rolled in a
handkerchief--only a tiny vase, blue and gilt, woefully cheap, laughed
at by the cultured, scorned by the children of to-day. She held it
tenderly in her cold hand and brought back the memory that would never
die. It was years and years ago in that very room, and a little child
came in holding one chubby hand behind him, and he looked at her
with her own bright eyes under his curly hair. “Muver, Jimmy’s got a
s’prise.” She remembered she told him crossly to go out of the cold
room and not bother her. She remembered, too, that his lip quivered,
the lip that had yet the baby curve. “It was a present, muver, like the
minister sed. I got candy on the tree, but you didn’t git nawthin’,
and I buyed you this with my berry money.” The poor little vase in
that warm chubby hand--ay, she forgot nothing now; she told him he was
silly to spend good money on trash, and flung the vase aside, but that
grieved childish face came back always. Ah, it would never fade away,
it had returned for a quarter of a century. “I never was used to young
ones,” she said aloud, “nor kindness,” but that would not heal the
wound; no self-apology could. She went hurriedly to the kitchen, for
Silas was stamping the snow off his feet in the entry.

“I got fifty dollars for old Tige,” he said, as he poured his tea into
his saucer to cool; “he was wuth it, the honest old creetur!”

The little black-eyed woman did not answer; she only tightened her
lips. Over the mantel where the open fireplace had been bricked up, was
a picture in a narrow black frame, a colored print of Washington on a
fine white horse, and maidens strewing flowers in his pathway.

“When Tige was feelin’ good,” continued Silas, “he’d a monstrous
likeness to thet hoss in the pictur, monstrous! held his hed high an’
pranced; done you good to see him in Bath when them hosses tried to
parss him; you’d a thort he was a four-year-old! chock full of pride.
The hackman sed he was a good ’un, but run down; I don’t ’low to
overfeed stock when they ain’t wurkin’.”

“Ourn has the name of bein’ half starved,” muttered the woman.

Silas looked at her in some surprise. “I ginerelly gits good prices for
’em all the same.”

“We ginerelly overreach every one!”

“Goin’ to Ann’s funerel hez sorter upset ye, M’ri: Lord, how old Tige
would cavort when Jim would ride him; throw out his heels like a colt.
I never told the hackman Tige was eighteen year old. I ain’t over
pertikler in a hoss trade, like everybody else. He wun’t last long I
calc’late now, for them hack horses is used hard, standin’ out late
nights in the cold an’--”

“Was the Wilkins place sold out ter-day?” said the woman hastily, with
agonizing impatience to divert his thoughts to something else.

“Yes, it were,” chuckled Silas, handing his cup for more tea, “an’
they’ll have ter move ter Bosting. You was ginning me for bein’ mean,
how’d you like to be turned outer doors? Ef I do say it, there ain’t no
money due on my prop’ty, nor never was.”

“Who air you savin’ it fur?” said Maria, quietly. She sat with downcast
eyes tapping her spoon idly on her saucer; she had eaten nothing.

“Fur myself,” he growled, pushing his chair back. He lit a pipe and
began to smoke, his feet at the oven door.

Outside it was quite dark, snow and night falling together in a dense
black pall. Over the lonely roads drifted the snow, and no footfall
marred it. Through drear, silent forests it sifted, sifted down, clung
to cheery evergreens, and clasped shining summer trees that had no
thought for winter woes; it was heaped high over the glazed brooks
that sang, deep down, songs of summer time and gladness, like happy,
good old folks whose hearts are ever young and joyous. Over the wide
Kennebec, in the line of blue the ferry-boat kept open, the flakes
dropped, dropped and made no blurr, like the cellar builders of temples
and palaces, the rank and file, the millions of good, unknown dead,
unmentioned in history or the Bible. The waves seething in the confined
path crackled the false ice around the edges, leaped upon it in
miniature breakers, and swirled far underneath with hoarse murmur. In
the dark water something dark rose and fell with the tide. Was there a
human being drifting to death in the icy sea? The speck made no outcry;
it battled nobly with nature’s mighty force. Surely and slowly the high
wharfs and the lights of Bath faded; nearer grew the woods of Corinth;
the ferry landing and the tavern-keeper’s lamp.

“I heered suthin’ on the ferry slip,” said a little old man in the
tavern, holding his hand behind his ear.

“Nawthin’, night’s too black,” said the tavern-keeper; “you’re allus a
hearin’ what no one else do, Beaman.”

No star nor human eye had seen the black speck on the wild water, and
no hand lent it aid to land.

In ugly silence Silas smoked his pipe, while equally still, Maria
washed the dishes. She stepped to throw the dish-water outside the door
and then she heard a sound. The night was so quiet a noise traveled
miles. What was it, that steady smothered thud up the lane where so
seldom a stranger came? Was it only the beating of her heart after all?
She shut the door behind her and hurried out, wrapping her wet cold
hands in her apron. Suddenly there came a long, joyful neigh!

“How on airth did that critter git home?” cried Silas, jumping to his
feet.

Nearer, nearer, in a grand gallop, with tense muscles and quivering
limbs, with upraised head and flying mane, with eager eyes, nearer,
in great leaps thrusting time and distance far behind, came that
apparition of the night.

“Oh, my God!” cried the woman wildly, “old Tige has come home--come
home to this place, and there is one living thing that loves it!”

The light flared out from the open door. “How on airth did he git
across the river?” said Silas, querulously. “An’ how am I goin’ to git
him back in this weather?”

There he stood, the noble old horse that her boy had raised from a
colt, had ridden, had given to her when he went away. “Mother,” her
boy had said, “be good to old Tige. If ever father wants to sell him,
don’t you let him. I’d come back from my grave if the old horse was
abused--the only thing I loved, that loved me in this place I cannot
call a home. Remember he has been so faithful.”

Ay, he had been faithful, in long, hot summer days, in wide, weary
fields, in breaking the stony soil for others’ harvest, in bringing
wood from the far forest, in every way of burden and work.

He stood quivering with cold, covered with ice, panting after his
wild gallop; but he was home, poor brute mind! That old farm was his
home: he had frolicked in its green fields as a colt, had carried a
merry-voiced young master, had worked and rested in that old place;
he might be ill-treated and starved, he did not grieve, he did not
question, for it was home! He could not understand why this time the
old master had not taken him away; never before had he been left in
Bath. In his brute way he reasoned he had been forgotten, and when his
chance came, leaped from the barn, running as horse never ran before,
plunged off the wharf into the black waves, swam across and galloped to
his home.

“If there is a God in Heaven, that horse shall not go back!” cried
the woman fiercely; “if you take him from here again it shall be over
my dead body! Ay, you may well look feared; for thirty years I have
frozen my heart, even to my own son, and now the end’s come. It needed
that faithful brute to teach me; it needed that one poor creature that
loved me and this place, to open the flood-gates. Let me pass, and I
warn you to keep away from me. Women go mad in this lonely, starved
life. Ay, you are a man, but I am stronger now than you ever were. I’ve
been taught all my life to mind men, to be driven by them, and to-night
is a rising of the weak. Put me in the asylum, as other wives are, but
to-night my boy’s horse shall be treated as never before.”

“But M’ri,” he said, trembling, “there, there now, let me git the
lantern, you’re white as a sheet! We’ll keep him if you say so; why
hadn’t you told me afore?”

She flung him aside, lit the lantern and then ran up to an attic
chamber under the eaves. “M’ri, you hain’t goin’ to kill yourself?” he
quavered, waiting at the foot of the stairs. She was back in a moment,
her arms full of blankets.

“What on airth!”

“Let me alone, Silas Lowell, these were my weddin’ blankets. I’ve saved
’em thirty years in the cedar chist for this. They was too good for you
and me; they air too poor fur my boy’s horse.”

“But there’s a good hoss blanket in the barn.”

“The law don’t give you these; it mebbe gives you me, but these is
mine.”

She flung by him, and he heard the barn door rattle back. He put on his
coat and went miserably after her.

“M’ri, here’s yer shawl, you’ll git yer death.” The barn lit by the
lantern revealed two astonished oxen, a mild-eyed cow, a line of hens
roosting on an old hay-rack and Maria rubbing the frozen sides of the
white horse. “Put yer shawl on, M’ri, you’ll git yer death.”

“An’ you’d lose my work, eh? Leave me, I say, I’m burning up; I never
will be cold till I’m dead. I can die! there is death ’lowed us poor
critters, an’ coffins to pay fur, and grave lots.”

Silas picked up a piece of flannel and began to rub the horse. In
ghastly quiet the two worked, the man watching the woman, and looking
timorously at the axe in the corner. One woman in the neighborhood,
living on a cross-road where no one ever came, had gone mad and
murdered her husband, but “M’ri” had always been so clear-headed! Then
the woman went and began piling hay in the empty stall.

“You ain’t goin’ to use thet good hay fur beddin’, be ye, M’ri?” asked
Silas in pathetic anxiety.

“I tell you let me be. Who has a better right to this? His labor cut it
and hauled it; this is a time when the laborer shall git his hire.”

Silas went on rubbing, listening in painful silence to the click of the
lock on the grain bin, and the swish of oats being poured into a trough.

“Don’t give him too much, M’ri,” he pleaded humbly, “I don’t mean ter
be savin’, but he’ll eat hisself to death.”

“The first that ever did on this place,” laughed the woman wildly.

Then standing on the milking-stool she piled the blankets on the
grateful horse, then led him to the stall where she stood and watched
him eat. “I never see you so free ’round a hoss afore,” said Silas;
“you used to be skeered of ’em, he might kick ye.”

“He wouldn’t because he ain’t a man,” she answered shrilly; “it’s only
men that gives blows for kindness!”

“Land of the living!” cried Silas, as a step sounded on the floor, and
a queer figure came slowly into the glare of light by the lantern, a
figure that had a Rembrandt effect in the shadow--an old man, lean and
tall, shrouded in a long coat and bearing on his back a heavy basket.

“You can’t be a human creetur, comin’ here to-night,” said Maria;
“mebbe you’re the Santy Claus Jim used to tell on as the boys told him;
no man in his senses would come to Sile Lowell’s fur shelter.”

“M’ri’s upsot,” said Silas meekly, taking the lantern with trembling
hand; “I guess you’ve got off the road; the tavern’s two mile down
toward the river.”

“You’ve followed the right road,” said Maria; “you’ve come at a day of
reck’nin’; everythin’ in the house, the best, you shall have.”

She snatched the light from Silas and slammed the barn door, leaving
Tige contentedly champing his oats, wondering if he was still dreaming,
and if his wild swim had been a nightmare followed by a vision of
plenty. In the kitchen Maria filled the stove, lit two lamps and began
making new tea.

“Thet was a good strong drorin’ we hed fur supper, M’ri,” said Silas,
plaintively, keenly conscious of previous economies; “’pears to me you
don’t need no new.” She paid no heed to him, but set the table with the
best dishes, the preserves--Silas noted with a groan--and then with
quick, skillful hand began cutting generous slices of ham.

“I hope you’re hungry, sir?” she asked eagerly.

“Wal, I be, marm,” said the stranger; “an’ if it ain’t no trouble, I’ll
set this ere basket nigh the stove, there’s things in it as will spile.
I be consederable hungry, ain’t eat a bite sence yesterd’y.”

Silas’s face grew longer and longer; he looked at the hamper hopefully.
That might contain a peddler’s outfit and “M’ri” could get paid that
way.

“An’ I hain’t money nor nawthin’ to pay fur my vittles ’less there was
wood-sawin’ to be done.”

“Wood’s all sawed,” said Silas bitterly.

“I wouldn’t take a cent,” went on Maria, with flushed cheeks and
sparkling eyes. “Ann Kirk thet hed the name of bein’ as mean as me, was
berried to day, and folks that keered nawthin’ fur her is a goin’ to
hev her money an’ make it fly. They say ’round here no grass will ever
grow on her grave, fur ev’ry blade will be blarsted by the curses of
the poor.”

“M’ri, you a perfessed Christian!” cried Silas.

“There’s good folks unperfessed,” interposed the stranger; “but I dunno
but a near Christian is better nor a spendthrift one as fetches up at
the poorhouse.”

“Right you air!” said Silas, almost affably feeling he had an advocate.

The stranger was tall and bony, with a thin, wrinkled face bronzed by
wind and weather, with a goatee and mustache of pale brown hair, and a
sparse growth of the same above a high bald forehead; his eyes were a
faded brown, too, and curiously wistful in expression. His clothing was
worn and poor, his hands work-hardened, and he stooped slightly. When
the meal was ready he drew up to the table, Maria plying him with food.

“Would you rather have coffee?” she asked.

“Now you’ve got me, marm, but land! tea’ll do.”

“I should think it would,” snarled Silas; but his grumbling was
silenced in the grinding of the coffee mill. When the appetizing odor
floated from the stove, Silas sniffed it, and his stomach began to
yearn. “You put in a solid cup full,” he muttered, trying to worry
himself into refusing it.

“We want a lot,” laughed Maria.

“Set up an’ eat,” called the stranger cheerily; “let’s make a banquet;
it’s Chrismus Eve!”

“That ham do smell powerful good,” muttered Silas, unconsciously
drawing his chair up to the table, where the stranger handed him a
plate and passed the ham. Maria went on frying eggs, as if, thought
her husband, “they warn’t twenty-five cents a dozen,” and then ran
down into the cellar, returning panting and good-humored with a pan of
apples and a jug of cider; then into the pantry, bringing a tin box out
of which she took a cake.

“That’s pound cake, M’ri,” cried Silas, aghast, holding his knife and
fork upraised in mute horror. She went on cutting thick slices, humming
under her breath.

“Might I, marm,” asked the stranger, pleasantly, “put this slice of ham
and cake and this cup of milk aside, to eat bymeby?”

“How many meals do you eat in a evening?” growled Silas, awestruck at
such an appetite; “an’ I want you to know this ain’t no tavern.”

“Do eat a bite yourself, marm,” said the stranger, as Maria carried the
filled plate to the cupboard. The impudence of a tramp actually asking
the mistress of the house to eat her own food, thought Silas. “We’ve
eat our supper,” he hurled at the stranger.

“I couldn’t tech a mite,” said Maria, beginning to clear up, and as
he was through eating, the stranger gallantly helped her while Silas
smoked in speechless rage.

“I’m used to being handy,” explained the tramp. “I allus helped wife.
She’s bin dead these twenty years, leaving me a baby girl that I
brought up.”

“You was good to her?” asked Maria wistfully; the stranger had such a
kind voice and gentle ways.

“I done the best I could, marm.”

Doubting his senses, Silas saw Maria bring out the haircloth
rocking-chair with the bead tidy from the best front room.

“Lemme carry it,” said the tramp politely. “Now set in’t yerself, marm,
an’ be comfurble.” He took a wooden chair, tilted it back and picked up
the cat. Maria, before she sat down, unmindful of Silas’s bewildered
stare, filled one of his pipes with his tobacco.

“I know you smoke, mister,” she smiled.

“Wal, I do,” answered the tramp, whiffing away in great comfort.
“’Pears to me you’re the biggest-hearted woman I ever see.”

She laughed bitterly. “There wan’t a cluser woman in Corinth than me,
an’ folks’ll tell you so. I turned my own son outer doors.”

“It was part my fault, M’ri, an’ you hush now,” pleaded Silas,
forgiving even her giving his tobacco away if she would not bring out
that family skeleton.

“I’ve heered you was cluse,” said the stranger, “an’ thet you sent Jim
off because he went to circuses in Bath, an’ wore store clothes, an’
wanted wages to pay for ’em.”

“All true,” said Maria, “an’ he wanted to ride the horse, an’ was mad
at workin’ him so hard.” She went on then, and told how the old animal
had come home.

“An’ me thinkin’ the critter was a speerit,” said the stranger in a
hushed voice. “Beat’s all what a dumb brute knows!”

“I thought mebbe,” went on Maria, twisting her thin fingers, “as Jim
might be comin’ home this time. They says things happens curious when
folks is goin’ ter die--”

“Your good fur a good meny years, M’ri,” said Silas, pitifully.

“There’s folks in this wurld,” said the stranger, his kindly face
growing sad and careworn since the mother’s eager words, “that ain’t
mean enuff, an’ comes to charity to the end--”

“That there be,” assented Silas.

“And as can’t bring up their folks comfurble, nor keep ’em well an’
happy, nor have a home as ain’t berried under a mortgage they can’t
never clear off.”

“Ay, there’s lots of ’em,” cried Silas, “an’ Mis Lowell was a twitting
me this very night of bein’ mean.”

“An’ this good home, an’ the fields I passed thro’, an’ the lane where
the old hoss come a gallopin’ up behind me, is paid fur, no mortgage on
a acre?”

“There never was on the Lowell prop’ty; they’ll tell ye thet
ennywhere,” said Silas.

“We uns in the South, where I come from,” said the stranger, shading
his face with his bony hand, “ain’t never fore-handed somehow. My name
is Dexter Brown, marm, an’ I was allus misfortinat. I tell you, marm,
one day when my creditors come an’ took the cotton off my field, thet
I’d plarnted and weeded and worked over in the brilin’ sun, my wife
says--an’ she’d been patient and long-sufferin’--‘Dex, I’m tired out;
jest you bury me in a bit of ground that’s paid fur, an’ I’ll lie in
peace,’ an’ she died thet night.”

“Mebbe she never knowed what it were to scrimp an’ save, an’ do
without, an’ never see nawthin’, till all the good died in her,”
muttered Maria.

“Part o’ my debt was wines an’ good vittles fur her, marm.”

“I’ll warrant!” said Maria quickly, “an’ she never wept over the graves
of her dead children, an’ heered their father complainin’ of how much
their sickness hed cost him. Oh, I tell you, there’s them that reckons
human agony by dollars an’ cents, an’ they’re wus’n murderers!”

“M’ri!” cried Silas.

“Mebbe, marm, you are over-worrited ternight,” said the stranger
softly; “wimmen is all feelin’, God bless ’em! an’ how yer son loved
ye, a tellin’ of yer bright eyes an’ red cheeks--”

She turned to him with fierce eagerness. “He couldn’t keer fur me, I
wan’t the kind. I don’t mind me of hardly ever kissin’ him. I worked
him hard; I was cross an’ stingy. He sed to me, ‘There’s houses that
is never homes, mother.’ I sneered an’ blamed him for his little
present.” She ran and brought the vase. “I’ve kept that, Mr. Brown,
over twenty years, but when he give it to me, bought outer his poor
little savin’s, I scolded him. I never let him hev the boys here to pop
corn or make candy; it was waste and litter. Oh, I know what he meant;
this was never a home.”

“But he only spoke kind of ye allus.”

“Did you know Jim? Been gone this ten year, an’ never a word.”

Silas, a queer shadow on his face, looked eagerly at Brown.

“I did know him,” slowly and cautiously--“he was a cowboy in Texas, as
brave as the best.”

“He could ride,” cried Maria, “as part of a horse, an’ Tige was the
dead image of that Washington horse in the pictur, an’ Jim used to
say thet girl there in the blue gown was his girl--the one with the
bouquet; an’ I used to call him silly. I chilled all the fun he hed
outer him, an’ broken-speerited an’ white-faced he drifted away from
us, as far away as them in the graveyard, with the same weary look as
they hed in goin’.”

“An’ he took keer of much as a hundred cattle,” said Silas; “they has
thet meny I’ve heerd, in Texas?”

“They has thousands; they loses hundreds by drought--”

“Wanter know?” cried Silas, his imagination refusing to grasp such
awful loss.

“Wal, I knowed Jim, an’ he got merried--”

“Merried!” from both the old parents.

“He did. He says, ‘I wunt write the home-folks till I’m well off, for
mother will worrit an’ blame me, an’ I hain’t money, but Minnie an’ I
love each other, an’ are satisfied with little.’”

“Minnie,” the mother repeated. “Was she pretty?”

“Woman all over you be, to ask thet, an’ she was,” said Brown, sadly
“with dark eyes, sorter wistful, an’ hair like crinkled sunshine, an’
a laugh like a merry child, fur trouble slipped off her shoulders like
water off a duck’s back.”

“An’ they got prosperous?” asked Silas uneasily.

“They was happy,” said Brown with gentle dignity; “they was allus
happy, but they lived under a mortgage, an’ it was drift from pillar to
post, an’ ups an’ downs.”

“An’ they’re poor now,” muttered Silas, visions of Jim and his family
to support coming to him.

“Hush!” cried Maria. “Tell me, sir, was there children? Oh, the heart
hunger I’ve had for the sound of a child’s voice, the touch of baby
hands. You an’ me grandpa and grandma, Sile! an’, my God! you think of
money now.”

“Set calm,” pleaded Brown, “for I must hev courage to tell ye all.”

“An’ they sent ye to tell us they was comin’?” asked Silas, judging of
their prosperity from the shabby herald.

“They asked me to come, an’ I swore it. There’s a queer blight as
creeps inter our country, which without thet might be like everlasting
Paradise. Ourn is a land of summer an’ flowers, but up here in this
ice-bound region, the air is like water in runnin’ brooks, it puts life
an’ health in ye.”

“There’s the blight o’ consumption here. We’re foreordained to suffer
all over this airth,” muttered the woman.

“But there it comes in waves of trouble--in awful haste--an’ takes
all at once, an’ them that’s well flees away and the sick dies alone.
So the yellow fever come creepin’ inter my home, fur Minnie was my
child--the daughter I’d keered fur; an’ fust the baby went from her
arms, an’ then little Silas (arter you, sir). Then Minnie sickened, an’
her laugh is only an echo in my heart, for she died and was berried,
the baby in her arms, and Jim was took next--an’ he says” (only the
ticking of the clock sounded now, never so loud before): “‘I want you,
dad,’ (he called me dad) ‘to go to my old home in Maine. I want you
to tell my father I named my dead boy for him, and I thought of his
frugal, saving life with pain, and yet I am proud that his name is
respected as that of an honest man, whose word is his bond. I’ll never
go up the old lane again,’ says Jim, ‘nor see mother standing in the
door with her bright eyes and red cheeks that I used to think was like
winter apples. And the old horse, she said she’d care for, I won’t see
him again, nor hear the bells. In this land of summer I only long for
winter, and dad, if I could hear those hoarse old jolly bells I’d die
in peace. Queer, ain’t it? And I remember some rides I took mother;
she wan’t afraid of the colt, and looked so pretty, a white hood over
her dark hair. You go, dad, and say I was sorry, and I’d planned to
come some day prosperous and happy, but it’s never to be. Tell mother
to think of me when she goes a Sunday afternoon to the buryin’-ground,
as she used to with me, and by those little graves I felt her mother’s
heart beat for me, her living child, and I knew, though she said
nothing, she cared for me.’ He died tellin’ me this, marm, an’ was
berried by my girl, an’ I think it was meant kind they went together,
for both would a pined apart. So I’ve come all the way from Texas,
trampin’ for weary months, for I was poor, to give you Jim’s words.”

“Dead! Jim dead!” cried Silas, in a queer, dazed way. “M’ri,”
querulously, “you allus sed he was so helthy!”

She went to him and laid her hand on his bowed head.

“An’ we’ve saved an’ scrimped an’ pinched fur strangers, M’ri, fur
there ain’t no Lowell to have the prop’ty, an’ I meant it all fur Jim.
When he was to come back he’d find he was prosperous, an’ he’d think
how I tried to make him so.”

“The Lord don’t mean all dark clouds in this life,” said the stranger.
“Out of that pestilence, that never touched her with its foul breath,
came a child, with Minnie’s face and laugh, but Jim’s own eyes--a bit
of mother an’ father.”

The old people were looking at him with painful eagerness, dwelling on
his every word.

“It was little May; named Maria, but we called her May for she was
borned three year ago in that month; a tiny wee thing, an’ I stood by
their graves an’ I hardened my heart. ‘They drove her father out; they
sha’n’t crush her young life,’ I said. ‘I’ll keep her.’ But I knowed I
couldn’t. Poverty was grinding me, and with Jim’s words directin’ me,
I brought her here.”

“Brought her here!” cried the poor woman.

“Ay! She’s a brave little lass, an’ I told her to lie quiet in the
basket till I told her to come out, fur mebbe you wan’t kind an’ would
send us both out, but I found your hearts ready fur her--”

With one spring Maria reached the basket and flung open the lid,
disclosing a tiny child wrapped in a ragged shawl, sleeping peacefully
in her cramped bed, but with tears on her long lashes, as if the
waiting had tried her brave little soul.

“Jest as gritty,” said Brown, “an’ so good to mind; poor lass!”

Maria lifted her out, and the child woke up, but did not cry at the
strange face that smiled on her with such pathetic eagerness. “Oh, the
kitty!” cried May. “I had a kitty once!” That familiar household object
reconciled her at once. She ate the cake eagerly and drank the milk,
insisting on feeding the ham to the cat.

“Him looks hungy,” she said.

“We’ve all been starved!” cried Maria, clasping the child to her heart.

Such a beautiful child, with her merry eyes and laugh and her golden
curls, a strange blossom from a New England soil, yet part of her
birthright was the land of flowers and sunshine. Somehow that pathetic
picture of the past faded when the mother saw a blue and gilt vase in
the baby’s hand--Jim’s baby’s.

“It’s pitty; fank you!” said the little creature. Then she got down to
show her new dress and her shoes, and made excursions into the pantry,
opening cupboard doors, but touching nothing, only exclaiming, “Dear
me, how pitty!” at everything. Then she came back, and at Brown’s
request, with intense gravity, began a Spanish dance she had learned
when they stopped at San Antonio, from watching the Mexican senoritas.
She held up her little gown on one side and gravely made her steps
while Dexter whistled. The fire leaped up and crackled loudly, as if
it would join her, the cat purred, the tea-kettle sung from the back
of the stove, and little snowflakes, themselves hurrying, skurrying in
a merry dance, clung to the window-pane and called other little flakes
to hasten and see such a pretty sight. Maria watched in breathless
eagerness, and Silas, carried beyond himself, forgetting his scruples,
cried out:

“Wal, ef that don’t beat all I ever see! Come here, you little chick!”
holding out his silver watch.

With a final pirouette she finished with a grave little courtesy, then
ran to Silas: “Is there birdie in der?” and he caught her up and kissed
her.

* * * * *

When the old lane is shady in summertime, and golden-rod and daisies
crowd the way, and raspberries climb the stone-wall, and merry
squirrels chatter and mock the red-breasted robins, and bees go humming
through the odorous air, there comes a big white horse that looks like
Washington’s in the picture; and how carefully he walks and bears
himself, for he brings a little princess who has made the old house
a home. Such a fairy-like little thing, who from her sunshine makes
everybody bright and happy, and Silas’s grim old face is smiling as he
leads the horse, and Maria, with her basket of berries, is helped over
the wall by Dexter Brown, who always says he must go but never does,
for they love him, and he and Silas work harmoniously together. And
grandma’s eyes are brighter than ever and her cheeks as red.

“What comfortable folks they air gittin’ to be,” say the neighbors,
“kinder livin’, but I dunno but goin’ a berryin’ a hull arternoon is
right down shiftless.”

Winter is over and forever gone from that household on the hill; the
coming of gracious, smiling spring in a sweet child’s presence has made
eternal sunshine in those ice-bound hearts.

HINTS TO FOOTBALL CAPTAINS.

BY WALTER C. CAMP.

Much has been written from time to time of the growth of the game of
football, and the reasons for its popularity, but no one has described
that which is the real secret of its fascination; viz., planning the
campaign. Planning a football campaign is a most interesting piece of
strategic work, and the amount of thought expended on it would astonish
the majority of that eager audience which crowds the Polo Grounds on
Thanksgiving Day.

“Get some of your old men back to coach,” is a bit of advice often
given to captains of crews and ball nines. But to no one is it so
invaluable as to football captains. It is the careful planning of the
season’s work that will bring victory in November. Through the summer
the captain has been counting over the material he will have as a
nucleus in the fall, and he has also calculated about how much he can
rely upon from preparatory schools. As a rule he treats with distrust
all reports of wonderful men in the incoming class, for the players who
may have been giants on school teams are generally lost in the crowd on
a university field.

His first interest on looking over the men he means to make use of is
this: Are there enough old men to steady the team? With five old men
no captain should be discouraged, and with six or over he ought to be
hopeful, provided he has a half-back and a quarter among them. The
reason for this is that he can then arrange to have a veteran next to
every novice in his team, by scattering the three old rushers. It is
amazing what steadiness can be infused into a team in this way. If the
captain has six instead of five, he can then strengthen the weak side
of his team by putting an old hand as an end-rusher on the side of the
green half-back.

This plan of formation is merely for the early weeks of the season
until the real campaign can be laid out. The veterans act as coaches
to the new men, and after ten or fifteen days of playing in this way,
the novices, if they be at all promising men, will have learned the
general system of play, for the positions in which they stand. That is,
the rushers will have learned not to bunch, _i. e._, keep too close to
the next man, and also not to lag, or be slow in lining up when the
ball is down. They will have been repeatedly cautioned against tackling
high and not getting through hard. A new half will have learned about
how far back he ought to stand, and how quickly he has to kick. In this
way the captain can accomplish a double amount of work, for while he is
looking over his new material, and deciding upon what men will develop
into the service, his old players are giving very efficient assistance
to him by coaching the new ones and rapidly breaking them in. Were it
not for this, things would be in almost as much of a mess after ten
days’ playing as at the start, for it frequently happens that a green
captain will make so little use of his old men in the way of coaching
that the new men will be blundering on in the middle of the season full
of faults which might have been stopped the first week.

Two weeks’ work will enable the captain to select about sixteen men
from whom he sees his team must be drawn. If he is wise he will be
inclined at this period to favor those men who are showing rapid
improvement rather than those whom he knows have already reached their
best days. He will also put some thought upon the general weight of his
team as well as the probable weight of the other teams he must meet.

When he has considered these matters well, and made up in his own mind
the strongest team he can select, he should play these men together as
nearly as possible for some three or four days, and after making any
changes that may seem to him necessary, get his coaches together and
stand with them for one afternoon, when all will have a good look at
the practice. That evening he should have a meeting of the team and
coaches, and a thorough discussion of the strength and weakness of the
team. One learns very rapidly at such a meeting what the team considers
its strong points and where they fear an enemy. During the next week
the captain and coaches should decide finally upon what the strongest
plays of the team are likely to be. The great necessity of doing this
early is to thoroughly provide against accident, not only by being
more than usually careful of the one or two men most engaged in these
plays, but also to train others up to a moderate degree of skillfulness
to take the places of men who may be injured. A decision must also
be reached regarding the weak points of the team, and these not only
strengthened but made less evident to opponents.

Following upon these decisions should come a week or more of very hard
individual coaching. Each man is taken by himself and worked at as
though upon him and his particular plays depended the victory or defeat
of the team. A curious fact is that just at this point in the season,
not only the team, but very often the captain and coaches are sure that
their playing is poor and that defeat stares them in the face. The
true explanation of this is that the enthusiasm has been worked off
to a great extent, and the players have not yet gained the dexterity
that practice will give, so that the poor playing is really painfully
apparent.

Let us review the plan of the campaign up to this point. The captain
first sprinkled his veterans among the raw recruits, so that it was
necessary for them to mingle. By doing this he has prevented the old
men from banding together and looking down upon the new ones, and has
also compelled the green men to ask questions of the experts. While
all were thus being well shaken together, he has had an opportunity
to select the best team, and, by actual trial, to judge in what line
of action they would prove strongest. All this has been effected with
the least possible loss of time, for, owing to the shortness of the
football season, time is too valuable to be wasted even in experiments.
Of individual coaching, little need be said, as it is only a means of
improving details, and does not affect the campaign, except in the way
of dexterity.

The captain next begins to study the best offensive and defensive
tactics for his team. He starts with the problem in such shape as this:
Given the kick-off with an adverse wind, what is the best opening for
the style of game his team plays? He may kick the ball as far down the
field as possible. But this is very seldom a good opening, because
the side that wins the toss, having the choice of goal or kick-off,
it invariably happens that the kick-off is made against the wind. The
captain knows that if he makes a straight kick down the field under
these circumstances it will be returned, and with the help of the wind,
will most surely be put back some distance into his own territory, so
that the play will have lost him considerable ground.

The next thing to be considered is a long kick down the field and
out of bounds on the side. This opening was a strong feature of the
Yale game for several years, owing to the combination of two happy
possessions--a strong place-kicker and a very fast end-rusher. The
play usually means that the ball, when it goes into touch, is first
reached by the opponents and they return it into the field at the point
where it went out. Of course, the ball has made considerable advance
into the enemy’s territory; but as an offset to this, they have gained
possession of the ball, and, if their play is strong and accurate, they
should be able to return it past the center of the field on their first
kick. While the above is the usual result of the play, it does happen
that a fast end-rusher, in perfect unanimity with the place-kicker,
will succeed in reaching the ball before the opponents. In this case
there is an actual gain of the distance from the centre of the field to
the spot where the ball crossed the touchline. Another opening is to
dribble the ball and then pass it back for the half to punt. This gives
the rushers a chance to get up the field and prevent a return kick. In
this case, unless the ball is fumbled, there is only an apparent gain,
for the ball is in the possession of the enemy and after the down will
be returned probably beyond the centre of the field.

The opening most popular during the past season was the “running
break” or “V.” The ball was dribbled and passed back to a half who was
protected by the rushers enough to insure his having a fair start. He
then made a break for the opening in the line and carried the ball as
far as he could. The amount of interference allowed last year made this
a strong opening, because the player usually made several yards, and
that without losing the ball.

From this point on, however, comes the real strategy of the game. An
illustration of this is the statement made and carried out by one of
the coaches of a team which competed one Thanksgiving Day, not many
years ago. After a conference with the captain and other coaches the
night before the game, he made the astonishing statement that his team
would, if they lost the toss, put the ball over the enemy’s goal-line
in less than five minutes from the time of kick-off. The diagram of
the plans was laid out on paper, and is still in the possession of one
of the men. The plays were these: The ball was dribbled and passed by
a long throw to the right half-back, whose run was made successfully.
The ball was snapped and passed to the rusher next the end on the same
side. This play was strong, because the position of the men and the
throw of the quarter made it appear that the ball was again going to
the half, and the opposing rushers went through the more eagerly. The
next play was a centre-play--the guard giving the ball to the quarter
for a run, and the final play, which carried the ball over the line,
was out next the end once more. The immense superiority of such a
system over the usual method of sending the ball wherever there seems
the most chance was conclusively proven, for, with the exception of a
slight fumble, which caused one more down, there was no break in the
chain, and each man made within a few yards of the spot which had been
marked on the paper.

While it is, of course, impossible to lay out the entire progress of
the game, owing to the element of uncertainty introduced by ignorance
of what line of action may be adopted by one’s opponents, it is
possible to plan what ought to be done at certain stages in the game.

For instance, for many years it was thoroughly believed by all the
best football men that the kicking game could not be played against
the wind under even the most favorable circumstances. This theory has,
however, fallen through, and it is generally concluded that with fast,
good rushers, and strong, accurate kickers, the running game can with
advantage be supplemented with a few timely kicks.

The opening of the game has been discussed; the next point is the
placing of the men on the first down by the opponents. This is
something of vital interest to the captain, for if the opponents have
any strong line of play they will undoubtedly develop it early in the
game. To discover and prevent the surprise is, therefore, the end to be
aimed at, for a strong play successfully made at this point seriously
weakens the adversaries, not only taking from them the actual ground,
but upsetting their confidence and nerve as well.

Upon the use of the quarter depends the style of this first defensive
play. Some captains keep him back of the line where he may assist
the half-backs; others send him up into the line as an extra rusher.
Neither of these two plans can be said to be the right one in all
cases, for there are two elements which govern the play and should
enter into the decision. The first is the relative skill of the rushers
and halves. It is always possible for a captain to say whether he is
strongest “in the line” or “behind it,” and the quarter is most needed
with the weaker set of players. The second is the wind. If this is
very strong and straight with the opponents, there is the greatest
necessity of checking their running before they shall have advanced the
ball within kicking distance of the goal, even though by doing this
the captain for the time being leaves his halves and back less secure.
Therefore the wise captain brings up his quarter into or just behind
the rush line, and concentrates all his strength on preventing the gain
of five yards on three downs. In this way he can oblige his opponents
to kick or lose the ball before they are far enough advanced to be in
dangerous proximity to his goal. Of these two elements, then, it may
be conclusively argued the wind is the greater, and if very strong,
should decide him to bring his quarter up, even though his line of
forwards be exceptionally strong.

The next point worthy of consideration is the offensive and defensive
play about the goals. Most important are: _guarding a goal against the
wind_, and _trying for a goal with the wind_. The former is of the most
vital importance, and time spent upon studying the situation will prove
of advantage to every captain. Let us suppose the case of a touch-back
(_i. e._, where the ball has crossed the goal-line, but without
compelling a safety), for it is generally at this point that the
condition becomes most serious. The captain finds himself driven back
into his own goal and facing a wind and a team encouraged by success.
His own team, on the contrary, are tired with the effort of contesting
the ground, and they are also nervous with the feeling that the
least slip on their part means a goal or a touch-down. The privilege
of a kick-out--at best a privilege of less than twenty-five yards
start--seems pitifully small in the face of the odds. The situation
is the same as at the kick-off upon beginning, with the exception of
the proximity of the goal and the attendant danger. The ball may be
place-kicked or drop-kicked down the field or out of bounds; it may be
dribbled and passed back for a punt or run. There is one thing which
must not be done, and that is to kick or pass the ball out toward the
centre of the field or across the goal, for as surely as the ball falls
into the enemy’s hands in front of the goal, they will, if their play
be accurate, not fail to score. Next to be borne in mind is that when
the ball does go into their hands it must be either a down or a fair,
_i. e._, it must not be a fair catch, but must go out of bounds, or
into their hands on the roll with a rusher close enough to make them
have it down. There are three ways to accomplish this: the first is
to place or drop-kick the ball down the edge of the field and out of
bounds, or accomplish the same result by a dribble and punt; the second
is to attempt the running game until two downs are exhausted, and then
kick out of bounds; and the third, and most aggressive of all, to kick
the ball a short distance ahead but well up in the air, and putting all
the men on side, rely upon getting possession of the ball in air or in
the scramble as it falls. If the last plan is adopted every man in the
line must go forward with one idea in his mind, and that is to prevent
a fair catch at all hazards.

Another question is often discussed regarding the protection of a goal,
and that is: Is a man ever justified in running round behind his own
goal with the ball on the chance of getting out far enough on the other
side to gain ground? The only answer to this question lies in the head
of the man who has to do it. There are some who can be trusted to know
when it can be done, but most should be told to never do it unless at
that point in the game a safety will turn the balance of the score, and
they should not do it in the first half.

But to pass to the attack. A side has advanced the ball within kicking
distance of their opponents’ goal, having the wind and the ball with
them. Should they at once attempt a field-kick, or by running try to
get nearer, or even rely upon a touch-down? If they try a field-kick,
should it be a drop at goal, or should they punt the ball just short of
the goal and chance a muff or a fumble by their adversaries to yield a
touch-down? Unless a team is remarkably strong in the running game, and
has been making their five yards, it is silly to try a touch-down or
nothing. Again, unless there is plenty of time remaining, it takes too
long to work the ball up to the line and get it across, beside the many
risks of losing possession of it in the meantime. Finally, a punt up in
front of the goal is too decidedly a confession of the lack of a good
drop-kicker.

As a rule, then, the first down had better be utilized by getting the
ball in front of the goal if it is off at the side of the field. The
second down should be an attempt to get somewhat nearer only in case
the snap-back and quarter are sure men. Otherwise the drop-kick should
be tried after the first down. One thing to be said in favor of trying
the drop-kick at once, without attempting to bring the ball in front of
the goal, is that the adversaries are then much less prepared for the
try, and hence the kicker has a more uninterrupted aim and longer time.
After the first down the opponents concentrate their attention more
upon the kicker.

These are salient features, but, of course, there is an infinity of
detail, of which the present article does not give space to speak.

[Illustration: Editor’s Open ~Window~.]

THE NATIONAL HORSE SHOW.

“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good;” and let the press, comic and
otherwise, deride anglomania as it may, the good effects of this same
craze are plainly visible in some directions. Since Richard Ten Broeck
won the Cesarewitch Stakes with Prioress in 1857, since the victories
of Foxhall and Iroquois, no one has doubted that the race-horses of
America are in every respect equal to the English standard. But the
same can scarcely have been said of the carriage-horses, hacks, cobs,
and ponies, while until a comparatively recent date the hunter, in the
English acceptation of the term, was unknown. The rankest “_laudator
temporis acti_,” who took a stroll in Madison Square Garden during the
horse-show week, would not venture to deplore “the good old days” as
far as horseflesh is concerned. The prevalence of the “bang” tail and
hog mane may offend the eye of some, and when such treatment is carried
out on an elephantine dray-horse--as was the case with some of the
exhibits--the result is truly absurd. But the sporting, capable class
of horse with the best of action, which was so well represented--more
so than in any previous year--must of necessity have favorably
impressed the true disciple of horseflesh.

The exhibition was very good--in some cases extremely so--and in a
rising scale from Mr. Pierre Lorillard’s happy family of Shetlands up
to Mr. A. Palmer Morewood’s colossal Clydesdale “Marlborough,” there
were shapes and sizes to please every eye. From East, West, North, and
South they came to constitute this goodly array, and in some cases
laurels gained in English show rings were supplemented with American
honors.

In the high-jumping, however, as in former years, lay the special
feature of the show. When it is possible for _green_ hunters--save the
mark!--to be put to jump 6 ft. 6 in., even though it prove somewhat
beyond their powers, it may well make even old horsemen open their
eyes, and wonder where this emulation will stop. Such feats have never
been accomplished or indeed attempted in England, but in the New York
Show the standard rises year by year, and the record, unlike that of
trotting, is all the time being broken. The jump of 6 ft. 9⅞ in.,
accomplished by Mr. F. Gebhardt’s “Leo,” ridden by “Pete” Smith, the
only man who can induce this wonderful horse to put forth his powers,
and Messrs. Durland & Co.’s “Filemaker,” ridden by that graceful
rider, Mr. McGibbon, is something which, unless one has seen it done,
he receives with doubting ears. The riding and driving was very good.
In the latter department, Mr. F. Asshenden, as usual, distinguished
himself. He drove in every competition which enters into his province,
with such success that only on one occasion did he leave the ring
without a “ribbon.”

The management of the show was very well conducted, and with the
exception of some complaints of dampness--which was attributable to
Jupiter Pluvius and not to the management--there were no grounds for
objection. The health of the horses was excellent, the veterinary
department under Drs. Carmody and Field left nothing to be desired,
and the equine visitors left the Garden after their week’s sojourn in
strange quarters in no way the worse for their experience.

~Sporting Tramp.~

* * * * *

PLAIN TALK ABOUT STEEPLE-CHASING.

For several years past the steeple-chase associations and hunt clubs
have been making strenuous efforts to raise the cross-country branch
of racing to its proper level. Five years ago steeple-chasing was a
byword and a reproach. The scandalous and open swindles that took place
at some of the large tracks were a disgrace, and the managers of these
tracks sat with folded hands while the press exposed the swindles and
urged them to do something or expunge altogether the cross-country
farces from the programme, but nothing was done. The truth is the
managers did not understand steeple-chasing, and would not learn, and
yet it was too lucrative a branch to expunge, as the public enjoyed the
excitement and liked to see the accidents and falls.

About four years ago the members of the Rockaway Hunt Club formed the
Rockaway Steeple-chase Association, and with the Meadow Brook Hunt
Club as well as members of all the other hunt clubs, joined in trying
to raise the level of steeple-chasing. That they were successful
is shown by the records. What the cost was to their private purses
they themselves only know. It is hardly to the credit of the general
public or to the society element in New York, that associations of
this kind that provide honest and fair sport, should lose thousands
at each meeting. Naturally the members object to this continual
drain, and a change of some kind will have to be made. Neither the
Rockaway Steeple-chase Association nor the Country Club Steeple-chase
Association can continue running at a loss any longer.

It might be well, however, to analyze the reason for the loss. When
in 1886, the future of racing in this State was jeopardized and
politicians were endeavoring to stop the sport for purposes of their
own, the leading men of both these associations cheerfully lent a
helping hand and worked to get the Pool bill through. Their endeavors
were successful. Racing was limited to the dates between May 15 and
October 15. So far so good. Then came the question of the dates for
the respective meetings, and the large associations at once seized
all they could get. The principal sinner in this respect has been the
Brooklyn Jockey Club, which has shown great precocity in its grabbing
propensities during the short time it has been in existence. Not
content with taking the days the Rockaway people wanted, the Brooklyns
encroached on Jerome Park’s dates and wanted those also. The Country
Club Association had to deal with Jerome, and found that association
very fair and open about its dates. No attempt was made to “grab,” and
every help was cheerfully given that could be. The weather, however,
knocked out the Country Club Association, and also took a hand in
marring the chances of the Rockaway, which, buffeted on all sides,
lost money steadily. Now for the cure. The Steeple-chase Associations
will have to reduce their meetings to the level of hunt races, _pur
et simple_, with cups and very small money added--with perhaps one
large handicap of $1,000 at most, and wait for better times. Another
alternative is to induce the Legislature to alter the Pool bill in
such a way that steeple-chasing may commence in New York State on
May 1 and end on Nov. 1, thus giving the Association a month to hold
their meetings. The third remedy would be to discontinue the meetings
altogether, a course which would be very regrettable. The Rockaway
people have an expensive plant at Cedarhurst, and the Country Club is
making arrangements for something of the same kind. Some measures will
have to be taken to protect their interests as well as those of the
other hunting clubs.

~C. S. Pelham-Clinton.~

* * * * *

THE GAME OF LACROSSE.

The season which closed November 1 has not been so productive of good
results as those interested in the success of Canada’s national game
anticipated. Certain innovations, which were introduced last spring
and promised well, have proved to be impracticable. Then, again, the
splitting of the old National Association into two minor leagues has
not brought about closer relationship between the clubs. Not one of the
New England clubs has signified its intention of joining the Eastern
Association. A local championship series and a few games with outside
clubs have satisfied them.

The Western Association, and its doings during the first season of
its existence, remain unknown to the lacrosse men in the East. For
some reason efforts to bring about cordial relations between the two
sections of the country have failed. The Western men appear to think
that enough deference is not paid them on account of their possession
of the National Championship, which was gained, not on the field, but
on paper.

The Brooklyn Club will have the honor of being the champion club until
1889. It has made astonishing strides forward. Faithful practice and
attention to team-play has made it a strong organization. The Staten
Island Club, on the other hand, may safely be relied upon making every
effort next spring to regain the coveted honor which so long was theirs.

The other clubs in the Eastern Association--Philadelphia, Baltimore,
Jersey City, Staten Island Cricket Club--have not done much during
the summer, except to build up their organizations. There is every
indication, however, that the season of 1889 will witness some exciting
games.

That nothing encourages so much as success, is seen in the vigor and
enthusiasm with which Princeton, the champion of the College League,
has gone to work since the opening of college. Usually the lacrosse
men do very little in the fall in the way of practice. But this year,
intent upon again winning the championship in 1889, class games have
been played, and the University team has also had several games with
outside clubs. This has not escaped Harvard, her most dangerous rival.
The _Crimson_ has repeatedly called upon the college to give better
support to the lacrosse team, which has at times been almost the only
one to bring back a championship. In the spring the time is too limited
to get the men into first-class condition, and fall and winter work
should be indulged in when possible.

Lehigh is thoroughly delighted with lacrosse, and Cornell is taking
it up. Williams is considering whether it will not draw too many men
from the other sports, and other colleges and schools are getting ready
to introduce the game. This is very gratifying. To play the game well
requires so much attention to training, and such thorough self-command,
that, as a mere matter of discipline, it ought to be recommended;
besides, no game is more exciting, and certainly none more graceful.

~J. C. Gerndt.~

* * * * *

RABBIT COURSING.

For every man who owns a greyhound, at least a dozen own some kind of a
terrier. The terrier is essentially man’s companion among all the dogs.
Bright, intelligent, and full of spirits, he also has the happy knack
of knowing how to make his presence unobtrusive. Among the many breeds
which have at the present day attained popularity, the fox-terrier is
_facile princeps_, and of late years owners have bethought themselves
of a good plan to avail themselves of the natural instinct of the dog.
The fox-terrier is naturally possessed of a speed out of proportion to
his looks, and since “the nature of the beast” is to pursue anything in
the line of game or vermin, he has readily fallen in with man’s scheme
to course the rabbit with his aid.

The advantages of this sport over coursing with greyhounds are many.
The grounds have not to be so spacious or complete; the dogs are not
so expensive, either in initial cost, maintenance, or elaboration of
training; impromptu matches can be easily arranged, and, especially
in this country, the difficulty of supplying the requisite quarry
for greyhounds is obviated. The rabbit, on the contrary, is fairly
plentiful in the Eastern States, and a goodly supply of them is
generally forthcoming. The meetings that have hitherto been held have
been very successful, and it is a cause of great satisfaction to all
sportsmen that the recent case at Hempstead reached such a favorable
termination.

This sport has not as yet, in America, gone beyond the limits of the
select circle which patronizes polo and fox-hunting; but no real reason
exists why this should be so. The writer has witnessed and taken part
in very successful impromptu coursing-matches in the South, where the
intentions of the dogs were better than their looks or breeding. It is,
in fact, a sport open to every man who owns a decent terrier, and as
such it is regarded in many parts of England, where the farmers will
not only allow but will take part in matches run over their land.

~Sporting Tramp.~

[Illustration: ~The Outing Club.~]

THE DISSENSION IN THE ATHLETIC WORLD.

Some time since ~Outing~ entered into communication with
the various gentlemen who are taking leading parts in the serious
disruption which has shaken the athletic world of America to its very
centre. For some reason best known to those addressed, the majority
of these gentlemen have not seen fit to favor us with their views on
the situation. We have, however, been placed in a position to give
the public some extracts from what appears to us to be an impartial
review of the facts, from the Union’s side of the question. We quote as
follows:

“In 1879 the New York Athletic Club decided to give up the management
of the Amateur Championship Meeting, so successfully established by
it three years previously. This course was taken because it brought a
great deal of additional work on the officers of the club, and although
the games had been profitable to the organization, its officers no
longer desired to be continually appealed to for decisions and rulings
upon athletic matters. For these reasons the N. Y. A. C. was willing to
relinquish the conduct of the championship games to properly organized
associations of clubs.”

Thus it came about that in the spring of 1879 the National Association
of Amateur Athletes of America was organized. In 1880 we find the list
of clubs that were members numbered twenty-one. In 1885 we find that
this number had sunk to twelve, and in 1887 it was still twelve, while
the New York Athletic Club, “through some personal club trouble,” had
resigned in 1885.

“With these facts before us it can readily be seen that although the
Association may have been, and no doubt was, national some years ago,
it failed to keep pace with many of the leading clubs during the past
three or four years. Some of these, notably the New York and Staten
Island Athletic clubs, made such rapid strides that not only were
meetings given that were far superior to the championships, but also
many championship of America events were given by them and at their
expense, among them being the boxing, wrestling, swimming, general
gymnastic, general athletic, etc.

“In 1887 the Athletic Club of the Schuylkill Navy started the Amateur
Athletic Union of the U. S.” The why and wherefore of its inception is
thus accounted for. “The first time the A. C. S. N. participated in any
other athletic competition than those held under its own management
was in February, 1886, when a number of entries were made in the
championship boxing and wrestling tournament given under the auspices
of the New York Athletic Club, at Tammany Hall, New York. Of the three
representatives of the A. C. S. N. at this competition, one, Mr.
Charles A. Clark, won the championship at feather-weight boxing, and
another, Dr. J. K. Shell, was fortunate enough to meet Joe Ellingsworth
in the middle-weight boxing class; the latter, it was learned just
in time to enter a protest, was so tainted with professionalism as
to render his presence at an amateur competition preposterous. The
protest against Ellingsworth was made by Captain Huneker of the A. C.
S. N. to the New York Athletic Club, by whom he was referred to the
National Association of Amateur Athletes of America for a decision as
to Ellingsworth’s standing. The latter association refused to take any
action, claiming that they had no jurisdiction in the matter.

“The inconsistent part of the National Association’s action in this
matter is the fact of its having refused to take any action in this
instance and claiming that it had no jurisdiction, while many will
undoubtedly remember that sufficient jurisdiction was claimed in the
cases of the wrestlers who were disqualified about six months previous
for competing at unapproved meetings.

“From the time of this occurrence dates the desire of the A. C. S. N.
to see formed an association national in character, which would take
cognizance of and exercise jurisdiction over all kinds and classes
of athletic sports over which no recognized association already in
existence, exercised special authority. This, together with the sincere
wishes of the club to contribute by every means within their power to
an effort to exclude from the amateur ranks the semi-professional,
‘tough’ and ‘shady’ element which has proved so great a detriment to
the natural growth and popularity of all true amateur sport, dwarfed
its possibilities and rendered competition in many of its classes
obnoxious to gentlemen, are the reasons which mainly influenced the A.
C. S. N. to request the New York Athletic Club, which organization was
not a member of the National, to join in a call for a meeting of all
the recognized amateur athletic organizations of the United States to
consider the formation of a new association.

“The meeting of such a body and its outcome is a matter of athletic
history. From this convention emanated the Amateur Athletic Union. From
the inception of the Union the A. C. S. N. at once became prominent
in its councils, one of its delegates, Mr. W. H. McMillan, being
unanimously elected president of the new association.

“When the circular calling for a meeting of all the clubs to consider
the formation of an association was received by the Staten Island
A. C., a letter was at once sent to Mr. John F. Huneker, captain
of the A. C. of the Schuykill Navy, inquiring what club was at the
bottom of this move, and what were the ideas and reasons in forming
such an organization. The reply, as received, was read to the Board
of Directors, and, after satisfying themselves as to its honesty
and advisability, a committee with power was appointed, consisting
of President J. W. Edwards, Secretary W. C. Davis, Treasurer G. M.
Mackellar, and Director F. W. Janssen.

“This entire committee attended the first meeting of the A. A. U.
After carefully noting and satisfying themselves on every point, they
unanimously decided to join; so the Staten Island A. C. at once became
a member of the Union.

“Later on, the Union showed so many advantages over the National,
and had so many respectable clubs in it, its affairs being conducted
on so much better and more business-like principles, that after duly
considering the case, the Staten Island A. C. sent its resignation to
the National Association. When the Union selected September 19, 1888,
at Detroit, as the date and place of their championship of America
games, the National scheduled its similar meeting for September
15, 1888, at New York, and, in order to detract from the Detroit
meeting, empowered the Missouri Athletic Club of St. Louis to hold a
Western championship on its grounds September 9. The Union, to show
its strength, at once authorized the Chicago Athletic Club to hold
a Western championship meeting on its grounds September 1, in order
to establish a set of Western champions for 1888 before the National
meeting could be held.

“As time went by, the Union representatives considered the advisability
of taking some final action in the matter, and, after some six weeks’
deliberation, at a meeting held August 25, 1888, unanimously passed the
following resolution:

“‘Resolved, That any amateur athlete competing in any open amateur
games in the United States not governed by rules approved by the
Amateur Athletic Union, shall be debarred from competing in any games
held under the rules of the Amateur Athletic Union. This resolution
shall take effect immediately.’

“The idea was to have the Western clubs and athletes recognize but one
championship meeting of the West (that of the A. A. U. at Chicago).

“The National (or rather now the Manhattan A. C.) found it impossible
to hold its championship meeting in New York, owing to the fact that
all the athletes, with very few exceptions outside the Manhattan Club,
belonged to Union clubs, and would not compete under the National
rules; so a cable was sent by the Manhattans to the Irish Gaelic Team
to the effect that the meeting had been postponed until October 6 in
order to allow them to compete.

“In the West the two championship meetings were held, and those
athletes who took part at the St. Louis National meeting were debarred
from competing at the Detroit Union games.

“The Union Board held a full meeting of the Executive Committee at
Detroit, on September 18, 1888, when the above resolution was again
unanimously approved of. The committee also unanimously refused to
rescind the same or to reinstate any of the athletes who competed at
the St. Louis National meeting.

“The so-called National meeting held in New York city, on October 13,
1888, was, with very few exceptions, between the teams of the Irish
Gaelic Association and the Manhattan Athletic Club.

“At the Detroit meeting of the Union, a committee consisting of Otto
Ruhl, James E. Sullivan, and Fred W. Janssen was appointed, with
power to confer with Mr. Cullinan, the manager of the Irish team. To
him, after explaining matters, the following proposition was made, on
condition that his team should not recognize the National Association
as an authorized body to give a championship of American meeting, viz.:
The A. A. U. would give his team a testimonial meeting whenever he
desired; would give all the American and Irish championship events,
and an all-round competition. His association was to take all the gate
receipts over and above expenses, and the following guarantees were
made for tickets: Staten Island Athletic Club, $500; N.Y. Athletic
Club, $500; Pastime Athletic Club, $200.

“This offer was refused by Mr. Cullinan, and he wrote a letter to the
Secretary of the Union asking that the resolution be not enforced so
far as his team was concerned. As a similar request was made at Detroit
on behalf of the Western athletes, and Messrs. Schifferstein and
Pursell of the Olympic Club, San Francisco, and refused, no action was
taken. The request could not have been granted owing to the fact that
the Irish team seemed bound by contract to the Manhattan A. C., and
paid little or no attention to the Union’s propositions.

“The National published on its official circular the following
Executive Committee: President, Walton Storm, Manhattan A. C.;
vice-president, Wm. Halpin, Olympic A. C.; secretary, C. H. Mapes,
Intercollegiate A. C.; treasurer, W. C. Rowland, Staten Island A. C.;
S. S. Safford, American A. C.; W. G. Hegeman, Nassau A. C.; Geo. S.
Rhoades, Missouri A. A. A.; and on the Games Committee, W. C. Rowland,
Staten Island A. C.; Walton Storm, Manhattan A. C.; W. G. Hegeman,
Nassau A. C.

“Now, the following delegates and clubs mentioned on the Executive
Committee were not members of the National, viz.: Vice-President,
William Halpin, Olympic A. C.; treasurer, W. C. Rowland, Staten Island
A. C.; S. A. Safford, American A. C.; W. G. Hegeman, Nassau A. C.; and
of the Games Committee: W. C. Rowland, Staten Island A. C.; and W. G.
Hegeman, Nassau A. C., the clubs having resigned and joined the Amateur
Athletic Union. This left on the Executive Board of the so-called
National: President Walton Storm, Manhattan A. C.; secretary, C. H.
Mapes, Intercollegiate A. A., and George S. Rhoades, Missouri A. A.
A., with Walton Storm on the Games Committee. On both the circulars
and postal-cards, issued respectively under dates of September 3 and
September 18 by the so-called National, were found no names whatsoever,
nor did the parties left claim any more members. Therefore, the
following articles taken from the constitution and by-laws of the
so-called N. A. A. A. A. proved beyond a doubt to any fair-minded
person that such an association was virtually out of existence since
the resignations of afore-mentioned organizations, to wit:

CONSTITUTION.--ARTICLE III.

_Membership._

The membership of this association shall be limited to amateur
athletic clubs, and any associate club not giving at least one
public outdoor athletic meeting each year, to consist of not
less than five games, open to all amateurs, shall pay a fine of
twenty-five dollars, to be paid at or before the next annual
meeting, and in default of such payment such club shall forfeit its
membership.

And the Intercollegiate Athletic Association may become a member of
this association, such Intercollegiate Association to be deemed an
amateur athletic club for all purposes herein.

ARTICLE VI.

_Application for Membership._

Any amateur athletic club desiring to join the association shall
send to the secretary an application for membership, a copy of its
constitution and by-laws, and a list of its officers and members.
The secretary shall submit this application to each member of the
Executive Committee in turn, and these members shall endorse their
decision. The approval of seven members of the Executive Committee
shall be necessary to constitute an election.

BY-LAWS.--ARTICLE III.

_Meetings._

The annual meeting of the Executive Committee shall be held at the
close of the annual meeting of the association. Special meetings
of the Executive Committee shall be called by the secretary either
at the written request of three members of the committee or by
order of the president, and one week’s notice of said meeting shall
be sent to every member of the committee. At all meetings of the
committee five members shall constitute a quorum.

“By the first it is proven that the Intercollegiate Association was but
a single organization in the so-called National Association. The second
shows that it was necessary to have seven members of the Executive
Committee present in order to elect a new club to membership, and
the third that there should have been five members present to hold a
meeting. As the so-called N. A. A. A. A. had not been able to hold a
meeting or transact business under its own constitution and by-laws,
the organization in the Union refused to recognize the existence of
the so-called National Association of Amateur Athletes of America,
and in so doing stated that the respective clubs comprising the Union
positively denied having in any way boycotted the Irish Gaelic Team,
owing to the fact that the latter simply joined with the Manhattan and
Missouri Athletic clubs in preference to the Amateur Athletic Union
which was composed of twenty-seven leading associations.

“The M. A. C. _Chronicle_ of October, 1888, published the following
clubs as having had delegates present at the so-called National’s
annual meeting held about October 13: Missouri A. A. A., St. Louis;
Manhattan A. C., New York City; Star A. C., Long Island City; West
Side A. C., New York City; Allerton A. C., New York City; and
Intercollegiate A. A.

“The Allerton A. C. was organized in September, 1888, by members of the
Manhattan A. C. Mr. G. M. L. Sacks is treasurer, and Mr. G. M. L. Sacks
of the Manhattan A. C. represents the club on the so-called National
Association’s Executive Committee. Of late the Manhattan A. C. men have
organized several so-called athletic clubs in order to swell the list
of clubs belonging to the so-called National Association, and in the
M. A. C. _Chronicle_ of November, 1888, we find Walton Storm, G. M. L.
Sacks and Fred A. Ware, three well-known M. A. C. men on the Executive
Committee of the so-called National Association, and probably two or
three others of which it is not positive.

“None of the so-called National clubs own any property, except the
land which Mr. Walton Storm of the M. A. C. lately purchased for about
$160,000, on which it is proposed to build a club-house. We, therefore,
arrive at the following totals:

_National Clubs._ _Membership._ _Property._
Manhattan A. C. 400 None.
Missouri A. A. A. 200 “
Star A. C. 60 “
West Side A. C. 40 “
Allerton A. C. 50 “
--- --------
Entire National 750 Nothing.

“The so-called National during the past year has given the St. Louis
championship meeting, New York championship meeting, and a ten-mile
championship run. (The New York meeting was twice postponed and the
ten-mile run was also postponed.)

_Union Clubs._ _Membership._ _Property._

New York A. C. 2,500 $410,000
New York Turn Verein 2,500 150,000
A. C. of Schuylkill Navy 680 85,000
Staten Island A. C. 900 85,000
Columbia A. C. (Wash.) 400 65,000
Orange A. C. 650 60,000
Detroit A. C. 500 35,000
New Jersey A. C. 500 35,000
Flushing A. C. 200 25,000
Jersey City A. C. 500 35,000
Berkeley A. C. 250 225,000
----- ----------
Eleven Union Clubs out of
membership of 29 9,580 $1,210,000

“During the past ten months of the A. A. U.’s existence, six
championship meetings have been given, namely:

“Boxing, wrestling and fencing championships; general gymnastic
championships; swimming championships; Chicago Western championships;
Detroit American championships; New York indoor American championships.”

The programme for the coming year, arranged by the A. A. U., is most
extensive and comprises a really notable list of events.

“In view of all these facts it can readily be seen that the Amateur
Athletic Union has done more during its short period of existence to
encourage and foster athletic sports than the National has done in
almost its entire history of ten years. The Union has nationalized
athletics, and has proved itself to be national in character. It is
composed of more and stronger clubs than the National, and it has not
only come to stay, but also to make itself felt throughout the entire
United States.”

In regard to the personal attacks made upon the leading spirits of the
Union by the Manhattan Athletic Club _Chronicle_, we do not propose
to say anything. We pass them by with the remark that “abuse is not
argument,” and that such indiscriminate scattering of verbal mud can
further no cause.

In conclusion, we wish to remark that the evil effects of this
disruption are already becoming apparent. “Union is strength,” and the
following fact shows that the athletic world is losing its unity:

“A Western Association has now been formed with a view to governing
the sport solely in the West. To further this cause, the Missouri Club
resigns from the N. A. A. A. A. and the Union, while the Wanderers of
Chicago club resigned from the A. A. U.”

[Illustration]

OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

The Casino, for the time being, has deserted the French and German
composers of comic opera and taken up the early English humor of
Gilbert wedded to the modern English music of Sullivan. “The Yeoman of
the Guard,” the latest production of these two writers, is now in the
full tide of its run at the Casino. It is doubtful, however, if its
prosperity will approach anywhere near that of its predecessor, “The
Mikado.” The theme does not admit of the same supply of fun, life,
color or picturesqueness in acting, and while Sir Arthur Sullivan has
given us some of the best music he has ever written, it is not destined
to strike the popular fancy. A comic opera that does not win popular
taste is sure to be short-lived. This may not be evidence of good
taste, but it is true, nevertheless. The manner, however, in which “The
Yeoman of the Guard” is put on the stage here, as regards costumes and
appointments, is good; but when the cast is considered it is time to
hesitate in praise. With the exception of Miss Bertha Ricci, Mr. Ryley
and Mr. Solomon, the other principals engaged to present it are unequal
to the task. In women, particularly, is “The Yeoman” weak. Miss Sylvia
Gerrish and Miss Isabella Urquhart are, to put it mildly, not happy in
the rôles to which they are assigned. Vocally, they are not up to the
mark, and their acting is on a parallel with their singing. The male
members of the company are also of inferior make-up. All the coaching
of Mr. Richard Barker, the London stage-manager, cannot make singers
and actors without the proper material. With a good caste, “The Yeoman
of the Guard” would have been a great success here, as it is now given.
While it is by no means a failure, it has disappointed numbers who
anticipated with pleasure its production.

A MELODRAMATIC UNDER-CURRENT.

Augustin Daly has once more plunged into the exciting scenes and
thrilling situations of melodrama. With the production of “The
Under-Current” at Niblo’s, he has gone back to his first and early
love. “The Under Current” is a reminiscent kind of work in which
familiar scenes are called to mind, but Mr. Daly has been candid enough
to acknowledge the source from which he had taken them. To “Under the
Gaslight,” one of the most successful local dramas of its day, and “A
Flash of Lightning,” he is indebted for some of his effects. Both plays
named were written by Mr. Daly. He has availed himself of some of the
material contained in these works effectively. “The Under-Current” is
English in story, English in character, and the scenes are all laid
in England. The play was not successful, and after a short time was
withdrawn from the stage of Niblo’s.

THE ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE DRAMA.

Charles H. Hoyt is one of the most prolific writers of the present day
in a class of so-called farcical comedies. “A Hole in the Ground,” “The
Parlor Match” and “A Brass Monkey” are the names of a few of his most
successful works. They have been played in this and other cities to
overflowing houses. One peculiarity of the Hoyt _pot-pourri_ is that
while people as a rule declare that the productions are rubbish and
“all that kind of thing,” they crowd the theatres in which they are
given, to enjoy the Hoyt nonsense and be amused at its absurdities. It
is not, however, the story, its manner of construction, or the dialogue
of a Hoyt skit which entertains, nearly so much as the situations,
music, and rough-and-tumble business of a number of fairly clever
people of variety-show tendencies. The Hoyt order of play will not
live long, but the prolific author of this curiously named theatrical
driftwood is bright enough to perceive that amusement seekers relish
nonsense and absurdity on the stage, no matter how ridiculous, and he
furnishes a supply equal to the demand.

OUR MARY’S RETURN.

Mary Anderson’s return to the United States and her reappearance in
this city was hailed with welcome. It is three years since she left
here to play a return engagement in England. Her success abroad has
been such as she may feel just pride in. It moreover serves as a rebuke
to a certain class of people who claim there is no English recognition
for American talent. The absurdity of this assumption is self-evident.
“A Winter’s Tale,” as presented at Palmer’s Theatre by Miss Anderson
and her company is a creditable production.

ENGLISH BURLESQUE BY ENGLISH PLAYERS.

Nellie Farren and Fred Leslie, of the Gaiety Theatre, London, arrived
in this city just prior to the presidential election, and opened at
the Standard Theatre shortly after in the burlesque, “Monte Cristo,
Jr.” Miss Farren has been the pet of the London public for twenty years
or more. She won her place to honorable regard by her acknowledged
abilities as an actress of burlesque characters. Her talent, however,
is not confined to this class of entertainment alone. A long experience
on the stage--she began her career before the footlights when she was a
child--has given her opportunity to attempt all kinds of parts. In the
romantic, domestic and Shakespearian drama she has made a commendable
record. Boys’ parts are her particular specialty, and in these she
excels. Miss Farren has introduced English burlesque in its best form
to New Yorkers. The attempt has been made before by other companies
from London, but shapely forms in scanty costumes were suborned to the
artistic requirements of the performers. In English burlesque, as given
by Miss Farren and her Gaiety Company, we get an attractive travesty
told with intelligent action, bright music, movement and life. It has
made an impression as it deserved, while it has given contradiction
to the theory entertained by the few that because Londoners could not
recognize the burlesque elements in an American company sent hastily
abroad, a New York public would reject an English burlesque company
here. Bringing coals to Newcastle must, in the regular order of things,
prove unprofitable, but there was no good reason why the theatre-goers
of this city should withhold their patronage from an entertainment
which has won the attention of the amusement seekers of the British
metropolis. The engagement of the London Gaiety Company at the Standard
has taught us much in the line of burlesque.

~Richard Neville.~

[Illustration: ~Among the Books~]

~A story~ which deals with a routine of life, strangely unlike
the common every-day existence of civilization, is the novel, entitled
“A Mexican Girl,” by Frederick Thickstun (Boston: Ticknor & Co. 1888).
The most _blasé_ novel reader will find his attention riveted by
the novelty and wildness of the scenes depicted. The word-painting
and dialect are good throughout, and, as a rule, the characters are
very strongly drawn; but there is a striking improbability in the
supposition that any man could, like the New England schoolmaster, have
reached the age of thirty, or thereabouts, and remained so ignorant
of the ways of the world. The climax of the story is, moreover,
somewhat unsatisfactory. The principal character is dismissed rather
summarily. In spite of such disadvantages, the volume is full of
strong situations, and the interest is well sustained, while the
scene, laid in the Southwest, in a community composed of Americans,
Anglo-Americans, and Mexicans, serves as a weird and picturesque
background.

* * * * *

~An~ amusing and interesting account of a yachting expedition
is to be found in “The Devil of a Trip; or, The Log of the Yacht
Champlain,” by J. Armoy Knox, the well-known editor of _Texas Siftings_
(New York: National Literary Bureau). The volume forms a number of “The
Unique Series,” and is entitled to its position. It consists, in fact,
of a photo-engraved reproduction of the letters from Colonel Knox, as
they originally appeared in the columns of sundry well-known daily
papers, with the addition of clever marginal sketches by Thomas Worth.
The voyage was an inland one, and apart from the entertainment to be
derived from the book, it may serve to furnish many hints to intending
voyagers of desirable routes of travel.

* * * * *

~Messrs. A. G. Spalding & Bros.~ have issued a little hand-book
entitled “Baseball,” by Harry Palmer, in view of their Australian
tour. It contains short and interesting biographies of the players who
compose the Australian teams, and careful directions and explanations
as to the science of the game. Every lover of the national game should
own a copy of this manual, if only for reference in settling knotty
points in the intricacies of play.

* * * * *

~When~ Mr. W. W. Greener adds another to his list of works on
the subject of guns, the sportsman may feel sure of gaining valuable
information by the perusal of the volume. “_Ne sutor ultra crepidam_,”
is a motto which should especially apply to writers of books on such
subjects, and a volume of this description, unless from the pen of an
expert, is worse than useless. In “Modern Shotguns” (Messrs. Cassell
& Co.) the author, without reiterating what he has already published,
has given sportsmen a valuable guide to the selection of the right
weapon in the right place. The mass of useful and interesting facts
and information incorporated will please every one interested in such
matters, while the cuts and diagrams are a markedly useful feature.

* * * * *

~An~ account of a winter sojourn in the kindly climate of a
tropic land may, to readers enduring the rigors of a northern latitude,
serve either of two purposes. It may inspire with envy and malice,
or serve to transport one for a while far from the interminable snow
and slush. Such as can read, without evoking the darker passions, a
prettily told narrative of a winter spent in the pleasant warmth of a
land blessed with

“A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers,”

should promptly peruse “A Winter Picnic,” by J. and C. E. Dickinson
and S. E. Dowd (New York: H. Holt & Co. 1888). The ladies who have
contributed to the book seem to have basked the winter through in the
glorious sunshine, but also have not neglected to chronicle, in an
amusing way, many a small inconvenience and drawback. The primitive
civilization of Nassau, the queer traits of the negroes, and, in short,
all the curious features of a country utterly unlike the great marts of
commerce, are duly set forth in an entertaining fashion.

* * * * *

~The~ literature of amateur photography--that most fascinating
pastime--grows apace. “The International Annual of Anthony’s
Photographic Bulletin, for 1888” (New York: Messrs. E. & H. T. Anthony;
London: Messrs. H. Greenwood & Co.), is a charming contribution. It
embodies a vast collection of papers on the various aspects of the
art from the pens of the best authorities on the subject. Information
on any and every point can be found in the pages, and no amateur
photographer should omit to study it. Messrs. Anthony’s manual for
amateurs, “How to Make Photographs,” contains a variety of practical
instructions and formulæ which are of substantial service.

* * * * *

~We~ have received some charming children’s story-books of an
exceptionally interesting character. Messrs. Lee & Shepard, Boston,
and Charles T. Dillingham, New York, are the publishers, and the
excellent appearance of these seasonable little volumes reflects
much credit on them. The mere fact that the text of “The King of the
Golden River, or the Black Brothers,” a legend of Stiria, is from the
pen of John Ruskin, and the illustrations by Richard Doyle, speaks
for itself. “The Last of the Hugger-muggers, a Giant Story,” and its
sequel, “Kobboltozo,” by Christopher Pearse Cranch, are thrilling tales
for the delectation of the little ones. Other two books for juvenile
readers, but for those out of the nursery, from the same publishers,
are “A Start in Life,” by J. T. Trowbridge, and “Little Miss Wheezy’s
Brother,” by Penn Shirley. Both are admirably calculated to effect
the purpose for which they were written, and will prove admirable
gift-books for this holiday season.

[Illustration: AMENITIES.]

THE BRITISH FOX’S LAMENT.

“‘A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,’
So runs a line of the hunting song;
But a bleak nor’-easter is what suits me,
Driving and whirling the snow along.

“From the times of yore has the fox been sung
As a sly old rogue and merry wight,
Who loves the gay sound of the horn and hound
And gobbles chickens the livelong night.

“Such things may have been, but the times are changed;
Chickens are scarce, and the farmers keen,
And with all the hunting that’s going on,
I’m quite played out and am growing lean.

“Now, a neighbor was lately telling me
Of a land that sounds like Paradise,
Where instead of a fox they hunt a bag,
Where chickens are cheap and very nice.

“And I wonder much if such things can be;
Egad! how I’d laugh to see that sport;
But they ‘break us up’ when they catch us here--
What do they do when the bag is caught?

“I have half a mind to speak to my wife
And take the cubs to these promised lands:
As I go back home, I’ll call at the bank
And see how much to my credit stands.

“But, hark! I’ll be hanged if it ain’t that horn--
I guess I’ll skip ere the hounds catch on.”
A few minutes after, the pack came up
And found the old “varmint” home had gone.

_Sporting Tramp._

[Illustration: ~Tally Ho!~

~Gone Away!!~]

[Illustration: Editor’s Scrap Book]

AT THE RIDING SCHOOL.

~In~ her new riding habit of soft olive green
She appeared quite as lovely and proud as a queen,
As around the big ring with a petulant bob
She sailed on the spine of the old sorrel cob.

She rocked like the reed in the breezes a-dream,
She rocked like a lily upon a wild stream;
And she made the old cob like a bald-eagle fly
When she hit him right over his only good eye.

Oh, she seemed like a queen in the yellow side-saddle,
When she made the wild horse to “Erminie” skedaddle!
And when the band ceased, from the stirrup she dropped,
And over the platform most gracefully hopped.

Then I heard her observe with a gesture elate:
“I am now riding daily to pull down my weight--
I am losing flesh daily by riding, and that
Is the reason I’ve stopped taking Smith’s anti-fat!”

--_Puck._

* * * * *

~Miss Gushington~ (_enjoying a sleigh ride_): I think you have a
lovely horse, Mr. De Lyle. About what does such a fine horse cost?

~Mr. de Lyle~: Two dollars an hou--oh--er--yes, that horse is worth
about eight hundred dollars, Miss Gushington.--_Epoch._

* * * * *

~Smith~: What paper are you working on now?

~Jones~: Ain’t working on any paper. The season is over with me.

“How’s that?”

“I was the humorist on the _Bugle_ who got off jokes on the baseball
umpire. As soon as the baseball season closed I was bounced. I’m
trying to get a position as a coal-dealer and slipped-up-on-the-ice
humorist.”--_Texas Siftings._

* * * * *

~A pretty~ maiden fell overboard at New Bedford the other day,
and her lover leaned over the side of the boat, as she rose to the
surface, and said: “Give me your hand.” “Please ask papa,” she gently
murmured, as she calmly sank for the second time.--_Boston Herald._

* * * * *

ANOTHER HUNTING INCIDENT.

~Doctor P.~ had been asked to make one of a party to shoot over
some private preserves. It turned out to be one of his unlucky days.

“I give you my word,” he at last exclaimed, in despair, “I can’t kill a
thing!”

“Come, doctor,” suggested his host, “just imagine that you are at the
bedside of a patient.”--_Judge._

* * * * *

~Oh~! music sweet has charms, you know,
To soothe the savage breast;
It lightens troubles, calms all woe,
And gives the weary rest.

In order, then, to kill his cares,
And all his sorrows check,
The blear-eyed, big-mouthed bull-dog wears
A brass band round his neck.

--_New York Journal._

* * * * *

~Wife~ (_indignantly_): I’ve heard through a certain married
lady in town, John, that you bet me against a horse the other night
that your candidate would win?

~Husband~: Well, what of it? My candidate is bound to win;
the other man hasn’t the ghost of a show, and, as you’ve always
wanted a riding horse, I thought I would just get you one, and get it
cheap.--_The Epoch._

* * * * *

~Parson’s Wife~: Why, Johnny, you’re not going fishing on
Sunday, are you?

~Johnny~: Oh, no--no. I--I only thought I’d take the pole away
from the house so that my brothers needn’t be tempted.--_Life._

* * * * *

~Captain~: Well, what do you make it out to be?

~Miss Culture~ (_of Boston_): Why, it is a feline vessel, a
Grimalkin craft.

~Captain~: Oh, yes; we call ’em cat-boats.--_Ocean._

* * * * *

~Jones~: Ramrod, they say that it takes a temperature of 64°
below zero to kill a wild goose.

~Ramrod~: Well, what of it?

~Jones~: Oh, I was just thinking that you won’t be likely to get
any wild geese this season, that’s all.--_Burlington Free Press._

[Illustration: ~Pleasure Travel and Resorts~]

~The~ following extracts from Mr. H. H. Johnston’s paper in the
_Fortnightly Review_ for October will interest sportsmen. Mr. Johnston
grows enthusiastic over the new territory ceded by the Sultan of
Zanzibar to the Imperial British East African Company:

“The animal products of this region are typically African, and at
the time of my journeyings therein it was a sportsman’s paradise....
Buffaloes, which abound so as to be dangerous, provide very eatable
beef. Rhinoceros are so numerous in the interior that the horns are an
important item in trade, for they may be sold on the coast for three
or four rupees each (say 6s.). Hippopotami are abundant in the rivers
and lakes.... The elephant abounds in the neighborhood of Kilimanjaro
and Kenia to the extent of many thousands. He here becomes quite a
mountaineer, and ranges through the magnificent forests that clothe the
upper slopes of these giants among African peaks. The natives waylay
his forest tracks with artfully devised pitfalls and traps, preferring
this more cowardly way of procuring their ivory to facing the elephant
in the chase.... Lions’ skins are less easy to obtain from the natives,
as that animal is rarely killed by them; but sportsmen might shoot him
to a considerable extent, as he is both common and bold. Monkey skins
of the handsome variety of bushy white-tailed Colobus, which is alone
found in this region, are valuable.

“Ostriches are exceedingly numerous throughout this district of
East Africa; the species which is here represented is the _Struthio
Danaoides_ of Captain Shelley’s determination. It differs from the
widespread _Struthio Camelus_ in the color of the soft parts and naked
skin, and the size and markings of the egg. When living in Taveita, in
the summer and autumn of 1884, I and my men used to largely subsist on
their eggs, which were brought us in numbers by the natives, and sold
for about a pennyworth of cloth each. Of course, to any ornithologist,
this country is exceedingly interesting, and there is an abundance of
guinea-fowl, francolin, pigeons, and bustards.”

* * * * *

~Should~ the disappearance of all kinds of game, with which
we are so much threatened in America, really come to pass, it looks
as if Scandinavia would be a good field to seek. Bears and wolves
were unusually numerous in Sweden last summer; in the province of
Jemtland four were seen on one occasion, and much damage to cattle
was reported. Elks were very plentiful, in consequence of rigid
preservation, particularly in Central and Southern Sweden, large herds
having been seen of these noble animals. A great royal elk hunt took
place recently on the Hunneberg estate, in Sudermania, a Swedish crown
property, when upwards of 100 elks were killed. As to feather game,
the season in Sweden was better than was anticipated after so long and
severe a winter. From several parts came good reports of blackgame,
capercailzie and partridges. For the protection of the last during the
winter, when the snow makes feeding difficult, the Swedish Shooting
Association has decided upon granting awards to farmers who feed these
birds during that season.

In Norway, however, game was scarce, owing to the terribly severe and
long winter. This was particularly the case with the rype, or brown
ptarmigan. The reindeer shooting was good, and bears seem to have been
more than usually numerous last summer, particularly in South-central
Norway.

* * * * *

~The~ following facts may, however, prove instructive to
Americans who think of emulating the example set by some few of their
countrymen, and seeking their sport abroad at the present time. In the
Valuation Appeal Court for Inverness, held recently, the first case
called was that of Donald Cameron, of Lochiel, who appealed against the
valuation of his deer forest at the rate of £25 per stag, and of his
grouse-shootings at 10s. per brace. Finally the case was settled at the
rate of £20 per stag, and 10s. per brace of grouse. It would be of much
interest to know what the rating of these properties would be if they
were used for agricultural purposes. It is worthy of note that Scotch
venison does not fetch more than 10c. per pound for the hind quarter in
the London market, and half that sum for the fore quarter.

* * * * *

~The~ following chronology of railways affords a good index to
the progressiveness of the countries mentioned: The first railway was
opened in England on Sept. 27, 1825; Austria, Sept. 30, 1828; France,
Oct. 1, 1828; United States, Dec. 28, 1829; Belgium, May 3, 1835;
Germany, Dec. 7, 1835; Cuba, in 1837; Russia, on April 4, 1838; Italy,
in September, 1839; Switzerland, on July 15, 1844; Jamaica, Nov. 21,
1845; Spain, Oct. 24, 1848; Canada, in May, 1850; Mexico and Peru, in
1850; Sweden, in 1851; Chili, in January, 1852; India, on April 18,
1853; Norway, in July, 1853; Portugal, in 1854; Brazil, April 21, 1854;
Victoria (Australia), Sept. 14, 1854; Columbia, Jan. 28, 1850; New
South Wales, Sept. 25, 1850; Egypt, in January, 1856; Natal, on June
26, 1860; and in Turkey, on Oct. 4, 1860.

[Illustration: ~Our MONTHLY RECORD~]

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY.

~At~ a meeting of the Photographic Society of Philadelphia, held
recently, the executive committee of the Interchange reported that it
had selected from the slides of 1886-’87 two hundred specimens to be
sent to England in exchange for the same number to be sent to this
country.

* * * * *

~During~ the past year the Chicago Lantern Slide Club has added
materially to its numbers. The following new members were admitted
some time since: C. E. Bradbury, J. L. Atwater, E. H. Reed, G. H.
Daggett, Charles Stadler, F. S. Osborn, B. D. Washington, and Wallace
Fairbank. Three members were added to the executive committee: Dr. C.
F. Matteson, E. J. Wagner, and G. A. Douglas.

* * * * *

~The~ Society of Amateur Photographers of New York gave a
Smoking Concert, November 18, which proved a very enjoyable affair.
There was some good vocal and instrumental music, and after the concert
was over, the audience had a “German-American tea”--the tea having been
brewed in a keg, after the manner of the German. Strange to say, on
the conclusion of the repast there were several “kegs full,” after the
manner of the American.

* * * * *

~The~ New Orleans Camera Club has recently taken a number of
sketches of an “outing” along the line of the Northeastern railroad.
Some pretty bits of scenery and quaint negro characters were taken
during the trip. The following gentlemen headed the excursion party:
President William Mandeville, Vice-President Joseph A. Hincks,
Secretary Charles E. Fermer, Treasurer Harry T. Howard.

ATHLETICS.

~The~ fall handicap meeting of the Harvard Athletic Association
was held November 5, on Holmes’ Field, Cambridge, Mass. The events were
as follows:

100-yards run--_First heat_, O. K. Hawes, ’92 (2 yds.), first. Time,
10½s. _Second heat_, E. C. Moen, ’91 (scratch), first. Time, 10 2-5s.
_Final heat_, O. K. Hawes, ’92 (2 yds.), first. Time, 10 2-5s.

Running broad jump--G. R. White (scratch), first. Distance, 20 ft.
2½ in.

One-mile walk--C. T. R. Bates, ’92 (30 sec.), first. Time, 8m. 1½s.
J. E. Howe, ’91 (scratch), second.

One-mile run--J. L. Dodge, ’91 (100 yds.), first. Time, 4m. 34s. A. M.
White, ’92 (100 yds.), second.

Running high jump--E. W. Dustan, ’89 (3 in.), first. Distance, 5 ft.

440-yards run--T. J. Stead, ’91 (10 yds.), first. Time, 52¾s. W. H.
Wright, ’92, second.

Half-mile run--G. L. Batchelder, ’92 (40 yds.), first. Time, 2m. 3s.

220-yards run--S. Wells, Jr., ’91 (12 yds.), first. Time, 23 2-5s. O.
K. Hawes, ’92 (5 yds.), second.

The officers of the course were: Referee, G. B. Morrison, ’83; Judges,
J. D. Bradley, L. S., F. B. Lund, ’88; Judge of Walking, H. H. Bemis,
’87; Timekeepers, J. G. Lathrop, F. D. Fisher, ’86, J. T. Taylor, E. S.
Wright, L. S.; Scorer, Allston Burr, ’89.

* * * * *

~The~ fall games of the Friends’ Central School, Philadelphia,
were held November 4, at the University Grounds.

Pole vault--Stuart, 7 ft. 5 in.

One-mile run--Emerick, 6m. 13 3-5s.

Running high jump--Sill, 4 ft. 8 in.

Standing broad jump--Goldsmith, 9 ft. 2 in.

Half-mile walk--Wilkeson, 4m. 27½s.

100-yards run (juniors)--_Final heat_, Stuart, 11 4-5s.

Throwing baseball--Burrough, 1.

100-yards run (seniors)--_Final heat_, Goldsmith, 11 4-5s.

440-yards run--A’Becket, 1.

Three-legged race--Burrough and Marter, 11 4-5s.

One-mile bicycle race--Mode, 3m. 38 2-3s.

Putting the shot--Meredith, 27 ft. 9 in.

Running broad jump--Dumont, 18 ft. 4 in.

Hurdle race--Dickeson, 22 2-5s.

Tug-of-war--Class of ’89, 1, by 3 inches.

* * * * *

~The~ Athletes of the Gaelic Club of Ireland left for home on
the _City of Rome_, October 31. The trip to this country did not prove
a great financial success.

* * * * *

~The~ first annual games of the Outing Athletic Club were held
on the grounds of the Brooklyn Athletic Association, November 6. The
attendance was large, the management good, the track in fine condition,
and the racing events were closely contested and interesting. Nearly
six hundred people witnessed the sports, which resulted as follows:

100-yards professional race, handicap--E. Herline, Wilmington (5½ yds.)
first; Steve Farrell, Rockville, Conn., second. Time, 10 1-5s.

120-yards run, handicap (amateur)--Thomas Lee, N. Y. Y. M. C. A.,
first; N. Linicus, Olympic A. C., second. Time, 12½s.

Running high jump, handicap--M. O. Sullivan, Pastime A. C., first;
R. K. Pritchard, Staten Island A. C., second. Height, 5 ft. 5 in.,
handicap 5 in.; second, 5 ft. 8½ in.

One-mile walk, handicap--W. F. Pollman, Pastime A. C., first (40 sec.);
J. B. Keating second. Time, 7m. 1-5s.

Half-mile run, handicap--A. Aspengein, Prospect Harriers (42 yds.),
first; W. H. Moore, N. Y. A. C. (45 yds.), second. Time, 2m. 2 3-5s.

350-yards run, handicap--R. R. Houston, I. H. (20 yds.), first; W. E.
Hughes, Pastime A. C., second. Time, 39 4-5s.

Running broad jump, handicap--S. D. See, (36 in.), Brooklyn A. C.,
first, 18 ft. 9½ in.; W. Neuman, Olympic A. C. (30 in.), second.

One-mile run, handicap--P. C. Petrie, Olympic A. C. (43 yds.), first;
E. Hjertberg, Olympic A. C., (35 yds.), second.

220-yards hurdle race, handicap--A. Brown, Pastime A. C. (8 yds.),
first; W. H. Struse, S. I. A. C., second. Time, 27½s.

Putting the 16-lb. shot, handicap--W. Neuman, Olympic A. C. (6 ft.),
first; Alf. Ing, Y. M. C. A. (1 ft.), second. Distance, 31 ft. 4½ in.

* * * * *

~I. B. Meredith~, the well-known sprinter and football player of
Ireland is coming to America.

* * * * *

~Schifferstein~, the California amateur sprinter, has decided to
become a professional. He and Bethune will be a great pair at 100 yards.

* * * * *

~An~ athletic enterprise has been set on foot by the National
Assoc. of Amateur Athletes of America. It is this: The association
has determined to hold a national meeting immediately before their
international championship next May. The meeting will be open to every
amateur in the United States, and the winners of contests will form
an international team which will make a tour of Europe, entering all
amateur championship games held in foreign countries. The team will
also hold a series of games at the Paris Exposition of 1889. Many
prominent men interested in athletics are very favorably impressed with
the scheme and believe that it will be a successful one.

* * * * *

~The~ following definition of an amateur has been adopted by the
Western Association: An amateur athlete is one who has never competed
with or against a professional for a prize, or who has never competed
for a staked bet or other monetary consideration or under a fictitious
name, or who has never, directly or indirectly, either in competition
or as an instructor, or as an assistant or through any connection
whatever with any form of athletic games obtained any financial
consideration, either directly or indirectly; who has never sold or
pledged any prize or token won or obtained through connection with
athletics, or whose membership in any athletic organization is of no
pecuniary benefit to himself, directly or indirectly.

* * * * *

~The~ games of the Manhattan Athletic Club, November 6, were of
a high order. Four new records were made, two on the running path and
two on the field. The cinder-path was in excellent condition. Arthur
George and G. L. Young, the champion cross-country runners of England,
gave exhibitions of their style. Conneff and Mitchell, the Irish runner
and the weight thrower, made new records. The following is a summary of
the events:

100-yards run--_First heat_: F. Westing, M. A. C. (scratch), and A. F.
Copeland, M. A. C. (2 yds.), a dead heat, in 10 2-5s. _Second heat_:
J. S. Wieners, Jr., M. A. C. (9 yds.), first, in 10 4-5s. _Third
heat_: H. Shipman (4½ yds.), first, in 10 4-5s. _Fourth heat_: J.
C. Devereaux, M. A. C. (5 yds.), first, in 10 4-5s. _Fifth heat_: W.
M. Macdermott, M. A. C. (7 yds.), first, in 10 4-5s. _Final heat_:
Macdermott first, Devereaux second, Copeland third; time, 10 1-5s. It
was a fine race, and less than 18 inches divided the four men at the
finish.

Two-mile walk--E. D. Lange, M. A. C. (scratch), first, time 14m. 45
2-5s.; F. Fillistrand, W. S. A. C. (80 sec.), second, in 16m. 21s.; F.
A. Ware, M. A. C. (25 sec.), third, not timed.

Throwing 16-lb. hammer--M. W. Ford, Brooklyn (25 feet), first, at 78
ft. 11 in.; J. S. Mitchell, M. A. C. (scratch), second, at 101 ft. 4
in.; F. L. Lambrecht, M. A. C. (scratch), third, at 101 ft. 3 in.

Two-mile run--T. P. Conneff, M. A. C. (scratch), first, in 9m. 43s.; A.
Sheridan, W. S. A. C. (175 yds.), second; T. Owens, W. S. A. C. (205
yds.), third; won easily. Conneff made 1 mile in 4m. 48s.; 1¼ miles,
6m. 3 4-5s.; 1½ miles, 7m. 19s., and 1¾ miles, 8m. 32 2-5s. His time
at 1¼ miles supplants P. D. Skillman’s 6m. 5 4-5s. made at Brooklyn,
July 4, 1887, and his time at 1¾ miles is the best American record,
there having been no previous record for the distance. Had Conneff been
pushed he could have broken Carter’s two-mile record of 9m. 38 3-5s.

120-yards hurdle race over 3 ft. 6 in. obstacles--A. F. Copeland, M. A.
C., first; H. Mapes, Columbia College, second; E. M. Vandervoort, M.
A. C., third. Won easily in 16 2-5s. The record is 16 1-5s., by A. A.
Jordan, N. Y. A. C.

Quarter-mile run for novices--J. E. Gounison, Columbia College, first;
W. Bogardus, M. A. C., second; J. A. Allen, Star A. C. C., third. Won
by 5 ft., after a good race, in 58 4-5s.

Running broad jump--Victor Mapes, C. C. A. A. (1 ft. 6 in.), first, at
22 ft. 4½ in.; A. F. Remsen, M. A. C. (1 ft. 3 in.), second, at 22 ft.
4 in.; Z. A. Cooper, U. A. C. (3 ft. 6 in.), third, at 22 ft. 3 in.

350-yards run--J. C. Devereaux, M. A. C. (9 yds.), first; A. F.
Copeland, M. A. C. (3 yds.), second; H. Shipman, M. A. C. (12 yds.),
third. Copeland got a good start, but was unable to get through the
field. He ran a close second in the good time of 39 3-5s.

Field officers: Referee, G. W. Carr, M. A. C.; Judges, C. H. Mapes,
Columbia College; W. Gage, M. A. C., and G. L. M. Sacks, M. A. C.;
Timers, M. P. Bagg, M. A. C.; G. A. Avery, M. A. C., and A. F. Kimbel,
M. A. C.; Judge of Walking, G. L. M. Sacks; Starter, H. P. Pike, M. A.
C.

* * * * *

~The~ amateur athletic clubs of Chicago and vicinity, at
present members of the Amateur Athletic Union, have organized a local
committee, to be known as the Executive Committee of the Associated A.
A. U. Clubs of Chicago and vicinity. The committee will be composed of
three delegates from each A. A. U. club within fifty miles of Chicago,
and will legislate, under the board of managers of the A. A. U., on all
matters pertaining to the interests of the associated clubs and Western
athletics in general. The committee is at present composed of delegates
from the following clubs: Chicago Amateur Athletic Association, Garden
City Athletic Club, First Regt. (I. N. G.) A. A., and Pullman Athletic
Club. Officers: Hall T. K. Fake, P. A. C., chairman; Noah Clark, C. A.
A. A., secretary and treasurer. The following circular has been issued:

~To the Amateur Athletic Organizations of Chicago and
Vicinity~:

The Executive Committee of the Associated A. A. U. clubs of
Chicago and vicinity beg to call your attention to the enclosed
announcement. It is to the interest of all amateur athletic
clubs to associate themselves with a national and thoroughly
representative governing body, having for its object the
advancement of American amateur athletics and whose rulings shall
be final and authoritative on all points of importance in such
matters, and whose decisions shall have international recognition.
The formation of the local executive committee insures the proper
representation of each local club, as well as the thorough
investigation and care of the mutual interests of the associate
clubs and Western athletic interests in general.

Respectfully,
~Noah Clark~, Sec’y.

_Chicago_, Oct. 17, 1888.

* * * * *

~The~ American Athletic Union held its first supplementary
indoor meeting for the Championship of the United States, November 21,
at Madison Square Garden in this city. W. B. Curtis was referee and
the judges A. V. De Gorcouria, E. C. Carter, and John Huneker. The
following is a summary of the events:

Seventy-five yards--_First heat_, W. C. White, N. Y. A. C., first; A.
J. Murburg, second; time, 8 2-5s. _Second heat_, Horace Walker, Yale A.
C., first; W. E. Hughes, P. A. C., second; time, 8 2-5s. _Third heat_,
F. W. Robinson, Yale College and N. Y. A. C., first; H. Luerson, P.
A. C., second; time, 8 2-5s. _Fourth heat_, Thomas J. Lee, O. A. C.,
first; N. H. Strusse, S. I. A. C., second; time, 8 2-5s. _Fifth heat_,
S. J. King, Col. A. C., Washington, first; F. H. Babcock, N. Y. A. C.,
second; time, 8 2-5s. Sixteen competed. _Final heat_, Robinson, Walker,
King and Lee competed, the others being beaten in the supplementary
heats. Robinson won by a foot; time, 8 2-5s; King second.

200-yards hurdle (3 feet 6 inches)--Run in one heat. Won by A.
A. Jordan, N. Y. A. C.; time, 30 4-5s.; G. Schwegler, second; E.
Lentilhon, Yale College and N. Y. A. C., third. Four ran. Jordan won as
he pleased.

Three-quarter mile walk--T. Sherman, N. J. A. C.; W. R. Burckhardt, P.
A. C.; H. Dimse, P. A. C.; Otto Hassell, Chicago A. A. A., and J. C.
Kouth, P. A. C., competed. Won easily by Burckhardt; time, 5m. 14s.;
Sherman second, Kouth third.

Standing high jump--W. Norris, S. I. A. C.; A. Shroeder, N. Y. A. C.;
S. Crook, M. A. C.; F. T. Ducharme, Detroit A. C.; Samuel Toch, S.
I. A. C.; R. K. Pritchard, S. I. A. C.; J. R. Elder, Columbia A. C.,
Washington, D. C.; John Scheurer, O. A. C.; E. Giannini, N. Y. A. C.,
and B. L. Harrison, Orange A. C., competed. Crook won with 4 ft. 11½
in. This is within three-quarters of an inch of the American record,
and beats the English record 1½ inches. The start was made at 3 ft. 6
in.

1,000 yards run--G. V. Gilbert, N. Y. A. C.; E. A. Merrick, M. A. C.;
S. Barr, S. I. A. C.; W. T. Thompson, S. I. A. C., and W. J. Gregory,
Birmingham A. C., competed. It was a good race, and during the last lap
and a half Gilbert and Thompson were in advance and running for their
lives. Gilbert lasted the longest and won by several yards. Time, 2m.
26 4-5s.

150-yards run--_First heat_, W. C. White, N. Y. A. C., first; Thomas S.
Lee, O. A. C., second; time, 17 1-5s. _Second heat_, S. J. King, Col.
A. C., Washington, D. C., first; W. E. Hughes, P. A. C., second; time,
17½s. _Third heat_, F. T. Ducharme, Detroit A. C., first; S. E.
Corbett, S. I. A. C., second. _Final heat_, White won a splendid race
by less than a foot. Time, 17 1-5s. King was second and Hughes third.

Kicking Football (for accuracy)--C. T. Schlesinger, N. Y. A. C.; T.
O. Speir, Orange A. C.; Frank Cunningham, S. I. A. C.; E. J. Chapman,
S. I. A. C.; D. A. Lindsay, S. I. A. C.; W. F. Allen, M. A. C.; C. T.
Hollister, M. A. C.; E. J. Laidlaw, N. Y. A. C.; G. A. White, M. A. C.;
H. Sinclair, M. A. C., and J. J. Barker, P. A. C., competed. Cunningham
won, Sinclair second and Allen third.

600-yards run--Stewart Barr, S. I. A. C.; J. F. Robinson, S. I. A.
C.; E. E. Barnes, O. A. C.; A. W. S. Cochrane, N. Y. A. C., and J. P.
Thornton, N. Y. A. C., competed. Thornton won in hand. Time, 1m. 23
2-5s. Barnes was second and Cochrane third.

56-lb. weight (for height)--E. Giannini, N. Y. A. C.; George R. Gray,
N. Y. A. C.; C. A. J. Queckberner, S. I. A. C.; J. Hackett, P. A. C.,
and M. O. Sullivan, P. A. C., competed. Sullivan won it with 13 ft. 11⅝
in., beating his own record 2⅝ in., made October 2, 1886. Queckberner
was second at 13 ft. 7⅝ in. and Hackett at 13 ft. 5⅝ in.

300-yards hurdle (2 feet 6 inches)--Run in one heat. A. A. Jordan, N.
Y. A. C.; A. Brown, P. A. C.; G. Schwelger, A. A. C., and E. Lentilhon,
Yale College and N. Y. A. C., competed. Jordan won without trouble.
Time, 41s. Brown was second and Schwelger third.

Running hop, step and jump--Nine of fourteen entries competed. G. R.
Robertson, M. A. C., won with 43 ft. 1 in.; E. E. Smith, B. A. A.,
second, 40 ft. 5 in., and T. H. Babcock, N. Y. A. C., third, 40 ft. The
world’s record is 48 ft. 3 in., by J. Purcell, Limerick, June 9, 1887,
and the American 44 ft. 1¾ in., by M. W. Ford, New York, May 10, 1884.

Putting 24-lb. shot--George R. Gray, N. Y. A. C.; C. A. J. Queckberner,
S. I. A. C.; M. O. Sullivan, P. A. C., and J. Hackett, P. A. C.,
competed. Gray was in grand form, and covered 32 ft. 6¾ in., which
beats the world’s record 4 ft. 7¾ in., it being 27 ft. 11 in., made by
George Ross, Salford, England, November 13, 1876. Gray then made an
exhibition put, and covered 33 ft. 9½ in. Queckberner was second in the
competition, with 31 ft. 3 in., and Sullivan third, with 27 ft. 3½ in.
The American record was 25 ft. 7 in., made by M. Markoe, Princeton, N.
J., May 13, 1876.

Two-mile run--T. A. Collett, P. A. C.; A. B. George, Spartan Harriers,
England; P. C. Petrie, O. A. C.; G. Y. Gilbert, N. Y. A. C.; H. A.
Smith, S. I. A. C.; W. F. Thompson, S. I. A. C.; J. Adelsdorfer, P.
A. C., and E. Hjertberg, O. A. C., competed. George, who is a brother
of W. G. George, the well-known professional long distance runner of
England, won easily. Time, 10m. 18 1-5s. The American record is 9m. 38
3-5s., made by E. C. Carter in the open air. E. Hjertberg, O. A. C.,
was second in the competition, and T. A. Collett, P. A. C., third.

300-yards run, in one heat--J. P. Thornton, N. Y. A. C., won with few
inches to spare. Time, 34 3-5s. W. H. Strusse, S. I. A. C., was second,
and Horace F. Walker, Yale College, third. Five started.

Four-mile walk--H. Druise, P. A. C.; S. Cramer, P. A. C.; J. C. Korth,
P. A. C.; O. E. Paynter, S. I. A. C.; W. R. Burckhardt, P. A. C.; W.
Donahy, Prospect Harriers; W. Pollman, P. A. C., and W. A. Berrian, M.
A. C., competed. Cramer won. Time, 32m. 13s. The first mile was in 7m.
52 4-5s.; two miles, 16m. 1 3-5s., and three miles, 24m. 14 2-5s.

* * * * *

~The~ Naval Academy cadets had their usual Thanksgiving Day
sports, November 29, at Annapolis, Md. The athletic tournament which
came off in the forenoon was witnessed by a large number of people. The
boys were defeated after an exciting contest in a football game with
the Johns Hopkins University team of Baltimore. The score stood--Johns
Hopkins, 25; cadets, 12.

In the athletic tournament Cadet Camden cleared 21 ft. 4 in. in a
running long jump; Cadet Hoff reached 5 ft. 4 in. in a running high
jump; Cadet Chase 7 ft. 8 in. in pole vaulting; Cadet McDonald put a
16-pound shot 32 ft. 10 in., and Cadet Taylor 31 ft. The one hundred
yards dash was won by Cadet Brand in 10 sec., or rather so said the
timers, beating Cadet Sullivan ¼ of a second.

Throwing the baseball was won by Cadet Beck, who reached 107 yards;
Cadet Trickle, second, 103 yards.

In the tug-of-war the contestants were the first and third divisions of
cadets against the second and fourth, about 100 on a side. The first
and third walked away with their competitors.

* * * * *

~The~ following detailed account of the Montreal Athletic Fair
may prove of service in affording hints to organizations of a similar
description:

In September, 1887, the Montreal Amateur Athletic Association purchased
a fine piece of property in the West End for an athletic ground. The
purchase price was $45,000; of this they paid $15,000 in cash. An
active canvass among the members and friends resulted in $17,000 being
subscribed towards the liquidation of the liability. The leveling of
the grounds, fencing, grand-stands and cinder-path (one-third of a
mile) cost upwards of $10,000 more, with pavilions and dressing-rooms
and other improvements yet to build. The idea of a bazaar or fair,
which had been mooted two years previously, was again advanced, the
fair friends of the members becoming enthusiastic over it. After some
preliminaries the idea took shape; a committee was formed to further
the scheme; each club in the association formed a fair committee. A
lady was chosen and appointed president of each club table, with power
to select as many young ladies as were deemed necessary to assist.
Before the summer holidays the scheme was well under way, and during
the months of July and August, at most of the Canadian summer resorts,
groups of ladies could be seen at work making costly and handsome fancy
work for the fair.

The Executive Committee finally stood as follows: F. M. Larmonth,
president; D. J. Watson, hon. sec.; Wm. Bruce, treasurer. James
Paton, S. M. Baylis, A. G. Walsh, I. Sutherland, A. G. Higginson, and
the following chairmen: W. H. White (association), F. C. A. McIndoe
(lacrosse), A. W. Stevenson (snow-shoe), F. G. Gnaedinger (bicycle), M.
Freeman (toboggan), G. L. Cains (football), W. D. Aird (hockey), W. J.
Cleghorn (Junior Lacrosse Club), Harry Brophy (Cinderella), Fred. S.
Brush (baseball), W. A. Coates (entertainment).

The lady presidents of each table had from twenty to forty young ladies
as assistants, each wearing their particular club color. The lady
presidents were as follows: Mrs. W. L. Maltby (association), flower
table; Mrs. F. M. Larmonth (lacrosse) fancy table; Mrs. Fred. Birks
(snow-shoe), general store table; Mrs. C. W. Dickinson (bicycle), candy
and fruit table; Mrs. I. L. Wiseman (toboggan), bric-a-brac table; Mrs.
Geo. Drummond (football), art gallery; Mrs. Will H. Whyte (Cinderella),
refreshment parlor; Mrs. James Paton (hockey), fancy goods table;
Mrs. Fred. Massey (junior lacrosse), fancy table; Mrs. Fred. S. Brush
(baseball), linen and basket table. In all ten tables and two hundred
and fifty assistants.

The fair was held the last week in September, in the Victoria Skating
Rink. Booths for each club were erected on the promenade around the
sides of the building, leaving the centre part free for the visitors
and patrons, with the exception of the flower table, which occupied a
place in the centre. Each table or booth was arranged differently, and
prettily decorated with the bunting and ribbons of each club color,
and the various and distinct implements of each particular sport.
Lacrosses, snow-shoes, bicycles, toboggans, footballs, hockey sticks
and skates, baseballs and bats, were decorated and used to decorate
in every conceivable way. Many of the ladies wore costumes made in
their favorite club colors. Gifts poured in from every quarter. Among
the many donations received was a $500 piano, $200 (pipe-top) organ,
$250 sealskin sacque, three sewing-machines, six ranges and stoves,
desks, writing cabinet, bookcase, Remington typewriter, silverware from
Tiffany of New York, fancy goods from A. G. Spalding & Bro. and Peck &
Snyder, of New York, and hundreds of smaller and equally handsome gifts.

The fair realized from the sales of goods about $8,500; this, with the
handsome donation of a cheque for $1,000 from Sir Donald A. Smith, who
kindly presided at the opening, and a cheque of $500 from Mr. R. B.
Angus, will make the total result about $10,000, a very satisfactory
week’s work, and a gratifying result to the ladies interested in the
association, who worked so faithfully and steadfastly to achieve this
great success.

In order to show that the members had brains as well as muscles, a
literary magazine entitled “Athletic Leaves,” with original articles
from a dozen of the members, was published under the editorship of
Messrs. Baylis and Whyte. Three thousand copies were issued to serve
as a souvenir of the fair, some $800 being made for the fair out of the
venture. Where all worked well it would be invidious to particularize.
Both the ladies’ and gentlemen’s committee of each section did
everything in their power to make the event a success; the brunt and
responsibility, however, devolved on the lady presidents and Executive
Committee, and how well they did their allotted parts the result
testifies.

BASEBALL.

~Captain Willard~, of the Harvard University nine, has begun
work. The positions left vacant by Campbell and Gallivan at shortstop
and second base, respectively, will be difficult to fill, as these
men were perhaps the strongest all-round players on the team. Henshaw
will probably again go behind the bat, and with Bates will make a
first-class battery. Of the latter great things are expected. He has
all the curves and a wonderful command of the ball.

* * * * *

~The~ New York League Club and the St. Louis American
Association, the respective champions of the two organizations,
competed in an annual series of games for the baseball championship of
the world in October, the series consisting of ten games, four of which
were played in New York, four in St. Louis, and one each in Brooklyn
and Philadelphia. The League team won the pennant by their victories in
six out of the first eight games played, their success being largely
due to the effective battery work of Keefe and Ewing, and the splendid
infield play of shortstop Ward. Here is the full record of the series:

Oct. 16. New York vs. St. Louis, at
New York. Pitchers, Keefe
and King. 2--1

“ 17. St. Louis vs. New York, at
New York. Pitchers, Chamberlain
and Welch. 3--0

“ 18. New York vs. St. Louis, at
New York. Pitchers, Keefe
and King. 4--2

“ 19. New York vs. St. Louis, at
Brooklyn. Pitchers, Crane
and Chamberlain. 6--3

“ 20. New York vs. St. Louis, at
New York. Pitchers, Keefe
and King. 6--4

“ 22. New York vs. St. Louis, at
Philadelphia. Pitchers, Welch
and Chamberlain. 12--5

“ 24. St. Louis vs. New York, at St.
Louis. Pitchers, King and
Crane. 7--5

“ 25. New York vs. St. Louis, at St.
Louis. Pitchers, Keefe and
Chamberlain. 11--3

“ 26. St. Louis vs. New York, at St.
Louis. Pitchers, King and
George. 14--11

“ 27. St. Louis vs. New York, at St.
Louis. Pitchers, Chamberlain
and Titcomb. 18--7

Total games won: New York 6, St. Louis 4. Total runs scored: New
York 64, St. Louis 60. Batting average: New York 275, St. Louis 223.
Fielding average: New York 930, St. Louis 918. Keefe pitched in four
victories and no defeats; Welch and Crane in one victory and one defeat
each, and King and Chamberlain in two victories and three defeats, and
George and Titcomb in one defeat each. The financial result of the
series of contests was as follows: Receipts in New York, $15,406.50;
St. Louis, $5,612; Philadelphia, $1,781; Brooklyn, $1,562. Total,
$24,362.10. Expenses, $8,000. Amount cleared, $16,382. Messrs. Gaffney
and John Kelly acted as umpires under the double umpire rule of one
official judging the balls and strikes, and the other the base running.

* * * * *

~The~ fall exhibition contests between the League and the
American clubs in October resulted as follows:

ASSOCIATION.

_Victories._ _Defeats._

Brooklyn 5 0
St. Louis 5 6
Baltimore 1 1
Cincinnati 1 2
Athletics 1 2
-- --
Totals 13 11

LEAGUE.

_Victories._ _Defeats._

New York 6 5
Pittsburgh 2 1
Philadelphia 2 1
Indianapolis 1 3
Washington 0 3
-- --
Totals 11 13

* * * * *

~The~ contest for the diamond medal offered by the Cincinnati
_Enquirer_, for the longest throw of the season, resulted in the
success of shortstop Williamson of the Chicago Club. The best on record
was John Hatfield’s throw of 400 feet 7 inches, made over a dozen years
ago. Crane, the pitcher of the New York Club, claimed to have exceeded
this by two feet, but the trial was not officially recorded. John
Hatfield stated recently that he once threw a ball 420 feet, but it was
not officially scored and was never counted. The record of the official
contest of 1888 is as follows:

_Player._ _Club._ _Distance thrown._

1. Williamson Chicago 399 ft. 11 in.
2. Griffin Baltimore 372 8
3. Stovey Athletic 369 2
4. Vaughn Louisville 366 9
5. Burns Brooklyn 364 6
6. O’Brien Brooklyn 361 5
7. Collins Brooklyn 354 6
8. Tebeau Cincinnati 353 0
9. Gilks Cleveland 343 11
10. Reilly Cincinnati 341 6
11. Brennan Kansas City 339 6
12. Stricker Cleveland 337 8
13. Foutz Brooklyn 335 4
14. Davis Kansas City 333 6
15. O’Connor Cincinnati 330 0
16. McTamany Kansas City 327 6

CANOEING.

~The~ Princeton College Canoe Club was organized October 4,
1888. The following officers were elected: Commodore, A. N. Bodine,
’90; vice-commodore, C. Agnew, ’91; secretary, George Trotter, ’91;
treasurer, G. Agnew, ’91. All the members of the club are students. It
is probable the Princeton canoeists will apply for admittance to the
American Canoe Association in the Spring.

* * * * *

~The~ Pequot Canoe Club elected the following Board of
Officers: Commodore, W. A. Borden; vice-president, T. P. Sherwood;
secretary-treasurer, F. P. Lewis; measurer, E. C. Bogert; Rev. A. N.
Lewis, chaplain.

COURSING.

~The~ Hempstead Coursing Club began its second season at
Cedarhurst, November 3. The morning was bright and clear, but before
the sport commenced rain came on, and it continued to shower until the
afternoon. As was the case last year, rabbits were scarce. The law
allowed their capture only since November 1. The consequence was the
demand exceeded the supply, and several nominators “scratched” their
entries. As a whole the rabbits were a fairly good lot.

The officers were: Judge, Mr. A. Belmont Purdy; breed judge, J. E.
Cowdin; field steward, O. W. Bird; flag steward, J. L. Kernochan;
secretary, A. Belmont, Jr. and slipper, German Hopkins. The following
is a summary of the events:

NOVICE STAKES.

An open sweepstakes for fox-terriers of 20 lb. or under, at $2 each,
play or pay, with a silver cup presented by Mr. James L. Kernochan to
the winner. The runner up to receive 25 per cent. of the stakes and a
pewter mug. Fifteen entries.

_First Round._--J. B. Kernochan nominates A. Belmont Purdy’s white,
black and tan dog Pincher, who beat T. B. Burnham’s white, black and
tan dog Jack. L. and W. Rutherford’s white dog Warner Spider beat S. D.
Ripley’s white dog Bayonet. H. B. Richardson’s white, black and tan dog
Meadow Brook Jack beat E. Kelly’s white and tan dog Earl Leicester. H.
P. Frothingham’s white and tan dog Mugwump, C. Rathbone’s white, black
and tan dog Beverwyck Tippler, F. O. Beach’s white, black and tan bitch
Media, Blemton Kennel’s white and tan bitch Tiara, and O. W. Bird’s
white, black and tan bitch Warren Jingle had byes.

_Second Round._--Pincher beat Mugwump, Beverwyck Tippler beat Warren
Spider, Tiara beat Media, and Meadow Brook Jack beat Warren Jingle.

_Third Round._--Beverwyck Tippler beat Pincher, Meadow Brook Jack beat
Tiara.

_Final Round._--Beverwyck Tippler beat Meadow Brook Jack.

ROCKAWAY CUP.

An open sweepstakes for fox-terriers of 18 lb. or under, at $3 each,
play or pay, with a cup presented by the Rockaway Steeplechase
Association for the winner. The runner-up to receive 25 per cent. of
the stakes and a pewter mug. 19 entries.

_First Round._--L. and W. Rutherford’s white dog Warren Spider beat
T. B. Burnham’s white, black and tan dog Jack. C. Rathbone’s white,
black and tan dog Beverwyck Tippler beat A. T. French’s white and tan
dog Blemton Volunteer. J. B. Kernochan nominates A. Belmont Purdy’s
white, black and tan dog Pincher, who beat F. O. Beach’s white, black
and tan bitch Medice. O. W. Bird’s white, black and tan bitch Warren
Jingle beat H. P. Frothingham’s white and tan bitch Lottery. H. V. R.
Kennedy’s white, black and tan dog Antic beats Blemton Kennel’s white,
black and tan dog Regent Fox. Edward Kelly’s white, black and tan bitch
Votary a bye.

_Second Round._--Warren Spider beats Votary, Beverwyck Tippler beats
Pincher, Antic beats Warren Jingle.

_Third Round._--Warren Spider beats Tippler, Antic a bye.

_Final Round._--Antic beats Warren Spider, after an undecided.

COTTON-TAIL STAKES.

An open sweepstakes for fox-terriers of 16 lb. or under, at $2 each,
play or pay, with $20 added, to the winner; the runner up to receive 60
per cent. of the stakes and a pewter mug. Sixteen entries.

L. and W. Rutherford’s white and tan bitch Warren Dainty beat H. P.
Frothingham’s white and tan bitch Lottery. C. Rathbone’s white, black
and tan bitch Blemton Lilly beat Blemton Kennel’s white, black and tan
dog Dusky Trap. A. T. French’s white and tan dog Blemton Volunteer, E.
D. Morgan’s white, black and tan dog Tancred, L. and W. Rutherford’s
white dog Warren Discord, and James Mortimer’s white, black and tan
bitch Suffolk Syren had byes.

_Second Round._--Warren Dainty beat Tancred, Blemton Lilly beat Blemton
Volunteer, Warren Discord beat Suffolk Syren.

_Third Round._--Warren Dainty beat Blemton Lilly; Warren Discord a bye.

_Deciding Round._--Warren Discord beat Warren Dainty.

CRICKET.

~The~ most successful cricket club in Brooklyn in 1888 was the
Manhattan Club. The club’s elevens played thirty-two matches, of which
they won twenty-seven, lost four, and had one drawn. Their first eleven
won twenty-six and lost but three, while their second eleven won one,
lost one, and had one drawn. The record of the leading contests of the
club is as follows:

DATE. CONTESTING CLUBS. RESULT OF CONTEST. SCORE.

May 21 Manhattan vs. Won with 10 wickets
Young America to spare 88 to 86

May 30 Staten Island vs. Lost by score of first
Manhattan inning 70 to 83

July 13 Manhattan vs. Won by score of first
Pittsburgh inning 133 to 91

July 28 Staten Island vs. Lost by score of first
Manhattan inning 76 to 127

Aug. 15 Manhattan vs. Won by score of first
Seabright inning 78 to 62

Sept. 3 Manhattan vs. Won with 10 wickets
Newark to spare 125 to 123

Sept. 5 Manhattan vs. Won by score of first
Seabright inning 191 to 57

Sept. 12 Manhattan vs. Won by score of first
Newark inning 60 to 54

Sept. 29 Manhattan vs. Won with 7 wickets
All New York to spare 107 to 77

Besides these leading contests the Manhattans defeated the Albions
three times, the New Yorks twice, the Amateur League twice, and the New
Haven, St. George, Alma, Cosmopolitan and Claremont clubs once each,
and lost one game each with the New Havens and Cosmopolitans, they
having drawn games with the Almas and New Yorkers. The second eleven
had a drawn game with the Staten Islanders, and won one and lost one
with the Brooklyns.

The club had its annual meeting in October, and elected the following
officers for 1889: Edwin C. Squance, president; H. S. Jewell, first
vice-president; B. H. Beasley, second vice-president; J. G. Davis,
secretary; S. E. Hosford, treasurer; S. J. Fisher, captain; H. S.
Jewell, sub-captain; S. J. Fisher, M. R. Cobb, J. E. West, H. Coyne,
executive committee.

* * * * *

~The~ Peninsular Cricket Club, of Detroit, Mich., elected the
following officers for the ensuing year: President, C. R. Emery;
vice-president, D. F. O’Brien; secretary, J. J. Dodds; treasurer, W. S.
Waugh; managing committee, A. W. Anderson, R. Humffreys-Roberts, F. D.
C. Hinchman, A. C. Bowman, Dr. W. R. McLaren and Dudley Smith; match
committee, F. Bamford, R. B. Ridgley, E. F. Laible.

CYCLING.

~The~ total number of members in the L. A. W. ranks is 11,804.

* * * * *

~An~ International Cycle Show is to take place in Leipsic next
February.

* * * * *

~R. T. McDaniel~ of the Wilmington, Del., Wheel Club, has one
of the big records for 1888. He has traveled 5,300 miles. His largest
mileage in one day was 115½ miles.

* * * * *

~The~ cyclists of New Orleans will participate in the coming
Mardi Gras festivities. They will endeavor to present the characters of
Mother Goose’s melodies astride of bicycles.

* * * * *

~T. W. Busst~, of Victoria, Australia, now holds the title of
ten-mile champion of Australia. He won it recently at the centennial
championship meeting of the Australian Bicycle Union at Sydney.

* * * * *

~George B. Thayer~, of Hartford, in five months covered over
2,600 miles in Europe on his bicycle.

* * * * *

~G. P. Mills~, the English rider, succeeded some time back in
lowering the 100-mile tricycle record to 6h. 58m. 54s. During October,
’88, he covered fifty miles on a tricycle in 2h. 53m. 25s., or 41m.
22s. better than that for ordinary bicycle record.

* * * * *

~A. D. Peck~, of the Massachusetts Club, has a cycling record
to be proud of. He began wheeling in ’83, and since then has gone over
17,863 miles of road. Each year’s records were as follows: 1883, 1,760
miles; 1884, 1,840 miles; 1885, 2,785 miles; 1886, 4,404 miles; 1887,
4,002 miles; 1888, 3,102 miles. It is doubtful if there is another
Boston wheelman who can show such a record.

* * * * *

~At~ the first century run of the Kings County Wheelmen’s Club, the
starters were M. L. Bridgman, Harry Hall, Jr., John Bensinger, Robert
Hipson, Frank Douglas, and three others. They had selected a course
which was 7¾ miles roundabout, and they proposed to make the circuit of
this as many times as possible. John Bensinger did the best work of the
day. He not only made his 100 miles, but his total score was 102 5-8.

* * * * *

~I. W. Shurman~, a cyclist of Lynn, Mass., with a national
reputation as a hill-climber, started one fine morning in October last
at the foot of the Orange Mountain to beat Fred Connigsby’s record of
climbing the hill thirteen times without dismounting in 3h. 15m. 45s.
Shurman made the attempt and succeeded, accomplishing the feat in 3h.
5m., beating Connigsby’s record by about 10m. Not content with that,
Shurman continued, and made twenty-four round trips, a distance of
forty-eight miles, in 6h. 24m. 15s., thus establishing a record which
doubtless will hold good some time.

* * * * *

~The~ 24-hour road-riding craze has struck Chicago wheelmen, and
record after record has been going up. John Mason has the latest--277
miles.

* * * * *

~During~ the winter months the Manhattan Bicycle Club will hold
a smoking concert every Wednesday evening.

* * * * *

~The~ five-mile Challenge Cup of the Pennsylvania Bicycle Club
can be raced for by members of that organization once a month.

* * * * *

~Members~ of the Racing Board of the League of American Wheelmen
have had assigned to them by Chairman Davol the following territory:

Col. George Sanderson, Scranton, Pa., in charge of New York, New
Jersey, Pennsylvania and Delaware.

George S. Atwater, 1206 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D. C., in
charge of Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, South
Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Tennessee and Kentucky.

George Collister, care of Davis, Hunt & Co., Cleveland, O., in charge
of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota and Iowa.

W. M. Brewster, 309 Olive Street, St. Louis, Mo., in charge of
Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Colorado, California and Oregon.

H. H. Hodgson, New Orleans, La., in charge of Louisiana, Mississippi,
Alabama, Arkansas, Texas and Nevada.

The chairman will have charge of the district embracing the New England
States.

* * * * *

~The~ second annual handicap road race of the Harvard Bicycle
Club was held November 8 over the ten-mile course through North
Cambridge, West Somerville and Arlington. The day was raw and windy,
and the road rough, yet the time was very good. Of the twenty-two
entries only ten appeared, of whom eight finished. The order of the
finish, with the handicaps and actual time, was as follows:

1. Barron ’91, 7 min. handicap, 38 min. 45 sec. actual time.
2. Greenleaf ’92, 3 “ “ 35 “ “
3. Holmes ’92, 7 “ “ 39 “ 5 “ “
4. Bailey ’91, 2½ “ “ 34 “ 45 “ “
5. Rogers ’90, 6 “ “ 38 “ 30 “ “
6. Kelley L. S. 6 “ “ 38 “ 45 “ “
7. Saunders ’89, 7 “ “ not taken.
8. Davis ’91, scratch “

Davis was so heavily handicapped that he was practically out of the
race from the beginning.

FOOTBALL.

~The~ Trinity College team defeated the Stevens Institute team,
November 3, on the St. George Grounds, at Hoboken, by a score of 6 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ Cornell team beat the team of Union College, 30 to 4, at
Ithaca, November 3. The Cornell footballers played a very good game
during the season.

* * * * *

~The~ first championship game of the season of the
Intercollegiate Football Association games--between Yale, Harvard,
Princeton, Wesleyan, University of Pennsylvania--was played November
3, on the Field, at New Haven, between Yale and the University of
Pennsylvania. The latter team did not show the strong game that had
characterized her playing in the other contests this year. Yale, on
the other hand, showed some improvement. In the first half Yale scored
28 points, to which 30 were added in the second half, due in great
part to the excellent playing of Wallace, McClung and Wurtenberg,
thus defeating her opponents by a score of 58 to 0. For Pennsylvania
the best playing was done by Hulme, Wagenhurst, Cash and Hill. The
positions were as follows: _Yale_--rushers, Wallace, Hartwell, Newell,
Corbin (captain), Pike, Heffelfinger, Stagg; quarter-back, Wurtenberg;
half-backs, McClung and S. Morrison; full-back, McBride. _University of
Pennsylvania_--rushers, Wagenhurst, Harris, Spaeth, Meirs, Rhitt, Cash,
Van Loon; quarter-back, McCance; half-backs, Hulme (captain) and Price;
full-back, Hill. Referee, Walter C. Camp, Yale, ’80. Umpire, H. Hodge,
Princeton, ’86.

* * * * *

~The~ second championship game was played on the Polo Grounds,
November 6, between Princeton and Wesleyan, before a large number of
people. Many serious faults in Princeton’s play were made evident.
Some of the most noticeable were high tackling, losing the ball when
tackled, and failure to get in a kick when needed. Bovaird played a
splendid game, Channing and Black, the half-backs, also did well. In
the first half Princeton made 20 points and in the second 24, defeating
Wesleyan by a total score of 44 to 0. The elevens played as follows:
_Princeton_--rushers, S. Hodge, Cook, Irvine, George, Janeway, Cowan
(captain), Bovaird; quarter-back, R. Hodge; half-backs, Black and
Channing; full-back, Ames. _Wesleyan_--rushers, Floy, Glenn, Heath,
Gardner, Eaton, Pierce, Crane; quarter-back, Eggleston; half-backs,
McDonald and Hall; full-back, Slayback.

* * * * *

~One~ of the most stubbornly fought contests in the history of
interscholastic football took place November 10, at Andover, N. H.,
the occasion being the annual football game between Phillips Exeter
and Phillips Andover academies. For thirty-five minutes after the game
began the ball stayed near the centre of the field. Both teams played
a hard game, but were so evenly matched that neither could gain any
appreciable advantage. At last a fumble by Andover allowed Stickney,
of Exeter, to secure the ball with a clear field before him. He was
downed about five yards from the line, and a rally on the part of the
Andover eleven prevented Exeter from making a touch-down, and after
four downs, having failed to advance the ball five yards, it went to
Andover. Bliss got the ball, and dodging the entire Exeter eleven
ran almost the entire length of the field, scoring a touch-down for
Andover, from which a goal was kicked. Score at end of half time, 6
to 0 in favor of Andover. In the second half the ball was kept in
Exeter’s territory, and a short time before the end of the game Upton
secured a second touch-down for Andover. No goal. The game ended with
this score: Andover, 10 points; Exeter, 0. The teams were made up as
follows: _Andover_--rushers, Hunt, Mowry, Coxe, Speer, Upton, Townsend,
Gilbert; quarter-back, Owsley; half-backs, C. D. Bliss and L. T. Bliss;
full-back, Sprague. _Exeter_--rushers, Hill, Bardwell, Stickney,
Beattie, Furman, Erskine, Heffelfinger; quarter-back, Barbour;
half-backs, Morse and Graves; full-back, Trafford. Referee, Mr. Finney,
Princeton. Umpire, W. J. Badger.

* * * * *

~The~ football teams of the Crescent Athletic Club, of Brooklyn,
and of the New York Athletic Club, met on the Polo Grounds, November 3.
The New Yorkers played a good game under discouraging circumstances.
From the beginning the Crescents had things their own way, although the
wind was against them and the sun shone in their faces. Their rush-line
was better than that of their opponents. Although the New York men made
some brilliant individual plays, they were forced backwards steadily.
The game wound up with a score of 30 for the Crescents to 0 for the New
York Athletic men. This was the make-up of the teams:

ATHLETIC CLUB. CRESCENT.

W. Scott Rusher P. Lamarche.
H. H. Steers Rusher M. Mathews.
C. T. Schlesinger Rusher H. Lamarche.
James Carter Rusher W. Ford.
M. J. Austin Rusher C. Chapman.
Eugene Kelly, Jr. Rusher J. Verner.
W. Littauer Rusher Warren Smith.
W. B. Coster, Jr. Quarter-back Duncan Edwards.
Alex. E. Jordan Half-back J. Smith.
John P. Thornton Half-back H. Sheldon.
W. Lawson Full-back John Lamarche.

Umpire--George Goldie, Jr. Referee--W. R. Thompson.

* * * * *

~A football~ match, under the Rugby rules, was played November
6, at Orange, N. J., between the teams of the Orange Jr. and Clinton
football clubs. The Clinton team won by a score of 4 to 0.

* * * * *

~Several~ hundred college men braved the rainstorm, November
10, to witness the championship game between the Harvard and Wesleyan
elevens on Jarvis, Cambridge. The ground was wet and slippery. The
Harvard team as a whole showed marked improvement, and in the first
half played with great determination, scoring 32 points. In the second
half, however, the men weakened. The game was only two half-hours long,
and the total score was: Harvard, 50 points; Wesleyan, 2. The following
men made up the elevens: _Harvard_--rushers, Cumnock, V. Harding,
Carpenter, Cranston, Trafford, Davis, Crosby; quarter-back, G. Harding;
half-backs, Lee and Porter; full-back, Sears. _Wesleyan_--rushers,
Crane Pierce, Eaton, Gardner, Heath, Glenn, Faber; quarter-back,
Eggleston; half-backs, Floy and Slayback; full-back, Clark. Mr. Landon,
Wesleyan, was referee, and W. H. Corbin, Yale, ’89, umpire.

* * * * *

~Princeton~ and the University of Pennsylvania attempted to play
a championship game in Philadelphia, November 10, despite a heavy rain.
As it was impossible to forfeit the game, a course of action was agreed
upon to the effect that play was to be started and Princeton be allowed
to make a touch-down. The game was then to be called, and because of
a dispute awarded to Princeton by a score of 4 to 0. The teams were:
_Princeton_--rushers, Riggs, Cook, Tredinnick, George, Janeway, Cowan,
Bovaird; quarter-back, R. Hodge; half-backs, Black and Channing; back,
Ames. _University of Pennsylvania_--rushers, Van Loon, Cash, Wright,
Meirs, Gray, Harris, Wagenhurst; quarter-back, Vail; half-backs, Hulme
and Valentine; full-back, Hill. Referee, Mr. Price; umpire, Mr. Corwin.

* * * * *

~About~ 5,000 people witnessed the great game between Princeton
and Harvard, which was played November 17 on the University Grounds,
Princeton. It was perfect football weather. The Harvard men were
bothered considerably by the mud which covered the field. Princeton
being used to the grounds, played a splendid though somewhat rough
game. From the first it was seen that Harvard was overmatched, the
heavy rush-line of the orange and black withstanding every onslaught
by the crimson. In the first half Princeton secured three touch-downs,
but failed in every instance to kick a goal. In the second half,
after thirty-five minutes of desperate playing, during which the ball
traveled up and down the field, Princeton secured a touch-down and
kicked a goal. Harvard, a few minutes later, rushed the ball down the
field toward the home goal, and Davis made a touch-down from which a
goal was kicked. The result was: Princeton, 18 points; Harvard, 6. This
is the team that appeared on the field:

_Harvard_--rushers, V. Harding, Davis, Trafford, Cranston, Carpenter,
Woodman, Cumnock; quarter-back, G. Harding; half-backs, Porter and Lee;
full-back, Sears (captain).

_Princeton_--rushers, Riggs, Cook, Irvine, George, Janeway, Cowan
(captain), Bovaird; quarter-back, R. Hodge; half-backs, Mowry and
Black; full-back, Ames. Mr. W. C. Camp, Yale, ’80, was referee, and Mr.
W. H. Corbin, captain Yale eleven, for the first half, and Mr. E. L.
Richards, Yale, for the second half, were the umpires.

* * * * *

~On~ the Yale field at New Haven the Yale eleven ran up what is
thus far the largest score of the season, in a championship game with
Wesleyan, November 17. Although the latter eleven played an unusually
good game, it could not resist the excellent team and individual work
on the part of the Yale men. Gill and Stagg distinguished themselves,
as did Heffelfinger and Wurtenberg. The men were arranged as follows:
_Yale_--rushers, Stagg, Hartwell, Woodruff, Newell, Heffelfinger, Gill,
Wallace; quarter-back, Wurtenberg; half-backs, McBride and McClung;
full-back, Bull. _Wesleyan_--rushers, Floy, Glenn, Heath, Gardner,
Eaton, Johnson, Crane; quarter-back, Eggleston; half-backs, Hall and
McDonald; full-back, Slayback. Referee, Landon, of Wesleyan; umpire, H.
E. Peabody, of Harvard. Score: Goals, 11-65 points; touchdowns, 8-32
points; goal from field, 1-5 points; safety by Wesleyan, 2 points.
Total, 105 points.

* * * * *

~Harvard~ defeated the University of Pennsylvania November 19,
after a rough battle in mud and water, on the University Grounds, at
Philadelphia, Pa. Cumnock, Sears and Porter played a splendid game for
Harvard, and Wagenhurst, Hulme and Hill did good work for Pennsylvania.
The score was 42 to 0 in favor of Harvard. The teams were:
_Harvard_--rushers, Crosby, Davis, Longstreth, Cranston, Trafford,
Woodman, Cumnock; quarter-back, G. Harding; half-backs, Porter and
V. Harding; full-back, Sears. _University of Pennsylvania_--rushers,
Wagenhurst, Sypher, Tunis, Meirs, Bowser, Cash, Ziegler; quarter-back,
Church; half-backs, Hulme and Colladay; full-back, Hill. Referee, R. N.
Corwin, Yale, ’86; umpire, L. Price, Princeton, ’87.

* * * * *

~What~ was undoubtedly the best game of the season was played
on the Polo Grounds, November 24, between Vale and Princeton, in the
presence of about 15,000 spectators. The day was admirably suited to
football, and the slight east wind was not strong enough to materially
aid either side. The teams were composed as follows:

~Yale.~

F. W. Wallace, ’89 Left end rusher Weight, 150
C. O. Gill, ’89 Left tackle “ 170
W. W. Heffelfinger, ’91 S. Left guard “ 192
W. H. Corbin, ’89, capt. Centre “ 185
G. W. Woodruff, ’89 Right guard “ 183
W. C. Rhodes, ’91 Right tackle “ 164
A. A. Stagg, T. S. Right end rusher “ 150
W. C. Wurtenberg, ’89 S. Quarter-back “ 138
W. P. Graves, ’91 Left half-back “ 154
S. L. McClung, ’92 Right half-back “ 152
W. S. Bull, P. G. Full-back “ 161

~Princeton.~

R. E. Speer, ’89 Left end rusher Weight, 166
H. W. Cowan, ’88 Left tackle “ 179
H. K. Janeway, ’90 Left guard “ 203
W. J. George, ’89 Centre “ 179
W. M. Irvine, ’88 Right guard “ 166
J. F. Cook, ’89 Right tackle “ 174
D. Bovaird, Jr., ’89 Right end rusher “ 158
R. M. Hodge, P. G. Quarter-back “ 134
R. H. Channing, Jr., ’90 Left half-back “ 141
J. Black, ’92 Right half-back “ 168
K. L. Ames, ’90 Full-back “ 150

Yale’s rush line averaged 170 4-7 pounds, and the whole team 163 6-11,
while Princeton averaged 175 in the rush line and 164 9-11 pounds in
the whole team.

Mr. W. A. Brooks, Jr., Harvard, was referee, and Mr. Fred Fisk,
Harvard, umpire.

Play was begun at 2.22, Princeton having the ball and Yale the east
goal. Princeton opened with the V play, and at first gained ground,
but a few of these attacks seemed to weaken their rush line and Yale
successfully opposed the human battering-rams. There followed next
a great deal of open play, in which Cowan, Black, Janeway and Ames
distinguished themselves for Princeton, while Wallace, Gill, Corbin,
and McClung did admirable work for Yale. The kicking of Bull was
superb, and his excellent judgment in placing the ball aided Yale
materially. Gradually the ball was forced into Princeton’s territory
and several long punts and drop-kicks by Bull from the field landed the
ball back of Princeton’s line. At last Yale secured the ball on the
ten-yard line, it was passed to Bull, who succeeded in kicking a goal,
being enabled to do so by the splendid blocking of the rush line. Time,
35m.

From the kick-off the ball was again forced toward the Princeton goal,
and when half time was called the ball was on the five-yard line. Score
at half time: 5 points to 0 in Yale’s favor.

Second half.--Yale had the ball and played against the wind. Princeton
showed renewed strength, and the play continued near the middle of
the field. For twenty-five minutes neither side could gain any great
advantage, but after hard work on both sides Princeton was forced back.
Wurtenberg was disqualified, McClung taking his place at quarter, while
Harvey was taken on as half-back. Good rushing by their half-backs
gained about forty yards for Princeton. Yale then secured the ball,
and a kick sent it well into Princeton’s territory. Ames kicked, and
Harvey made one of the longest and most successful runs of the day,
passing nearly all the Princeton rushers. Strong rushes by Heffelfinger
advanced the ball twenty yards. Cowan was disqualified and Riggs
substituted. The ball was near the Princeton line, and attempts by Yale
to force it over having failed, Bull was given another opportunity, and
kicked a second goal from the field. But a few moments remained for
play, and, with the ball in the centre of the field, time was called.
Score at the end of the second half: 10 points for Yale; for Princeton,
0.

The most noticeable feature of the game was the open play of Yale.
Princeton’s strong rush line, while doing admirable work, was not able
to take advantage of opportunities as quickly as should have been the
case. Yale was too quick, and her men were on the ball before the
Princeton’s half-backs could get started.

In winning this game Yale won the championship for 1888.

* * * * *

~The~ last game of the intercollegiate football series was
played Thanksgiving Day, on the Polo Grounds, between Wesleyan and
the University of Pennsylvania. As both teams were evenly matched a
close game resulted. Walter Camp was referee, and Richard M. Hodge
was umpire. The teams, as they lined up at 2.30, were as follows:
_Pennsylvania_--rushers, Wagenhurst, Sypher, Dewey, Savage, Bowser,
Cash, Ziegler; quarter-back, Church; half-backs, Hulme and Colladay;
full-back, Hill. _Wesleyan_--rushers, Floy, Glenn, Heath, Gardner,
Eaton, Gibson, Crane; quarter-back, Opdyke; half-backs, Manchester and
McDonald; full-back, Slayback.

The first half was marked by a very fierce style of play, and numerous
scrimmages resulted in more or less injury to the players. After
twenty-five minutes Ziegler succeeded in making a touch-down for
Pennsylvania, from which a goal was kicked. When time was called at
the end of the first half no additional points had been made, though
Wesleyan had tried desperately to equal the score. This she succeeded
in doing in the second half. However, after that Pennsylvania rushed
well, and the ball seldom went out of Wesleyan’s territory, and at
the end of the last forty-five minutes she had scored 12 points more,
winning the game by 18 points to 6 for Wesleyan. Altogether it was one
of the roughest games played this year.

* * * * *

~In~ the New England Intercollegiate Football Association a
series of interesting games has been played as follows:

Oct. 27. At Boston--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 48; Amherst,
0.

Nov. 7. At Amherst--Williams, 53; Amherst, 0.

Nov. 10. At Hanover, N. H.--Dartmouth, 30; Technology, 0.

Nov. 14. At Hanover, N. H.--Dartmouth, 36; Williams, 6.

Nov. 17. At Williamstown, Mass.--Williams, 42; Stevens Institute, 4.

Nov. 19. At Williamstown, Mass.--Stevens, 30; Dartmouth, 0.

* * * * *

~K. L. Ames~, ’90, the famous full-back, has been elected
captain of the Princeton team for 1889.

* * * * *

~The~ Intercollegiate football record is as follows:

A: Yale.
B: Princeton.
C: Harvard.
D: University of Penn.
E: Wesleyan.

---------------------------+----+----+----+----+----+-----
~Clubs.~ | A | B | C | D | E | Won.
---------------------------+----+----+----+----+----+-----
Yale | -- | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 4
Princeton | 0 | -- | 1 | 1 | 1 | 3
Harvard | 0 | 0 | -- | 1 | 1 | 2
University of Pennsylvania | 0 | 0 | 0 | -- | 1 | 1
Wesleyan | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | -- | 0
+----+----+----+----+----+-----
Lost | 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | --
---------------------------+----+----+----+----+----+-----

* * * * *

~Yale~, last fall, made the largest total score ever made by a
Yale eleven--698 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ three highest scores made this season on the football
field were: November 3, Harvard vs. Amherst, 102 to 0; same day,
Princeton vs. Johns Hopkins, 104 to 0; November 17, Yale vs. Wesleyan,
105 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ annual Cornell-Lehigh football game was played in Elmira,
November 29, resulting in the defeat of Cornell by a score of 4 to 0.
The grounds never presented a worse appearance, and the mud was fully
five inches deep, with a pool of water covering one-half the area of
the territory. The game was called at three o’clock, and Lehigh won
the ball. In ten minutes she had secured a touch-down, but failed to
kick a goal. Then Cornell played better and got the ball into Lehigh’s
territory. At one time she was within a few feet of the line, but by
tremendous exertions Lehigh prevented Cornell from scoring, and when
time was called for the first half, the score was 4 to 0 in favor of
Lehigh. In the second half no scoring was done, though Cornell secured
a touch-down, which was not allowed by the referee. The game was thus
won by Lehigh, 4 to 0, although this has been protested by Cornell, who
claim that the game should go to them, by a score of 8 to 4. Mr. Ray
Tompkins, Yale, ’84, was referee, and H. M. Morton, Lafayette, ’87, was
umpire.

* * * * *

~A. J. Cumnock~, ’91, has been elected captain of the Harvard
team for 1889.

* * * * *

~William C. Rhodes~, ’91, has been elected captain of the Yale
team for 1889.

* * * * *

~The~ class games at Columbia College resulted as follows:
November 30, the class of ’92 defeated ’91 by a score of 12 to 8. The
same day, ’90 defeated ’89 by a score of 30 to 0. December 1, the
deciding game was played between ’92 and ’90. The juniors outplayed the
Freshmen, and won by a score of 28 to 0. C. H. Mapes, of Columbia, was
umpire, and Mr. W. Smith, of the Crescents, was referee.

* * * * *

~Three~ thousand persons, November 29, witnessed what was
undoubtedly the greatest football event that ever took place in the
West. The game was between a team made up of Chicago and other college
men, most of whom had played in some one of the famous Yale, Harvard or
Princeton teams, and an eleven representing the present students at the
Ann Arbor University of Michigan.

The game took place on the grounds of the Chicago Baseball Club. It
was a victory for the Chicagos by a score of 28 to 4. Michigan had the
kick-off, and the game started with the teams in position as follows:

MICHIGAN. POSITION. CHICAGO.

J. Van Inwegan Right end A. Farwell.
S. S. Bradley Right tackle H. Hallin.
W. E. Malley Right guard B. B. Lamb, Capt.
H. M. Prettyman Centre F. G. Peters.
R. W. Beach Left guard E. L. Burke.
R. E. Hagle Left tackle A. S. Bickham.
L. MacMillan Left end B. Lockwood.
E. L. Smith Quarter-back B. Hamlin.
E. W. McPherran Half-back W. Crawford.
J. E. Duffy, Capt. Half-back J. Waller.
W. D. Ball Goal J. Cowling.

* * * * *

~The~ Cambridge Latin and High School eleven has won the
championship in the interscholastic football series of games for
the challenge cup, which was donated by a number of Harvard men to
encourage football playing in the preparatory schools of Boston and
vicinity. The cup, which is a very handsome one of solid silver, is
between eight and nine inches high and about the same in diameter.
The body of the cup resembles in shape half a Rugby football. About
the top of the cup is a band of olive leaves in raised silver, and
below this is another band on which is placed the name of the cup.
Upon the wide space below, which runs round the body of the cup, are
morning-glories and leaves raised in silver, the leaves being left
blank for the inscriptions of the names of winning teams and players
from year to year. At some distance below this is an imitation of a
ribbon in repoussé work, which runs around the cup and twines about the
handles, and on which are the names of the donors. The cup rests on
four lion-claws in heavy silver, and in each claw is a tiny football.

* * * * *

~Unfortunately~ the Yale and Harvard elevens did not meet during
the season. This was due to the refusal of the Harvard faculty to allow
the Harvard eleven to play Yale on the Polo Grounds on Thanksgiving
Day. Yale adhered to the strict letter of the constitution, which fixed
the Polo Grounds as the place where the championship game had to be
played.

* * * * *

~The~ Harvard Freshmen defeated the Yale Freshmen, December 1,
on Jarvis Field, Cambridge, Mass., in the presence of a large audience,
by a score of 36 to 4. Lee, of Harvard, played a remarkable game, as
did Cranston, of the same eleven, and McClung and Heffelfinger for Yale.

* * * * *

~Lehigh~ is tied with the University of Pennsylvania in the race
for the championship of Pennsylvania. Both have won two games and lost
one, but in playing against last year’s champion, Lafayette, Lehigh won
both games, while the University of Pennsylvania lost one of them. It
would thus seem as if Lehigh had the superior team and the better claim
to the championship.

* * * * *

~The~ Advisory Committee of the Intercollegiate Football
Association met at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, Saturday evening, December
1. R. M. Hodge, of Princeton, presided. Yale was represented by W. C.
Camp, Wesleyan by H. H. Beatty, and the University of Pennsylvania by
W. S. Harvey. Harvard had no representative. Inasmuch as there was no
protest entered as to the championship, it was awarded to Yale without
further action.

In considering the rules of the game the committee took occasion to
define the rule with respect to disqualifying a player for roughness
and foul tackling. It was determined that the phrase “unnecessary
roughness” included jumping on a prostrate player with knees merely,
and that the disqualifying of Cowan and Wurtenberg was needless,
because they were not breaking the rule as defined by the committee.
The next meeting will be in March, for the purpose of arranging a set
of rules to be presented to the convention of the Football Association,
which will take place the following month.

ICE-YACHTING.

~In~ connection with Colonel Norton’s article on “Ice-yachts,”
the following record of all the races sailed for the challenge pennant
is kindly furnished by Commodore Roosevelt, to whom the author is
indebted for much valuable information, and for the illustrations that
accompany the article:

Regattas for Challenge Pennant of America, open to all comers:

1881, March 5, at New Hamburgh, N. Y., Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club
challenging New Hamburgh Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Phantom_, N. H. I.
Y. C. Course, 20 miles; time, 57m. 14s.

1883, February 6, at New Hamburgh, Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club
challenging New Hamburgh Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Avalanche_, P. I.
Y. C. Course, 20 miles; time, 57m.

1833, February 23, at Poughkeepsie, N. Y., North Shrewsbury Ice-Yacht
Club challenging Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Jack Frost_,
P. I. Y. C. Course, 25 miles; time, 1h. 14m. 35s.

1884, February 9, at Poughkeepsie, N. Y., North Shrewsbury Ice-Yacht
Club challenging Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Haze_, P. I.
Y. C. Course, 20 miles; time, 1h. 5m. 30s.

1885, February 14, at Poughkeepsie, New Hamburgh Ice-Yacht Club
challenging Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Haze_, P. I. Y. C.
Course, 20 miles; time, 1h. 1m. 15s.

1885, February 18, at New Hamburgh, N. Y., North Shrewsbury Ice-Yacht
Club challenging Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Northern
Light_, P. I. Y. C. Course, 20 miles; time, 1h. 8m. 42s.

1887, February 14, at Poughkeepsie, Hudson River Ice-Yacht Club
challenging Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Jack Frost_, H. R.
I. Y. C. Course, 16 miles; time, 43m. 40s.

1888, at Crum Elton, North Shrewsbury Ice-Yacht Club challenging Hudson
River Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Icicle_, H. R. I. Y. C. Course, 12
miles; time, 34m. 50s.

KENNEL.

~At~ the meeting of the Board of Governors of the New Jersey
Kennel Club, held in Jersey City recently, the Bench Show Committee
reported progress. So far nothing has been decided as to the building
in which the show is to be held. It is probable, however, that the
Oakland Rink will be selected. It is centrally located, and is well
known all over New Jersey and the Heights. Mr. Peshall expressed his
intention of handing in his resignation at the next meeting as delegate
to the A. K. C. He is the oldest delegate, and, believing in rotation,
wants to make room for another member of the N. J. K. C. He is of
opinion that it would be for the good of the A. K. C. if delegates
were elected to serve for a stipulated period, not to exceed two years.
This would bring new material into the management of the A. K. C., and
would help to dispel the impression existing in the minds of many that
the club is managed by a clique.

* * * * *

~A meeting~ of the Connecticut State Kennel Club was held
at Bridgeport, October 30, A. R. Kyle in the chair. A number of
applications for membership were received and acted upon; constitution
and by-laws were adopted, and the following executive committee
appointed: John White (chairman), Bridgeport; E. Sheffield Porter, New
Haven; A. R. Kyle, South Norwalk; A. R. Crowell, Campville; Dr. Burk,
South Norwalk; Samuel Banks, Bridgeport; Sherman Hubbard, Bridgeport.
Also the following bench show committee: W. D. Peck, New Haven; A. R.
Crowell, Campville; E. F. Way, Hartford; A. R. Kyle, South Norwalk;
Dr. Jas. E. Hair, Bridgeport. It was the most successful meeting the
club has held, and from the way the applications for membership are
coming in it would seem that the dog-men in all parts of the State were
interested in making the club a thorough success.

* * * * *

~Mr. R. P. H. Durkee~, of Chicago, has purchased from Mr.
Sidney W. Smith the St. Bernard dog Burns, a well-known prize winner.
Mr. Durkee has also purchased the prize-winning bitches Gloriana
and Miscabel, from Mr. J. F. Smith, and Chieftainess, V. H. C., at
Brighton, from Mr. Edward Durrant. These dogs were selected and bought
for Mr. Durkee by Mr. H. L. Goodman, who went to Europe for the purpose
of selecting dogs for Mr. Durkee’s kennel.

* * * * *

~A correspondent~ of the French kennel journal _Le Chenil_
recommends this method of measuring a dog’s height: One of my friends,
a veterinary surgeon, tells me of a method as simple and ingenious as
it is sure, to take a dog’s exact height at shoulder. Take hold of one
of the forelegs of the animal, and the dog, forced to support itself
on the other leg, holds it out stiffly and does not bend it, as is
usually the case when it sees the preparations for measuring. With this
precaution the height of a dog varies scarcely an eighth of an inch,
while without it the difference is often considerable.

LAWN TENNIS.

~At~ Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y., November 12, Pope and
Wilkinson beat Jackson and Crouch in the finals for the college tennis
championship, in doubles, by a score of 6-2, 6-4, 5-7.

* * * * *

~The~ Brooklyn Hill Tennis Club finished its handicap tournament
on the grounds, Nostrand Avenue and Herkimer Street, Brooklyn, November
1. In the second round of the mixed doubles Miss Shreve and T. W. T.
Maxwell defeated Miss and Mr. Hotchkiss by 6-5, 5-6, 6-1. The final
round was won by Miss Brush and J. C. Tatum, who defeated Miss Shreve
and her partner, 6-3, 6-4, 6-3.

First prize in the ladies’ singles was won by Miss Hanly. She beat Mrs.
West in the final round after an exciting contest, 4-6, 6-5, 6-2, 6-3.
The final round, gentlemen’s singles, was not finished. Mr. Raymond and
Mr. W. Tomes played three sets, the score being in favor of the former,
6-1, 6-1, 5-7. The winner will be decided by lot.

ROD AND GUN.

~The~ Salt Lake (Utah) Sportsman’s Club was incorporated under
Utah laws, August 25, 1888. President, M. B. Sowles; vice-president,
Thos. J. Almy; secretary and treasurer, H. M. Miller; board of
directors, M. B. Sowles, H. M. Miller, Thos. J. Almy, Charles Read, Wm.
M. Bradley, I. M. Barratt and Phillip Klipple.

* * * * *

~A gun~ club has been organized at Lost Nation, Ia., under the
name of the Lost Nation Gun Club. The officers are: President, L.
Scott; vice-president, M. Stevenson; secretary and treasurer, F. M.
Frazier; director, F. B. Nichols.

* * * * *

~The~ officers of the Commercial Rifle Club of New Orleans, La.,
are: President, Frank Dumas; vice-president, Wm. Monrose; treasurer,
Charles Barnes; secretary, Geo. C. Hanser; superintendent, Wm. Marquetz.

* * * * *

~October 15, 1888~, the Salt Lake (Utah) Gun Club was organized.
President, Wm. M. Bradley; vice-president, Thos. J. Stevens; secretary
and treasurer, W. J. De Bruhl; board of directors, W. M. Bradley, T. J.
Stevens, W. J. De Bruhl, M. R. Evans, and W. F. Beer.

* * * * *

~In~ shooting for the Founder’s Cup at Harvard, November 1,
Messrs. Post and Mackay tied for first place, with a score of 12 out of
15. In shooting off Post won.

* * * * *

~The~ Fly Casters’ Association, of Albany, held a tournament,
October 27, which proved very successful. The judges were James H.
Manning, Charles B. Andrews and W. W. Byington. There were eleven
prizes, which were awarded as follows:

Association class--Thomas W. Olcott, first prize, a Spalding split
bamboo rod; W. D. Frothingham, second, a Mills & Son standard split
bamboo fly-rod; W. G. Paddock, third, an automatic reel; Howard
Paddock, fourth, a Bray fly-book; Dayton Ball, fifth, fifty yards
metallic centre-enameled line; B. F. Reese, sixth, two dozen trout
flies; Stuart G. Spier, seventh, a trout basket. Amateur Second
Class--Chas. A. Gove, first, an L. Levison fly-book; H. A. Goffe,
second, a lancewood fly-rod; John M. Quinby, third, a gogebic reel; W.
Story, fourth, pocket tackle-case.

* * * * *

~The~ ducking season began, in Pennsylvania, November 1. The
lower Delaware and adjacent bays and inlets are said to be swarming
with ducks. Extensive preparations have been made in Philadelphia by a
club of well-known men, who call themselves “The Innocent Eight,” for
an active ducking season. Among the Innocents are: Messrs. Michael B.
Andrews, Clarence B. Kugler, Joseph Wright and Colonel William B. Mann.
Members of the club have purchased a “rigging” at a cost of $2,000.
It contains over a thousand decoys, many sink-boxes, both double and
single, and all the improved paraphernalia used in ducking.

* * * * *

~The~ season for ducking opened, in Maryland, November 1. Back,
Middle, Gunpowder and Bush rivers are all first-class waters for
duck shooting. The best duck shooting in the country is to be found
on the flats near the mouth of the Susquehanna River. On these flats
grow the choicest celery, which, combined with the shallowness of the
water, makes the spot most attractive to the fowl. The delicacy of the
food imparts to the ducks a flavor that has given the Havre de Grace
canvas-back a world-wide reputation. The State has passed stringent
laws governing the flats, and collects quite a revenue from the boats
engaged in shooting. A special police-force is maintained to enforce
the laws.

ROWING.

~Harvard~ expects to have a rowing tank, similar to the Yale
tank, shortly. The old gymnasium will probably be used for the purpose.
An effort is also being made to raise funds for a new steam-launch.
Harvard rowing men recognize that they must show by deeds that they
deserve the support of the college.

All the crews have left the river and are at work in the gymnasium. The
university crew is rowing on the machines and pulling chest-weights.
The number of candidates is small, but it will be greatly increased
after the vacation. With the exception of the freshmen, the class-crews
are not in strict training. Eighty-nine played football during
the fall for exercise; ’90 and ’91 are taking walks and pulling
chest-weights. The freshmen are rowing in the ’varsity room on the
machines. They are obliged to be through by five o’clock, and as they
have nearly three crews at work, the lack of room is very apparent, and
interferes greatly with their work. Their average weight is at present
nearly 156 pounds.

* * * * *

~The~ Cornell oarsmen are very ambitious to send out next June
an eight-oared crew, which, it is hoped, will beat Columbia, win the
“Child’s Cup” for the third and last time, and, if possible, win
against Yale. The whole amount needed for the purpose is estimated
at $2000; $500 for a new shell, and $1500 for crew and trainer. The
Cornell _Era_ recently began raising a fund for this object, and over
half the amount is already pledged, and the collections are coming
in at the rate of $200 a week. The young women connected with the
university have subscribed $100. There is no doubt but that the full
amount will be raised. Courtney will train the crew.

* * * * *

~By~ reason of the expense, the class crews of Bowdoin have been
given up.

* * * * *

~The~ famous old Atalanta Boat Club has now established winter
quarters apart from the boat club, and have settled down in an elegant
establishment on Fifth Avenue. The building is arranged and furnished
so as to provide every facility for indoor amusement while the water
is sealed in icy bonds. The billiard-rooms and bowling-alleys are
located in the lower part of the house, and the other apartments are so
arranged as to conduce to the comfort and enjoyment of the members.

* * * * *

“~Rock~” ~Kent~, one of the most promising scullers on
the Harlem River, is, it is said, about to give up rowing altogether.
He is one of the prominent members of the Metropolitan Rowing Club, and
his withdrawal from that organization, if the report be true, will be a
sad loss.

* * * * *

~The~ Union Boat Club, of Boston, which has a membership list
of 200 names, has elected the following officers for 1889: President,
Henry Parkman; vice-president, Edward B. Robins; captain, A. Van
Courtlandt Van Rensselaer; lieutenant, Warren F. Kellogg; treasurer,
Edward D. Blake; secretary, William R. Richards; directors, Arthur
B. Ellis, Courtenay Guild, Thornton H. Simmons; election committee,
William Appleton, J. F. Bush, Robert Bacon, William S. Eaton, Jr.,
William S. Hall, James M. Olmstead, Henry T. Spooner, Guy Wilkinson.

SKATING.

~The~ Lachine Skating Club held its second annual meeting
recently and elected the following officers: Mr. T. A. Dawes,
re-elected honorary president; C. Thos. Danford, president;
Albert Dawes, vice-president, and Wm. A. Shackell re-elected
secretary-treasurer. The following were selected for the committee: A.
P. Bastable, H. K. Danford, J. MacGowan, A. Noad, E. W. H. Phillip and
A. Perry. Several new members were elected.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the National Skating Association of
England was held at the Bath Hotel, Cambridge, Oct. 27, Mr. Neville
Goodman in the chair.

The committee, in their report, congratulated the members on the
position of the association. Numerous attempts were made during
the past season to bring off the championship race, but when all
preparations had been made the changes in the weather upset the
arrangements and the meetings had to be abandoned.... The committee
were sanguine of being able to pay their way, but this could not be
done without gate proceeds. It was pointed out that scarcely any
sporting pastime was now participated in without a charge for admission
being made, especially when valuable prizes were given. Owing to the
paucity of members it was impossible to hold race-meetings without
relying upon a “gate” to meet the heavy expenses. Under the present
_régime_ this rule would have to be adhered to, but should funds allow,
free meetings would be held....

Mr. H. G. Few, R. S. O., Willingham, Cambs, was re-elected treasurer,
and Messrs. J. D. Digby and J. Newton Digby were appointed joint
honorable secretaries. Baron de Salis, of Holland, was elected an
honorary life member.

The chairman, in accordance with notice, brought forward the question
of the definition of an amateur; and proposed that in lieu of the
present rule the following be adopted: “That an amateur is one who has
never competed in a skating contest for a money prize.” This gave rise
to discussion, the motion being opposed by the secretary, but it was
carried.

SNOW-SHOEING.

~The~ following officers were elected by the Montreal Garrison
Artillery Snow-Shoe Club: Hon. presidents, Lieut.-Col. Turnbull
and Lieut.-Col. Oswald; Hon. vice-presidents, Major Cole and Capt.
Levins; president, Capt. Lewis; vice-presidents, Lieuts. Crathern,
Ogilvy and Foy; secretary-treasurer, Staff-Sergeant Cooper; assistant
secretary-treasurer, Gunner Wilson. Committee: Lieut. McFarlane,
Sergeant-Major Benton, Battery Sergeant-Major Murdock, Sergeant-Major
Wilson, Sergeant McDonald, Sergeants Drysdale, Bonet, Pingel, Gunner
Cokers, Trumpeter Shaw, Corporal Laurency. Delegates to Council
Committee: Captain Lewis, Sergeant-Major Jones, Staff-Sergeant Cooper,
Gunner Bremner.

SWIMMING.

~J. Nuttall~, one of the foremost of swimmers in the English
amateur ranks, has cast his lot with the professionals, and, in his
first race for the 1,000-yard professional championship, which took
place at Lambeth Baths, Westminster Bridge Road, London, October 19,
he met J. J. Collier, ex-champion; J. Finney, previous holder of the
championship, and George Kistler, all first-class swimmers. The men
swam in a tank 40 yards long, and Nuttall took the lead directly after
the dive, holding it to the finish. Nuttall beat all previous records
from the outset, as the following times will show:

*2 lengths 0m. 54s.
*4 lengths 1 55½
*6 lengths 3 00½
*8 lengths 4 08½
*10 lengths 5 17
*12 lengths 6 28½
*14 lengths 7 38¼
*16 lengths 8 48½
*18 lengths 10 00
*20 lengths 11 11
*22 lengths 12 25½
*24 lengths 13 40
*25 (1,000 yards) 14 17¼

* Record beaten from the start.

The previous best on record was by Finney, 14m. 43¾s.

TOBOGGANING.

~The~ Essex County Toboggan Club recently elected the following
Board of Governors for the season of 1888-’89: John Firth, F. W. Hall,
E. P. Hamilton, Charles T. Minton, Clarence D. Newell, John H. Sprague,
Louis E. Chandler, Dr. F. A. Levy, Dr. G. B. Dowling, R. G. Hopper,
Frank Lyman, D. H. Carstairs, Charles Hendricks, N. B. Woodworth, and
C. F. Whiting.

YACHTING.

~The~ schooner-yacht _Brunhilde_, Captain John J. Phelps, owner,
started on her second voyage round the globe November 1. Captain Phelps
is accompanied by his wife. The crew consists of ten men before the
mast. The _Brunhilde_ sailed direct for Bermuda. Captain Phelps has not
yet determined how long he proposes to remain away.

* * * * *

~From~ England comes the news that steps have been taken by
yachtsmen there as well as on this side of the Atlantic to have a
grand international race next May of sloop and cutter yachts in the
forty, fifty, and sixty foot classes. It is understood that the
Seawanhaka-Corinthian, Eastern and other clubs are arranging with the
English clubs for the race, which is to be settled in American waters
for prizes independent of the _America’s_ cup.

* * * * *

~As~ we go to press it seems probable that James Coates,
Jr., the Scotchman who owns the _Thistle_, will challenge for the
_America’s_ cup within thirty days.

* * * * *

~The~ report that another challenge for the _America’s_ cup will
shortly be issued from the other side of the Atlantic is again on the
rounds. A correspondent of the London _Times_ in Queenstown, Ireland,
has heard that the Jamiesons, of Irish whiskey and _Irex_ fame, have
been quietly building a large steel sloop, with the end in view of
challenging for the _America’s_ cup. Richardson, the designer of the
_Irex_, is said to be the designer of the new production. The author of
the story has even learned the fact that the intended challenger is to
be named the _Shamrock_. Mr. Jamieson has more than once been reported
to have designs on the cup, and it is barely possible that a challenge
may at some future day emanate from the Royal Irish Yacht Club, of
which he is a member.

* * * * *

~The~ winter quarters of the Newark, N. J., Yacht Club are at
740 Broad Street, Newark. The new rooms are cosily fitted up, and
members of the club and their friends love to linger in the parlors and
spin yarns of the water and about the men who go down to the sea in
yachts.

* * * * *

~The~ Harlem Yacht Club a short time ago moved into its new
quarters, the old Randall mansion on East 121st Street. It was
previously occupied by the Eastern Boulevard Club. The present officers
of the club are: Commodore, James T. Lalor; vice-commodore, McEvoy;
secretary, T. J. Dempsey; corresponding secretary, W. J. Parker;
treasurer, H. M. Jones; measurer, T. P. Bates.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

[_This department of_ ~Outing~ _is devoted to answers to
correspondents seeking information on subjects appertaining to all
sports._]

_Scot, Boston._--For the game of lawn bowls you must have turf in the
finest possible condition. The dimensions of the ground should be about
forty-two yards long, and, if possible, the same breadth. There should
be ditches at both ends, about twelve inches wide and three inches
deep, with a bank about eighteen inches above the level of the lawn,
to stop the bowls. The reason why it is advisable to have the ground
square, is that one can then change the direction of play and so save
the grass.

* * * * *

_Chas. T., Baltimore._--Your horse is probably suffering from irregular
teeth. What you describe is called “quidding.” You should have a
veterinary surgeon to see to his teeth, and if necessary rasp them
down. If it does not come from the teeth, he is probably suffering from
catarrh, with sore throat, and when he is swallowing water you will be
able to notice a peculiar gulping effort. This, of course, would need
treatment.

* * * * *

_Breeder, Buffalo, N. Y._--The New Forest ponies are no good. They
have much of the blood of Marsk, the sire of the famous English
horse Eclipse, in their veins, but in spite of it they are about
as ill-looking animals as one can imagine, with most hideous heads
and necks. They are, however, hardy and useful. The best all-round
specimens of the Shetland that we have ever seen, certainly in America,
are the family of them exhibited by Mr. Pierre Lorillard at the New
York Horse-Show. They are of exactly the right stamp for that class of
pony, and the stallion, Montreal, was well described as having “the
build of a cart-horse and the carriage of a thoroughbred.”

* * * * *

_Matador._--The sword is passed between the skull and the first
cervical vertebra, in a perpendicular direction only.

* * * * *

_Fred, H. L., Brooklyn, N. Y._--The best method to render shoes
impervious to snow is to apply castor-oil. It must be applied twice,
after the boots have been warmed at the fire. Of course, the oil must
be used again at intervals, when the leather shows signs of needing it.
The best plan is to wash off all blacking first, and apply the oil to
the sole as well as the other portions of the shoe.

* * * * *

_R. S. B., Broadway._--The length of the Cambridgeshire course, at
Newmarket, England, is 1 mile and 240 yards.

* * * * *

_Gunner, Washington, D. C._--Strictly speaking, the correct plural is
with the s; but that letter is very commonly omitted. Indeed, among
sportsmen, it may be said that “snipe” is invariably used in the plural
as well as the singular sense; but naturalists use the plural “snipes”
as meaning the different species of snipe. With woodcocks it is more
usual to add the s, but many sportsmen omit it.

* * * * *

_Canine, Hartford, Conn._--(1) Your best plan is to wash the ears out
and brush in some green iodide of mercury twice a week. (2) Puppies at
the age of three months or so, often show crooked legs with enlarged
joints, but these generally come right later.

* * * * *

_Athlete, Cambridge._--You can obtain just the kind of jewelry you
require from Shreve, Crump & Low Co., Washington Street, Boston. They
also give special attention to designing and making prizes for clubs.

* * * * *

_C. A. S., New Haven, Conn._--Excellent shooting can be obtained at
Barnegat, Delaware and Chesapeake bays; for the last place Havre de
Grace is the usual starting-point. At Crisfield, Md., near the swamps
of the Pocomoke, geese and different kinds of ducks are abundant.
The trip, however, if you procured boat, sink-box, etc., at the more
popular places, would prove expensive. Good Ground, Long Island, on the
Great South Bay, is highly recommended, and, being off the usual line
of travel, should afford satisfactory shooting. We should hardly advise
you to go farther north at this time of year; and on the Maine coast
the birds are fishy to the taste. You could, however, get some sport
with the seals--with a rifle, for they are too shy for a shotgun. At
this time of year we would suggest Camden as a starting-point, where
you can obtain outfit and guides at a reasonable figure, while in the
back country you could get some woodcock and partridges. On the whole,
our advice would be to try Long Island or Barnegat Bay.

* * * * *

_John R. S., Indianapolis._--Although trotting as a sport has not
assumed any large dimensions in England, some English stock is still
imported to gain fresh blood. Mr. Fairfax, of Virginia, recently
purchased the stallion Matchless for 1,000 guineas from Mr. Brough,
of Londesborough Wold, Yorkshire. Trotting is, however, making some
headway on the other side, and a gentleman is at present laying out a
half-mile track at Aintree, near Liverpool, where it is proposed to
hold a meeting this year.

* * * * *

_H. B. P., Quebec._--(1) The Northwestern Amateur Rowing Association
has its headquarters at Detroit, Michigan. It was organized in October,
1868, and is composed of some 47 clubs. (2) The laws in regard to
“water” read as follows:

(_a_) A boat’s own water is its straight course, parallel with those of
the other competing boats, from the station assigned to it at the start
to the finish.

(_b_) Each boat shall keep its own water throughout the race, and any
boat departing from its own water will do so at its peril.

(_c_) The umpire shall be sole judge of a boat’s own water and proper
course during the race.

* * * * *

_1158 Springfield, Mass._--(1) Road-books are issued by Connecticut
and Massachusetts. For former, write to Weed Sewing Machine Company,
Hartford, Conn.; for latter, to H. W. Hayes, 103 State Street, Boston,
Mass. (2) The States that publish road-books can make their own
regulations as regards selling them to persons not members of the
League. All the information and statistics are furnished by members to
the compilers free, and the idea of not selling the book to outsiders
is to retain the benefits afforded by the organization for members
only. It is thought by some that this will increase the membership. New
York State sells the road-book to outsiders for $1.50, and to League
members for $1.00.

* * * * *

_Whist-Player, Yonkers._--The best thing we have seen in the line of
card-tables, are those made by Keeler & Co., Washington Street, Boston.
The folding pattern is especially commendable.

* * * * *

_Paterfamilias, Springfield, Mass._--You will find that the repeating
air-gun made by H. H. Kiffe, 318 Fulton Street, Brooklyn, is the very
thing for your boy.

* * * * *

_J. E. M., Lynchburg, Va._--Chapped heels arise from exposure to wet
and cold, or from imperfect drying of the legs after washing. You will
find white lead or zinc ointment beneficial.

[Illustration: From a water-color painting by J. Carter Beard. Engraved
by H. Pflaum.

A MOONLIGHT ENCOUNTER WITH RUSSIAN WOLVES.]

~Outing.~

~Vol.~ XIII. FEBRUARY, 1889. ~No.~ 5.

[Illustration: SLEIGHING]

BY WILL H. WHYTE.

Hark to the sleigh-bells--how they charm the ear
With crystal music exquisitely clear!
Watch the light sleighs, how merrily they go
O’er firm new roads macadamized with snow!
The skies are blue, the sunbeams, as they play,
Eclipse the splendors of a summer day,
And rubies, sapphires, emeralds, diamonds blaze,
Beneath each horse’s footfall, with prismatic rays.

--_G. Murray._

When old Winter, the king of the Arctic Circle, issues from his polar
domain for his annual visit to southern latitudes, accompanied by
his stalwart henchman Jack Frost, he binds tight with icy chains the
great rivers and lakes, and even the mighty St. Lawrence bows to and
acknowledges his power. Then the country and roads lie deep beneath
the snow-king’s mantle, and man, who cannot hibernate like the bears,
adopts a mode of locomotion different from those he uses in the long
days of summer. The noisy wheel he replaces with the silent runner.

In all northern countries, where the snow covers the ground to any
depth, the inhabitants use some kind of sleigh or sled to enable them
to travel during the winter. In the Arctic zone the Laplanders and
Esquimaux traverse their ice-bound land in low but comfortable sledges
drawn by reindeer or dogs. Around the shores of Hudson’s Bay, and in
sections north of Lake Superior, where the iron horse has not yet made
his appearance, the winter vehicle in use is the “traineau,” drawn
by a team of dogs. In Manitoba and the Canadian Northwest, until its
annexation and settlement some years ago by the Dominion, this was the
sole means of communication in winter between many of the scattered
settlements; and even now, in the far north, the mails are so conveyed.
In these days of high pressure, time is an object, and few would care
to spend fourteen days in a sleigh when fourteen hours by rail would
bring one to his destination. There are, however, yet living, old
travelers who could many a tale unfold of tragic adventure over frozen
field and flood--some even thrilling enough to stir the blood of the
reader of sensational novels.

In those early days, when for four months in the year the sleigh
afforded the only means of transportation, it was not regarded as a
sport or pastime. The highways followed the windings and indentations
of the lakes and rivers, and were frequently blocked with heavy
snowdrifts. The ice made a shorter and more level path, and was
consequently preferred as soon as it was strong enough to bear the
weight of a horse and sleigh, so affording, during the colder months,
a pleasant road. But toward the spring of the year, when the returning
power of the sun honey-combed the ice, it made a dangerous track,
and many a sleigh with its living freight has disappeared beneath
the treacherous ice. Even without such tragic incidents, excitement
would often be afforded by the loss of horses and sleigh, and a weary,
perilsome walk to the nearest village or settlement. In those days no
one thought of leaving home without his rifle, for in wood and bush
lurked the ravenous wolf, and, still more to be dreaded, the Indian
of those days. Happily this has all passed away, and the present
generation travels by steam in comfortable cars, and the traveler
has no fear of being brained by a tomahawk or losing his scalp. His
sleigh-riding is limited to perhaps the next town or village, and
usually combines pleasure with business.

In Dakota, Minnesota, and other northwestern States, and in Manitoba,
during the months of February and March, when that American product,
the “blizzard,” is on the trail, sleighing at any distance from
civilization is somewhat perilous. We have a vivid recollection of a
sleigh drive in the province of Manitoba, when for twenty miles we
never saw the horse that was drawing our sleigh. With fearful velocity
the blizzard overtook us, and in an instant the air was filled with a
whirlwind of snow. Covering our faces, we left our “shaginappi” pony to
follow the trail as best he could, trusting that somehow the sagacious
animal would find his way to some house or settlement. After many weary
hours, when hope was almost expiring, benumbed and nearly exhausted,
just as the shadows of night were closing in around us, our steed
suddenly drew up in front of a house, and the most gladsome sight we
ever beheld was the light in the window of that little shanty. A warm,
comfortable room and something to eat soon thawed us out, and after
seeing that our four-footed friend was well housed, we were soon sound
asleep, fagged out with our tussle. Never since have we yearned for a
similar experience.

In lumbering, that great industry of Maine, Michigan, Wisconsin, and
Canada, the sleigh and sled plays a very important part. When frost
makes the swamps firm and snow levels the ground, the lumber-camp is
in all its activity. The vast forest trees are cut and then easily
drawn on sleds to the nearest lake or river, whence in spring they are
floated to market.

Ever since the days when the “lily flag” of the Bourbons floated over
“La Nouvelle France,” ice-trotting has been a Canadian winter pastime
on the great St. Lawrence River, either at Quebec, Three Rivers or
Montreal. In fact, in any of the inland villages, wherever a stretch of
ice can be found, may be seen the French Canadian, seated on a sleigh
after the style of a skeleton-sulky, no matter how cold or stormy it
may be. He is happy if he can show the good points of his trotter in
a race with a neighbor before an admiring audience of countrymen, and
when not racing he will spend hours speeding his horse over the glassy
track. The Canadian horse is hardy for his size and weight, unsurpassed
for pluck and endurance, and usually possesses good action and temper.
Many are descendants of Norman stock. Ice-trotting has always been a
favorite sport at Montreal, and many of the trotters of the present
day are descended from horses that have been used in this sport. Among
those that made a name for themselves on the ice forty years ago was
the well-known St. Lawrence.

In Canada sleighing has attained the greatest pre-eminence as a
pastime, and perhaps in the whole Dominion it is nowhere so popular
as in the ancient province of Quebec. Here the climate is absolutely
unsurpassed for the thorough enjoyment of outdoor sports. When winter
once sets in a thaw rarely occurs, with the exception of one in
January, which seldom lasts longer than two or three days. Jack Frost
is the ruler of the weather. Consequently, though the air may be
cold, it is clear and dry and enjoyable, the roads hard and smooth,
the runners glide easily and quietly, while the bells jingle merrily.
All who can afford it keep some kind of a sleigh and horse, while
the livery-stables in the larger towns do a thriving and profitable
business. The country and city roads present a gay appearance. Every
variety of turn-out is there, from the home-made “cariole” and
French-Canadian pony of the _habitant_, to the handsome sleigh and team
of the millionaire. What a revelation would a procession of all the
styles of sleigh that have been in vogue since the settlement of the
province afford! Or even those of the present century. There would be
the little market-box, or “Berlin;” the ancient but still fashionable
“cariole,” on runners so low that a chance upset does not present much
danger; the trotting-sulky; the light but dashing cutter, a style more
in vogue over the border than in Quebec, and dozens of fashionable
equipages mounted on single or double runners and furnished with a
wealth of furs that would make a Russian prince envious.

[Illustration: A MODERN TANDEM SLEIGH.]

Montreal stands unsurpassed for winter vehicles. St. Petersburg,
the Russian capital, can perhaps compete in furs, but the Canadian
metropolis is unsurpassed in the beauty and variety of its sleighs.
Nor can the pleasure of sleighing be enjoyed to greater perfection
than in the “Royal City.” The clear, bracing atmosphere gives color
to the faces of the fair occupants of the sleighs; the merry music of
the bells, and the sound of the runners over the crisp and frozen snow,
all lend a charm to the sport, and furnish a tonic finer and far more
exhilarating than anything physicians can prescribe. Even the horses
seem to trot with a full instinct of enjoyment.

What is more glorious or inspiring than a drive on a beautiful clear
Canadian winter’s evening? The night is glorious; possibly there is not
even a breath of wind to stir the mass of snow that covers the fields.
The stars twinkle and sparkle in the blue sky; the moon transforms the
snowy piles into heaps of sparkling diamonds and sketches in exquisite
tracery the outlines of trees and leafless branches upon the virgin
carpet beneath. The solemn stillness is only broken by the melodious
chimes of the sleigh-bells and the patter of the horses’ hoofs upon the
frozen crystals.

If on such a night, with some fair companion at your side, you are not
moved to an appreciation of the beautiful in nature, then there is no
romance in your composition. If at such a time you cannot throw off
the petty cares and trials of the busy world, then, my friend, you
are past cure. How the jingle of a sleigh-bell will recall memories
of former drives! What visions will loom up of glorious nights, with
a charming companion carefully wrapped up in warm and cozy robes! How
easily did the sleigh slip along behind the pair of Canadian ponies, or
how gayly that chestnut or bay would step out without requiring all the
attention of the driver; for when eyes are sparkling in the moonlight,
and cheeks glowing ruddy in the crisp and frosty air, it is remarkable
what a tendency sleigh robes have to require one’s constant attention!
Under such circumstances a horse that does not require all your care is
a treasure, for you have plenty of occupation for your left arm keeping
the sleigh robes in their proper place, you know. Ah! those glorious
sleigh rides around Mount Royal. What can be compared to them, and what
an auxiliary they have been to that little god Cupid, many and many a
time!

Let poets idly dream and sing
The beauty of the windy spring,
And in green fields go Maying:
Better by far is a winter night,
When snow lies deep and hard and white,
And the stars look down with twinkling light
On Nan and me out sleighing.

The moonlight makes a fairer day--
The restless horses seem to say,
“Oh, why are you delaying?”
They spurn the ground with flying feet,
The sleigh-bells tinkle clear and sweet--
Life has never a joy to beat
Nannie’s and mine out sleighing!

My love then nestles near my arm,
Among the furs so soft and warm,
And I, my heart obeying,
Bend down to see her beaming eyes,
Bend down to catch her loving sighs,
And oh! the time too swiftly flies,
When Nannie and I are sleighing!

_Montreal Star._

Sleigh parties to many of the neighboring villages around Montreal
have long been a fashionable recreation. Large sleighs, that will
hold thirty or forty each, convey the party to some village hotel,
and there, in the ballroom, which is invariably a part of the
establishment, a merry and pleasant time is spent.

In the larger cities of Canada there have existed for many years
driving clubs. These possess a greater or less degree of organization,
and are in operation only during the winter months. Montreal, Quebec,
Halifax and Kingston have all had their “tandem clubs.” Montreal and
Quebec have probably older organizations than the others. Since they
all were garrison towns, during the occupancy of the Imperial troops
the officers of the various regiments were among the chief factors in
keeping alive these clubs. Quebec’s Tandem Club is said to have been in
existence at a time which the memory of the oldest inhabitant reacheth
not. One of its oldest presidents is still living, and years ago drove
four thoroughbreds of his own breeding. A number of Quebec’s well-known
and wealthy merchants have been presidents of the club, and with Lord
Alexander Russell and the Earl of Caledon have frequently driven
four-in-hand around the streets of the ancient capital. The value, it
is said, of some of their magnificent outfits--sleighs, horses and
robes--often exceeded $5,000. In the days of the military, the club
usually consisted of five or six four-in-hands and thirty to forty
tandems, besides pairs and singles. This old club has never entirely
lapsed, and consists at present of the officers of the battery of
artillery which garrisons the Citadel, and the wealthier shipping and
lumber merchants.

The Montreal Tandem Club, as a distinct organization for the pastime
of sleighing, was formed many years ago, during the occupancy of
the Imperial troops. In those days it was a most fashionable and
aristocratic assemblage, and usually mustered twice a week, Wednesdays
and Saturdays. It was an inspiriting sight to watch the long stream of
handsome equipages as they followed in line. Among those who handled
the ribbons with skill and dexterity were the old, gray-haired hero of
Kars, Lieutenant-General Sir Fenwick Williams, whose deep love of sport
endeared him to the Canadian youth; Sir James Lindsay; Sir W. Windham,
who earned the distinction of being the first to enter the famous
Russian Redan in the Crimean war; Lord Paulet (the handsome guardsman);
Lords Dunmore and Elphinstone; Major Penn, Colonel Bell, and many
others whose names we cannot at present recall. Two should, however,
not be forgotten--two whose names have since become well known the
world over--Colonel Wolseley, now General Lord Wolseley, and Lieutenant
Butler of the 60th Rifles, now General Sir Redvers Butler. Pleasant
days they were, and as the long line of four-in-hands, unicorns,
tandems and pairs filed past, filled with the happy and smiling faces
of the Canadian belles and gallant officers, many of the latter little
thought that in after-years, far from Canadian snows, they would find
soldiers’ graves, and “sleep the sleep that knows no waking” in lands
where such a thing as a snowflake was never dreamed of.

After the withdrawal of the British troops, the Tandem Club for a
few years had a feeble existence; but in January, 1882, principally
through the exertions of some of the older members of the Montreal
Hunt Club, it was reorganized. Mr. Joseph Hickson, the general manager
of the Grand Trunk Railway was elected president, while in 1883 Mr.
Andrew Allan, of the well-known Canadian Steamship Company, was the
president--Mr. Joseph Hickson being again elected to the office in
1884. Every Saturday, at two o’clock, the club meets on Dominion
Square, opposite the Windsor Hotel. A gay and pleasing sight it is to
watch the smart “turn-outs” as they circle round the square before
making a start for the selected destination. A favorite resort is
Peloguin’s Hotel, at Sault-au-Recollect village, about seven miles from
the city, on a northern branch of the Ottawa River. A six-mile trip
eastward along the banks of the St. Lawrence, brings one to Longue
Pointe, while westward a favorite road leads through the suburb of Côte
St. Antoine, past the “Blue Bonnets,” to Lachine, about nine miles
distant. Other favorite drives are to “The Kennels,” the headquarters
of the Hunt Club, or round the winding, zigzag road to the park at
the summit of picturesque Mt. Royal. The time spent at the rendezvous
is usually about an hour, just enough for some light refreshments and
perhaps a dance or two. Should the weather prove somewhat stormy and
the sleighing heavy, a drive around town is the order of the day.

The Saturday meet always draws a crowd of citizens to watch and admire
the handsome sleighs and horses. The cavalcade is steadily augmented
by the new arrivals until the signal for starting is sounded from the
coaching-horn of the leading four-in-hand. The four-in-hands always
take the lead, followed by the unicorns, which rank next. Next come one
or two randoms, and then follow a long line of tandems, then the pairs,
the rear being brought up by another tandem, which acts as whipper-in.

Since the introduction of the Montreal winter carnivals, the sleigh
parade, or “Carnival Drive,” has been one of the week’s events each
year, and is a sight worth seeing. These drives are a commingling of
all sorts and conditions of men, wealth and affluence in the private
equipages of the wealthy merchants and members of the Tandem Club,
and rural comfort and simplicity in the humble but substantial outfit
of the _habitant_. The athletic clubs turn out _en masse_ in huge
sleighs of various shapes and designs, holding fifty to sixty uniformed
members, and drawn by eight, six, and four horses. There are double and
single sleighs, carioles, box-sleighs, light cutters, family sleighs,
_habitant_ sleighs, skeletons, sulkies, “haysleds,” Russian sleighs,
and nondescripts on runners impossible to classify, but all lending
their aid to make up a spectacle.

Besides the fashionable Tandem Club, Montreal has other driving
associations. The contractors, who in most large cities are well off,
have a driving club, and visit the neighboring villages during each
winter. The Hackmen’s Association have turned out sleighs by the
hundred at the carnival drives, and their costly and handsome outfits
have been the admiration of all, many of the master carters having
sleighs that equal in style and finish those of the wealthy merchants.

[Illustration]

ACROSS WYOMING ON HORSEBACK.

BY LEWIS P. ROBIE.

During a recent winter it became necessary for me to leave Cheyenne
for Buffalo, Johnson County, in the northern part of the Territory. I
could reach Buffalo either by rail to Rock Creek on the Union Pacific,
thence by stage or team 250 miles, or by riding direct across country.
The latter route would be the least expensive, but older and more
experienced men advised me not to ride, particularly at that time of
the year. Severe blizzards were common in April, much rain had fallen,
and as I should have to cross many streams, which of course would be
swollen by the rain, it would be a hazardous journey. Besides, the
country to be traversed was entirely without towns or settlements,
and the distances were long between ranches and places of shelter. I
thought of the possibility of my horse falling lame, or of my losing
him altogether, or of being taken sick myself or disabled in some way;
and since I was only a “tenderfoot,” such a journey was, in my opinion,
as well as that of others, quite an undertaking.

The first thing was to get a good horse, and I purchased a dark
mouse-colored one, eight years old, tough, and full of life, at the
same time kind and affectionate. I named him “Terry,” and he cost me
$75.00, with saddle, halter and bridle complete. I purchased a pair
of boots, leather _chaperajos_, broad-brimmed sombrero, blue flannel
shirt, revolver and cartridges, and attached to my saddle an overcoat
and “slicker,” a fur cap and mittens, and bought a good map of Wyoming
and a pocket compass. Thus equipped, I bade farewell to my friends in
Cheyenne, and on the morning of April 3 started on my eventful trip
across the frontier.

The Magic City was soon far in the distance, as my horse covered the
ground with a pacing gait, peculiar to him. About five miles out I
climbed a high range, to take my last look at the city, and then
descended to the rolling plains beyond. A strong head wind sprang up
and retarded my progress considerably, so that it was not until after
twelve o’clock that I struck a ranch nine miles away, where I put up
for dinner. After enjoying a hearty meal, I re-saddled and continued my
journey on the stage road for about four miles, when I turned to the
left and followed a cattle trail to Pole Creek.

The morning had dawned pleasantly, but now the weather looked very
dubious, and I could see a storm coming up toward the mountains, which
were almost hidden from view. It was almost four ~P.M.~ before
I reached Dyer’s sheep camp, on Pole Creek, about twenty miles from
Cheyenne. The storm and wind seemed to grow worse, and it was dark,
just as the rain came down in torrents, when I reached Lowe’s ranch,
on Horse Creek; and well it was that I did, for as night came on I
could hardly see two feet ahead of me. In crossing the creek Terry
stumbled and fell on his knees, but I pulled through all right, though
considerably wetted. Just as the cowboys were making the round-up I
rode into camp and was cordially received. Supper over, pipes were
lighted, and I played my flute for a while, but, being very tired after
my hard ride in such inclement weather, I soon turned in on a rough
bunk of blankets and fell asleep.

My route now lay east for a few miles along the creek, and I rode along
lighthearted in the glorious morning. At Goodwin’s ranch I turned
north, on the stage road, and by noon reached Bard’s, at Little Bear
Springs. About six miles farther on I overtook a camp of freighters,
and had a pleasant talk with a few old-timers, all of whom thought my
trip would be rough, and told me that they would hesitate before taking
such a journey themselves. The scenery had varied little. From day
to day I crossed rolling plains, with thousands of cattle, sheep and
horses quietly grazing, with numerous antelopes and prairie dogs in
sight, and occasionally elk and black-tailed deer. Toward the west were
the Laramie Range of the Rocky Mountains, with their snow-white peaks
glistening in the sun.

Time flew by, and for ten miles I rode in silence until I came in
view of a lone sheep-herder with his flock. Being interested in the
details of a sheep-herder’s life, I went over to where he was seated
on a ledge. He was dressed in rough, cowboy’s garb, his head bowed
between his knees as if he were in deep thought, smoking a pipe. As
his back was turned toward me he did not see me coming, and I rode up
to him and said: “A pleasant afternoon, sir!” He started, but regained
his composure in a second, and without taking his pipe from his mouth,
grunted a simple “yes,” not even troubling to look up. “Your sheep are
in good condition,” I continued. He raised his head suddenly, gave me
a wild, murderous look, but answered not a word. Concluding he did
not wish to be questioned, I proceeded on my journey. At Chugwater,
on inquiring about this strange fellow, I heard that many years ago
he lived in New England, was of good family, very well to do, and
exceptionally well educated and intelligent. He fell in love with a
girl, who jilted him, and he never could get over it, but left his
home, came West and started to herd sheep, living alone and shunning
all society.

Toward sundown I ran into a prairie-dog town, where hundreds of these
little animals were running hither and thither, in and out of their
holes, and filling the air with their clatter and squealing. It was now
close to six o’clock, the sun was almost out of sight, and I was as
nearly as I could judge seven miles from the Chug. Terry, however, was
as impatient for his supper as I was, and at my “Get up, old boy!” he
started into a gallop, which he steadily kept up till the bridge was
reached. It was just seven o’clock as I rode up to the post-office at
Chugwater--twenty-nine miles that day, and sixty of my trip ended.

This was one of the most important places on my route, containing a
post-office, stage station, a ranch hotel, a general store, and the
stock ranches of the Swan Land and Cattle Company, one of the largest
organizations of its kind in the world, operating 250,000 head of
cattle, and having three millions capital. It is also a lay-over for
the stages of the Cheyenne, Fort Laramie and Black Hills Company. There
was quite a gathering of ranchmen and others, on their way south to the
annual meeting of the Stock Association at Cheyenne, a very important
event to the cattle owners of Wyoming.

[Illustration: I TAKE MY LAST LOOK AT THE CITY.]

In the morning I arose early, with the intention of reaching by noon a
ranch called Hunton’s on the map. I found myself, however, so stiff in
the limbs, not being thoroughly used to the new saddle and the action
of the horse, that I concluded to allow Terry a run in the corral and
rest till the afternoon before starting.

I passed the morning in looking into the workings of a model cattle
ranch, preparatory to the spring round-up, and was particularly
interested and amused in watching the men break some bronchos to the
saddle. The life of one of these “broncho busters,” as they are called,
requires much nerve and daring. Not unfrequently they are badly hurt by
the kicking and struggles of these fiery beasts.

I had left the Chug scarcely more than three miles behind me, when,
on turning a bend in the trail, I came suddenly on a band of a dozen
or more antelopes, quietly grazing a short distance to my left. If I
had had a rifle I might have distinguished myself, but I could only
pop away at them with my six-shooter, much to the disgust of Terry,
who kicked and bucked till I was nearly thrown. Between four and five
o’clock, I reached Richard’s Creek, with four miles ahead of me to
Hunton’s, where I intended to spend the night. As I approached the
creek, I was overtaken by a brown, sunburnt individual, who, after we
had exchanged “Hows,” invited me to spend the night at his camp half a
mile down the creek. He was one of six who were on their way south to
Colorado for the purpose of gathering up three hundred ponies for the
round-ups in Northern Wyoming.

After enjoying a rough but palatable supper of frying-pan bread, bear
meat and coffee, we lit our pipes, and with stories of frontier life,
Indian raids and adventures, interspersed with music on the violin,
flute and harmonica, the evening passed pleasantly. One has to put
up with anything in this country, and when I had to roll myself up
in blankets and sleep on the ground, it was not unexpected. I should
probably have slept well if, toward morning, I had not been awakened by
a rain and wind storm, which came up so suddenly that my coverings were
blown away, and I was well drenched before I could find shelter under
the camp wagon. It was soon over, however, and the morning broke clear
and pleasant.

Soon after breakfast I started north, while the campers pulled out
in the opposite direction for Colorado. Terry felt lively from his
run on the plains, and I was at the ranch in less than an hour. There
were now before me twenty miles to the Laramie River, and then sixty
miles of very hard traveling over the foot-hills and mountains to Fort
Fetterman on the North Platte, where the worst part of the trip would
be over. All the afternoon, till the sun had nearly set, did I travel
over the monotonous plains without seeing a sign of human life. About
half-past five I heard a shot from my right, and, hastening over the
hill, saw a hunter fire again at an antelope which was among a small
“bunch” of cattle. Unless forced by want of water, or decoyed, these
timorous creatures seldom allow hunters to approach so near; but this
unfortunate in some way had got among the cattle, which were not afraid
of the hunter, and so it quietly stood its ground till the first
shot was fired, when it was too late to escape. The man proved to be
the owner of a ranch on the river that I was bound for. I dismounted
and helped him place the antelope, a fine young one, on his horse.
Then, leading our horses, we started for the ranch, three miles away,
anticipating with sharpened appetites the treat of fresh antelope for
supper.

In the evening I was attracted by a camp-fire across the river, and
thinking I might get more information as to trails, ranches, etc., I
crossed the river on the logs. It proved to be a freighting outfit
bound for Cheyenne direct from Buffalo. They spoke of my probably
having a very hard pull to Fetterman, and thence I would be apt to
get lost and turned about, unless I stuck to the stage road, and they
advised me not to try to strike cow ranches, as I had planned. On
recrossing the river I thought that I could get over as before, on the
logs, but I missed my footing, made a misstep, and fell in. As I sank
down into the cold water of the river, I thought before I could get out
“my name would be Dennis;” but I grasped the logs for dear life, and,
crawling and struggling, reached the shore wet as a drowned rat.

The next morning I was none the worse for my accident, or for being
obliged to sleep in wet clothing. I here made a trade with my saddle,
getting one lighter and cheaper, that would answer my purpose and save
my horse, as the former one weighed forty pounds, being a regular cow
saddle.

The morning dawned very threatening, and as I rode into the hills it
began to snow. I reached Horseshoe Creek late in the evening, making
twenty-eight miles that day in the face of a severe snow-storm. Early
the next morning I started for Lebonte Creek, twenty-two miles away,
thinking to reach there by noon, and Fetterman, twenty-two miles
farther, that night. But, as I got farther into the foot-hills, I found
it would be impossible through the snow, which in places was very deep,
so that if I got through it in two days I would be lucky.

[Illustration: THROUGH DRIVING SLEET AND SNOW.]

For some ten miles I rode, admiring the magnificent view of the Rocky
Mountains, now plainly visible, with their snow-white peaks apparently
touching the clouds, when, on dismounting to walk up a long and steep
hill, I heard a clatter of hoofs behind, and on looking down the
hillside, was astonished to see one of the gentler sex coming in my
direction. All sorts of conjectures as to who she might be crossed
my mind, and I thought of stories, read long since, of “Calamity
Jane,” “Fearless Kate, the Female Highwayman,” etc., but I was again
surprised, as she approached, to find one of apparent refinement and
culture. I was thinking just how and what to say, when she bade me a
pleasant “Good-morning, sir! Rather cool”--presumably referring to the
weather, not to myself. I soon found use of my powers of speech, and we
chatted away at a great rate. The young lady was returning from a visit
to her nearest neighbors twenty miles down the creek, and lived at a
ranch which I hoped to make by noon. The remaining twelve miles did
not seem half so long as the first ten.

At Lebonte her father made it exceptionally pleasant. I concluded
not to attempt to make the fort that day, but to accept their kind
invitation to remain till morning. In the evening, seated before the
open fire, we had a long and interesting conversation. This “Rose of
the Mountain” lives twenty miles from the post-office and nearest
neighbors, and she and her younger brother and sister have their ponies
and nature in its grandeur for their society. I made a trade with one
of her brothers, and for my watch obtained a fine Winchester rifle.

During the night a storm came up, and in the morning I was confronted
by a regular Wyoming blizzard. I put on overcoat and slicker, crossed
the creek, and pushed into the mountains. After less than five miles,
I almost wished I had remained at the ranch till the storm was over. A
very high wind, accompanied by a driving, drifting snow, retarded my
progress, so I could hardly make three miles an hour. As I got into
the mountains, the storm increased in violence, and it grew colder. I
could hardly see the trail, and but for the government telegraph-poles
connecting Fort Russell with the north, which I had used as a guide
so far, I should surely have been lost. At Wagon Hound and Bed Tick
Creek I was obliged to make a crossing, where, had the water been a
foot deeper, I should never have been able to get over. As it was, poor
Terry almost gave up, the water was so cold and deep, and at Bed Tick
I had to go three miles east to find a place where I dared to enter
the icy water. A great part of the way I had to walk, fighting against
wind and snow, till late in the afternoon, when, utterly exhausted and
chilled, I dragged weak and tired Terry into Fort Fetterman, twenty-two
miles that day, and one hundred and seventy miles of my journey ended.

[Illustration: AND LEADING OUR HORSES WE STARTED FOR THE RANCH.]

Fort Fetterman is situated on a high plateau, at the base of which the
North Platte River winds its course for miles and miles, as far as
the eye can reach, through the finest grazing country in the world,
giving a view more extensive and grand than at any other point on my
route. The storm cleared toward sundown, and during the night the
characteristic Chinook wind of Wyoming came up--a dry wind, which blew
away and absorbed nearly all the snow. When I awoke the next morning
and looked out upon the vast expanse of plains and mountains, I was
astonished to find hardly a trace of the storm, except in isolated
places high up in the foot-hills.

Fort Fetterman used to be a Government fort, but has been abandoned for
several years. It now contains two ranch hotels, several cow ranches,
a post-office, Government telegraph office, half a dozen saloons and a
general store, and is the largest place between Cheyenne and Buffalo.
It has the reputation of being the hardest point in the Territories,
being the rendezvous of all the cowboys in Central Wyoming. I kept very
quiet, and with the exception of a few disagreeable solicitations to
drink from some of them, I was not molested. I was a little concerned,
but not at all shaken in my purpose, by authentic reports from the
telegraph office, which connects with Fort McKinney, near Buffalo,
of serious disturbances among the Crow Indians, who had left their
reservation in Montana, and were only waiting for grass to make war on
the settlers in Johnson County. I concluded, however, if they were to
make a break, I would be as safe under the protection of the troops as
I would be here, where a tenderfoot was never known heretofore to live
more than ten days.

[Illustration: IN CAMP FOR THE NIGHT.]

A true story is told of a young man who was stationed here as a
telegraph operator. He belonged to the class designated dudes, whom
the cowboys love less than any other breed of tenderfeet. He was much
pleased with the country and life in the Far West, but he was not
satisfied with simply seeing the boys ride on horseback into saloons
and shoot the lights out, common everyday fights, and an occasional
lynching bee. He sighed for Indians and gore. He wanted to “spread
himself” fighting the wary redskin. Finally the cowboys thought they
would see if there was as much stuff in him as he bragged, so half a
dozen or more dressed themselves up as Indians, with paint, feathers
and tomahawks, and hid in a secluded place not far from town. In the
meantime our hero was informed that some Indians had been seen a few
miles up the river, and he was invited, if he wanted some sport, to
join in and add his great fighting ability to help the rest. So they
all started, but had hardly got out a mile or so when the secreted
pseudo-Indians commenced yelling and firing in the air. The would-be
Indian fighter, thinking they were an advanced guard of a host of
others, turned and fled with his hair on end, and did not stop till the
telegraph office was reached. He immediately wired to the Governor at
Cheyenne, “Dispatch troops at once; two thousand Indians are on us,”
and then hurried out to warn all to arm themselves for their lives.
The postmaster, whose office was in the same room as the telegraph,
directly sent another message: “Don’t deliver telegram just sent,” and
the return of the cowboys soon gave the trick away. They gave the St.
Louis tenderfoot no peace whatever. The territorial papers got hold of
the story, and one morning he packed his grip and silently boarded the
south-bound stage for parts unknown.

Early on April 9 I crossed the North Platte River. At noon I reached
Sage Creek, and after resting an hour or so, left the stage road and
struck a trail to my right, leading, as I was told, to Andrew’s cow
ranch, on South Fork Cheyenne River, fourteen miles distant. I could
see by my map a ranch in that direction, so I felt perfectly safe in
venturing away from the telegraph poles, which had been my faithful and
silent guides hitherto.

I was now leaving the mountains and approaching the sage-brush plains,
a most monotonous and dreary-looking country. For miles I plodded
along, alternately riding and walking, without seeing any sign of
human life, or anything to break the monotony of the sage-brush. About
half-past six, as I approached the river, I ran into a barbed-wire
fence, which, when followed up for a mile or so, led me to the door of
the ranch, where I dismounted and camped for the night.

I left the ranch in fine spirits. I had gone perhaps four miles when
two men overtook me, passed, then turned and came back, scrutinizing
me and my outfit as they came. As they drew up, one said: “Where did
you get that horse?” Was it a case of mind-reading, or a mere freak,
that led me to match his impertinence by saying, “Stole him.” “Yes,”
he replied, “we know you did,” drawing out at the same time a warrant
for the arrest of a horse-thief. My bill of sale for the horse and
other papers sufficed, however, to prove that I was not the thief, and
Terry carried the proof of his identity in a brand under the saddle,
though answering strangely well in other respects to the description
of the missing horse. They apologized for their mistake, and bidding
me good-day turned toward the hills in the hope of capturing the real
thief. I felt much relieved as they disappeared, for a horse-thief once
caught in Wyoming stands but little chance for his life.

After dinner at Warner’s, I turned to the left across the plains,
towards the stage road again, not seeing any stop for me nearer than
the Wyoming stage station at Antelope Springs. On the ranges adjacent
to Bear Creek and Stinking Water I came across many carcasses and bones
of dead Texan cattle, which had been unable to pull through the severe
winter, and as I turned north on the stage road I saw a lone buffalo.

The sun had disappeared behind a lofty range of the Rockies as I pulled
up at the ranch at Antelope Springs, with only ninety miles ahead of
me to Buffalo. After supper the stock-tender suddenly asked for my
rifle, and almost within a second fired down the creek, where we found
that he had killed an enormous gray wolf. He then bought my rifle for
$15.00. I was told here that sixteen miles to the northwest I could
find a cow-camp, which would not make my journey more than five miles
longer, and would save an expensive stop on the stage road. I could
see no ranch designated on the map in that direction, but supposed
that it was a new outfit. So, the next morning I turned to the left,
and followed a very narrow and almost indistinct trail till late in
the afternoon, making fully twenty-five miles, without seeing any sign
whatever of a human habitation, when, upon looking ahead of me at the
sun, now near the horizon, I found that I was traveling due west
instead of going northwest, as I should have gone. The trail had been
growing much more indistinct for the last hour, so much so that it was
with great difficulty I could distinguish it at all. Near by was a high
bluff, which I ascended, and from which I had an extended view in all
directions--north, south, east and west, as far as my eyes could reach.
Not a sign of human life met my gaze. A few cattle in the foot-hills,
that was all.

Lost!

I thought it could not be more than twenty-five miles northeast to the
stage road, but was afraid that poor Terry would not be able to make it
with ten miles more to the ranch. Besides, as darkness came on, I might
get lost and turned about worse than ever. The best and only course for
me was to camp out all night and wait till morning.

Acting on this decision, I descended into a ravine, beside a small
stream, which I found by looking at the map was probably a “dry” fork
of the Powder River, so called because during the summer months the
water dries up. Now, however, it was quite a creek, from whose cold,
clear water both Terry and I gathered much refreshment. Dry cottonwood
timber lay about in considerable quantity, and I soon had a fire. I
had been advised, if night should overtake me, to picket my horse near
what grass he could reach, with a chance of his being devoured by wild
beasts, rather than to let him run on the plains with a greater chance
of his getting away. The old frontier saying is, “It is better to count
bones than tracks.” I had about thirty feet of rope, with which I
securely fastened Terry to a scrub pine not far from the fire, where he
could partially satisfy himself with the bunch and buffalo grass that
abounds in the foot-hills. I piled on the wood for a big, rousing fire,
for as the night came on it grew very cold, though fortunately it was
clear.

The night continued to grow cold, and I found it impossible to get any
sleep with my simple coverings of overcoat and slicker. Finally I built
two fires, and lying between them at length managed to get warm, and
was just falling into a gentle sleep when my ears were greeted with the
unearthly yelp of the coyote, or timber-wolf, which soon grew louder
and nearer, till apparently I was surrounded by hundreds of them. I
started up in alarm, drawing my revolver, and assumed a position of
defense, for I momentarily expected they would close in on me. But my
being awake, and the light of the fire, kept them at a safe distance,
though the yells and cries were kept up till late in the night. To
add to my misfortune, poor Terry, frightened at the uproar, broke his
fastenings and decamped. I was not supremely happy at the serenade,
but when I saw my faithful horse disappear in the darkness, my heart
sank within me. Even if I should live through the night, how could I
get out and reach food and shelter without Terry? I hoped, however,
that I might find him the next morning, as he had grown to be very
affectionate of late, so much so that he would eat out of my hand and
follow me at my bidding. Knowing that my only safety was in keeping a
bright fire steadily burning, I piled on the wood, plenty of which was
fortunately near at hand. Toward daybreak the wolves began to disperse,
and I breathed a sigh of relief as I heard their distant yelps,
thanking God that danger from that source was now over.

As soon as the daylight enabled me to distinguish objects, my thoughts
were bent on finding Terry. I had hardly left the camp-fire when he
made his appearance through the timber, running directly towards me,
neighing, whinnying, and apparently much pleased to find me safe.

I saddled, and, breakfastless, struck out northeast by the compass,
knowing that if I kept on in that direction I was bound to reach
the road. I pushed ahead as fast as possible, but my progress was
necessarily very slow, as my route lay through frozen mud, fallen
timber and gulches. Suddenly the horse stopped at a sandy place. I
urged him with whip and spur. He would not budge an inch. I jumped off
and tried to lead him over, but he would only pull back. I remounted to
see what he would do, and much to my surprise he went round and crossed
where the water was nearly three feet deep. “There must be something
the matter with the sand,” I said to myself. To satisfy my curiosity, I
rode back on the opposite side, and as the gray tinge of the breaking
day lighted up the surroundings, I was astonished to discover, a few
feet ahead of me, the horns of a cow sticking out of the sand. It
instantly flashed across me why the horse refused to cross.

Late in the afternoon I arrived at Seventeen-mile Ranch, horse and
rider hungry, sleepy, and utterly exhausted. As soon as I lay down on
a rude bunk I fell into a sleep from which I did not awake till early
the next morning, with a little headache, but in other respects feeling
first-rate. I found that the boys at Antelope Springs bulldozed me into
leaving the road, as there was no cow-camp for a hundred miles in the
direction I had taken.

[Illustration: A MUSICAL EVENING.]

I had now seventeen miles to Powder River, and fifty from there to
Buffalo, with a stage station between at Crazy Woman Creek. I had
proceeded about two miles when I was overtaken by two cowboys racing.
Terry, plodding along at his usual gait, braced up as he heard them
coming, and started into a dead run so suddenly that I was almost
upset. He was bound not to be left behind, and surprised me by his
spirit after such a hard trip. Away we went for a mile or so, neck and
neck, till the cowboys turned to the left for their ranch down the
river. The incident gave me encouragement to think that Terry was all
right for getting there anyway.

About four o’clock I reached the post-office at Powder River, the scene
of a noted Indian massacre a few years ago. Here I was overjoyed to
find letters from Cheyenne and home, the first I had received since
starting on my trip. The postmaster informed me that I could strike
a camp eighteen miles northwest that would save me enough distance
to make Buffalo at the end of the next day, but I had had experience
enough in trying to strike cow-camps, and concluded to stick to the
road, even if it did take me a day longer. So, very early the next
morning I started on the road, in a drenching rain, for Crazy Woman,
thirty-three miles.

This was the most disagreeable day I had had during the whole trip, and
a very lonely ride. I saw nothing but a water-hole at Nine-mile Gulch.
The ranch here consists of only a bar-room divided by a curtain from a
room used for sleeping, cooking and eating, with the stables and corral
beyond. I had just entered the bar-room when I was accosted by, “Here,
stranger, come and have something. Turn out some more whiskey, Bill!”
I felt now I had come to what I had expected all along the line, an
invitation to drink, where to refuse would be to risk death; but I was
going to fight it out as long as I could. I replied, “Boys, you must
excuse me; I don’t drink.”

“What’s that? Don’t drink? You ---- tenderfoot! I never had anybody
refuse to drink with me yet, and, I tell yer, you do what I say--you
drink!” drawing his revolver and pointing it at me.

“Well, I’ll take some light drink,” I said, knowing they had nothing
but whiskey, “but I won’t drink that stuff.”

“What do you take us for? We don’t have any ---- dude drinks here. You
do as I tell yer--_drink whiskey_!”

I went over to the bar, took up the glass, and was about to drink,
when a thought occurred to me. I turned to the owner of the place, who
was turning out the drinks, and said:

“Now, sir, I come here a stranger. I propose to attend to my own
business, and when I leave pay my bills and go on my way. The reason I
don’t want to drink is that the liquor will make me crazy. If I take
one glass I shall want five, and I shall not be responsible for what
I do. I appeal to you to see I get fair play. I’ll take a cigar with
the boys, but I would rather not drink.” To which the cowboy who had
insisted on my drinking replied:

“That’s all right, stranger. If you don’t want to drink, you needn’t.
Here, have a cigar. Give him a whole box, Bill; I’ll pay for it.”

I humored them for awhile, but preferring Terry’s dumb society to the
noise and disturbance of the drunken cowboys, I soon joined him.

The storm cleared during the night and the morning broke very pleasant.
The “cow-punchers” had pulled out late at night for their ranch, and
congratulating myself that I was free from them, and had but twenty
miles more, I ate a hearty breakfast, and started for my last ride. I
was getting now into more of a farming country, where crops of oats
and wheat are very successfully raised by irrigation. The Big Horn
Mountains were plainly visible to the northwest, and together with
the foot-hills, which were covered with a green carpet of spring
grass, looked very fine. At ten o’clock I rode into Buffalo, heartily
congratulating myself upon the happy termination of a long and perilous
journey.

[Illustration]

WINTER SHOOTING IN SOUTH CAROLINA.

BY C. W. BOYD.

Notwithstanding boasted advancement in civilization, the love of
camp-life, with its unrestrained freedom and absence of care, is strong
in many a bosom, though the demands of duty and calls of interest may
lead one to suppress it. In my opinion, at any rate, there is nothing
so thoroughly enjoyable as to throw off the trammels of conventionality
and do as one pleases, without fear of restriction or comment.

When, therefore, towards the latter part of February, after a winter
spent in town, without a chance to pull a trigger, my friend C----
proposed a “camp-hunt” up the country, I was not slow to join him. I
was living at the time in the northwestern part of South Carolina, a
famous country for quail, though persistent hunting and the clearing
of heavy tracts of timber have made other game scarce. Having settled
our destination--a spot locally known as “Indian Camp,” on Fair Forest
River--and engaged the services of a teamster, with his two-horse
wagon, we set to work to make up our outfit.

This, although it may seem a simple matter to the uninitiated, requires
some experience, in order to know just what is necessary. I must own
that, although not without some knowledge in the matter, I never went
on a trip of the kind without forgetting something that I afterwards
needed. In the first place, we took a tent, a cot apiece, blanket, a
couple of camp-stools, water-bucket, cups, and cooking utensils. The
staples of our commissariat (a very important department) were bacon,
flour, lard, coffee, sugar, a few dozen lemons, and last, but not
least, a little brown jug, which C---- _insisted_ on taking, saying it
would come in handy for carrying water when emptied of its original
contents. These things, with sundries too numerous to mention, and our
guns and cartridges, completed our outfit. We took two dogs, a pointer
and a setter, each thoroughly trained.

As we had determined to go in style, the next point was to find a cook.
We were soon overwhelmed with applications, and the only trouble was to
make a good selection. We finally decided to take Barney, a somewhat
dark mulatto of gigantic proportions, a genuine Southern negro, with
thick lips, broad, good-humored face, and somewhat of a character in
his way. His accomplishments were considerable. From heeling a gamecock
to turning the jack in “old sledge” his skill was unrivaled among
his colored brethren. Not an event of importance took place in local
sporting circles of which Barney did not know, and of which he was not
_magna pars_, as Virgil puts it. Add to this that he was a first-rate
cook, and in social intercourse constantly inclined to risibility,
with a never-failing flow of conversation, and no one, I think, can
disapprove of our choice.

We arrived at Indian Camp late in the afternoon, and immediately set
about making ourselves comfortable for the night, sending away our
conveyance with instructions to return for us in a week. We pitched our
tent at the foot of a steep, wooded bluff, a few feet from a spring,
whose cold waters sprang from a cleft in the rock. We soon had a fire
of dry branches crackling and blazing in front, with a goodly oak,
felled for the purpose, to serve as a back-log. After a hearty supper
and a glass of usquebaugh, we enjoyed a pipe and talked over our plans
for the morrow, and then retired, to dream of slaughtered quail and
turkey until daylight.

With the first dawn we were up, soused our hands and faces in a
somewhat greasy tin-pan (it had been mixed up with the side of bacon
coming up in the wagon), and were soon discussing breakfast. A heavy
mist hung over us, shutting out from sight the tall cottonwoods on
the banks of the river, and the outlines of the hills beyond. This,
however, rapidly rolled away as the sun rose, leaving the landscape
clear and the weather just cool enough to be bracing. We decided to
employ our first day with quail, crossing the river, or, as it is more
generally called, creek, being about twenty yards wide, and hunting
the hillsides, where, as the weather had been very rainy lately, we
knew we would find most of the coveys. As the bottoms were in a very
miry condition, I put on a pair of rubber boots, but most sincerely
did I afterwards repent it, as, when I was tramping over the stony
hillsides, after the sun became warm, they were almost unendurable.

We “crossed the river on a hickory log,” as the song says, and forcing
a way through a dense jungle of vines and canes at least twenty feet
in height, were just emerging on the other side, when, whir! whir!
whir! came the sharp and well-remembered whistle of retreating wings.
We dashed out into the edge of a field of young wheat, just in time to
see the last brown wing settling in the distance, and our dogs, which
had preceded us, rising from a dead point. The covey had been lying so
close to the edge of the canebrake that we walked right into them, not
knowing that our dogs had pointed. There is no use crying over spilt
milk, as the country people say, and so we started in pursuit.

We had not gone half across the field when we saw my setter, that in
the meantime had half circled it, drop on the border of a patch of
brown straw, on the other side. We hurried across, but, on approaching,
were surprised to see the dog creep several yards forward, indicating,
of course, that the birds were moving, and consequently that we had
found a new covey, for after being once flushed and scattered the birds
always lie close. We moved forward cautiously, and, in my own case at
least, somewhat nervously, for it was my first shot of the season.
Suddenly--it always comes suddenly--the shock of rushing wings, and
bang, bang, bang!--bang! the three first reports almost simultaneous.
On searching the ground we succeeded in finding only one bird, much to
our chagrin, as we supposed we had made three shots without result.
This, however, was not the case, as while hunting in the direction the
flushed birds had taken, through a thicket of scrub-pine, we came out
into a new clearing, where some boys were burning brush, and there
found two more birds where they had dropped stone dead, several hundred
yards from where they had been shot. While hunting here we had the same
experience many times; in fact, I have never elsewhere seen quail that
were so hard to kill. We tramped all day, finding birds in abundance,
and towards evening had a fine bag, although the country was very
unfavorable for shooting, being extremely hilly, with numerous thickets
of scrub-pine, in which the birds would seek shelter after being
flushed. These were so dense that it was hard to get a glimpse of the
bird as he whistled away.

On my arrival in camp I found my feet badly blistered by the rubber
boots, and determined to eschew them in future for any except wading
purposes. However, after bathing my feet in cold water and whiskey
I began to feel comfortable, and did ample justice to a supper of
smothered quail, etc.

While we were cleaning our guns, an old negro named Ralph, with two
half-grown boys, made his appearance, and we derived considerable
amusement from their quaint notions and ready credulity. Even the old
man had probably never been a dozen miles from his native cabin in his
life. For a “dram” and some pieces of silver money they brought us eggs
and very tolerable butter, promising a fresh supply on the morrow.
In camp one is never troubled with sleeplessness, and we were soon
snoozing away comfortably under our canvas roof, dogs and all, except
when it became necessary to replenish the log-fire, which we had built
in front of the tent-opening to keep off the dampness.

Next day, about four in the afternoon, being tired of tramping, I
determined “to take a stand” in the heavy timber near the banks of
the river, for any sort of game that might chance to appear. I took a
seat at the butt of a huge fallen poplar, with a maple swamp on one
hand, its swelling crimson buds already showing signs of spring, and a
canebrake on the other. It was almost too early in the afternoon for
anything in the game line to be stirring. But the forest was grand,
solitary and primeval. To the mind, however, accustomed to commune with
nature, there was nothing of loneliness, for innumerable voices of the
wood cried out, and the spirit of life was busy in the wilderness, and
its unrestrained freedom seemed to lift and stimulate the soul like
old wine. Here was a splendid field for an ornithologist. Rare birds
of many species flitted about from tree to tree, or rested in the cool
shade. Conspicuous above all for brilliancy of plumage, and also the
noise they make in the world, were the many species of woodpeckers,
from the white-and-black Indian hen, as large as a spring chicken, to
the minute sapsucker no larger than a man’s thumb. These kept up an
incessant hammering and boring that resounded throughout the forest
like the noise of a gigantic workshop. Here and there, on the highest
branches of decayed trees, lazy turkey-buzzards sat, stretching
at intervals their huge wings with a slumberous effort towards
the afternoon sun, while high in the air a pair of “rabbit” hawks,
disturbed from their perch, circled with shrill cries.

Presently I heard the sharp bark of a squirrel, and a little fellow,
with his tail over his back, jumped over the ground for a neighboring
tree. I let him alone, for I knew, if undisturbed, he would be
presently followed by others; the old cautious fellows letting the
young and more rash bloods go first from the holes, from which, if the
coast seem clear, they follow. In a few minutes the woods appeared
full of them, chattering away, and jumping from tree to tree, eating
the young buds with such gusto that it seemed almost a sin to disturb
them. A sportsman or a hungry man, however, is not apt to indulge in
sentiment, and the hills were soon reverberating with the reports of
my breech-loader. C---- soon came to the spot to find out what all
the racket was about, and we managed to bag about twelve before the
others, frightened by the noise, regained their dens. Then we gave the
birds another turn, which lasted until we could not see to shoot, and
returned to camp.

Near the tent stood a small haw-tree, on whose branches we strung up
our game so as to be convenient for use. By the end of the week it was
pretty well loaded. But it did not remain so for long. On Saturday
night a party of friends from town came up to visit us, and game and
other provisions disappeared with astonishing rapidity.

We made a merry party that night gathered around the camp-fire, and
song, story and jest followed each other in rapid succession. With our
supply of lemons a huge bowl of punch was brewed.

Old Ralph, scenting the good cheer from afar, came down from his cabin
on the hill with several other darkies, and their hearts were all made
glad with a “dram.” Tired and sleepy, about two o’clock I retired. The
last thing I remember seeing as I dozed off was R---- (who I think
staid up all night), seated on a camp-stool, explaining to the darkies
how earthquakes were caused by a certain unmentionable gentleman who
resides below, moving his furniture about with other scientific facts
and theories of a like kind. In the meantime his audience sat on the
ground, presenting a circle of black faces on which the firelight
shone, revealing open mouths and eyes as large as saucers, all of which
made a _tout ensemble_ that was ludicrous in the extreme.

Next morning the weather was cloudy, and as it began to rain about
eleven o’clock, we procured a wagon, packed up our equipment, and
reluctantly abandoned our camp for the realms of civilization.

THREE DAYS’ GRACE.

The tiny slipper she had dropped
He lifted from the brookside dust,
And placed it on the dainty foot
That had so lightly held its trust.

“Ah! Cinderella,”--but she waived
His homage of the eye and knee;
Half mockingly, half tenderly--
“I am your debtor, sir,” said she.

“Ay, and I wait the payment, love!”
She flushed, then laughed back, as she sped
From stepping-stone to stepping-stone:
“Give me three days of grace,” she said.

He cleared the streamlet at a bound,
And whispered, gazing on her face,
“The favor is not mine to grant,
For all your days are Days of Grace!”

_Sarah J. Burke._

AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

II. YALE UNIVERSITY.

BY RICHARD M. HURD,

Author of “A History of Yale Athletics.”

Yale student life has changed much in all aspects since the beginning
of the present century, but in no respect has the advance been more
marked, or the evolution more complete, than in the department of
athletics.

The picture of the Yale student of eighty years ago, to whom the
words “physical culture” were unknown, and whose ideas of out-of-door
exercise were limited to an impromptu running or jumping contest,
a game of “one-old-cat,” or the kicking of a football, forms the
strongest contrast to the present Yale undergraduate life, with its
five branches of intercollegiate sports, its long and arduous months of
preparation for a contest, its highly organized system of management,
and its yearly expenditure of thousands of dollars. The difference
between what athletics meant to the student of that period, and
what they mean to-day, presents a more striking contrast, however,
than the change in their mere outward form. They were then passing
amusements, acting as a safety-valve for exuberant spirits; they are
now serious and absorbing pursuits scientifically studied, to which
are devoted the highest qualities of courage, skill and endurance in
their accomplishment, the greatest resources of experience, foresight
and generalship in their command, and the best organizing and business
ability in their management to be obtained in the undergraduate body.
In a word, the contrast lies between the student world of the old days,
which directed its best efforts into channels mapped out and set before
it by authority, and the body of modern students who find in all the
duties connected with athletics, the opportunities to develop by actual
experience, untrammeled by supervision, those qualities, of physique,
of organization, or of command, to which their tastes most tend.

To forge, then, the connecting links between the Yale athletics of 1800
and those of to-day, and to show how the latter have gradually grown
out of the former, will be the purpose of this article.

Regarding it as settled that the sports of our predecessors were
confined to “one-old-cat,” or the kicking of a football, the first
indication of any interest in athletics occurs in 1826, when the
corporation appropriated $300 to erect gymnastic apparatus upon an
uncovered piece of ground. About 1840 there sprang up an annual game of
football between the sophomore and freshman classes, which has survived
to the present day in the form of an annual “rush.” To call this class
scrimmage football is a decided stretching of the term, as may be
judged from the contemporary description of a game whose participants,
attired in a unique grotesqueness of style, and with faces painted
in all imaginable hues, formed wedges and phalanxes, and charged and
scrambled with a most healthy rivalry, but in whom all knowledge of
football was evidently lacking.

Turning to rowing, we find that to Yale belongs the honor of having
the oldest rowing club in America, four boats having been purchased
by the students in the spring of 1843, with the idea of rowing for
exercise and recreation, an idea hitherto unthought of. The system of
class boat-clubs prevailed at Yale until the first Yale-Harvard race in
1852 led to the formation of the “Yale Navy,” in which all the active
boat-clubs were consolidated. This first intercollegiate rowing match
originated as an advertising expedient in the mind of an enterprising
railroad man, who desired to bring into notice the Boston, Concord and
Montreal Railroad, then a new road.

[Illustration: THE CREW--CHAMPIONS, 1888.

G. R. CARTER, ’88 S.

C. O. GILL, ’89. N. JAMES, ’90 (SUBS.). G. S. BREWSTER, ’91.
R. M. WILCOX, ’88 S. W. H. CORBIN, ’89. J. A. HARTWELL, ’89 S.
S. M. CROSS, ’88 (STROKE). F. A. STEVENSON, ’88 (CAPT.).
G. W. WOODRUFF, ’89 (SUBS.). R. THOMPSON, ’90 (COX.).
]

[Illustration: WINNERS IN INTERCOLLEGIATE ATHLETIC GAMES, 1888.

G. W. WOODRUFF, ’89. H. L. WILLIAMS, ’91.
T. G. SHEARMAN, ’89. C. H. SHERRILL, ’89.
W. G. LANE, ’88 (CAPT.). W. HARMAR, ’90.
]

Of preparation for this race there was almost none, as may be judged
from the remark of a member of the Harvard crew, to the effect that
“they had not rowed much for fear of blistering their hands.” Harvard
won the race, largely owing to their superior boat, the _Oneida_, which
being probably the best of her class, deserves a description. She was
an eight-oared, “lap-streak” barge, thirty-seven feet long, three and
a half feet beam, quite low in the water, and fitted with gratings at
each end. Flat wooden thole-pins were used, a plain bar of hard wood
served as stretcher, and a red baize cushion covered each seat. The
oars were of white ash, and ranged in length from thirteen feet six
inches in the waist to twelve feet at bow and stroke.

Occasional races were rowed between Yale and Harvard at Springfield
and on Lake Quinsigamond up to 1864. These were three-mile, turnabout
races, usually rowed in six-oared barges, although sometimes
four-oared and eight-oared boats would contend with them, in which case
an allowance of eleven seconds per extra oar would be made in favor of
the smaller boats.

Baseball as an organized game was first played at Yale in 1859, but
it was not until 1864 that the formation of the Y. U. B. B. C., and
the three victories won by the first Yale nine caused it to become
a recognized college institution. Yale’s first intercollegiate game
occurred in this year, when she defeated the Agallian Club of Wesleyan
University by a score of 39 to 13 runs. For the next few years the game
continued to grow at Yale, some five or ten games a year being played,
mostly with professional clubs. Yale met Princeton and Harvard for the
first time on the diamond in 1868, defeating Princeton easily by 30 to
23.

The game at this time, it will be understood, was a “natural” sort of
game, in which the individual capacities of the players counted for far
more than either team-play or training or science. Harvard defeated
Yale in their first game, and continued to do so until 1874, when the
tide was turned in favor of Yale, largely by the able captaincy and
fine individual playing of Mr. C. Hammond Avery, who broke the chain of
eight Harvard successes by winning four straight victories over Harvard.

In 1872 a series of games, the best two in three, was substituted
between Yale and Harvard, in place of the annual game, and in the
following year the same arrangement was made between Yale and Princeton.

[Illustration: HUNDRED YARDS RUN--THE START.]

It will be seen that the chief need of the Yale nines up to this time
had been, not only a better knowledge of the game, but also greater
coolness at critical points, which faithful practice could alone give
them. The causes of Harvard’s uniform success were that baseball was
started earlier and on a more scientific basis at Harvard than at Yale,
and also because in and near Boston there were, in the early days of
baseball, many nines, professional and amateur, whose influence in the
way of example and practice tended always towards a high degree of
skill.

Returning to football, we find that, owing to a lack of grounds, the
students having been forbidden to play on the city green, the annual
game was given up in 1858, and football was dead until 1870. In this
year it was resurrected by the classes of ’72 and ’73, who were
unusually enthusiastic over athletic sports, and becoming immediately
a popular game, a match was arranged with Columbia in 1872. In this
match twenty men played on each side, a game that consisted chiefly of
kicking, bounding and batting the ball, one of the rules being, “No
player shall pick up, throw or carry the ball.” Yale was outplayed and
defeated by Princeton in the following year, the latter displaying much
science. Two years later Yale attempted to play Harvard under what were
called “modified Rugby rules,” and the other colleges under the old
rules, with the disastrous result, which might have been expected, of
being defeated by Columbia as well as by Harvard.

This brings us to the year 1876, which we will take as a starting-point
for modern athletics, and retrace our steps to the Yale-Harvard
races of ’64 and ’65. These were the races famous in Yale annals,
won by Wilbur Bacon and his crew of giants. These men were picked
out for strength, without regard to previous experience, and by dint
of tremendous efforts, combined with the best discipline, they were
transformed into very fast crews, despite their undoubtedly bad style.
The training they underwent was, as one of their number said not long
ago, “what no college crew could be asked to undergo at this time.”
During the two months before the race, in which their training lasted
in all its severity, they rose at six, walked and ran before breakfast
from three to five miles, and rowed four miles at speed both morning
and afternoon. Their diet was of the plainest, beef, mutton, toast,
rice, and weak tea being the staples, with few vegetables. The time
made by the ’65 crew, 17m. 47½s., for a three-mile turnabout race,
six-oared, broke all previous records, and was a noteworthy performance.

From 1872 to 1875 inclusive, the regattas were very large, as many as
thirteen boats being entered in one race, and were characterized by
much fouling of boats, and great dissatisfaction. Stories are told
of crews fighting each other with their oar-blades when fouled, and
whether this be true or not, it is certain that the overcrowding of
the course and the impossibility of avoiding accidents had much to
do with the withdrawal of the Yale and Harvard crews in 1876. The
Yale crew of ’72, the worst that ever represented Yale, contained the
Freshman who, as captain and stroke of the Yale crews for the four
succeeding years, was destined ultimately to bring more improvement and
prestige to Yale rowing than any other individual ever connected with
it.

It was in the early spring of 1873 that “Bob” Cook took his trip to
England to study rowing, in which, during some months spent among the
university oars of Oxford and Cambridge and the watermen of the Thames,
he largely acquired that complete mastery of rowing which has enabled
him to raise Yale to the first rank as a boating college. Among the
sacrifices that were made to enable Mr. Cook to go to England were his
being dropped a class in his studies and the pawning of a gold watch by
a Senior, now a Yale professor, in order to raise the necessary funds.

It was after the three Yale victories in the University, Freshman and
single-scull race, in 1873, that by the energy of Mr. C. H. Ferry the
sum of $16,500 was raised to build the fine boat-house that Yale now
possesses.

The year 1876, bringing as it did the formation of the Intercollegiate
Football Association, the introduction of eight-oared four-mile
Yale-Harvard races, and the presentation of the Mott Haven Cup, may be
taken as a starting-point for modern athletics. It is not so much that
there was any distinct stride in advance in this year, but rather that
with the better organization of athletic sports, better opportunities
were given for their development.

FOOTBALL SINCE 1876.

In this year the American Rugby rules and the oval Rugby ball were
adopted by the association composed of Harvard, Princeton, and
Columbia. Yale declined to join this association, but defeated every
member of it, thus being virtually champion for that year.

In the following year Yale desired to play with elevens, and the other
colleges with fifteens. No game was played with Harvard, but for the
sake of a game Yale consented to play Princeton with fifteens. The
game, which was a draw, was probably the best exhibition of football
thus far given in America. The only possible drawback was the fact that
weight and roughness were to some extent substituted for skill in the
Yale team.

[Illustration: FOOTBALL TEAM--CHAMPIONS, 1887.

F. C. PRATT, ’88 S. W. H. CORBIN, ’89. F. W. WALLACE, ’89.
S. M. CROSS, ’88. G. R. CARTER, ’88 S. W. T. BULL, ’88 S.
G. W. WOODRUFF, ’89. C. O. GILL, ’89.

W. C. WURTENBERG, ’89 S. W. P. GRAVES, ’91.
H. BEECHER, ’88 (CAPT.).
]

For the next two years football was played by fifteens, but since 1879
it has been played by elevens only. In the fall of 1878, the Yale
Faculty permitted absence from recitation on account of football, to
enable the team to play Harvard in Boston, which action put football
on the same basis as baseball, and marked an epoch in its history. The
victorious Yale team, having defeated Harvard by one goal to none, were
met at the station at two ~A.M.~ by three hundred students, who
were thus probably the first to inaugurate the present custom of a
triumphant reception to the team winning an important victory.

[Illustration: OVER THE HURDLES.]

It was largely owing to the overconfidence of the Yale team engendered
by this game, that they were defeated by Princeton a few days later.
It was the more unfortunate that Princeton should have won this game
in that it caused them to introduce the “block” game, which has done
so much harm to football in America. The “block” game consists of a
defensive style of play, whose sole object is to prevent the scoring
of the opposing team, by which the college having won the year before
may still retain the nominal glory of the championship. For the three
ensuing years the Yale-Princeton games were draws. During these years
the Yale-Harvard games were all well-fought contests, the Yale men
winning by a more thorough understanding of the game, and by the aid of
fine individual players.

[Illustration: POLE VAULTING NO. 1.--THE RISE.]

In 1881, a change in the rules was made with the idea of destroying the
“block” game, by which safety touch-downs were made to count. This rule
could be avoided, however, by making touch-in-goals, which were only
technically different from safeties.

Yale began her football season in 1882 three weeks earlier than usual,
and consequently played more practice games. In the Yale-Harvard game,
Yale forced the play, making a touch-down a few moments after play
began. The Harvard eleven, although they found themselves outmatched by
the “finest rush-line ever put on an American field,” to their credit
be it said, played the game for what it was worth and did not attempt
any “blocking” tactics. The chief feature of the Yale-Princeton game
was the long-distance kicking of Moffat for Princeton and of Richards
for Yale, which was described as resembling a game of lawn-tennis. The
most brilliant play of the game was the superb goal kicked from the
sixty-five-yard line by Haxall of Princeton.

A new system of counting by points was introduced in 1883, by which a
goal from touch-down was made to count six points, a goal from field
five points, a touch-down two points, and a safety one. Up to this
time goals from touch-downs and from field had been equivalent, and
four touch-downs had equaled one goal.

The Yale team of ’83 had a giant rushline averaging 185 lbs., while the
whole team averaged upwards of 173 lbs. In the Yale-Princeton game,
which was distinguished by many brilliant plays, Yale made a touchdown
and goal eight minutes after play began, after which no scoring was
done by either side.

The Harvard Committee on Athletics having come to the conclusion
that football was a brutal sport, before the Yale-Harvard game, only
permitted it to be played on condition that the referee should be an
alumnus, and that he should have full power to send any player off the
field for unfair play, which was not in this sense to include offside
play. These conditions were incorporated into the rules of the game at
the annual convention, it being ruled that (1) a player can be offside
but once during a game, and (2) the referee shall disqualify a man for
three times intentionally delaying the game. In scoring, the system now
in use was introduced, a touch-down being made to count four points
instead of two, and a safety two instead of one.

[Illustration: POLE VAULTING NO. 2.--CLEARING THE BAR.]

The Yale eleven of 1884 defeated Harvard by 52 to 0, her eleven being
by far the poorest she had ever turned out, ranking fifth among the
college teams. In the Yale-Princeton game a goal from touch-down
was made by Yale just three minutes after play was called. Princeton
secured a touch-down, but no goal, and with the score 6 to 4 in favor
of Yale, the game was called before time on account of darkness, thus
making it technically “no game,” and depriving Yale of the formal
championship.

[Illustration: POLE VAULTING NO. 3.--DROPPING THE POLE.]

For the season of 1885 the Football Association embraced but four
members, Yale, Princeton, Wesleyan and Pennsylvania, Harvard being
forbidden intercollegiate football by the action of their Faculty. At
Yale one of the finest elevens ever turned out was formed from almost
entirely new material, and, although defeated by Princeton by six
points to five, this material has abundantly repaid the efforts made
in its behalf by forming the backbone of Yale’s magnificent elevens
of 1886 and 1887. In the first half of the Yale-Princeton game of
1885, Yale scored a goal from the field. In the second half, Lamar, of
Princeton, made his famous run, seizing the ball on a long, low punt,
and by clever dodging obtaining a clear field for a run, he made a
touch-down between the goal-posts, thus winning the championship for
Princeton. It was a marvelous feat, and one to be long remembered.

[Illustration: THE NINE--CHAMPIONS, 1888.

N. S. DALZELL, ’91 (subs.). J. C. DANN, ’88 S., c.
J. O. HEYWORTH, ’88 (subs.). S. Y. OSBORNE, ’88 S. (subs.)
S. J. WALKER, ’88, l. f. J. F. HUNT, L.S., c.f.
C. B. McCONKEY, ’88, s. s.

H. McBRIDE, ’90 S., 1b. A. G. McCLINTOCK, ’90, r. f.
H. F. NOYES, ’89, 3b. G. CALHOUN, ’91, 2b.
A. A. STAGG, ’88, p. (CAPT.)
]

In the fall of 1886 Harvard was readmitted to the association, and
proved that she had not been idle during her year of class football
contests by displaying better football than she had ever shown
before. In one of the most exhausting games ever played, Yale
defeated her by 29 to 4. In this game Yale, according to her usual
policy, forced the play from the beginning, obtaining two goals in the
first twelve minutes’ play. The Yale-Princeton game of this year was
something more than a disappointment to the thousands from New York,
New Haven, and elsewhere, who gathered in Princeton only to be soaked
by a fierce rain and to witness an unfinished game, in which good play,
owing to the slippery ground, was impossible.

The resolutions adopted by the convention are worthy of record:

_Resolved_, 1, That this convention cannot, as a convention, award the
championship for 1886.

_Resolved_, 2, That Yale, according to points scored, should have won
the championship.

In the fall of 1887, the chief innovation was the appointment of an
umpire, in addition to the referee, whose duty it was to prevent
and punish violations of the rules of behavior. No delays of over
one minute were allowed this year. Despite the heavy rain during
the Yale-Princeton game, which rendered brilliant plays impossible,
it was a very satisfactory game, being free from delays, slugging,
foul-tackling, etc.

The Yale-Harvard game played at the Polo Grounds, New York, on
Thanksgiving Day, in the presence of some twenty thousand people, was
without doubt the finest game of football ever played in America,
and one which, owing to its freedom from disagreeable incidents, did
incalculable good in influencing popular opinion in favor of the
game. In the first half Yale scored a goal from field and one from
touch-down. The touch-down was made by the Yale centre, who, being
unguarded by the Harvard centre, instead of snapping the ball back when
the elevens lined up, kicked it a few inches forward, and, picking it
up, made a long run. Time for the first half was called just as the
Harvard back was making a run, and the Yale rushers not attempting to
stop him, he secured a touch-down too late to be counted. In the second
half Yale made a safety, and Harvard a goal from touch-down, making the
score 11 to 8 in favor of Yale. One of the Yale half-backs, however, by
a brilliant run of thirty-five yards, secured a touch-down, from which
a goal was kicked, which rendered the final score 17 to 8.

The year 1887 was a most encouraging one to all lovers of football
in the elimination of many disagreeable features and in the adequate
enforcement of the rules by two officials. The last bugbear to football
that seems to be gradually disappearing is the practice of “slugging,”
or striking with the closed fist. What might be called a stricter
attention to business necessitated by the more intricate system of
team-play, aided by the appointment of a special umpire, has almost
completely removed this stumbling-block. Two dangers remain that must
be in some way overcome before the future of football is assured, and
these are “holding in the line” and “interference.”

The different styles of play evolved at Harvard, Princeton and Yale
in this year showed a more marked individuality than is usually the
case. Harvard’s game was one of heavy rushing in its most aggressive
form, with but little kicking. Princeton, on the other hand, adhered to
their traditional game of agility, selecting their players for skill
and sacrificing strength and weight, while Yale possessed an all-round
team, capable of playing a rushing or a kicking game, and one which,
being ably generaled, suited its style of play to that of its opponent.

There were but two games of interest in the fall of 1888, owing to
the unfortunate action of the Harvard Faculty in not allowing the
Yale-Harvard game to be played in New York. In the first of these
Princeton defeated Harvard by 18 to 6, the victory being won by
superior play, against a weak rush-line. The Yale-Princeton game was
a magnificent and stubborn contest, being won by Yale by two goals
from the field to nothing. Harvard having forfeited to Yale, the
championship remained in New Haven for another year.

Football in American colleges, despite the severe crisis of 1884 and
1885, is at present in far better shape than it ever has been, and
promises to become a great national game on this side of the water, as
it has so long been on the other.

The record that Yale has made in football is too good to be omitted.
She has won 93 out of 98 games played, having lost three games to
Princeton, one to Harvard, and one to Columbia. Since 1878, Yale has
lost but one game, and that by one point. In points Yale has won, since
points began to be counted, 3,001 to her opponents’ 56; in goals, 530
to 19, and in touch-downs, 219 to 9.

ROWING SINCE 1876.

By a vote of the Y. U. B. C., Yale withdrew from the general rowing
association and challenged Harvard to an eight-oared four-mile
contest, a challenge which she promptly accepted. For this race all
undergraduates of either college and all of the graduates of either who
were studying for another degree were declared eligible. The ’76 race
was an easy victory for Yale, being won by half a minute. Mr. Cook,
the Yale stroke, set the stroke about thirty-three, and did not vary
one point in the last two miles, while the Harvard stroke was very
irregular, ranging from thirty-five to forty a minute. The boats used
in this race were of cedar, and were the first eight-oared shells used
in America. In the fall of this year a picked four from the Yale crew,
stroked by Mr. Cook, won the international and intercollegiate regatta
of the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia.

The withdrawal of Yale from the general regatta, followed next year
by the withdrawal of Harvard, so effectually discouraged the smaller
colleges that no rowing was done by any of them for a number of years.

The Yale-Harvard races, after being rowed at Springfield for two years,
were moved in 1878 to New London, where they have since been rowed. The
advantages offered by this place in the way of its easy access from
the great cities, its clear and straight course, and the “moving grand
stand” of platform cars running along the west bank of the river, are
so strongly in its favor that it appears probable that the races have
found their permanent home.

The races of ’77, ’78 and ’79 were won by Harvard with increasing ease,
the first-named being won by seven seconds and the last by one minute
and forty-three seconds. The spectators in this year were amazed,
according to the papers, to see “how badly the Yale men rowed;” but
with this disgraceful defeat came the spur to greater effort, and for
the two ensuing years victory came to Yale.

In 1882 there occurred the famous “eel-grass” race, the most
disappointing race ever rowed in America. The Yale captain, with the
assistance of Mr. Davis, devised a new style of boat in which the oars
were separated into pairs of starboard and port, by which device so
much room was required that the boat measured sixty-eight feet, or nine
feet longer than the average racing shell. The ultimate object was to
attain a high stroke, scientific principles being sacrificed to a sort
of “get there” way of rowing forty-two to forty-eight strokes a minute.
The story of the race is soon told. Yale led at the mile-and-a-half
by a length of clear water, and at the two miles, where Yale emerged
from the eel-grass, Harvard led by six lengths. The Yale crew gave a
splendid exhibition of “sand,” spurting right up to the finish line at
a forty-five stroke, and finishing half a length behind Harvard. The
fact that they rowed every individual half-mile excepting the fourth,
when in the eel-grass, faster than Harvard, sufficiently proves their
superiority.

Under the same captain, the Yale crew adhered to the same style of
rowing in the following year, nor is it to be wondered at, considering
the fast time they made both at New London and in New Haven harbor. The
’83 crew, however, lacked the snap and life and the severe training
that alone can bring success to a crew rowing so incorrect a stroke as
they used. Harvard’s victory by fifteen lengths killed the so-called
“donkey-engine” stroke at Yale, which in itself was of more benefit
to Yale rowing than many victories. Mr. R. J. Cook again came to the
rescue of boating at Yale in 1884, and turned out the finest Yale crew
that had yet sat on the water, and one that lowered the record to 20m.
31s.

In 1885 the Yale crew, as they rowed up to the starting flag, appeared
very heavy and very ragged, owing to the difference in height. They
were a powerful set of men, averaging 175½ pounds, wretchedly trained,
four being over-trained and four undertrained, and rowing a combination
Cook and “donkey-engine” stroke. Compromises in rowing are almost
invariably fatal, and so it proved in this instance, the Yale crew
finishing, very much distressed, some sixteen lengths behind Harvard.
The Harvard crew used one of the best strokes they had ever rowed, it
being characterized by a long, smooth pull, stronger in the middle of
the stroke than at either catch or finish, and by a well-controlled
slide at both ends of the stroke.

In the past three years, owing largely to the personal efforts of Mr.
Cook, “the father of Yale boating,” in coaching a most faithful and
painstaking set of men, victory has remained with the Yalensians, and
Yale now leads Harvard in the number of eight-oared races won. The ’86
race was a comparatively easy one, Yale winning by eight lengths,
while the ’87 race was a desperate struggle, won by but four lengths.
The race of last spring will be long remembered by Yale men as the
most crushing defeat ever administered to Harvard oarsmen. The strict
adherence on the part of the Yale crew to the principles of rowing
practised in the two preceding years, backed up by great enthusiasm
and assiduous labor, turned out a crew that rowed the course in 20m.
10s., lowering the record easily without being pushed. At Harvard, the
dissensions among the members of the rowing committee, their adoption
of antiquated English ideas in regard to boats, oars, rigging, etc.,
and the curious notions of rowing held by Mr. Watson the chief coach,
turned out a crew that lost a length in the first ten strokes, and
crossed the finish line a quarter of a mile behind the Yale crew.
“Too many cooks spoil the broth,” is an old but true adage. Yale is
fortunate in possessing one Cook, who certainly makes most excellent
broth. It seems probable that, in view of the practical working of
their rowing committee, Harvard will either again seek the aid of
professional oarsmen, or select one man, such as Mr. Frank Peabody, or
Mr. J. J. Storrow, to have entire control of her boating interests.
The diet of the ’88 crew may be given as fairly representative of the
latest ideas in regard to this branch of the training. For breakfast
and supper the crew ate oatmeal, beefsteak, mutton-chops, eggs, and
stewed or baked potatoes; for dinner, roast beef, mutton, fricasseed
chicken, water-cress, potatoes, rice, macaroni, tomatoes and puddings.
Occasional ale was allowed, especially after the crew had rowed on
time, or on particularly hot days. The work of the crew occupied about
three hours a day, besides which as much work was done in pair-oars in
the mornings during the spring, as recitations would permit.

The summary of Yale-Harvard races stands: Harvard 22, Yale 17;
Harvard’s lead being obtained between 1852 and 1870, when rowing was in
its infancy at Yale.

It is interesting to notice that neither age, weight nor height have
any decided advantage among the Yale and Harvard crews, the oldest
crews having won seven times in thirteen, the heaviest five times in
thirteen, and the tallest four times in eleven.

It would thus appear that the qualities that bring success in rowing
are not merely physical, to be computed mathematically, but that the
moral qualities of pluck and endurance, added to skill and judgment,
must be equally considered in selecting a typical rowing man.

The average rowing man, physically considered, of Yale and Harvard
for the past twelve years has been a man 21¾ years old, 167½ lbs. in
weight, and 5 ft. 10½ in. in height. It is rather remarkable that the
average Yale and the average Harvard rowing man does not vary more than
a slight fraction in any of these three respects, despite the wide
differences between individual Yale and Harvard crews.

The principles of good rowing laid down by Mr. Cook in the last two
years, and re-enforced by his constant attention, have resulted in a
settled style of rowing at Yale, which bids fair to be modified only
as the needs of individual crews may require. There are a few oarsmen
who still favor somewhat the rapid stroke of the ’82 Yale crew,
basing their arguments upon the fast times made by that crew both
at New London and on New Haven harbor. The answer to be made to the
advocates of their style of rowing is that they were a set of giants,
capable of rowing forty-five strokes to the minute for four miles, a
feat impossible to modern oarsmen. It is conceivable that the rapid
stroke, so much trusted in by professionals, might with men of immense
strength, who were incapable of attaining to the finish and detail of
a crew of the present day, turn out a faster eight than the “Bob Cook”
stroke with the same men, still it is much to be doubted. While with
the present tendency towards selecting light and muscular, rather than
beefy men, there can be no question but that the fastest rowing of
which they are capable will be done by the “Bob Cook” stroke, which
with its long swing and slow slide takes advantage of every pound of
impetus, and with its slow catch gives the oarsman between every stroke
a chance to recover his breath and nerve himself for the next pull. And
this present method of selecting material is more than justified by the
magnificent rowing of the ’88 Yale crew, which in the opinion of Mr.
Frank Peabody, the Harvard coach, could defeat any crew, amateur or
professional, English or American, that should be pitted against it.
In other words, the ’88 Yale crew made the finest exhibition of rowing
ever seen in America, and may be safely said to have been the fastest
crew that ever sat in a boat.

BASEBALL SINCE 1876.

After the Yale successes in baseball in ’74 and ’75, the Yale nines
played much closer games with Harvard, although for the four succeeding
years the series of games was invariably won by Harvard.

One of the Yale-Harvard games in 1877 was remarkable in that the
Harvard nine went to the bat only twenty-seven times, each player going
out in the order of striking. Not a single hit was made off Carter, the
Yale pitcher. In 1878 Yale defeated Harvard on her own grounds for the
first time, which inspired so much over-confidence in the Yale team
that they were defeated in three straight games by Harvard. This is
but one of many instances of the truth that college nines do best when
least is expected of them, and that it is confidence unfortified by
hard work which most surely issues in defeat.

The Intercollegiate Baseball Association was formed in December, 1879,
with Yale, Harvard, Princeton, Amherst, Dartmouth and Brown as members.
Yale shortly withdrew from the association because it voted to allow
the playing of college men who had played on professional teams.
Series of games were arranged, however, with Harvard, Princeton and
Amherst, in which Yale won seven out of eight games, virtually winning
the championship. In her games with professionals Yale was singularly
successful, winning eleven out of thirteen played.

From 1880 to 1888 inclusive Yale has won the championship, with but one
exception, when in 1885 Harvard won it by ten straight victories. In
1884 Yale and Harvard were tied for first place, and the deciding game,
played in Brooklyn, was won by Yale.

The year 1885 was the most disastrous in athletics ever experienced
at Yale. The Yale nine, although possessing individual players of
merit, had no reliable pitcher, and lacked team play and discipline.
Yale’s first defeat in 1886 was in an exhibition game with Columbia,
whose brilliant team of this year defeated Harvard also. This team
was in reality a graduates’ nine composed mostly of Law School men,
and included graduates of Yale, Princeton, etc. The tie game for the
championship was played off in Hartford, between Harvard and Yale, on
the day after Yale’s victory on the water. The Yale nine, who had been
practising on the Hartford grounds while the Harvard nine watched the
race, played with great determination, and won by a score of 7 to 1.
The now famous battery of Stagg and Dann first came to the front in
this year.

After this season’s play, Harvard, Princeton and Yale withdrew from
the Intercollegiate Association and formed a triangular league. Into
this “College League” Columbia was admitted, but after a few games she
withdrew owing to various difficulties. The first Yale-Harvard game in
1887, played in New Haven, resulted in a crushing defeat for Harvard by
a score of 14 to 2. The game was quite close until the eighth inning,
in which the Yale nine completely knocked Boyden out of the box, making
eight hits with a total of twelve, and allowing every member of the
nine to make a circuit of the bases.

The baseball season of 1888 opened with a severe check to Yale’s
hopes in her defeat by Princeton in the first game played. The loss
of this game made it appear that Princeton, after having for several
years assisted Yale to the championship by winning a game or two
from Harvard, would now render a like service to Harvard. The first
Yale-Harvard game, however, was reassuring, Yale winning by 7 to 1. The
next game, played in Cambridge, being won by Harvard, 7 to 3, put an
entirely different aspect upon affairs, necessitating, as it did, in
order for Yale to win the championship, her winning the three remaining
games of the series. This difficult feat was brilliantly accomplished
by the aid of much “sand” in the Yale team. The most notable feature
was the game played in Cambridge, won by Yale, 8 to 0, in which Stagg
held the Harvard batters down to two hits. As was the case in 1886 and
1887, Yale’s chief strength this year lay in her battery, Stagg and
Dann.

Yale’s baseball record is, on the whole, most creditable, she having
won 130 out of 177 college games played. With Harvard, Yale has won 32
games and lost 30, while with Princeton Yale has won 33 and lost 11.
To other colleges than these two, Yale has lost but six games, two to
Amherst, two to Brown, one to Columbia and one to Dartmouth. In all her
games, with professionals as well as amateurs, Yale has made about 550
more runs than her opponents.

An innovation was made last fall in the matter of getting together a
university nine for practice games in the fall. During the winter the
nine practised batting daily in the baseball cage, and got in good
physical condition by gymnasium work and out-of-door running. A simple
machine, enabling the nine to practise sliding in the cage, was devised
last spring, and its results are evident in the number of stolen bases
accredited to the Yale nine in its past season’s play.

The number of annual championships in Rowing, Football, and Baseball
since the establishment of intercollegiate associations in these
branches, won respectively by Yale, Harvard and Princeton is a source
of pride to Yale men, the numbers being: Yale 21, Harvard 7, and
Princeton 2.

TRACK ATHLETICS.

Track Athletics at Yale started in 1872, about the time that the first
intercollegiate athletic meetings were being held in Saratoga. Yale
sent two representatives, born athletes devoid of instruction, to
the intercollegiate meetings of ’74 and ’75, who won a first prize
apiece each year. Fall games were started at Yale in 1875, and were an
unqualified success, the most interesting event being the running high
jump of Gale, ’78 S., who cleared 5 ft. 3 in., pronounced to be “the
finest amateur jumping ever done in America.”

It is a curious commentary on the taste of this period that the hurdle
and the one hundred yard races were regarded as tame, while a three or
a seven mile walk was considered most interesting and exciting. The
presentation of the Challenge Cup, valued at $500, now commonly known
as the Mott Haven Cup, served as a great stimulus to track athletics in
all the other prominent athletic colleges except Yale, whose apathy and
indifference to this branch was so great that from 1877 till 1880 she
sent no representatives to the meetings. In 1880 Mr. T. Dewitt Cuyler,
of Yale, established a record of 4m. 37 3-5s. in the mile run, a record
which was not broken for seven years. From 1880 on, Harvard continued
to win the cup with an unvarying regularity, with Columbia a good
second and Yale a poor third.

In 1882 one of Yale’s best runners appeared, Mr. H. S. Brooks, who won
the intercollegiate 100 yards and 220 yards for two years, doing the
100 in 10 1-5s., and the 220 in 22 5-8s.

The famous 220 yards run between Brooks and W. Baker of Harvard,
occurred in 1884, and was a magnificent exhibition of running, Baker
winning in 22 2-5s.

In 1886 the contest for the cup between Yale and Harvard was most
closely fought, resting as it did upon the decision in the 100 yards,
which was, at any rate, a very difficult decision to make. It is
hardly worth while to recount that Sherrill of Yale was cheered and
congratulated as winner, or that the decision rested with one judge,
a Harvard graduate, who alone, out of the three judges, witnessed the
finish, for Yale lost the cup. The policy of Yale men after defeat has
always been to make no excuses for failure, but to turn with greater
determination to the work of retrieving the past by victory in the
future.

Yale has had a large number of fine individual track athletes in the
past two years, among them being Sherrill, ’89, amateur champion in
1887 for 100 yards, and easy winner this year in the intercollegiate
100 yards and 220 yards; Coxe, ’87, with his records of 101 ft. 1
in. in the hammer throw, and of 40 ft. 9½ in. in putting the shot;
Ludington, ’87, who has hurdled in 16¾s.; Harmar, ’90, who has run a
mile in 4m. 32 2-5s., and Shearman, ’89, who jumps 21 ft. 7½ in. in the
broad jump, 5 ft. 8½ in. in the high jump, and pole vaults 10 ft. 3 5-8
in.

To the fact that Yale had so many crack performers in 1887 was due
her winning of the cup, aided by the fact that Harvard found very
strong competition from the other colleges in her events. Yale lost
the cup this year for the opposite reasons, having no luck in winning
events, and having but three crack performers left. As to men of medium
ability, Yale never possesses them, her success depending solely upon
her first-class men. It is a notable commentary on the system of track
athletics at Yale, that her three best performers this year won five
first prizes, and that these were the only ones taken by Yale.

Until Yale follows in Harvard’s footsteps in training carefully and
skilfully a large number of men for her athletic team she can never
hope to compete on an equality with Harvard. And this will not be
possible at Yale until greater interest is taken in this branch
of athletics, and until the cup is valued as highly as a football
championship or a Yale-Harvard race.

LAWN TENNIS.

The game of lawn tennis, first played in this country in 1875, was long
a popular game among college students before it became an object of
intercollegiate strife. In 1883, at the proposal of Trinity College,
an association was formed embracing Amherst, Brown, Harvard, Trinity
and Yale. This association has grown in numbers since that time, until
it has now eleven members, the added ones being Columbia, Lehigh,
Princeton, University of Pennsylvania, Wesleyan and Williams. The
tournaments for the first two years were held in Hartford, and for the
last three years in New Haven. In the first year of the association two
tournaments were held, both won by Harvard, but since then one annual
championship has been held every fall.

The difference in the expenses of the tournaments of 1883 and 1888,
will indicate somewhat the increased importance of this annual event,
the total expenditure in the first year being $8, while for prizes
alone there was spent last year $285. The number of college men who are
reckoned among the best players of this country, is worthy of note,
including as it does such names as Mr. R. D. Sears, Mr. H. W. Slocum,
Mr. J. Clark, Mr. G. M. Brinley, Mr. H. A. Taylor, and others.

Mr. R. D. Sears, the well-known ex-champion of the United States, only
played once, in 1884, in the intercollegiate tournament, and was then
beaten, principally owing to the poor grounds, by Mr. W. P. Knapp, of
Yale, who of all individual players has the best record in the college
tournaments, having won two first prizes in singles and three in
doubles. In the five annual championship tournaments, Yale has won five
first places and three seconds, Harvard five firsts and one second,
Trinity one first and four seconds, Columbia one first and three
seconds, and Amherst one second.

There are now in Yale five athletic organizations for the five
branches of athletics, each of which is a member of an intercollegiate
association for that branch. Each organization has its own president,
vice-president, treasurer and secretary, elected annually, of whom
the president is usually an academic senior, the vice-president a
scientific senior, and the treasurer and secretary either underclassmen
or, in the case of the boat club, a professor of the college. The
annual expenses of the various organizations are about as follows:
Football, $3,000; baseball, $4,000; crew, $5,000 to $7,000; track
athletics, $2,000 to $2,500; tennis, $250. Of these the football,
baseball and tennis associations are self-supporting, the Track
Athletic Association is very nearly so, and only the expense of
supporting the crew falls upon the students. In this the undergraduates
are assisted by graduate subscriptions, by glee-club concerts, and
by concessions from the railroads that run into New London, and from
the town itself. The Football Association, especially in lucky years,
nets the largest sum from its games, although there is usually also a
substantial baseball surplus remaining.

A scheme of uniting all the organizations, with a common treasury, has
often been proposed; but it would seem to be inadvisable owing to the
probable increased expenditure, where each organization would not let
the others surpass it in expensive uniforms or luxurious living.

To sum up what Yale has done for athletics would be entirely beyond the
scope of this article, and equally impossible would it be to calculate
what athletics have done for Yale. Suffice it to say, that Yale has
always been on the side of manly, fair and honest sport, and that
in the persons of such men as Mr. Robert Cook, Mr. Walter Camp, and
others, as well as in the devoted labors of many hundred athletes, with
the head as well as with the hand, she has always striven to advance
the science and elevate the tone of every athletic sport. While, as to
what athletics have done for Yale, leaving out of consideration the
lower purposes served of bringing glory and prominence to Yale among
American colleges, and the undoubted attraction of larger numbers of
students, athletics have turned out from Yale many hundreds not to
say thousands of men, manly and democratic in ideas, possessed of
constitutions able to endure almost any amount of work, and competent
to struggle and hold their own in whatever circumstances they may in
afterlife find themselves placed.

The saying of Mr. Robert Cook applies to other sports as well as
boating: “A successful oarsman is always a successful man.” The
qualities absolutely necessary in athletics, of self-mastery, of
patience, of perseverance, of pluck, of endurance, and of obedience,
form the best endowment to a young man about to enter life.

A RUSSIAN WOLF HUNT.

BY TOM BOLTON.

During the winter of ’82 business complications made it necessary for
me to take a journey into a wild and remote part of Russia. The house
with which I was connected had had some very unsatisfactory dealings
with one of its branches, and things had come to such a pass that a
visit from a member of the main establishment had become imperative.

It was late in January when I had to make my start, and the weather
had been unusually cold. I could travel 750 miles out of my journey
of 1,000 by rail; but the balance of the trip would have to be made
by sledges, not a very rapid or convenient mode of transportation,
though it has the advantage of enabling the traveler to regulate his
time as he feels disposed. Being extremely fond of field sports, and
knowing that the section of country I was going to visit would, in all
probability, contain plenty of game, I carried my Colt’s breech-loading
shotgun and a fine Winchester repeating rifle, with a good store of
ammunition for both.

Well, I arrived at the end of my railroad journey without any accident
or incident other than the regular daily skirmishes for meals and
hot tea at the not overclean stations. We were fortunate in having a
clear line, no snow having fallen for over a week--rather a remarkable
circumstance in Russia--so we were not compelled to dig out any
snowbanks, though this form of amusement is by no means unusual. The
morning after my arrival at Udalla I sent to make arrangements for a
sledge at the posting-station. This was soon done, and in an hour I
was clear of the town and fairly started on the second half of my long
journey.

In Russia the sledges are generally roofed over--especially those used
for traveling--somewhat after the fashion of our buggies, and are very
low, so that, provided there are plenty of rugs and furs, one can make
a trip comfortably enough, and even sleep at his pleasure. The picture
in the mind of travel of this description is of three horses abreast,
gayly dashing along in fine style; but in my case the actual facts were
very different. Before we had gone two _versts_ from Udalla, the road
became very bad, for the snow was deep on each side of the track, and
though the track itself was broken, the snow was in great lumps. Over
these the sledge thumped and banged, while the horses stumbled and
floundered along as best they could. The driver, meanwhile, consoled
himself by alternately cursing the horses, the road, and his bad luck
at having to come out, with an occasional _vogtd_ at me for a crazy
Englishman who wanted to kill something so badly that he had to go
hunting in the dead of winter; my language and _impedimenta_ giving
rise to various unfounded rumors, while every one speaking English is
put down as an Englishman by the peasantry in this part of Russia.

We reached the post-station, at the end of our first day’s travel,
long after nightfall. After a hot supper, I continued my journey all
night, taking a number of naps, but no regular sleep, because, as soon
as I began to doze, I would imagine my ribs to be a corduroy road, and
my vertebræ a troop of army mules crossing it and kicking off flies.
However, I managed to get along tolerably well, all things considered,
and had the satisfaction of knowing that my unfortunate driver was
having considerably the worse time of the two.

During the fourth day’s journey, while we were passing through a very
extensive forest, several wolves came out into the road and followed
us a mile or more, but at quite a respectful distance. Their number
was too small to cause me any uneasiness, though my driver did not at
all like their presence, and the horses betrayed their alarm by their
evident desire to hurry along. One large black fellow tried to get up
some excitement, and howled most dismally, so I made my driver stop,
while I got out my heavy Smith & Wesson revolver. Taking a rest over
my left elbow, I let fly at his shoulder as he stood sideways to me,
and had the satisfaction of seeing him stumble forwards, and take to
the timber again with his friends at his heels. My driver told me that
a sledge had been attacked by wolves on this very road a couple of
winters before, and both horses and passengers eaten up, but that the
wolves had been rather scarce since.

I had heard much about wolf-hunting as practised by the Russians of the
Steppes, viz., driving a sledge through the woods and over the plains
with a piece of meat dragging behind to attract the wolves, thus giving
the hunters in the sledge an opportunity to kill them. I had promised
myself to try this plan and have some sport in spite of the fact that
my driver told some blood-curdling tales of the fierceness of the
wolves when banded together and made desperate by hunger.

[Illustration: WE ENTERED AN OPEN SLEDGE WITH THREE HORSES HARNESSED
ABREAST.]

It was nearly night on the fifth day, before I arrived at my
destination, and, as may be imagined, I enjoyed a good night’s sleep,
as well as a much better supper than I had been having.

The following morning I had to attend to the business that had brought
me so far. I soon discovered that only prompt action would save us
heavy losses, so I at once discharged the local manager, as well as two
collectors, whose honesty I had cause to suspect. This threw much work
on my hands, so I had very little time at my own disposal. However, I
managed to make the acquaintance of a Captain Komanoff, who owned a
small estate in the neighborhood, and who was devoted to sport in all
its branches. When I mentioned my desire for a wolf hunt to him, he
laughed and said he had been on several, and had generally had good
sport. He added that he would arrange to go with me whenever I should
be ready.

In the course of ten days I had the rather complicated affairs pretty
well in hand, and as there had been a damp fall of snow, followed by
a frost, I concluded I could spare time for my hunt. Accordingly, I
notified Komanoff, and one clear, calm night we entered an open sledge,
that is, one without any top, and with three good horses harnessed
abreast, set out.

I carried my shotgun, with a bounteous supply of cartridges loaded with
small buckshot, thinking it a better weapon than a rifle to use at
night, while Komanoff had an army carbine, carrying a large-sized ball,
with which, he told me, he had killed many a bear and wolf. Each of us
was also armed with a revolver and heavy hunting-knife. The driver whom
we had engaged for the night had a couple of pistols and a knife in his
belt, and as he was a plucky fellow and had hunted (or been hunted by)
wolves before, we were pretty well prepared for anything. Ivan (the
driver) took care that we also had a small basket of lunch and a bottle
of brandy, so we were quite in the humor to make a night of it.

[Illustration: RUSSIAN WOLVES.]

The snow was well crusted over, and easily bore our horses, thus making
a hard, level surface to travel over, also reducing the chances of
a capsize, which, if one were pursued, might give the sport a very
different ending from that intended. When well out from the village
and near the edge of the timber, the bait (in this case a quarter of a
calf, well rubbed with asafœtida and bound with straw) was thrown over
and allowed to drag at the end of a stout cord about forty feet behind
us.

It was certainly a grand night, the moon being at the full, and the
reflection on the snow made objects almost as clearly discernable as
in the daytime. Far up on the northern horizon the Aurora Borealis
alternately flashed and paled, now throwing up bars and rays of violet
and gold, and again diffusing itself over the heavens in a soft but
ever-changeful glow.

We had been riding slowly along for a couple of hours, when Komanoff
remarked:

“I am afraid we shall have our trip for nothing; the wolves don’t seem
to be about to-night, and yet this wood is a famous place to look for
them.”

“Don’t be uneasy, Captain,” said Ivan; “I am going to make a circle and
cross our track again, and I think you will have some shooting yet.”

The words were hardly spoken before we heard, far off to our right,
the long-drawn, sepulchral howl of a wolf. He had evidently struck our
trail, and the veal smelled good, so he was yelling for his friends.
The team was at once stopped, while we listened and heard several more
howls in response. The horses heard them too, and at once showed their
fear by an attempt to get away, but Ivan had them well under control,
and only permitted them to walk, not wishing to blow them before the
beasts began to gather.

“I see a wolf,” said Komanoff; “look away back there on our track,
right under the moon. Ah! and there are several more; I think they will
come along now.”

Looking back, I saw several black objects coming out of the timber,
which we knew to be wolves, and the way they increased in size showed
they were following us at full speed. Every now and then several more
would dart out of the woods and join our pursuers; but not a sound was
heard, for wolves, unlike dogs, run mute. We now prepared to receive
them, and we removed our heavy outer coats so as to allow us a better
chance to shoot. The horses were allowed to trot, though it was all
Ivan could do to hold them, as they were pulling the sledge by their
bits, whilst they showed by their rolling eyes and quick backward
glances, their extreme terror.

Our friends in the rear now numbered fully twenty, and to my surprise
they came rushing boldly on, as though we were no more to be feared
than some timid deer which they had cornered.

When they had come within thirty yards I gave the foremost my right
barrel and instantly followed it with my left among the pack. I saw the
leader’s tail go up as he plunged forward on his head, and Komanoff
exclaimed that two more had dropped to my second shot. I fully expected
that the rest would scatter in all directions, but they did nothing of
the kind; they simply fell upon their defunct companions and tore them
to pieces almost before they had done kicking, and then immediately
resumed their pursuit of us.

When Komanoff saw this he looked rather grave, and told Ivan it would
be well to head for home. “For,” said he, “when they eat each other in
that manner, it’s a sign that they are starving, and should a large
pack gather, we would have a poor chance of escape.”

[Illustration: THEY FLUNG THEMSELVES ON THE OUTSIDE HORSE.]

Accordingly, Ivan let his team go along at an easy gallop. The wolves
were again coming along in hot pursuit, and were almost in range, when
Ivan uttered a shout, and the horses made a sudden swerve, so that the
sledge was nearly upset. Komanoff and I were thrown in a heap in the
bottom, his gun being discharged by his fall, fortunately without doing
any damage. Quickly recovering ourselves, we saw that a fresh and large
pack of wolves had come out of the woods, and had nearly run into us,
causing the team to bolt at full speed. I fired right and left into the
thick of them (they were only a few yards away), while Komanoff began
to empty his revolver.

This fusillade checked them for a few moments, till our original
pack had come up and joined them. Then, having devoured the slain,
they came for us again with redoubled vigor, their appetites having
evidently been sharpened by the taste of blood. As they closed upon us
we fired as rapidly as we could load, but without alarming them at all,
only a few stopping to bury the dead (in their stomachs), while the
main body tried to come up with our horses and sledge.

Komanoff now cut our bait loose, for we had had all the fun we wanted.
As the wave of wolves, as one might say, rolled up over it, we fired
into the thick of it, and, as they were in a dense mass, must have done
considerable execution. But they were only delayed a moment, and on
they came again, their long, tireless gallop soon bringing them up with
us.

It was indeed a fearful sight, and enough to shake the stoutest nerves.
There was that vast pursuing horde, crazy with hunger and wild with
lust of blood, dashing after us relentless as death. Their long black
bodies swept over the snow, the hindmost constantly leaping over the
foremost in their eagerness to press on, their eyes a-shine, with great
flecks of foam on breasts and sides, while the glimpses we caught of
their long white teeth showed us just what our fate would be should
there be an accident to team or vehicle. Komanoff turned to me and
said: “If they ever pass us and leap on the horses we are dead men.
Keep cool and shoot only those that try to pass on your side and I will
do the same on mine.”

So we dashed on for a mile or so, keeping up a rapid fire, and
shooting a number of our dusky friends. They were thoroughly in
earnest, and made repeated attempts to get at our horses, but so far
we had been able to foil them, when suddenly a big gray fellow dashed
past on Komanoff’s side (who missed him), and flung himself on the
outside horse. Ivan shot at him as he did so, but the horse swerved
and stumbled, breaking both traces before he could recover himself.
The wolf fell as the ball struck him, but our team was now almost
unmanageable, and we were liable to be upset at any moment. Fortunately
Ivan kept his head, and succeeded in turning his horses towards a
deserted charcoal-burner’s hut, which he knew, and applied his whip
lustily, so we dashed forward with renewed speed.

“I know where he is going,” said Komanoff, “but our chance is poor
unless the door be open; but it’s our only hope now, therefore be
ready to jump the instant I do. Take you the arms, while I help Ivan
with the horses.”

A short distance farther and we sighted the cabin. The door was ajar,
and as we pulled up I tumbled out the guns, robes and lunch-basket, and
with a revolver in each hand faced our pursuers.

Our sudden stop and the rapid crack of my pistols seemed to confuse the
pack, and checked them long enough to enable my companions to cut the
horses loose. They instantly dashed off through the forest, a portion
of our hungry assailants after them in hot pursuit, whilst we ran into
the house and barred the door in the faces of those that remained. In a
few seconds there was a perfect cloud of wolves round us, some of them
frantically digging at the walls, and others trying the door with their
teeth. Fortunately it was a stout one, or this story would never have
been written.

After resting a little, we found a chink or two in the walls through
which we could shoot, and again opened fire. After we had knocked over
some twenty-five or thirty of them, the survivors drew off, though they
still continued to prowl round and fight over the bones of the dead,
for all we shot were instantly devoured by their companions. Meanwhile
we had contrived to start a fire, and having eaten our lunch we lit our
pipes and waited for day to break, thinking then our savage foes would
raise the siege. In this hope we were not disappointed, for as the
morning light became clear the wolves sneaked off one by one, casting,
however, many wistful glances in our direction. We gave them a few
parting shots by way of farewell, and as soon as the sun was fairly up
we came out of our house of refuge and started on our five-mile tramp
for home.

We had not proceeded far, however, before we met a well-armed company
of men coming to look for us, as one of the horses had reached home,
and they judged from his condition, as well as the cut harness, that
we were in a scrape of some kind. We arrived home safely, and after a
good sleep were none the worse for our adventure. The other two horses,
however, never turned up, but their bones were found in the forest the
following spring not far from the hut, just where the poor animals had
been pulled down.

This experience cured me of all desire for wolf hunting, and though
I spent several months at the post, and had plenty of sport, I never
cared to see a wolf again.

HERNE THE HUNTER.

BY WILLIAM PERRY BROWN.

~Herne the Hunter~ was tall, brown and grizzled. The extreme
roundness of his shoulders indicated strength rather than infirmity,
while the severing of his great neck at a blow would have made a feudal
executioner famous in his craft. An imaginative man might have divined
something comely beneath the complex conjunction of lines and ridges
that made up his features, but it would have been more by suggestion,
however, than by any actual resemblance to beauty traceable thereon.
The imprint of strength, severity and endurance was intensified by an
open contempt of appearance; only to a subtle second-sight was revealed
aught nobler, sweeter and sadder, like faint stars twinkling behind
filmy clouds.

Some town-bred Nimrod, with a misty Shakespearean memory, had added to
his former patronymic of “Old Herne” that of Windsor’s ghostly visitor.
The mountaineers saw the fitness of the title, and “Herne the Hunter”
became widely current.

His place of abode was as ambiguous as his history, being somewhere
beyond the “Dismal,” amid the upper caves and gorges of the Nantahalah.
The Dismal was a weird, wild region of brake and laurel, walled in by
lonely mountains, with a gruesome outlet between two great cliffs,
that nearly met in mid-air hundreds of feet over a sepulchral cañon,
boulder-strewn, and thrashed by a sullen torrent, that led from a
dolorous labyrinth, gloomy at midday, and at night resonant with fierce
voices and sad sighings.

Far down in Whippoorwill Cove, the mountaineers told savage tales of
adventure about the outskirts of the Dismal, yet, beyond trapping
round the edges or driving for deer, it was to a great extent a _terra
incognita_ to all, unless Herne the Hunter was excepted.

“The devil air in the man, ’nd hopes him out’n places no hones’ soul
keers to pester hisse’f long of.”

This was common opinion, though a few averred that “Old Herne ’nd the
devil wern’t so master thick atter all.” Said one: “Why, the dinged old
fool totes his Bible eroun’ ez riglar ez he do his huntin’-shirt. Onct
when the parson wuz holdin’ the big August meetin’ down ter Ebeneezer
Meetin’-house, he stepped in. The meetin’ was a gittin’ ez cold ez
hen’s feet, ’nd everybody a lookin’ at Herne the Hunter, when down he
draps onto his knees, ’nd holdin’ on by his rifle he ’gun ter pray
like a house afire. Wal, he prayed ’nd he prayed, ’twel the people,
arter thur skeer wuz over, ’gun ter pray ’nd shout too, ’nd fust they
all knowed, the front bench wuz plum full of mou’ners. Wal, they hed a
hog-killin’ time fur a while, ’nd all sot on by Herne the Hunter, but
when they quieted down ’nd begun ter luk fer him--by jing!--he wern’t
thar. Nobody hed seed him get erway, ’nd that set ’em ter thinkin’, ’nd
the yupshot wuz they hed the bes’ meetin’ old Ebeneezer hed seed in
many a year.”

Once a belated hunter discovered, when the fog came down, that he was
lost amid the upper gorges of the Nantahalahs. While searching for some
cranny wherein to pass the night, he heard a voice seemingly in mid-air
before him, far out over an abyss of seething vapor which he feared
concealed a portion of the dreaded Dismal. Memories of Herne the Hunter
crowded upon him, and he strove to retrace his steps, but fell into a
trail that led him to a cave which seemed to bar his further way. The
voice came nearer; his blood chilled as he distinguished imprecations,
prayers and entreaties chaotically mingled, and all the while
approaching him. He fled into the cave, and peering thence, beheld a
shadowy form loom through the mist, gesticulating as it came.

A whiff blew aside shreds of the fog, and he saw Herne the Hunter
on the verge of a dizzy cliff, shaking his long rifle, his hair
disheveled, his eyes dry and fiery, and his huge frame convulsed by the
emotions that dominated him. The very fury and pathos of his passion
were terrifying, and the watcher shrank back as old Herne, suddenly
dropping his rifle, clutched at the empty air, then paused dejectedly.

“Always thus!” he said, in a tone of deep melancholy. “Divine in
form--transfigured--beautiful--oh, so beautiful!--yet ever with the
same accursed face. I have prayed over these visitations. I have
sought in God’s word that confirmation of my hope which should yet
save me from despair; but, when rising from my supplications, the
blest vision confronts me--the curse is ever there--thwarting its
loveliness--reminding me of what was, but will never be again.”

He drew a tattered Bible from his bosom and searched it intently.
He was a sight at once forbidding and piteous, as he stood with
wind-fluttered garments, his foot upon the edge of a frightful
precipice, his head bent over the book as though devouring with his
eyes some sacred antidote against the potency of his sorrow. Then he
looked up, and the Bible fell from his hands. His eyes became fixed; he
again clutched at the air, then fell back with a despairing gesture,
averting his face the while.

“Out of my sight!” he cried. “Your eyes are lightning, and your smile
is death. I will have no more of you--no more! And yet--O God! O
God!--what dare I--what can I do without you?”

He staggered back and made directly for the cavern. The watcher shrank
back, while Herne the Hunter brushed blindly by, leaving Bible and
rifle on the rock without. Then the wanderer, slipping out, fled down
the narrow trail as though there were less peril from the dizzy cliffs
around than in the society of the strange man whose fancies peopled
these solitudes with such soul-harrowing phantoms.

Thus for years Herne the Hunter had been a mystery, a fear, and a
fascination to the mountaineers; recoiling from men, abhorring women,
rebuffing curiosity, yet at times strangely tender, sad, and ever
morbidly religious. He clung to his Bible as his last earthly refuge
from his darker self, and to the aspirations it engendered as a bane to
the fatalistic stirrings within him.

He was a mighty hunter and lived upon the proceeds of his skill. Once
or twice a year he would appear at some mountain store, fling down
a package of skins, and demand its worth in powder and lead. The
jean-clad loungers would regard him askance, few venturing to idly
speak with him, and none repeating the experiment. His mien daunted the
boldest. If women were there he would stand aloof until they left; on
meeting them in the road he would sternly avert his eyes as though from
a distasteful presence. One day the wife of a storekeeper, waiting on
him in her husband’s absence, ventured to say, while wrapping up his
purchases:

“I’ve all’ays wonnered, Mr. Herne, what makes ye wanter git outen the
wimmen folks’ way? Mos’ men likes ter have ’em eroun’.”

Herne the Hunter frowned heavily, but made no reply.

“I’m shore, if ye had a good wife long with ye way up thar whur ye
live, she’d make ye a leetle more like a man ’nd less like a--a--” she
hesitated over a term which might censure yet not give offense.

“Like a beast you would say.” He exclaimed then with vehemence: “Were
the necks of all women in one, and had I my hands on it, I’d strangle
them all, though hell were their portion thereafter.”

He made a gesture as of throttling a giant, snatched his bundle from
the woman’s hand and took himself off up the road with long strides.

* * * * *

That night was a stormy one. Herne the Hunter was covering the last
ten miles between him and the Dismal in a pelting rain. The incident
at the store, trivial as it was, had set his blood aflame. He prayed
and fought against himself, oblivious of the elements and the darkness,
sheltering his powder beneath his shirt of skins where his Bible lay
secure. In his ears was the roar of wind and the groans of the tortured
forest. Dark ravines yawned beside him, out of which the wolf howled
and the mountain owl laughed; and once came a scream like a child, yet
stronger and more prolonged. He knew the panther’s voice, yet he heeded
nothing.

At last another cry, unmistakably human, rose nearer by. Then he
paused, like a hound over a fresher scent, until it was repeated. He
made his way around a shoulder of the mountain, and aided by the gray
light of a cloud-hidden moon, approached the figures of a woman, a boy
and a horse, all three dripping and motionless.

“Thank God! we will not die here, after all,” exclaimed the female, as
Herne the Hunter grimly regarded them. “Oh, sir, we have missed the
way. This boy was guiding me to the survey camp of Captain Renfro, my
husband, on the upper Swananoa. He has sprained his foot, and we have
been lost for hours. Can you take us to a place of shelter? I will pay
you well--”

“I hear a voice from the pit,” said Herne, fiercely. “It is the way
with your sex. You think, though you sink the world, that with money
you can scale Heaven. Stay here--rot--starve--perish--what care I!”

After this amazing outburst he turned away, but her terror of the night
overbore her fear of this strange repulse, and she grasped his arm. He
shook himself free, though the thrill accompanying her clasp staggered
him. For years no woman’s hand had touched him; but at this rebuff she
sank down, crying brokenly:

“What shall I do? I should not have started. They warned me below, but
I thought the boy knew the way. Oh, sir! if you have a heart, do not
leave us here.”

“A heart!” he cried. “What’s that? A piece of flesh that breeds endless
woes in bosoms such as yours. All men’s should be of stone--as mine
is now!” He paused, then said abruptly; “Up with you and follow me. I
neither pity nor sympathize; but for the sake of her who bore me, I
will give you such shelter as I have.”

He picked up the boy, who, knowing him, had sat stupefied with fear,
and bade the woman follow him.

“But the horse?” she said, hesitating.

“Leave it,” he replied. “The brute is the best among you, but whither
we go no horse may follow.”

He turned, taking up the boy in his arms, and she dumbly followed him,
trembling, faint, yet nerved by her fears to unusual exertion. So rapid
was his gait, encumbered though he was, that she kept him in view
with difficulty. Through the gloom she could divine the perils that
environed their ever upward way. The grinding of stricken trees, the
brawl of swollen waters harrowed her nerves not less than the partial
gleams of unmeasured heights and depths revealed by the lightning.
A sense of helplessness exaggerated these terrors among the unknown
possibilities surrounding her.

It seemed as though they would never stop again. Her limbs trembled,
her heart thumped suffocatingly, yet their guide gave no heed, but
pressed on as though no shivering woman pantingly dogged his steps.
They traveled thus for several miles. She felt herself giving way
totally when, on looking up once more, she saw that the hunter had
vanished.

“Where am I?” she cried, and a voice, issuing seemingly out of the
mountain-side, bade her come on. Her hands struck a wall of rock; on
her right a precipice yawned; so, groping toward the left, she felt as
she advanced that she was leaving the outer air; the wind and rain no
longer beat upon her, yet the darkness was intense.

She heard the voice of the boy calling upon her to keep near. Into the
bowels of the mountains she felt her way until a gleam of light shone
ahead. She hastened forward round a shoulder of rock into a roomy
aperture branching from the main cavern. The boy lay upon a pallet
of skins, while Herne the Hunter fixed the flaring pine-knot he had
lighted into a crevice of the rock. Then he started a fire, drew out
of another crevice some cold cooked meat and filled a gourd with water
from a spring that trickled out at one end of the cave.

“Eat,” he said, waving his hand. “Eat--that ye may not die. The more
unfit to live, the less prepared for death. Eat!”

With that he turned away and busied himself in bathing and bandaging
the boy’s foot, which, though not severely sprained, was for the time
quite painful. Mrs. Renfro now threw back the hood of her waterproof
and laid the cloak aside. Even old Herne--women hater that he
was--could not have found fault with the matronly beauty of her face,
unless with its expression of self-satisfied worldliness, as of one
who judged others and herself solely by conventional standards, shaped
largely by flattery and conceit.

She was hungry--her fears were somewhat allayed, and though rather
disgusted at such coarse diet, ate and drank with some relish.
Meanwhile, Herne the Hunter turned from the boy for something, and
beheld her face for the first time. A water-gourd fell from his hands,
his eyes dilated, and he crouched as he gazed like a panther before
its unsuspecting prey. Every fibre of his frame quivered, and drops of
cold sweat stood out upon his forehead. The boy saw with renewed fear
this new phase of old Herne’s dreaded idiosyncrasies. Mrs. Renfro at
length raised her eyes and beheld him thus. Instantly he placed his
hands before his face, and abruptly left the cavern. Alarmed at his
appearance, she ran toward the boy, exclaiming:

“What _can_ be the matter with him? Do you know him?”

“I knows more of him ’n I wants ter,” replied the lad. “Oh, marm,
that’s old Herne, ’nd we uns air the fust ones ez hev be’n in hyar whar
he stays. I ganny! I thort shore he’d hev yeaten ye up.”

“Well, but who is he?”

“Well, they do say ez the devil yowns him, not but what he air powerful
’ligyus. No one knows much ’bouten him, ’cep’n’ he’s all’ays a
projeckin’ eround the Dismal whar no one yelse wants ter be.”

“Has he been here long?”

“Yurs ’nd yurs, they say.” Tommy shook his head as though unable to
measure the years during which Herne the Hunter had been acquiring his
present unsavory reputation, but solved the riddle by exclaiming: “I
reckon he hev all’ays be’n that-a-way.”

An hour or more passed. Tommy fell asleep, while the lady sat musing by
his side. She did not feel like sleeping, though much fatigued. Finally
she heard a deep sigh behind her, and turning saw the object of her
fears regarding her sombrely. The sight of her face appeared to shock
him, for he turned half away as he said:

“You have eaten the food that is the curse of life, in that it sustains
it. Yet such we are. Sleep, therefore, for you have weary miles to go,
ere you can reach the Swananoa.”

There was an indescribable sadness in his tone that touched her, and
she regarded him curiously.

“Who are you,” she asked, “and why do you choose to live in such a
place as this?”

“Ask naught of me,” he said, with an energy he seemed unable to
repress. “Ask rather of yourself who am I and how came I--thus.”

He struck himself upon the breast, and without awaiting an answer again
abruptly left the cave. She sat there wondering, trying to weave into
definite shape certain vague impressions suggested by his presence,
until weariness overcame her and she slept.

Hours after, Herne the Hunter reentered the cave, bearing a torch.
His garments were wet, the rain-drops clung to his hair, and his face
was more haggard than ever. He advanced towards the slumbering woman
softly, and stood over her, gazing mournfully upon her, while large
tears rolled down his cheeks. Then his expression changed to one that
was stern and vindictive. His hand nervously toyed with the knife in
his belt. Milder thoughts again seemed to sway him, and his features
worked twitchingly.

“I cannot, I cannot,” he whispered to himself. “The tears I thought
forever banished from these eyes return at this sight. There has never
been another who could so move me. Though thou hast been my curse, and
art yet my hell--I cannot do it. Come! protector of my soul; stand
thou between me and all murderous thoughts!”

He drew his Bible from his bosom, kissed it convulsively, then held it
as though to guard her from himself, and drawing backward slowly, he
again fled into the storm and darkness without.

* * * * *

The gray light of morning rose over the Dismal, though within the cave
the gloom still reigned supreme, when Herne the Hunter again stood at
the entrance holding a flaring light. Then he said aloud:

“Wake, you that sleep under the shadow of death! Wake, eat, and--pass
on!”

Mrs. Renfro aroused herself. The boy, however, slept on. Herne fixed
his torch in the wall, and replenished the fire. Then he withdrew,
apparently to give the lady privacy in making her toilet.

She was stiff in limb and depressed in mind. After washing at the
spring, she wandered listlessly about the cave, surveying old Herne’s
scanty store of comforts. Suddenly she paused before a faded picture,
framed in long, withered moss, that clung to an abutment of the rock.
It was that of a girl, fair, slender and ethereal. There was a wealth
of hair, large eyes, and features so faultless that the witching sense
of self-satisfaction permeating them, added to rather than marred their
loveliness.

The lady--glancing indifferently--suddenly felt a thrill and a
pain. A deadly sense of recognition nearly overcame her, as this
memento--confronting her like a resurrected chapter of the past--made
clear the hitherto inexplicable behavior of their host. She recovered,
and looked upon it tenderly, then shook her head gently and sighed.

“You cannot recognize it!” said a deep voice behind her. “You dare not!
For the sake of your conscience--your hope in heaven--your fear of
hell--you dare not recognize and look upon me!”

She did not look round, though she knew that Herne the Hunter stood
frowning behind, but trembled in silence as he went on with increasing
energy:

“What does that face remind you of? See you aught beneath that beauty
but treachery without pity, duplicity without shame? Lo! the pity and
the shame you should have felt have recoiled upon me--me, who alone
have suffered.” He broke off abruptly, as though choked by emotion.
She dared not face him; she felt incapable of a reply. After a pause,
he resumed, passionately: “Oh! Alice, Alice! The dead rest, yet the
living dead can only endure. Amid these crags, and throughout the
solitude of years, I have fought and refought the same old battle; but
with each victory it returns upon me, strengthened by defeat, while
with me all grows weaker but the remorselessness of memory and the
capacity for pain.”

She still stood, with bowed head, shivering as though his words were
blows.

“Have you nothing to say?” he asked. “Does that picture of your own
youth recall no vanished tenderness for one who--self-outcast of
men--fell to that pass through you?”

“I have a husband,” she murmured, almost in a whisper.

“Aye, and because of that husband I have no wife--no wife--no wife!”
His wailing repetition seemed absolutely heartbroken; but sternly
he continued: “You have told me where he is. I say to you--hide
him--hide him from me! Even this”--he struck his bosom with his Bible
feverishly--“may not save him. I have prayed and wrought, but it is as
nothing--nothing--when I think--when I remember. Therefore, hide him
from me--lest I slay him--”

“You would not--you dare not harm him!” She faced him now, a splendid
picture of an aroused wife and mother. “He is not to blame--he knew you
not--he has been good to me--and--and--I love him.”

He shrank from the last words as though from a blow, and stood
cowering. Then he hissed out:

“Let me not find him. Hide him--hide him!”

Tommy here awoke with a yawn, and announced that his foot was about
well. Herne, closing his lips, busied himself about preparing
breakfast, which cheerless meal was eaten in silence. When they finally
emerged from the cave the sun was peeping into the Dismal below them;
bright gleams chased the dark shadows down the cliffs, and the morning
mists were melting. The storm was over; there was a twitter of birds,
the tinkle of an overflowing burn, and a squirrel’s bark emphasizing
the freshness of the morn. The pure air entered the lips like wine, and
Mrs. Renfro felt her depression roll off as they retraced the devious
trail of the night before.

They found the lady’s horse standing dejectedly near where he had
been left. The fog, in vast rolls, was climbing out of the Dismal,
disclosing dark masses of forest below. The flavor of pine and balsam
slept beneath the trees, every grass blade was diamond-strewn, and
every sound vivified by the sense of mighty walls and unsounded depths.

After Mrs. Renfro had mounted, Herne the Hunter swept an arm around.
The scene was savage and sombre, despite the sunlight. The intensity of
the solitude about them dragged upon the mind like a weight.

“Behold,” he said sadly, “this is my world. I can tolerate no other.”

She inwardly shuddered; then a wave of old associations swept over her
mind. Beneath the austerity of the man, beyond his selfish nurture of
affliction, she--for the moment--remembered him as he once was, homely,
kindly, enthusiastic and true. Had _she_ indeed changed him to this?
Or was it not rather the imperativeness of a passion, unable to endure
or forget her preference of another? Whatever the cause, her heart now
ached for him, though she feared him.

“Come with us,” she said. “You were not made to live thus.”

“I cannot--I dare not. It will take months to undo the misery of this
meeting.”

“My husband--”

“Do not name him!” he cried fiercely; then abruptly lowering his tone,
he said, with infinite sadness: “Ask me no more. Yonder, by that white
cliff, lies the Swananoa trail you missed yesterday. The kindest thing
you can do is to forget that you have seen me. Farewell!”

He turned away and swung himself down the mountain-side into the
Dismal. She saw the rolling mists close over him, and remained
motionless in a reverie so deep that the boy spoke twice to her before
she turned her horse’s head and followed him.

* * * * *

Above the surveyor’s camp lay the Swananoa Gap, a gloomy, precipitous
gorge through which the river lashed itself into milder reaches below.
Mrs. Renfro found her husband absent. With a single assistant he had
started for the upper defiles, intending to be gone several days. They
told her that he would endeavor to secure the services of Herne the
Hunter as a guide, as one knowing more of that wilderness than any one
else.

Here was fresh food for wifely alarm. Herne had never met her husband,
yet the latter’s name would make known his relationship to herself.
She shuddered over the possibilities that might result from their
sojourn together--far from aid--in those wild mountains, and made
herself wretched for a week in consequence.

Meanwhile the transient fine weather passed; the rains once more
descended, and the peaks of Nantahalah were invisible for days amid a
whirl of vapor. The boom of the river, the grinding of forest limbs,
the shriek of the wind, made life unusually dreary at the camp. She lay
awake one night when the elements were apparently doing their worst.
Her husband was still absent--perhaps alone with a possible maniac,
raving over the memory of fancied wrongs.

Finally another sound mingled with and at last overmastered all
others--something between a crash and a roar, interblended with
sullen jars and grindings. Near and nearer it came. She sprang to the
tent-floor and found her feet in the water. The darkness was intense.
What could be the matter? Fear overcame her resolution and she shrieked
aloud.

A man bearing a lantern burst into the tent with a hoarse cry. Its
gleams showed her Herne the Hunter, drenched, draggled, a ghastly cut
across his face, with the blood streaming down, his long hair flying,
and in his eyes a fierce flame.

“I feared I would not find you,” he shouted, for the roar without was
now appalling. “It is a cloud-burst above. In five minutes this hollow
will be fathoms deep. The tents lower down are already gone. Come!”

He had seized and was bearing her out.

“Save--alarm the others!” she cried.

“You first--Alice.”

In that dread moment she detected the hopelessness with which he called
her thus, as though such recognition was wrung from his lips by the
pain he hugged, even while it rended him.

“My husband?” she gasped, growing faint over the thought of his
possible peril--or death.

“Safe,” he hissed through his clenched teeth, for his exertions were
tremendous. With a fierce flap the tent was swept away as they left
it. About his knees the waters swirled, while limbs and other floating
débris swept furiously by.

What seemed to her minutes--though really seconds--passed amid a
terrific jumble of sounds, while the rain fell in sheets. It seemed as
though the invisible mountains were dissolving. They were, however,
slowly rising above the floods. She heard Herne’s hard breathing,
and felt his wild heart-throbs as he held her close. Something heavy
struck them, or rather him, for he shielded her. One of his arms fell
limp, and he groaned heavily. Then she swooned away, with a fleeting
sensation of being grasped by some one else.

Later, when she revived, there was a great hush in the air. Below, the
river gently brawled; there was a misty darkness around, and the gleam
of a lantern held before a dear and familiar form.

“Husband--is it you?” she murmured.

“Yes, yes,” said Captain Renfro, “I thought I had lost you. You owe
your life to Herne the Hunter. In fact, but for him I would have been
overwhelmed myself.”

“Where is he?” she asked feebly.

“The men are searching for him. Just as one of them got hold of you, he
fell back--something must have struck him, and the flood swept him off.
I tell you, Alice, that man--crazy or not--is a hero. We were on our
way down and had camped above the Gap, when the cloud-burst came. We
knew you all would be overwhelmed before we could get round here by the
trail; so what does Herne do but send us on horseback by land, while
he scoots down that cañon in a canoe--little better than an eggshell.
Risked his life in that awful place to get here in time. I insisted on
going with him at first.”

“Just like you, George,” said the wife fondly, though in her mind’s eye
came a vision of Herne the Hunter battling with that Niagara to save
and unite the two, through whom his own life had been made a burden.
She sighed and clasped her husband’s hand, while he resumed:

“I was a fool, I expect, for the canoe would have swamped under both
of us. He knew this, and ordered me off with a look I did not like;
there was madness in it. Well, we hurried round by the trail with one
lantern; Herne took the other. When we got here, you were apparently
dead, Herne and two of the men swept off--the camp gone from below, and
so on.”

A cry was now heard. Several men hastened down, and soon lights were
seen returning. Four of them bore Herne the Hunter. One arm and a leg
were broken, and his skull crushed in; yet the wonderful vitality of
the man had kept him alive and sensible.

“We found him clinging to a sapling,” said one. “But he’s about
gone--poor fellow!”

Poor fellow, indeed! Mrs. Renfro felt the lumps rise in her throat as
she gazed upon that wreck, and thought. Presently Herne opened his
eyes--already filling with the death-mist--and his gaze fell upon her
face.

“Alice,” he whispered, “my troubles--are over. This”--he tugged at
something in his bosom with his uninjured arm, when some one drew
forth his Bible, drenched and torn--“ this saved me. I could have
killed him--” he glanced at Renfro, who amid his pity now wondered. “I
could--but--I saved you. And--now--Jesus--have mercy--”

These were his last words, for in another minute Herne the Hunter was a
thing of the past, and a weeping woman bent over him. After that there
was silence for a while. Then the wife said to her husband, while the
others removed the dead man:

“It was his misfortune, not my fault, that he loved me. Has he not made
amends?”

And the husband, with his hands clasped in hers, could find no other
heart than to say:

“Aye--most nobly!”

[Illustration]

AN OUTING.

Down country lanes,
O’er treeless plains,
And seas of prairie grasses,
I wheel along,
With cheers and song
To every breeze that passes.

I leave the town,
Walls bare and brown,
The bustling, sordid masses--
The business boom
Of counting-room,
The dandies, dudes, and asses.

Awheel, awheel,
The miles I reel,
Afar from heated highways,
And odors greet
Of verdure sweet,
Along the country by-ways.

By fields of grain,
O’er daisy plain,
Adown the pretty valley;
By drowsy kine,
By cot and vine,
So joyfully I sally.

O, healthful steed!
My only creed,
Beyond dissent or doubting,
Is Nature’s way,
In holiday
Upon a summer outing.

_Jay Gee._

MEMORIES OF YACHT CRUISES.

BY THE LATE CAPTAIN R. F. COFFIN.

No. IV.

Despite the charms of the cruise on an individual yacht, much is to be
said in favor of the cruise in squadron. The cruise in the solitary
craft may be very pleasant at first, but it is apt to become monotonous
after a few days, unless the party on board has been most happily
selected. While _en route_ from port to port every craft bound in the
same direction is at once made a contestant in an improvised race, and
unless she, too, is a yacht, she is too easily disposed of. As has been
often proven, the slowest of the yachts is more than a match for the
fastest coasting vessel. Probably the fastest vessels encountered will
be the fishing schooners, and some of these nowadays sport nearly as
much fancy canvas as the yachts do. They are finely modeled craft, and
generally sail, as the yacht does, in good ballast trim. As a matter
of course, they are admirably handled, and occasionally the tedium of
the individual cruise is enlivened by a more or less spirited trial of
speed with a well-appointed fishing schooner. Always, however, so far
as my experience goes, these trials end in favor of the pleasure craft,
none of which can properly be considered slow, except by comparison
with some other yacht. Nothing proves more conclusively that yachting
means racing than the fact that the chief interest and pleasure of
the individual cruise arise from these chance contests with vessels
encountered _en route_.

Now, in the squadron cruise all this is furnished to hand, and as
part of the regular order of things. Each passage between ports is a
race, and each yacht selects her class competitors, and cares for the
movement of no others in the fleet. Very much more now than formerly,
care is taken to have these races fair, and a matter of official
record. In some instances the New York Yacht Club has hired a tug to
accompany the yachts for the whole cruise, and from her the time is
taken accurately at the start and finish of each day’s sail. Commodore
Gerry (as noted in the September ~Outing~) has the regatta
committee on the _Electra_, and makes a specialty of having a correct
record of the daily runs kept, making manifold copies of the result,
and sending a copy to each yacht almost as soon as her anchor is down.
This increases the interest in the cruise immensely. The New York,
however, is the only club, except, of course, the American, which has
a steam yacht for its flagship, and certainly there are few commodores
who would take the trouble that Mr. Gerry does. I have no hesitation
in saying that he is, in this respect, the best commodore that the old
club has ever had.

In the Eastern, the Atlantic, the Seawanhaka, and other clubs which
cruise in squadron, this matter of accuracy in timing is receiving
more and more attention each year. In the printed orders of the
commodore it is expressly provided that the first yacht to arrive at
a designated point shall note her own time, and then the times of all
that follow, and shall report the same to the commodore. The start is
not entirely fair, as it is made by general signal, and some yachts
must of necessity, where the squadron is large, be in a better position
than others. It is, however, the much-vaunted “one-gun start,” so
strenuously advocated--for no reason that I can think of except that
it is the style common in Great Britain. The British clubs, however,
rarely start a large fleet, and where there are but five or six yachts,
comparatively little trouble need be feared from permitting them all
to crowd upon the line at once; while if there were thirty, forty,
or more, vessels, confusion, and perhaps collision, would certainly
result. After all, what can be fairer than the present American method
of timing each yacht to a second at start and finish?

It is the continuous series of races, then, which gives the squadron
cruise a charm lacking in all other forms of yachting; but it also has
other attractions. The interchange of visits between the guests on the
different yachts, the jolly dinners, the pleasant shore parties--all
these make the cruise exceedingly pleasant, and no club whose fleet
is at all respectable should fail to encourage it. None, of course,
can present such a fleet of fine vessels as the New York, Atlantic and
Eastern clubs; but much enjoyment may be had, even if the fleet is not
so imposing. The Knickerbocker Club can in numbers equal any, and its
short cruises--generally in the early part of July--have been very
enjoyable. The cruise of the Seawanhaka Corinthian Club this year was
a great success, although its fleet was not large. The Larchmont Yacht
Club has never yet found itself in a position to essay the cruise, but
as in all other respects it has placed itself in the front rank, it may
well be expected to in the future.

The difficulty where the yacht is small is to accommodate the guests.
Roughing it is all very well in theory, but in practice it is
unsatisfactory. Men on a pleasure trip do not care to rough it. There
is also a difficulty in the small craft to find stowage for water and
ice, two prime necessities; but if the runs are made short, so that
the supply may be replenished daily, the small craft can manage very
well, and I think in the future the annual cruise will become as much a
regular feature of the yacht club programme as is the annual regatta.

If I am not mistaken, the Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club had its
first cruise in July, 1879, and it _was_ a Corinthian one, only a few
professionals being allowed on the yachts. Well, it’s all right for the
guests on board a yacht to take a pull at sheets or halliards once in
a while, but as for doing all the deck duty, turning out and washing
down the decks, cleaning the bright work, and making and taking in sail
continuously all day long, it is quite absurd. But this has to be done,
if the wind be paltry and baffling. But as for calling it amusement, I
think that when turning a grindstone becomes a pleasurable occupation,
then strict Corinthian yachting will be a pastime, and not until then.

The Corinthian Club, on this its first cruise, assembled at Glen Cove,
and sailed thence to Black Rock, with a fleet composed of one schooner
and four sloops; among them the _Schemer_, then owned by Mr. C. S.
Lee, who was lost last March in the yawl _Cythera_. He was a very
intelligent gentleman, and one of the most skillful of the yachting men
of the time.

Mr. Lee was one of the earliest converts to the cutter theory, and in
1881 he had the cutter _Oriva_ built from a design by John Harvey, who
at that time was in business in London. Her advent not only introduced
a new style in design, but also in workmanship, she being by all odds
the best constructed yacht ever built in this country. She was not as
narrow as the ordinary British cutter of her length at that time, and
would have been still better had she been given another foot of beam.
At that time, however, there was a mistaken notion on the part of those
most violently affected by the “cutter craze,” as it was called, that
the British yachts sailed fast because they were narrow. People wholly
ignored the fact that each builder made his yacht as broad as possible
under the rule, and as soon as it was relaxed the _Thistle_ was
produced, by far the most speedy cutter yet turned out from a British
yard. I think that, should a 90-foot boat be designed as a challenger
for the _America’s_ Cup, the _Thistle’s_ proportion of beam to length
will probably be exceeded in her, and that her success will be greater
than that of the Scotch challenger.

At the time of this first cruise of the Seawanhaka Club, Mr. Samuel
J. Colgate, of the schooner _Idler_, was the commodore, but the fleet
on this cruise was under the command of its vice-commodore, Oliver E.
Cromwell, and the schooner _Eddie_ was the flagship.

From Black Rock the fleet sailed to New London. At that port it was
joined by the _Muriel_, another of the Harvey cutters built in this
country, and which antedated the _Oriva_ by some three years. The first
spar plan of this cutter was entirely too small, and her performance
for her two first seasons only confirmed the centreboard men in their
opinions as to the superiority of the broad and shallow model.

The Seawanhaka fleet went on to Newport, and later to New Bedford,
where the cruise practically ended, the flagship having carried away
her foremast on the passage from Newport.

The cruise of the Seawanhaka Club in 1880 was under the command of
Commodore W. A. W. Stewart, who recently owned the yawl _Cythera_,
which he had purchased in England, and who was lost in her. His loss,
like that of Mr. Lee, who accompanied him as his friend and guest,
was most serious to the yachting interests of this city, and one from
which the Corinthian Club, of which these two gentlemen were the chief
supports, will hardly recover.

The fleet of the club on this cruise was larger than in the previous
year. It had as schooners the _Wanderer_, Mr. James Stillman, and the
_Clytie_, Mr. Anson Phelps Stokes; and there were nine sloops, the
_Regina_ carrying the pennant of the commodore. The fleet assembled at
Glen Cove, July 13, and sailed thence to Morris Cove, at the entrance
to the harbor of New Haven, a most inconvenient stopping-place. It
is four miles from the city, has an inconvenient landing-place, and
except in the daytime there is no regular communication with the city.
No supplies of any kind can be obtained there. Still it is handy for a
fleet of small yachts bound from Glen Cove, being about half way to New
London.

At this latter port, whither the fleet next proceeded, it remained
for a day, and had a sweepstake race between three of its sloops, for
the delectation of the lady guests at the Pequot House, with whom, of
course, the Corinthian “tars” were great favorites. This harbor will
always be a favorite stopping-place for yachts. From the first of June
until the first of October there is hardly a day that one or more of
the pleasure fleet may not be seen at anchor off the Pequot House, or
off the Edgecombe House, on the opposite side of the harbor. There
is good water clear up to the city, for the largest yachts; supplies
of all kinds are as abundant and cheap as in this city. There are
facilities for hauling out, and several well-appointed shipyards where
any kind of work on hull, rigging, spars or sails can be well done, at
a fair price. In the afternoon the wind as a general thing is fair for
a run up to the city, and in the early morning there is usually, during
the summer months, a light air from the northward to bring the yachts
back to the anchorage at the mouth of the harbor.

The fleet this year, as in that previous, went on to New Bedford, where
some racing had been arranged. Stormy weather prevented this, and a
return to Newport was made, where the cruise ended.

The Atlantic Yacht Club, this year, had a fine muster of yachts,
excelling, I think, that of any previous cruise. It left Whitestone
July 31, under command of Commodore L. A. Fish, the present owner of
the _Grayling_, with seven schooners and seventeen sloops. Its flagship
was the schooner _Agnes_, the same which capsized at her anchor, with
sails furled, while lying off Staten Island, in a hard squall last
June. Her mishap has always been a mystery to me, for although an
extremely shallow vessel, she had great initial stability. The squall
must have been extremely heavy.

The fleet pursued its usual route from Whitestone to Black Rock,
where it remained over Sunday, and started the next day for New
London. Here, on Monday evening, a ball in its honor was given at the
Edgecombe House, and then, varying the ordinary route, it went to
Block Island. Two or three attempts have been made by different yacht
clubs to utilize Block Island as a stopping-place, but never with any
satisfactory result. The anchorage is bad, and the harbor is but an
apology for such. However, the Atlantic club desired to skip Newport
if it were possible. The passage to New Bedford from Block Island was
rather rough, and a stormy time there spoiled the hospitable intentions
of the New Bedford Yacht Club in its behalf. There is no port at which
the cruising yachtsman tarries, where he receives a warmer welcome than
at the city of New Bedford. It is a hard place to emigrate from. As a
harbor, however, it has its disadvantages; the entrance is narrow, and,
with the wind blowing in, large and sluggishly-working yachts have to
tow out.

The Atlantic club went on to Cottage City and had a great time there.
Mr. Joseph Spinney entertained the members and guests at his cottage,
and there were fireworks on the yachts, etc. Next day the fleet sailed
for Newport. This plan of taking Newport in on the return to the
westward is an excellent one, and the beat back from Cottage City is
a better test of the qualities of the yachts than all the previous
runs have been. From Newport the club ran over to Greenport, where it
disbanded. It was by far the most successful cruise which the club has
ever had, and I doubt whether it has ever been improved upon; much of
this, of course, being due to its excellent commodore. Whatever Mr.
Fish undertakes he accomplishes, as a rule, successfully.

The fleets of the New York and Eastern yacht clubs were joined in the
cruise of 1880, the Eastern club coming west as far as New London,
where it had to wait one day longer than had been expected on account
of the tardy movement of the New York fleet. They had been delayed by
calm weather on the passage from Glen Cove. Together, the two fleets
went over to Shelter Island, making a magnificent display in front
of the Manhansett House. From there, the combined squadrons sailed
to Newport and thence to New Bedford, where there was a set race in
which seven schooners and eleven sloops were started. The schooner
_Halcyon_, then owned by General Paine, made the best time over the
course, but the _Peerless_ captured the prize from her on allowance of
time. The _Halcyon_ was originally a New York yacht and only of fair
average speed; but after General Paine had purchased her, that skillful
yachtsman experimented with her to such good purpose that he made her
the fastest light-weather schooner in the fleets. For years, when the
New York yachts raced in Eastern waters, she regularly captured the
prizes.

The _Peerless_, which won on this occasion on allowance of time, was
originally rigged as a sloop, having been built by the Poillons, in
Brooklyn, for Mr. J. Rogers Maxwell, the present owner of the sloop
_Shamrock_. She did not please the leading experts of the time, one
of whom christened her “the Bull Pup.” Mr. Maxwell, however, was not
discouraged, and he finally made of her a fairly fast sloop. He then
lengthened her and altered her rig to that of a schooner, and as such
made her the fastest second-class schooner in America. At the time of
this race she belonged to the New Bedford Yacht Club, having been sold
to Vice-Commodore Hathaway of that club. The two squadrons proceeded
together to Vineyard Haven, where, after the usual interchange of
courtesies, the Eastern club parted company, going on to Boston, while
the New York club returned to Newport, where it disbanded, having been
kept together for ten days.

This was the year that the steel cutter _Vanduara_ came out in English
waters, and created such a _furore_. The New York yachtsmen on their
return from this cruise were greeted by rumors from across the Atlantic
that another bid was about to be made for the _America’s_ Cup. This
rumor did not trouble them much, but in the light of subsequent events,
it is tolerably certain that if the _Vanduara_ had come in 1881, as
threatened, she would have carried the cup back to England in her
locker. Fortunately, or otherwise--for I do not know that it would be
a misfortune if the cup was fairly captured by a foreign club--the
_Vanduara_ did not come, but the _Atalanta_ did, and was disposed of
with all ease.

The schooner _Agnes_ was the flagship of the Atlantic club during the
cruise of 1881, once more carrying the pennant of Commodore Fish.
In number, the fleet was not as large as in the previous year, but
there were five schooners and twelve sloops in the squadron when it
left Black Rock, a very respectable fleet. The same old route was
pursued--New London, Shelter Island, Newport and New Bedford; but here
the monotony of the cruise was varied by a race, the entries comprising
four New Bedford and three Atlantic club schooners and six Atlantic and
seven New Bedford sloops. The New Bedford schooner _Peerless_ and the
Atlantic sloop _Fanita_ and New Bedford sloops _Hesper_ and _Nixie_
were the winners in the several classes, so the honors were decidedly
with the New Bedford club, as it captured three out of the four prizes.

The cruise of the New York Yacht Club for the year 1881 promised at its
beginning to be the most brilliant in its history. It assembled at New
London under the command of Commodore Waller, with the _Dauntless_ as
the flagship. By way of opening the cruise in an interesting manner,
Mr. Charles Minton, who was then the secretary, offered a $250 cup for
a schooner prize on the run to Newport the following day, to be taken
by the first yacht in, without allowance of time. It was shrewdly
suspected that the secretary believed that without allowance of time
there was no yacht in the fleet which could beat the _Dauntless_, on
board which he was sailing, and that he intended the cup as a prize for
the commodore. Had the start been made as arranged, all would have been
well; but at the hour named a fog hung over the harbor and Sound like a
pall, and there was scarcely any wind, so the race for the Secretary’s
Cup was declared off.

In the afternoon, however, the fog lifted, a good breeze sprang up, and
the fleet started. When the schooner _Tidal Wave_ passed Point Judith,
there was not a schooner in the fleet which was not hull down astern
of her. It had been resolved to sail for the Secretary’s Cup the next
day from Brenton’s Reef Lightship to Clark’s Point, off New Bedford;
but in view of the performance of the _Tidal Wave_ in this run from New
London, she seemed a certain winner, and such a state of affairs was
particularly distasteful to Fleet-Captain Robert Center and the others
on board the flagship.

What was to be done to avert the threatened calamity? I know not who
was responsible for the action, and should not state it if I did,
for it was peculiarly disgraceful. A half hour before the start,
Fleet-Captain Center rowed through the fleet and gave notice that no
yacht could sail for the Secretary’s Cup unless the owner was on board.
By a curious coincidence, as the elder Mr. Weller might have said, the
only yacht which did not have her owner on board was the _Tidal Wave_,
the yacht which had run all the other schooners out of sight on the
previous day.

No meeting of the club had taken place in the meanwhile, and where any
one obtained authority for such an unheard-of rule it is impossible
to say. Captain Center, however, frankly admitted at New Bedford the
next day, that the action was taken solely with a view to barring
out the _Tidal Wave_. He, however, based his action on a personal
feeling against Captain “Joe” Elsworth, who, because he had sailed the
_Countess of Dufferin_ in her second race for the _America’s_ Cup,
had excited Captain Center’s ire. He had determined--so he said--that
Captain “Joe” should never again sail for a cup in the New York Yacht
Club. Since that time, as we all know, the club and the public have
been glad to avail themselves of Captain Elsworth’s skill, and he has
been an important factor in the preservation of the great yachting
trophy. After all, this disgraceful business was not at all necessary;
for although the _Tidal Wave_ started with the fleet, and although
Captain Elsworth did his best to get to Clark’s Point ahead of the lot,
the little New Bedford schooner _Peerless_, the once despised “Bull
Pup” of the New York experts, captured the Secretary’s Cup.

Of course, after this plain expression of feeling on the part of the
officers of the club, Captain Elsworth could not consent to remain with
the squadron, and immediately left it. The result was the loss of the
only light-weather schooner that had any chance against the _Halcyon_,
and in the races which were sailed while the fleet was at New Bedford
for the cups presented by Mr. E. A. Buck of the _Spirit of the Times_,
the _Halcyon_, as usual, captured the schooner prize.

This was rather a disastrous cruise, although it had promised so
fairly. Commodore Waller had gone to the expense of having a large
barge towed to New Bedford, and on board her a ball was given, the
music being furnished from New York. But there were several days of
foggy weather which interfered materially with the programme. Finally
a start was made, from Vineyard Haven for Boston, but, threatening
weather being encountered, the fleets returned to Vineyard Haven,
and the Eastern club concluded to part company and go to Newport. So
it was arranged that next day, if the weather was favorable, the New
York club should go on to Boston. During the day, however, there were
many defections, and next morning but a small fleet remained. The
commodore also was taken seriously ill, and the fleet was disbanded. No
cruise ever cost flag-officers so much money, and none was ever less
satisfactory.

The Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club postponed its cruise this year
until August, hoping to have the British cutter _Madge_ accompany it,
but the canny Scotchman who had charge of her did not care to have her
speed measured with other yachts until her regular races came on. The
club made its muster at Whitestone on this occasion, and went from
there to Morris Cove. Commodore Stewart had his pennant on the schooner
_Sea Drift_, and his fleet was very small, there being, besides this
schooner, only seven sloops. Among these was the cutter _Oriva_, on
her first cruise. The cruise was very tame, and only extended as far
as Newport. It was the summer of President Garfield’s death, and he
was just hovering between life and death when the club started, a
circumstance which prevented some of the yacht owners from joining.

Although the Seawanhaka club did not obtain much credit from its
annual cruise in 1881, it covered itself with glory by its matches
with the cutter _Madge_. There can be no doubt but that the two sloops
selected as the champions of the club in the _Madge_ contests were as
good as any of their sizes in the club. It is equally certain that
they were brought to the line in a miserably slipshod condition. The
fact was, that at that time the yachting men of this country had the
most thorough contempt for the British cutter. Captain Ira Smith, who
sailed the _Schemer_ in her race with the _Madge_, when his attention
was called to the miserably setting topsail on his yacht--an old one
borrowed for the occasion--shrugged his shoulders and said, “Oh!
it’s good enough; anything will do to beat that thing,” pointing to
the cutter, which was lying a short distance away attired in one
of Lapthorn’s most perfect suits; and the captain’s remark exactly
expressed the general feeling at that time.

Mr. Henry Steers, Captain “Joe” Elsworth, and many members of the
clubs had been to England and had seen these yachts sail, and knew
that they were speedy; but their utterances were received with
incredulity. “They sail well enough when compared with each other,” it
was said, “but put them alongside of our centreboard yachts and they
will be beaten easily.” The average Bay Shore boatman hitched up his
trousers and said oracularly: “It stands to reason them things away
down on their sides can’t sail; a boat has got to have bottom fur to
sail on.”

Had the _Madge_ been the _Vanduara_, the _America’s_ Cup would have
gone back to Great Britain, beyond a peradventure. That was one chance
of which John Bull failed to avail himself; he has another this
season--will he avail himself of it? _Quien sabe?_

ON BLADES OF STEEL.

BY D. BOULTON HERRALD.

To the enthusiastic skater even the pleasures afforded by the enclosed
rink are manifold, but who will compare them to those offered by the
far-stretching reach of the frozen river or lake?

However tastefully decorated the rink may be, it cannot bear comparison
with the arena supplied by Nature. Instead of flags and streamers we
have the green pines on the distant hill-tops, while closer at hand the
trees, clothed with leaves of autumn tints, are painted by Nature’s
brush. The carpet of brown, withered ferns and grass is dotted here
and there with drifted heaps of early snow. In place of long lines of
promenading, gossiping humanity, our boundaries are the barren shores,
their sameness relieved here by an upturned boat and there a stranded
log. Replacing the glare of the electric light, we have the sun’s
genial rays, or the softer and more beauteous moon. Gone is the damp
vapor that will ever arise from even the best-appointed rink, and we
can revel in the crisp and bracing air of autumn. Surely, then, is
outdoor skating entitled to the palm. In the rink the never-ceasing
round from left to right, and, at the sound of the bell, from right
to left, grows wearily monotonous, even though the most charming of
partners may glide by one’s side. Round and round the skaters promenade
in endless procession. You dare not go too fast nor yet too slow, for
the one will surely bring you into collision with some one who blocks
the way; the other will still more certainly run some one into _you_.

But in the glorious open all is changed. Your skates locked on, away
you glide, fast or slow, turning and twisting without let or hindrance,
as fancy prompts your path. Do not go near that hole! Beware of yonder
stick! Though half hidden in the ice, it yet projects enough to catch
the point of your skate and give you an ugly “cropper.” Crack! You are
on thin ice. Keep nearer to the shore. Who is this coming up behind so
fast? He evidently wishes to have a “brush,” and you are not unwilling.

So on you fly, past the creek, with timorous children and girls
covering its surface. They prefer to skate over the shallows to
trusting themselves upon the deeper river. Here’s the deserted pottery,
bleak and dismal, with sashes that hold naught but the ragged edges of
the panes that once kept out the weather--victims of the small boy and
his “sling.” And here the Fair Grounds, the long rows of whitewashed
stabling, grand-stand and buildings glaring in the bright sunshine.
The oblong race track recalls memories of the close finish between
“Little Vic” and “Chestnut Jim.” How your heart stopped still until
“Vic” showed her nose under the wire, a short head to the good, for she
carried your “pile” on her handsome shoulders! On and on, until the
bridge stops your progress. The ice beneath it is not of sufficient
strength to bear your weight.

Then, after walking across the road and climbing the fences, you come
to the narrows, where the ice is ever frail. Keep well in, under the
trees, skate swiftly, and do not tumble, or you will surely get a
ducking. Halloa! the man ahead seems to be in difficulties. He has
fallen into a water-hole! Now, put on a burst and try to avoid meeting
with a like mishap. You near the victim as he stands over the waist in
water. His coat collar seems to offer a good hold--and the idea is no
sooner thought of than acted on. As you pass, you grasp him, and with
the impetus of your speed drag him from his involuntary bath to a spot
where the ice is firm.

[Illustration: “PUT YOUR SKATES ON, MISS?”]

He betrays ingratitude, however, of the basest description, for he
consigns you to a hotter place than--skating, because, forsooth, you
gathered some of his back hair in your fist. Well, such is life! “Men
were _ungrateful_ ever.”

Now you near the worst place yet encountered, open water, with ice here
and there between the boulders on the shore. In and out you thread
your way, dulling the skate blades sadly on the stones; but soon the
obstruction is passed, and the “going” is again good. There, to the
right, is the tamarac swamp, where you have bowled over many a “bunny”
and many a grouse. There the wooded point where you had such a pleasant
picnic and met jolly Miss Jones. But duck your head, for here is the
railroad bridge, and in case of contact with those jutting iron bolts
your cranium would be apt to come out second best.

Why, here we are at the locks already! A short four miles it has
seemed, covered in little more than twenty minutes. Now off with the
“acmes,” for why should one blunt them, or stumble over the portage
like a drunken man, when he can so easily unlock the skates and saunter
over comfortably?

Another mile and a half is passed, and a second set of lock-gates is
reached, which must be crossed ere we can come to the lake-like expanse
on their farther side, made by the widening of the river. Halloa! there
is a sail, and a large one at that. What can it be? Oh, the ice-boat,
of course. How stupid of me not to think of it before.

When we cross over the rise the boat comes into full view, dashing
along at high speed as it tacks from shore to shore. It is the only
craft of the kind in Central Canada, and is consequently regarded as
a wonderful machine. To me, however, it looks a crude affair indeed,
after the far-famed fleets that grace the frozen waters of the Hudson.

Mile after mile we skim along, now jumping a crack, now avoiding a
miniature drift of snow. The sun is in my eyes, and I cannot keep a
good lookout. Suddenly I am startled by a warning shout, which brings
me to a standstill to discover that there is open water but a few feet
ahead.

The shadows of evening are falling, so we turn homeward. The scenes
of the outward journey meet the eye again, mellowed in the deepening
twilight. At length we reach the landing, with a keen appetite for
dinner, and in a condition to thoroughly enjoy the after-dinner pipe
before an open fire, and the perusal of the latest novel.

[Illustration]

OUTDOOR LIFE OF THE PRESIDENTS.

BY JOHN P. FOLEY.

III.--ANDREW JACKSON.

The life of Andrew Jackson has been tersely described as “a battle
and a march.” Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, were all born
in the purple of slavery. They were the sons of wealthy planters;
educated at the best schools; provided with private tutors, and, with
one exception, graduated from the leading colleges of the period.
They moved in the best circles of society, and could choose whatever
profession or pursuit they pleased. Seats in the House of Burgesses of
Virginia awaited them as soon as they became of age, and whatever other
political preferment young native-born Americans could obtain under
the colonial régime was easily within their reach. Very different the
early life and fortune of Andrew Jackson, the fifth of the Southern
Presidents.

Two years before he was born his father was a poor linen weaver in the
North of Ireland, beaten in the struggle for existence and preparing
with some of his relatives to emigrate to the new world. This little
colony, made up of Jacksons and Crawfords, landed at Charleston, in
1765, and immediately started for the Waxhaw settlement, which lay
partly in North and partly in South Carolina, in the region bordering
on the Catawba River. This point, no doubt, was chosen because a number
of colonists from the same part of Ireland had already made their homes
there. The Crawfords bought good land in the centre of the settlement,
while the Jacksons, not having the means to purchase, went on new land
some miles distant. There Jackson, senior, built a hut and began to
clear the woods around him. At the end of two years he became ill and
died. Mr. Parton, in his excellent life of President Jackson, tells us
that the widow, accompanied by her little family, brought the remains
of her husband in a rude wagon out of the wilderness to the Waxhaw
churchyard, and did not again return home after the interment. Instead,
she went to the house of a brother-in-law, and in a few days gave birth
to a son, whom she named Andrew. The log-house, where this event took
place on March 15, 1767, was at a point on the North Carolina side,
less than a quarter of a mile from the boundary line between the two
provinces; so that the hero of New Orleans, many years later, erred in
the matter of his nativity, when, in his celebrated manifesto to the
nullifiers of South Carolina, he addressed them as “Fellow-Citizens
of my native State.” Mrs. Jackson, at the end of three weeks, left her
eldest son to assist this relative on his farm and went with her second
son and the infant Andrew to the house of her brother-in-law, the Mr.
Crawford with whom she and her husband crossed the Atlantic two years
before. Crawford was then in comfortable circumstances. He had some
capital when he arrived, and, in addition, was a good, thrifty and
successful farmer. This was young Jackson’s home during the next ten or
twelve years. His life was indeed “a battle and a march,” and march and
battle began with his very infancy.

North Carolinians have long and tenacious memories, and when, more
than a quarter of a century ago, Mr. Parton made a pilgrimage into
Mecklenberg County to collect materials for the life of the great
democratic chieftain, he was able to gather many an anecdote of
the early life of his hero. “He was a wild, frolicksome, wilful,
mischievous, daring, reckless boy, who loved his friends and detested
his enemies.” Truly, the boy was father of the man. He allowed no one
to impose upon him. On one occasion, we are told, some boys gave him a
gun loaded to the muzzle in order to see him knocked over when he fired
it. He was kicked over, and springing to his feet exclaimed: “If one
of you laughs I’ll kill him!” And there was no laughter. It is said
that the larger boys had trouble in getting along with him; but that he
was idolized by the smaller ones, who always found in him a protector
and a champion. “He was,” said one who knew him in youth, “a bully,
but never a coward.” In boyish games and sports of every description
he was thoroughly proficient. It was easy to make a wrestling match
when “Andy” Jackson was present; but, although tall and active, he was
not strong in proportion to his height, and was frequently thrown. He
was fond of running and jumping, feats in which he excelled. He was
addicted to gibberish or slang, and one of his favorite expressions
was this: “Set de case: You are Shauney Kerr’s mare and me Billy Buck;
and I should mount you and you should kick, fall, fling and break
your neck, should I be to blame for that?” Young John Quincy Adams,
who was born in the same year as Jackson, and who was at this time
studying diplomacy under his father in Europe, would probably have
fled in as great horror from his successor in the Presidency, if he
then propounded to him this problem, as in after years he fled from
him on the day of his inauguration. The woods of Waxhaw were full of
deer, wild turkey and other game, and owing to the household demands of
the colony, to hunt and kill them was much more of a necessity than a
pleasure. Jackson, it is needless to say, became expert with the rifle,
and the bird or animal that came within range rarely escaped with its
life.

His mother’s ambition was to make him a clergyman, and in due time he
was sent to what in those days was called “an old field school.” By and
by he attended schools of a better class, at which lads were prepared
for college. Where the means to pay for this superior education came
from is not known, but it is believed that his mother was assisted by
members of her family in Ireland. Jackson was not a studious boy, so he
learned little except reading, writing, and arithmetic. His educational
equipment all through life was very light, but, nevertheless, his name
stands on the roll of the learned Doctors of Harvard, an act for which
the younger Adams never forgave his old university. When the colonies
decided to draw the sword, Jackson was a child nine years old, and the
war was half over before its tide rolled along to the banks of the
Catawba. From the very beginning, however, the Scotch-Irish settlers
of Waxhaw were as loyal and devoted to the patriotic cause as the
descendants of the Puritans who fell at Lexington and Bunker Hill.
Many of them and their children went into the army, among others Hugh
Jackson, Andrew’s eldest brother, who was “a man in stature if not
in years.” He was killed in the battle of Stono. Robert Jackson, the
second son, too young to bear arms, and Andrew were with their mother
when Tarleton’s dragoons swept along to Waxhaw. A body of militia was
taken by surprise and a large number killed and wounded. This was
Jackson’s first lesson in war. He was then about thirteen, and he and
his brother aided their mother in nursing the unfortunate victims
of the raid. Tarleton’s troopers rode hard and fast over the Waxhaw
farms, little dreaming that in one of its log-cabins they had left
behind them a rough, ungainly boy who in after years was destined to
defeat one of England’s ablest generals at the head of veteran soldiers
bearing on their conquering banners the memorable names of Talavera and
Badajos. Next came Lord Rawdon threatening to imprison all who refused
to promise not to participate in the war. Mrs. Jackson fled with her
two boys into the wilderness rather than make the pledge. A short time
after both sons were present in the engagement at Hanging Rock, near
Waxhaw, where the patriots were so nearly victorious. The defeat of
Gates brought the victorious Cornwallis to the little settlement, and
the terrified inhabitants, Mrs. Jackson and her children among them,
again fled before the soldiery. Andrew found a refuge in a temporary
home on a farm where he gave his services in exchange for his board.
His principal duties were fetching wood, driving cattle, picking beans,
going to the mill and the blacksmith’s shop. “He never,” says Mr.
Parton, “went to the blacksmith’s without bringing home something with
which to kill the enemy. Once he fastened the blade of a scythe to a
pole, and on reaching home began to cut down the weeds, exclaiming,
‘Oh! if I were a man I would sweep down the British with my grass
blade.’” The Jacksons were all home again in 1781, when the Waxhaw
country became quiet.

Andrew was now fourteen, tall as a man, but without much bodily
strength. He and his brother thought, however, that they could be of
some service to their country, and from time to time joined small
raiding parties, organized to retaliate on the enemy. Cornwallis sent
a body of troops to suppress these disorders, and in a conflict the
Jackson boys were captured. Then occurred that memorable incident in
his life which so embittered him ever afterward against England. The
officer who had captured him, ordered him to clean his boots. Jackson
indignantly refused, declaring that he was a prisoner of war and
expected to be treated as one. A fierce sword-blow aimed at his head
was the answer. He warded it off with his arm, but the weapon struck
his skull, inflicting a wound on arm and head, the marks of which
remained to the day of his death. The brutal officer then gave the same
order to the brother. He, too, refused to obey and was prostrated with
a blow which nearly killed him. One day, while a prisoner, Andrew was
threatened with death unless he guided the troops to the house of an
obnoxious patriot. He pretended to comply, but went by a route which
gave the intended victim notice of their approach and enabled him to
escape. The two brothers were next marched off prisoners of war to
Camden, forty miles distant. They and their companions were treated
with horrible barbarity on the way. Forced to walk the entire distance
without food, they were not even allowed to drink the muddy water
by the wayside. In Camden jail they were nearly starved to death.
Small-pox broke out among the ill-fed and ill-clothed captives and it
became a very pest-hole. At length General Greene appeared before the
place and there were hopes of a rescue. Jackson cut through a knot-hole
in the fence and saw the operations in the field, which he reported
to his fellow-prisoners. The Continental troops were defeated and the
captives were in despair. But the faithful mother had not forgotten or
abandoned them, and one day she appeared offering to exchange for her
boys and some other prisoners, thirteen soldiers who had been captured
by the men of Waxhaw. Her sons were so worn-out by starvation and
disease that she scarcely knew them. What a journey that was home to
the Waxhaw! They could procure only two horses for the entire party.
The mother rode one; on the other was her son Robert, stricken with
small-pox and held in his seat by the exchanged prisoners. By their
side trudged Andrew, shivering with fever and ague, shoeless, almost
naked, his feet and legs bleeding and torn by rocks and briers. Still
the battle and the march!

But the battle was only beginning for this seemingly ill-starred boy.
When peace came, sending sunshine and joy through all the land, this
heroic North of Ireland mother had been sleeping beside her husband
in the Waxhaw graveyard more than a year, and the orphaned Andrew was
striving hard to learn the trade of a saddler. His health was bad, and
his spirit seemed broken. Perhaps it was grief for the mother whom
he so deeply loved, and whose memory he revered all through life.
Gradually, however, the spring and buoyancy of his nature asserted
themselves. He made the acquaintance of some boys of his own age whose
parents had fled from Charleston, when it was captured, to Waxhaw, and
who were waiting for the evacuation to return. He was the owner of a
horse at this time, but it is not clear whether he obtained him by
gift or purchase. At all events, he ran races; very often rode them,
and, impartial history bids us say, “gambled a little, drank a little,
and fought cocks.” It was a rude age; the little society that existed
was demoralized by war, and there was no one to restrain, perhaps no
one even to advise, this young orphan boy. He followed his friends
to Charleston, “riding his horse, a fine and valuable animal which
he had contrived to possess.” His career in that city was wild and
reckless. He ran up a long bill with his landlord, which he paid by
a lucky throw at dice; the wager being his horse against two hundred
dollars. All at once his conscience seems to have smitten him. He
resolved to return home and reform. Never again through all his life
did he throw dice for a wager. His scheme of reformation did not,
however, include the abandonment of horse-racing and chicken-fighting,
for during the next two years his biographers continue to record many
achievements and adventures in this line. His other pursuits, if he
had any, are not known. Some say he taught school. If he did, teachers
must have been few and far between at that time in North Carolina. When
he was seventeen or eighteen years of age, he went to Salisbury to
study law. Unable to find an opening, he went to Morgantown, in Burke
County, where he was equally unsuccessful. At length he succeeded in
persuading Mr. Spruce McCoy, of Salisbury, a lawyer of eminence, and
subsequently a distinguished judge, to undertake his instruction. The
story of his career in Salisbury is a sad one, if certain traditions be
true. He was, according to some of his biographers, “the most roaring,
rollicking, game-cocking, horse-racing, card-playing mischievous fellow
that ever lived in Salisbury.” The portrait is probably from the easel
of a political enemy, or a well-meaning admirer, who deemed these the
highest qualifications a young man could possess. In the first place, a
life of this description involved the expenditure of considerable money
even in a small North Carolina town a century ago, and Jackson had
none. To suppose that he lived by gambling and horse-racing is absurd.
It is certain, however, that on one occasion he ran a foot-race there
under somewhat ludicrous conditions. The champion runner of the town
was one Hugh Montgomery. A match was made between him and Jackson on
these terms: Montgomery to carry a man on his back and get a start of
half the distance. Jackson won by one or two feet, “amid the laughter
of the town.”

He received his license to practice law before he reached his twentieth
year. This he could not have accomplished if his life had been the
wild and reckless one which some writers would have us believe.
He left Salisbury immediately and went to live at Martinsville in
Guilford County. Two of his friends kept a store there, and he
probably assisted them, although, it is said, he earned a livelihood
by serving as a constable. The following year a friend of his was
appointed judge of the Superior Court in Tennessee. He appointed
Jackson public prosecutor. The position was not one for which there
were many applicants. In the first place, it led into the wilderness
where the red man was yet very successfully disputing the advance of
the pale-faces, and, in the next, the whites whom Jackson was coming
to prosecute were not much higher in the scale of civilization than
the native savages. Jackson induced some friends to accompany him in
quest of fortune and fame, and a start was made for Jonesboro’, then
the principal settlement in Eastern Tennessee. Thence they proceeded to
Nashville, where they arrived in October, 1788. The journey was full of
peril, and were it not for the watchfulness of Jackson one night the
whole party would probably have been massacred. Having a presentiment
of danger, he determined to sit up on guard. Toward midnight the
hooting of an owl fell on his ear. This was followed by another and
another, until in a short time all the owls in Tennessee appeared to
have collected overhead of them. Jackson suspected that these owls
carried scalping-knives and tomahawks, and awoke his companions. They
were troubled no more by owls that night. At Nashville he found as much
law business as he could attend to, and he set to work with his usual
energy and vigor. In his capacity of public prosecutor he was obliged
to attend court at Jonesboro’, which compelled him to make frequent
journeys through the Indian-infested wilderness. This was hard and
perilous work. No one dared attempt the trip alone, and travelers were
in the habit of making up parties in order to be the better prepared
for attack. Jackson one time was delayed, and his friends started
without him. He followed and soon came upon their track, and, at the
same time, the unmistakable trail of Indians immediately behind them.
This was a situation which would have caused ninety-nine in a hundred
men to turn back, but not so Jackson. Although his servant declined to
go with him he determined to push ahead, and divided his provisions
with his attendant, who turned homeward. Jackson came to a point where
the Indians had branched off with the intention of surprising and
attacking the whites with a certainty of success. At length he overtook
his friends and warned them of their danger. It was snowing heavily
at the time, and the entire party were turned away from the camp of
some hunters from whom they had asked shelter. When returning home
they again stopped at the camp, but every one of the hunters had been
scalped.

Jackson now began to accumulate property, and he married Mrs. Robards,
establishing his home, the first he really ever had, in Nashville. This
was almost the first halt thus far in “the march and the battle” of
his life. It was not, however, the famous home called the Hermitage,
for that did not come until many years later. If money was scarce in
Tennessee at that time, there was an abundance of land, and six hundred
and forty acres, or a square mile of real estate, was the ordinary fee
for trying a case at court. Jackson was in fact a land speculator, as
well as a lawyer, and he was a purchaser whenever he could command the
money. So large were his possessions that he sold six thousand dollars
worth of land in one block to a gentleman in Philadelphia, and after
that large transaction for that time, had still several thousand acres
left. Some years later he engaged in business on his place at Hunters
Hill, thirteen miles from Nashville. This plantation embraced several
thousand acres, and he erected on it a house which was one of the
finest in that part of the country. In a smaller building near it he
opened a store and sold goods to the Indians through a small window.
His prosperity, however, received a sudden check. The Philadelphia
gentleman, whose notes he had taken for his land, failed, and the
protection of the notes devolved on Jackson, who had discounted them.
This he did at an enormous sacrifice.

He determined to retrieve his fortune, and to that end enlarged his
operations in every direction. His slaves numbered one hundred and
fifty, and in their management he was greatly assisted by Mrs. Jackson.
He raised corn and cotton, which he shipped on his own boats. At his
large store he took produce of all kinds in exchange for goods. He had
on his plantation a cotton-gin, which was so recently invented that
it had scarcely ceased to be a curiosity. With it he cleaned his own
cotton and that of his neighbors, which was another source of income.
He was an excellent farmer and very proud of his crops, which were
nearly always good. But this was not all. In his youth he had been
exceedingly fond of horses, and his equine tastes grew stronger as
he advanced in years. He brought the famous “Truxton” from Virginia
to Tennessee and won fame and money as a turfman. Few races came off
in the country around in which his name was not among the entries,
and, as he ran his animals with care and judgment, he was a frequent
winner. His stable was in fact the best bred in all that section, and
proved a large source of income to him. Down even to the present day
there is a “Truxton” strain in Tennessee which is highly prized. In
addition he amused himself with an occasional cockfight. On at least
one occasion the ownership of six hundred and forty acres of land
depended upon the issue of the battle between the game birds. During
these years, while he was pursuing the avocation of a planter, of a
dealer in the goods of every description needed in a new country, of a
horse-breeder and of a speculator in land, he also found time to hold
various public positions. He was a delegate to the convention that
framed the constitution of the State; a member of the legislature; then
a congressman and a judge. His service in Congress was very brief, and
he resigned his position on the bench in order to recover the fortune
he had lost. Jackson was a good public officer. He was not a great
lawyer or jurist, but he fearlessly prosecuted every lawbreaker, and
his decisions were always honest. Every scoundrel in the territory was
his enemy, but he never quailed before one of them.

While he was on the bench the sheriff one day told him that a ruffian,
who had been guilty of cutting off his child’s ear in a drunken
passion, was in the court-house yard, armed with dirk and pistols, and
defied arrest. Jackson directed him to summon a posse of citizens. The
sheriff reported back that the citizens were too terrified to act. “He
must be taken,” said Jackson; “summon me!” With a pistol in either
hand, Jackson walked into the yard and strode up to the outlaw, who at
once surrendered to him.

Jackson possessed undaunted courage and nerve. A mob assembled one
time with the intention of tarring and feathering him. He was ill
in bed when a committee waited on him to communicate the cheerful
intelligence. “Give my compliments,” said he, “to Colonel ---- [the
leader of the party], and tell him my door is open to receive him and
his regiment whenever they choose to call upon me, and that I hope he
will have the chivalry to lead his men and not to follow them.” His
brave defiance cowed the mob. It dispersed, and its leader apologized
to Jackson.

Long years after, while Jackson was President, he told a story of one
of his experiences during these frontier days, which we shall insert
here.

“Now, Mr. B----,” said Jackson, “if any one attacks you I know you will
fight with that big black stick of yours. You will aim right for his
head. Well, sir, ten chances to one he will ward it off, and if you
do hit him, you won’t bring him down. Now, sir [taking the stick into
his own hands], you hold the stick so and punch him in the stomach,
and you’ll drop him. I will tell you how I found that out. When I was
a young man, practising law in Tennessee, there was a big bullying
fellow that wanted to pick a quarrel with me, and so trod on my toes.
Supposing it accidental, I said nothing. Soon after he did it again,
and I began to suspect his object. In a few moments he came by a third
time, pushing against me violently and evidently meaning fight. He was
a man of immense size, one of the very biggest men I ever saw. As quick
as a flash I snatched a small rail from the top of the fence and gave
him the point of it full in the stomach. Sir, it doubled him up. He
fell at my feet, and I stamped on him. Soon he got up, savage, and was
about to fly at me like a tiger. The bystanders made as though they
would interfere. Said I, ‘Don’t; stand back; give me room; that is all
I ask, and I will manage him.’ With that I stood ready with the rail
pointed. He gave me one look and turned away a bewitted man, sir, and
feeling like one. So, sir, I say to you, if any fellow assaults you,
give him the point in his belly.”

Jackson fought several duels, killing his antagonist in one of them;
but these episodes in his life do not fall within the limits of this
paper. His military career may be said to begin with his appointment,
in 1802, to the command of the militia of Tennessee, although he was
not called into active service until the following year. Jefferson had
then completed the Louisiana purchase, and it was thought the Spaniards
would not be willing to acknowledge the authority of the United States,
and, possibly, might resist it. Troops were ordered to the frontier,
and if necessary were to be marched to New Orleans. Tennessee promptly
responded, and Major General Jackson discharged so well the duty
assigned him that he was thanked by the Federal Government.

The ambitious, restless, brilliant Burr was at this time revolving in
his fertile brain the erection of an empire in Mexico, and looking
around for lieutenants to aid him in the realization of his dream,
his eye fell upon Jackson, whom he had doubtless met in Philadelphia
while he was Vice-President. In the summer of 1805 Jackson rode from
his plantation into Nashville. The little town was gayly decked with
flags and banners, and the streets were thronged with people from the
surrounding country. Aaron Burr was expected, and the demonstration
was in his honor. After an entertainment by the people of Nashville he
rode home with Jackson as his guest. Burr’s project appealed to the
imagination of Jackson and he offered his services. Next day Burr went
away. A year later he was again in Kentucky and Tennessee, and Jackson
again offered to join his expedition. The enterprise was then discussed
everywhere, but no one had suspected, or at least given expression
to, the suspicion that Burr’s plans were hostile to the interests of
the United States. Rumors of this nature, however, were soon afloat,
and Jackson laid the matter before Governor Claiborne. He at the same
time wrote Burr, declaring that if his designs were inimical to the
government, he desired to have no further relations with him. Burr was
tried shortly afterwards for treason. He was always one of Jackson’s
friends and entertained the highest opinion of his military capacity.
When Congress declared war against England in 1812, Burr said that
Jackson was the most capable general in the country. During the next
five or six years Jackson was in private life.

The outbreak of hostilities with England called him again into the
field. The Mississippi Valley was loyal to the core and promptly
furnished a larger number of men than had been called for. Jackson,
at the head of 2,500 volunteers, descended the Ohio and Mississippi
to Natchez, where he received word from Wilkinson, at New Orleans, to
await further orders. Wilkinson was jealous of Jackson and did not
desire his co-operation if he could do without it. Jackson, angry
at the delay, went into camp. Later on he was enraged when, instead
of receiving an order to advance, he was instructed to disband his
forces 500 miles from Nashville. It was a cruel order to give; cruel
treatment of men who had so promptly rushed to the defense of their
country. Jackson resolved to disobey it. He would not abandon his men
so far from their homes. His quarter-master refused to furnish proper
supplies. Jackson solved that problem by borrowing $5,000 on his own
responsibility. The journey back was severe, and many of the men fell
sick. Jackson placed one of the sufferers on his own horse and walked
400 miles on foot. His officers and mounted men who were strong enough
followed his example and gave their horses to their companions who
had succumbed to the hardships of the march. One soldier became so
dangerously ill that it was proposed to abandon him. “Not a man shall
be left as long as life is in him,” said Jackson. He watched over the
sufferer as if he had been his own child, and saved his life.

In the summer of 1813 the terrible massacre of Fort Mimms occurred.
The legislature of Tennessee authorized the raising of 3,500 men, and
Jackson began operations against the Creeks in the following October.
So great was his popularity that in a short time he had over five
thousand men under his command. His name soon became a terror to the
Indians, whom he mercilessly followed and fought whenever they dared
to oppose him. But there was a tender heart in the breast of Jackson.
After a fierce encounter at Tallahassee, an Indian woman was found
killed on the field. An infant boy lay on her bosom vainly striving to
satisfy his hunger. The child was brought within the lines and adopted
by Jackson. Mrs. Jackson, who had no children of her own, became as
attached to the little war-waif as her husband, and he grew to be a
fine youth. When he died Jackson was deeply grieved, and the remains
are buried at the Hermitage. The timely assistance rendered by Jackson
to the besieged at Fort Talladega prevented a repetition of the Fort
Mimms horror, for it was on the point of surrender when he appeared and
put the savages to flight. His own supplies now fell short, and his men
were threatened with famine. The volunteers in his command attempted
to leave for their homes, but were prevented by the militia. The
militia shortly after threatened revolt, and they were held in check
by the volunteers. Both parties next united and resolved to abandon
the field. Jackson rode to the head of the column and presenting his
pistol declared he would kill the first man who advanced. So dire was
the distress that he lived on acorns picked up in the woods. At the
Great Horseshoe Bend of the Tallapoosa River, Jackson struck the Creek
Indians a blow from which they never recovered. More than one thousand
warriors took their final stand at that point in a strongly fortified
camp. The battle was one of the fiercest in all our Indian annals. Six
hundred braves were killed, for they had resolved to die rather than
yield. Finally, the remnant of the band, their brethren nearly all
slain, laid down their arms on the now historic Hickory Ground, at the
fork of the Coosa and Tallapoosa rivers. Among those who surrendered
was the famous Weatherford, the most valiant of all their leaders.

The Waxhaw lad, who thirty-three years before had been struck down by
one of Tarleton’s officers for refusing to clean his boots, was now
Major-General in the Regular Army of the United States and in full
command of the division of the South. The war with England had been in
progress two years with varying success on either side. Florida was a
province of Spain, and its governor, while openly professing friendship
for the United States, had allowed British vessels to land supplies
in the harbor of Pensacola, where they were forwarded by officers
on shore to the Indians in arms against us. He resolved to attack
the place, and let Mr. Madison at Washington settle the difficulty
which was certain to follow with Spain as best he could. An appeal
for volunteers was promptly answered, and early in November Jackson
was drawn up in front of the place with a demand for an immediate
surrender. This was refused, and an attack was ordered next day. In a
short time he was in possession of Pensacola, and the British ships
were weighing anchor to escape the fire of his artillery. Fort Barancas
blew up as he was making preparations to assault it. He had no further
business in Pensacola, and resolved to leave, sending this note to
the governor: “The enemy has retired; the hostile Creeks have fled to
the forest, and I now retire from your town, leaving you to occupy
your forts and protect the rights of your citizens.” Then came New
Orleans, where the trained veterans of the Peninsula War were driven
to their ships by the raw levies of the Mississippi Valley. The story
is known to every school-boy. It did not end the war with England--for
the treaty of peace had been signed at Ghent before the battle was
fought--but it more than compensated for all our reverses during the
long struggle, and added an imperishable laurel to our military
fame. Praise of Jackson fell from every tongue, and the fighting
back-woodsman of Tennessee became the idol of the country. While the
whole Republic was resounding with laudation of his deeds and thanking
him in set addresses and formal resolutions from Congress down to the
smallest town council, his wife was awaiting him in a small log-hut in
the forest. Before the war the bankruptcy of a relative for whom he
was security had forced Jackson to sell everything in order to meet
his liabilities. To this humble home he returned from the city he had
saved. His next military service was in the Seminole War. Spain still
held the Floridas, and her officers were again secretly assisting the
savages against the United States. Without instructions, he entered
the Spanish possessions, seized St. Marks, and sent its officials to
Pensacola. The trial and execution of Arbuthnot and Ambrister followed,
after which he captured Pensacola and Fort Barancas. Negotiations for
the cession of Florida were pending at the time, and Jackson’s action
became the subject of official investigation. He was sustained by
public opinion and Congress. In a trip through the Middle and Eastern
States he was everywhere received with the greatest enthusiasm. When
Florida was annexed, Jackson became the first governor of the new
Territory. His civil career was as vigorous and energetic as his
military one had been, but he resigned at the end of a few months,
and returned home to the Hermitage, which had in the meantime been
built. He was next elected to the United States Senate, and declined
the mission to Mexico offered him by Mr. Monroe. His defeat for the
Presidency in 1824 was a severe blow, and the next four years were
spent at his home near Nashville. In 1828 he swept the country, but his
joy was turned to sorrow by the death of his wife a short time after
his election.

Jackson was the first President inaugurated with what may be called
military honors. He was surrounded by a body-guard of Revolutionary
veterans, militia and military companies from all quarters of the
Union. Martial music filled the air; the city was gayly decorated
with flags and banners, and when the ceremonies were over artillery
thundered out all over the capital. “I never saw such a crowd,” Daniel
Webster wrote. “Persons have come 500 miles to see General Jackson,
and they really seem to think that the country is rescued from some
dreadful danger.” Jackson rode a magnificent charger to the Capitol,
cheered by thousands of admirers who lined the sidewalks and filled
every window and point of vantage. The reception at the White House
which followed presented some extraordinary scenes. Indian fighters
from distant Tennessee, hunters from Kentucky, trappers from the
Northwest, and a mob of office-seekers from all sections of the Union,
mingling with the refined society of the capital and visitors from
other cities, surged through the great East Room. They clamored for
refreshments, and in a short time emptied the barrels of punch that had
been provided for their entertainment. Large quantities of glass and
china were broken in the scramble, and the rush to see “Old Hickory”
and shake his hand was so great that his friends found it necessary to
surround and save him from injury.

His favorite exercise was driving and horseback riding. He retired
about ten o’clock and rose early. He frequently took a short canter
before beginning the labors of the day, but his usual hour for
relaxation was in the afternoon. He was always accompanied by a
servant. Mr. Van Buren sometimes rode with him, but more generally his
nephew and Secretary, Mr. Donelson, who, with his family, lived at the
White House. The summers he spent at Old Point Comfort in Virginia.
There were occasional pilgrimages to the Hermitage, and trips North and
East which were ovations at every point where he stopped. He narrowly
escaped assassination, in 1834, while he was descending the steps of
the Capitol in a funeral procession. A crazy painter out of employment
fired twice at him without exploding the powder. On another occasion
he was assaulted while in the cabin of a small steamer, at the wharf
in Alexandria, by a Lieutenant Randolph who had been dismissed from
the Navy. He was seventy years old lacking eleven days when his second
administration closed. Like Jefferson, Madison and Monroe, he placed
the reins of government in the hands of his Secretary of State, and
immediately retired to the Hermitage, now as famous and as sacred to
his followers as Mount Vernon, Monticello or Montpelier. There, in
June, 1845, he died, surrounded by his grandchildren and favorite
slaves; his last words being an expression of the hope that he would
meet them all, black and white, in heaven. The march and the battle
were at last ended.

[Illustration: A FALSE START.]

THE JERSEY CITY ATHLETIC CLUB.

BY CHARLES LEE MEYERS.

Ten years have elapsed since the idea of an athletic club for Jersey
City had its origin in the brains of two gentlemen. These were J. McF.
Tappen and D. R. Van Winkle, and to their number they added a third
counselor, W. J. Tait. From the action of this triumvirate sprang the
present flourishing organization known as the Jersey City Athletic Club.

Support was quickly afforded. Soon some forty gentlemen were at work on
the scheme, and quickly organized themselves into a regular body. The
following officers were elected: W. J. Tait, president; J. McF. Tappen,
vice-president; E. N. Wilson, treasurer, and E. F. Emmons, secretary.
Matters immediately assumed such a flourishing condition, that the
membership reached a century before the second meeting.

The idea uppermost in the minds of the originators, from the first
inception, was that the club should unite the social element with
physical culture, and so afford the exercises the air more of a
pleasurable pastime than simply hard work for muscle’s sake. Acting
on wise counsel, the executive officers of the new organization made
but a modest venture, and finding that the higher they went the lower
the rent, they secured a large garret over a row of brick buildings,
at 723 Grand Street. Their first home was, however, admirably adapted
for their purpose, for the rafters were very high, and afforded ample
space and accommodation for the disposal of climbing-poles, trapezes,
and other gymnastic paraphernalia. The work of fitting, ventilating,
painting, etc., was undertaken with a will; a new floor was laid, an
instructor--Mr. Louis Kline--engaged, club colors adopted (red and
blue, with an emblem of a red Greek cross on a blue ground), and the
club was in full swing.

Directly the premises were completed, they were put to practical use,
and to the good effect of this vigorous action may be attributed the
fact that the club gave its first outdoor games in the spring of 1879.
These games consisted of five club events and four open events, and
were held at the West Side Driving Park. All the noted athletes of
the day competed, and a great success was scored. From this time the
club may be regarded as having established itself on a firm footing
financially and otherwise. Shortly afterwards it joined and became a
prominent member of the N. A. A. A. A., but has now, however, thrown in
its fortune with that of the Amateur Athletic Union.

Meanwhile, in its private life, the club was thriving. The membership
increased, and more accommodation was needed. Room after room was added
on the floor beneath the gymnasium, among them being a billiard-room,
card-room, music-room, with piano and other instruments, and an office
for committee meetings. The original policy of an admixture of social
attractions was thoroughly carried out, and receptions, skating
parties, and a varied round of amusements followed each other in quick
succession, all serving to maintain the interest.

So matters moved smoothly and pleasantly until the roller-skating craze
infected the city, and as the seductive influences of the slippery
floor, and the novelty of the fashion made themselves felt, gradually
the attendance at the club fell off, and it seemed as if a period of
darkness were in store for it. And indeed to the determined spirits
who, by their devotion, tided matters over, a deep and lasting debt is
owed. This danger, although at the time it looked really great, soon
disappeared. One by one the rinks closed, members of the club returned
to their proper allegiance, and affairs resumed their former prosperity.

[Illustration: JERSEY CITY ATHLETIC CLUB HOUSE.]

In the latter part of 1885 an epidemic struck Jersey City--it was
a “club fever.” All the men in the city were either organizing or
joining clubs. Clubs were formed for almost every purpose, social,
intellectual, literary, athletic, bowling, etc. The social element so
strongly developed by the ten or a dozen rinks, had to find an outlet,
and the movement flowed clubward. Among the first to recognize and
direct this curious fever was the Jersey City Athletic Club, and as a
consequence its membership filled up so rapidly that in November, 1885,
its rooms were entirely inadequate for the uses of its members, and it
was decided to build a club-house.

The scheme for the enlargement of the premises had a very modest
beginning, for in the spring of 1885 a demand for further accommodation
in the matter of bowling alleys had been put forward. To meet this
the proposition was made that two alleys should be built on some
land adjoining the Alpha Rink. This by no means met with general
approbation, and it became evident that the membership was falling off,
and that the club was being deserted for its more enterprising rivals,
notable among which was the Palma Club, which had just completed a new
building. When, therefore, the “club fever” broke out, a club meeting
was held, and a proposition made that a committee be appointed whose
duty it should be to raise the large sum of $25,000 for building
purposes. Though the scheme was much derided, the committee was formed,
and comprised the following gentlemen: Messrs. J. C. Appleby, C. H.
Dickson, H. Hartshorne, and E. R. Grant. When this prompt and timely
action became known, it enlisted so many desirable recruits that in six
months from the inception of the building scheme the membership had
trebled, in spite of the fact that in the city four other large and
well-appointed clubs offered their attractions.

[Illustration: WALKING TO WIN.]

The plans were finally passed, and ground purchased for a sum of
$5,000, while the building to be erected was to cost $20,000. On the
first night the amount subscribed was $6,000, and thus assured of the
success of the venture the various committees perfected their work,
and on Thanksgiving Day, 1886, the building was finished. Then the
question arose how the completed building was to be furnished. The
solution of the problem proved easier than might have been expected.
The ladies came graciously to the rescue. A fair was organized to raise
the necessary funds, and the good work which had been done during the
months of preparation was apparent when, after the close of the fair,
which was open for ten days, the sum of $8,000 in cash remained as a
monument to its success.

The new club-house stands at the corner of Crescent and Clinton
Avenues--almost the highest portion of “The Heights”--upon the brow
of the hill. The site is superb, commanding from the eastern windows
and tower a magnificent view of New York harbor and the surrounding
country. The style of architecture is modern Queen Anne. The basement
and first and second stories are of undressed brown-stone, and the
upper stories wood, with a slate roof. The tower forms a notable
feature; a roomy piazza on one side of the house and a large porch are
popular parts of the house in summer. The entrance is very spacious,
and opens into a large vestibule, and this again leads to a wide hall
running through to the billiard-room.

In the basement are the bowling-alleys, six in number, fitted with all
the latest improvements, and built by the best makers in the costliest
style. In fact, so well is their construction carried out, that the
claim that they are among the best of their kind in America is fully
justified. The active use to which they are put every night vouches
for the interest displayed in the pastime by the members. On the left
of the bowling-alleys is the wheelroom, which affords storage for a
large number of wheels, and gives easy egress to the street through the
side-doors.

[Illustration: PUTTING THE SHOT.]

On the first floor, the offices and the card-room are on one side of
the hall, and on the other the parlor and the library. The last now
contains some three hundred volumes of standard books, and additions
are constantly being made; in addition, a large supply of monthly
and weekly periodicals is taken. A large open grate is a feature of
this room; the furnishings are throughout easy and luxurious, while
its situation, being in the base of the tower, allows the light to
enter from three sides, rendering it most comfortable and suitable
for its purpose. The entire wing is occupied by the billiard-room,
which contains four billiard and two pool tables. The room is lighted
directly from three sides and indirectly from the fourth, and therefore
has the best facilities for lovers of the game to display their skill
with the cue. Off this room are coat-rooms, etc., and a complete
barber’s shop.

[Illustration: THE RUNNING BROAD JUMP--LANDING.]

On the next floor is the gymnasium, which is one of the finest in
the country. From the floor, which measures eighty by fifty feet,
there is a space of forty feet to the peak of the roof. Every kind
of apparatus that has been invented for exercise and to further
muscular development is represented, while the lofty rafters make the
swinging rings, climbing ropes and poles a notable feature. Off the
gymnasium and in the wing are the spacious locker-rooms and baths.
Around three sides runs a spacious gallery, and on the mezzanine floor
is situated the large music-room, at the back of the gallery, and
looking out on the gymnasium. On the fourth side is the stage--while
the gymnasium itself makes a splendid auditorium. It is used on the
occasion of club performances, and having a seating capacity of 800,
with the large gallery and music-room as a foyer, it makes an ideal
amateur theatre; and again, when the annual receptions are held, it
makes a capital ball-room--all the apparatus being removable. The
stage itself is replete with every convenience--handsome drop-curtain,
scenery, etc.--and there is a fine wardrobe of costumes. The method of
construction permits the wings to be run out when occasion demands, and
while not in use the stage is lifted back against the wall, and the
proscenium shuts up flat against the stage, much like the closing of
an accordion, so giving the entire floor except a few feet for other
purposes.

[Illustration: HIGH JUMP NO. 1--THE RISE.]

The value of the club’s property amounts to about $45,000, and its
income reaches $18,000, a sum large enough to allow considerable
addition each year to its possessions, besides paying current expenses.
The membership, which has a limit of 650, reaches 625. The original
object of the club has been fully attained, for it has added greatly
to the social life of the city. An element of its success has been the
absence of internal dissension; all work together for the common good,
sinking personal differences, and never allowing them to hamper any
public project. The rules are strict: no liquor can be brought into,
sold, or drunk in the house; no gambling or games of chance are allowed
by the State laws, and are also prohibited by the club rules under
penalty of expulsion.

The bowling team is the club’s joy and pride. At the close of the
season of 1886-7, however, the team was last on the list, having won
only four out of twelve games. This was to be expected, as the alleys
had been in use only a few months; but in the season of 1887-8 the
team won ten out of a possible fourteen games, and gained thereby the
championship of the Amateur Bowling League. This league is composed
of the Jersey A. C., New York A. C., Orange A. C., Brooklyn A. A.,
Roseville A. C., Elizabeth A. C., and Palma Club. Of these the
Elizabeth Club had never been beaten on their own alleys until the
Jersey City Club lowered their colors, rolling the highest score in
the tournament upon their alleys in contest with them. The tournament
commenced in November, 1887, and the twelve scheduled games were
finished with a tie for first place between the Jersey City, New York,
and Palma Club. The Jersey team won the deciding games in good style,
defeating successively the Palmas and the New Yorks, and winning ten
out of fourteen games.

[Illustration: HIGH JUMP NO. 2--OVER.]

After the tie was made, the three clubs drew as to who should play
first, the J. C. A. C. drawing the bye. The New Yorks played the Palma
Club, the latter winning. This left the J. C. A. C. to play the Palma
Club upon the alleys of the N. Y. A. C., and it was a game worth
recording. At the end of the third frame the Palma score was 102 pins
ahead, and it looked as if the game was won. Neither score changed
much until the end of the sixth frame, when the score of the J. C. A.
C. began to show a little improvement. By this time the excitement
was growing, and the spectators began to be interested. All eyes were
strained upon the pins at the end of the alleys as one of the crack
bowlers carefully poised the huge ball in mid-air, taking careful aim,
when suddenly, with an eerie screech, a wild-eyed, consumptive cat,
with arched back and bristling fur, darted like a streak of darkness
diagonally across the alley. All the boys shouted, and were convulsed
with laughter at the strange apparition, coming from nowhere and
disappearing as mysteriously as it had come. The claims of the rival
clubs were loud as to the significance of the visitant, the Palmas
claiming it as their mascotte, the J. C. A. C. boys claiming it as
a “hoodoo” for the Palma score, and so it proved. By this time the
excitement had spread all through the house, and the men swarmed down
into the alleys.

Slowly the score began to change its aspect, until, by the final frame,
when the Palmas had finished their play, they were eleven pins ahead of
the J. C. A. C., who had one more man to roll. When on the first ball
he made a “strike,” counting ten, he was seized by the enthusiastic
team and carried around upon their shoulders. Each of his following
shots proved to be a “strike,” and brought up the score of the J. C. A.
C. to a total of 43 pins above that of their opponents. A large model
of the cat, done in cotton, five times the size of the original, with
heroic verses telling of its famous run, and its “hoodoo” influence, is
one of the proud possessions of the club, and adorns its rooms.

Among other trophies are the prizes for a match contest between the
Orange A. C. and the J. C. A. C. The team is composed of Messrs. A. M.
Ryerson, captain, F. Cavalli, J. H. Curran, O. D. Stewart, A. H. Brown,
E. R. Grant, G. E. Hogg, J. A. Davis, E. Klein and H. W. McLellan.
Bowling tournaments between the members of the club for prizes help to
promote good play and develop champions.

The baseball team has won a number of local victories, and interests
a large number of members. Having, however, no regular grounds to
practice on, the team contents itself with playing against local club
nines.

The club is extremely strong in wheelmen, having among its members
75 per cent. of the Hudson County Wheelmen, who form the largest and
strongest cycling organization in New Jersey, and one which is hand in
hand with the J. C. A. C. It was proposed at one time to amalgamate,
but the H. C. W., not wishing to lose their identity, compromised by
nearly all becoming members of the J. C. A. C. Among their wheelmen,
Charles E. Kluge possesses a world-wide fame. His records on the “Star”
and tricycle, and latterly upon the crank machine, are well known,
while his world record for twenty-five miles stands unrivaled. Others
who have carried the club’s name to the front upon the racing-track
are E. P. Baggot, E. M. Smith, W. P. Smith, and C. A. Stenken. On the
whole, however, the members are more devoted to rolling up mileage on
the road than rolling down Father Time on the track.

The achievements of the athletes of the J. C. A. C. belong rather
to its past history than to its present. For the first years of its
existence the club gave spring and fall games and their success was
unquestioned. The novelty, however, wore off and the great difficulty
in reaching the trotting track, which was the only available ground,
prohibited an attendance sufficient to make them a financial success.
So, after money had been lost steadily for the sake of the sport for
some years, the games were abandoned, although the club athletes
continued to score successes in the field and on the track. Among these
were Hugh McMahon, whose best on record at the hurdles stood for a
number of years, A. D. Stone, G. Y. Gilbert, and Charles Lee Meyers. A
feature of the club athletics consists of runs from the house across
country and return, and a series of races in its gymnasium, such as
obstacle and potato races.

In the spring of 1885 it gave an entertainment which brought together
all the noted athletes of the day as performers, among them being L. E.
Myers, F. P. Murray, Robt. Stall on the rings, G. Y. Gilbert, and many
others of the same class.

In 1887 the Boxing and Wrestling Championships of America were given
under the auspices of the club and in its gymnasium.

The original idea, which has been mentioned before as existing in
the minds of the originators of the club, has been well carried out.
In order to obliterate from the minds of the ladies the inherent
prejudice against all men’s clubs, the rooms were at first thrown open
to them every Thursday evening, a dance was given every month, and a
ladies’ class formed in the gymnasium. The result of this diplomacy
was made apparent when the furnishing of the new club-house had to be
accomplished. After their noble efforts in this cause, the question
arose how to recompense them for their devotion, and how to place them
in possession of all the club privileges without cost (for the club’s
gratitude could do no less), and yet not make them members.

This difficult problem was solved by giving up to the ladies the
afternoons of Tuesday and Thursday of each week and also Thursday
evening, and having an informal dance once each month. At these times
all privileges are free to ladies, and numerous groups enjoy themselves
bowling, playing billiards, pool, cards, and often getting up an
impromptu dance in the gymnasium. This feature is naturally one of
the most attractive to the members, and among the ladies themselves
the club is a very popular place. It has not so far interfered in
the smallest degree with the exercise of the members’ privileges, as
they can use all the club’s advantages on these occasions, courtesy
of course giving preference to the fair sex, and indeed it has been
of unexpected benefit to the club. Ladies, by telling their friends
of the beauty of the club-house and the enjoyment to be obtained on
its ladies’ days, have induced their male friends to join the club. A
grand ball is given annually to the ladies, the first one in the new
club-house being in honor of the ladies’ services during the fair. In
January, 1888, Governor Green and all his staff of State officials
honored the Club Ball by their presence.

Another prominent characteristic of the club is musical ability. Almost
the first action of the club after its organization was to give an
entertainment which took the form of a minstrel show, with only the
members as performers. These shows grew better year by year, until
in the fall of 1885 the club produced “The Mikado,” which had a run
of two nights and splendid success. These plays were given in a local
theatre and were “in black,” with most of the dialogue localized. In
the fall of 1887, having its own theatre, the club took a step forward
and produced “Erminie,” in black, with a remarkably successful run of
four nights. Shortly after this the club orchestra was organized, and
is now one of the notable features of every entertainment. In April of
last year, “Patience” was produced for three nights, but this time with
the assistance of the wives, sisters and sweethearts of the members,
and exactly as written, with every detail. Such a splendid success
was scored that its repetition was almost a necessity, so it was
again given the month following, making four performances. The entire
performance was marked throughout by the most careful attention to
artistic effect, and in this it was quite a triumph.

In such ways the club has retained the sympathy and co-operation of the
ladies. For instance, when “Patience” was produced, they contributed a
major part of the attraction by splendid singing and acting.

The club is in the height of its prosperity. While the substantial
reasons for its existence continue, there seems no doubt of its
standing and permanency.

MY BOAT.

The frolic waves are dancing bright
Across the moon’s broad path of light:
My lovely boat--
A swan afloat,
Holds o’er the waves her long white throat:
From either side
The waters glide
In silver flashes of laughing foam,
And she skims the sea
In an ecstasy
Of joy, returned again to home.

_Arthur Cleveland Hall._

ON A CANADIAN FARM IN MIDWINTER.

BY W. BLACKBURN HARTE.

By decree of the inexorable _res angusta domi_, I left my native
England in the last days of the year of grace 1886, for Canada, with
the determination of becoming a farmer. I was a cockney to my backbone,
and had not the slightest idea of farming, but still I was young and
hopeful, and I imagined that this happy consummation would take but a
very short time to accomplish. Many a night, while lying in my bunk
during the passage across the Atlantic, I built _châteaux en Espagne_
innumerable, and galloped over limitless acres of which I held the
freehold. Alas! my castles have since been irretrievably mortgaged to
Doubt and Despair, and if the reader will give me his kind attention
while I relate my experiences, we will together watch these castles of
cards topple to the ground.

Upon my arrival at Montreal I at once advertised for a situation on
a farm, for I had more ambition than capital or collateral security,
and consequently was unable to immediately blossom forth into a landed
proprietor. To my great delight I received three or four answers from
farmers in different parts of the country, each of whom represented
that _his_ farm was situated in the very heart of the garden of Canada,
and desired me to come on without delay. Subsequent experience led me
to the conclusion that Canada was one immense garden--of snow, and
remarkably well ventilated. After a little thought, I decided to place
myself and accompanying transcendent abilities at the disposal of a
gentleman--evidently a public philanthropist--who, judging from the
friendly warmth of his communication, appeared to have been anxiously
looking forward to my arrival on this continent.

The next day I boarded a train going east, and after a two hours’
journey arrived at my destination, which was only fifty miles from
the metropolis. I had reason later to thank my stars that I had not
decided to begin my career as a farm-hand in the neighborhood of the
“Rockies,” because in that case my return to civilization would have
been well-nigh impossible, considering the state of my exchequer. The
name of the village was Knowlton, in the province of Quebec. Some of
my readers are doubtless acquainted with the locality.

A negro conductor passed through the car and announced in stentorian
tones, first in French-Canadian _patois_, and then in English, the name
of the station, and looking out of the window I saw a noble edifice
which appeared to have been blown together, “promiscuous-like,” on a
very windy day, and then tarred over. This was the waiting-room and
station-master’s sanctum combined; in fact, it was the station. There
was not the ghost of a platform, but a low fence surrounded the rear of
the shanty. The station-master, as I afterwards found out, was a man of
exceedingly portly dimensions, and was greatly impressed with a sense
of his own importance, so there was little room in the shanty for aught
else beside himself and the stove.

The whole population of the place, about twenty-five or thirty persons
all told, counting one or two of the canine genus, were assembled
in the yard to witness the train come in. This appeared to be the
only dissipation of which the villagers were at any time capable.
They looked like so many badly packed bundles of cloth, and spoke a
villainous gibberish, which would confound the natives of La Belle
France. I fancy I was looked upon as a sort of natural curiosity.
Certainly I was the “observed of all observers” upon that occasion, and
caused no little diversion. I stood and watched the departing train
until it was out of sight, and then sat down upon my chest. To confess
the truth, I did not feel in the best of spirits. The prospect seemed
less inviting now that I was, as it were, plumped down, out of all
civilization, upon the scene of my new labors.

My benefactor, the farmer, now approached me, and introduced himself by
suddenly bawling in my ear, “Now then, young feller, get up, and take
hold of t’ other end of this box. Great Scott! what a terror, anyway.
What ’ev you got in it, anyhow?”

Mr. Wiman, for that was the gentleman’s name, had never seen me before
in his life, but he jumped to the conclusion that I was “his man,”
because, as he afterwards explained to me, I looked “so English, you
know.” I guessed, too, that a stranger in those parts was rather a
_rara avis_.

We carried the box to his sledge, which he had kindly brought down to
drive me up to the farm. Taking a seat beside him, I inquired what
distance his place was from the village.

“Well, I guess it’s something over five miles--more or less,” was his
reply.

We drove on for a long time in silence, and I began to think that there
was a considerable difference between a five-mile drive in the “old
country” and a similar distance in Canada. I ventured to hint as much
to Mr. Wiman. He burst into a hearty laugh.

“Bless yer! I should jist reckon there _is_ a difference. That’s all!
We keep up with the times on this side ’ev the water. This ’ere is a
live country, sir--a live country!”

I did not quite understand how the advanced state of the country should
so materially alter the mileage, but kept my own counsel. I could not
help, however, reflecting that despite the fact that I was now in a
land of enlightenment and progress, I had never seen such a dismal,
dreary landscape in my life. Nature in her sterner aspects cannot so
quell the soul of man as when she presents herself in merely bleak
desolation. There was nothing but snow, which almost blinded me with
its dazzling whiteness, and certainly added to the depression of my
spirits.

At last Mr. Wiman drew rein at a wayside _auberge_ and told me to wait
a few minutes until he returned. This was comforting. The atmosphere
was not 90° in the shade--it was 20° below zero! I jammed my hard
felt hat down over my face, under the impression that by getting my
head into it as far as possible I should keep my ears from dropping
off. Foolishly enough, I had neglected to purchase a fur cap when in
Montreal, and now bitterly repented my want of forethought.

The first quarter of an hour did not seem so very long, as my mind was
occupied with hundreds of conflicting thoughts, and those inevitable
“first impressions” which chill one’s cherished hopes. But when a
“few minutes” slowly dragged itself into a good half-hour, it struck
me that the Canadian method of reckoning the flight of time must be
conducted on the broad basis which characterized the mileage. I rubbed
my hands with snow to keep them warm and prevent them from freezing,
and jumping off the sledge I paced rapidly up and down, under the
veranda in front of the hostelry, to induce circulation. I had read
something and heard more about the climate in this part of the world,
and was afraid that unless I was extremely careful I should coagulate
into one complete block of ice. At last my patience was exhausted, and
I determined to go in quest of my employer. I found him, the centre of
a small circle of _convives_ assembled around the stove, discussing
in broken French and English, thick with authority and liquor, the
question of commercial union.

I nervously asked him when he intended to resume his journey. He
replied by pointing to a vacant seat, and asking me to take “something
hot.” I was half frozen, and readily accepted the offer.

“Sorry--hic--sorry I forgot you,” he said, with a cheerful smile.

“Don’t mention it,” I replied politely. “I’m still alive.”

In another hour or so the party broke up, leaving Mr. Wiman decidedly
none the better for his potations. In fact, he was wholly unfit to have
charge of the horse.

He took my arm, and staggering out into the cold again, we found the
horse lying down in the snow, almost stiff, and the sledge overturned.
It was dark. In Canada there is no twilight. It is a sudden transition
from day into night, and I began to wish myself back in Montreal.
However, after many kicks and objurgatory coaxings, the poor beast
was induced to stand up, and righting the sledge and replacing my
belongings, we again took our seats. Mr. Wiman then handed the reins
to me with instructions to drive “home,” and fell fast asleep on my
shoulder. I did not, of course, know the road in the least, but the
horse did. He had been left for a “few minutes” on many occasions
before. I could not refrain from inwardly making comparisons between
the brute and his master, not altogether favorable to the intelligence
of the latter. I also did not forget to thank God for the brute’s
endowment, as otherwise we should in all probability have been buried
beneath the snow, which, in some places, was over ten feet in depth.
As it was, the ride was not unattended with danger, as it was hard to
see the track in the dark, and every now and again the poor animal slid
up to his neck in the snow, and only extricated himself after severe
struggles. The farmer awoke at intervals, when the sledge was almost
overturned, but he kept his seat wonderfully. This, of course, was the
force of long habit. I have heard of tipsy sailors preserving their
equilibrium in the same marvelous fashion. Wiman would then encourage
the horse with a few sanguinary expressions, and again relapse into the
land of Nod. As this may be getting wearisome to the reader, I will
only mention one other incident of that memorable drive.

Just in front of the homestead we encountered a very large drift, and
as the horse endeavored to scramble through it, the sledge upset and
deposited both of us at least a couple of feet under the snow. I was
the first to get my head above the surface, and began to search for
my companion and my box. I found the son of Bacchus coiled up quite
content. After sundry kicks he realized his position, and clutching the
sledge with both hands, instructed me to let go the traces and free
the horse. This I did, and, after many attempts, the unfortunate beast
regained his feet.

In a few minutes more we were safe in the barn, and having watered and
fed the horse, we made our way into the house, which, from what I could
make of it, was simply another barn of somewhat greater pretensions.
But even this looked very inviting after my late experience of the
Canadian roads.

The floor of the kitchen, sitting-room and drawing-room--a domestic
combination, which we now entered--was almost covered with snow that
had entered through the doors on either side. An enormous stove
or range was placed in the centre of the room, and the walls were
decorated with pictorial representations, mostly culled from the
Christmas issues of various illustrated periodicals. A deal table, a
kitchen dresser, sparsely laden with crockery of assorted patterns and
culinary utensils, and a few rickety chairs, completed the inventory of
furniture.

Mr. Wiman pointed to a plate of hash which stood upon the table--which,
it is almost unnecessary to mention, was quite innocent of a cloth--and
told me “to get outside of it.” I did not require a second invitation,
but fell to like a hungry wolf.

Just then a female voice from an adjoining room shrieked out, “Is that
you, Nathan?” to which the gentleman in question, who was tugging at
his boots in a fruitless endeavor to remove them, responded in the
Canadian affirmative, “Yah.”

“H’ain’t you ’toxicated?”

“Yah.”

“As usual,” resumed the voice, not angrily, but with a philosophical
mixture of sadness and good-humor.

“Yah.” Wiman had a fondness for this peculiar monosyllable. “Come and
take off these darned boots. They don’t mind me.”

At this frank confession I could not help laughing aloud. This brought
Mrs. Wiman, for it was she, to the door, attired in a dilapidated
dressing-gown and a pair of very masculine carpet slippers, with an
old hussar undress uniform jacket thrown over her shoulders, the whole
surmounted by a huge nightcap. Her strange appearance did not tend
to decrease my mirth. The good woman, however, was not in the least
indignant at my rude behavior, and, indeed, seemed to enter into the
joke herself. I introduced myself, and was then asked a great many
questions respecting the art of milking, etc., to which I replied
with some diffidence, as my knowledge of such matters was not very
extensive. As a boy, I remember gazing in at the entrance of a dairy in
our street by the hour together, dreaming of green fields and babbling
brooks, but I had never seen any cows there. The principal object that
attracted my attention was--what? I won’t disclose. The joke is too
ancient.

When I had finished my sumptuous repast it was nearly one o’clock in
the morning, and Mrs. Wiman took up a candle, minus a candlestick, and
showed me up to my room, which was on the next and top floor. I stuck
the candle on the floor in the farther corner of the room, out of the
wind and snow, which again made its appearance through the half-wrecked
window. There was no furniture of any kind in the room, with the
exception of a low truckle-bed.

I was then left alone, as I thought, but on looking towards the bed
I noticed that it had already an occupant, who reminded me of what
Robinson Crusoe must have looked like after having been deprived of his
barber for a twelvemonth. I crept silently into bed, generously giving
my companion the greater half of it, and laid awake, thinking over the
events of the past few hours, until it was almost daylight, when I
fell into a troubled sleep. I seemed to have been asleep only a few
minutes, however, when an alarm clock, which I had not noticed standing
in the recess of the window before retiring, began to make its presence
known in a very demonstrative manner. I sat up and rubbed my eyes,
invoking anything but blessings upon the devoted head of the inventor
of these execrable “utilities.” My partner turned over and uttered a
groan, and then becoming aware of my presence, he said, “Thank ’evin
you’ve come at last.” Somehow I could not find it in my heart to echo
this sentiment.

“Why?” I asked.

“’Cause, I’ll be able to leave now.”

“Oh. But how is it that you are going?”

“I guess you’ll soon find out why. Anyway, there’s no time for talking
on this ’ere farm. Shove on yer things and foller me.”

This was not very encouraging, but I did not hazard any further
remarks, and was soon ready to follow my Job’s comforter. I began to
think that life on a Canadian farm was not all _couleur de rose_. When
we reached the kitchen, he lit a couple of lanterns, and we stepped out
into the yard, nearly up to our waists in snow. That fellow Thomson,
who sang of the sluggard and enlarged upon the advantages of early
rising, never put his theories into practice. If he had tried getting
up at four ~A. M.~ in picturesque Canada, in the depth of
winter, he would have tuned his lyre to a different strain.

We then went into the stable, and Jim (my partner) gave me a bucket
to fetch some water for the horses, also a shovel with which I was to
find the pump. This was not an unnecessary precaution. The pump was
situated somewhere about one hundred yards from the barn. The wind had
been very boisterous during the night, and the snow had drifted in deep
reefs over a mile long, and the pump was completely buried. Finding
that I was not very successful in my search, Jim joined me, and by our
united efforts we at last discovered it. I am certain that no old-time
Californian miner was ever more delighted at striking gold than I was
when we found that pump. I thought I should lose my ears before we
uncovered it.

On returning from this voyage of discovery we were met by Mr. Wiman,
who told me to follow him and “milk.” The cow-barn was at the far
end of the yard, and housed over fifty head of cattle. Another tramp
through the snow! I noticed that this place was far warmer even than
the house, which I rightly attributed to the animal life within its
walls. This “milking” was a practical test of my abilities which I
had not been looking forward to with any great eagerness. I will pass
over this experience, which even after this lapse of time makes a cold
sweat start out upon my brow. Suffice it to say, that after one hour of
pulling and tugging, with great beads of perspiration rolling down my
cheeks, to the utter disgust of the cow, and at great personal risk,
I succeeded in obtaining sufficient lacteal fluid for, at least, one
cup of tea. By this time breakfast was ready for me; I was ready for
breakfast, and the meeting was adjourned.

The _pièce de résistance_ was the hash of the previous evening,
re-hashed; but farm work does not foster one’s epicureanism, and I ate
like an alderman. When I had finished my meal I drew my chair up to the
stove and produced a pipe, thinking that an hour was allowed for each
meal. I was soon informed to the contrary, however, by Mr. Wiman, who
burst into a hearty laugh.

“Ah, that’s English, don’t cher know? It won’t wash out ’ere. I’d
advise you to follow Jim, and larn ’ow to ’itch on a team for drawing
bark. We don’t di-gest our food in this country, yer know. It’s got ter
take its chance.”

The next thing to be done was to water the cattle, which was no
easy task. The spring, or watering-place, was in the centre of the
field adjoining the yard, at a distance of half a mile, and was only
distinguishable by a tree which stood close to it. We procured a shovel
and hatchet, and after a great deal of shoveling we came upon the
trough, which was filled with solid ice at least a foot in thickness.
I suggested that a little dynamite kept upon the premises would be a
handy article in winter, at which witticism Jim surrendered all the
smile that was left in him after a protracted spell of farm-labor. At
last we broke the ice sufficiently for two cows to drink at once, and
Jim told me to run up as fast as my legs would carry me and turn out
six cows, as otherwise the water would freeze again. The reader may
think that this verges upon exaggeration, but I can assure him, or her,
that on more than one subsequent occasion I had to break the ice a
second time within the space of a quarter of an hour.

When all the cows had been watered, there was “clearing-out” to be
done. This was not a particularly clean occupation, but it was, at
all events, far warmer. Then came feeding, which with our careful
management took a great deal of time and a surprising amount of hay.
Jim was always thinking of his master’s best interests. He explained
this carelessness by confiding to me that he had worked for twelve
months for “glory,” that is, without remuneration, beyond bed and
board. He said that this was the only way in which he could get a
portion of his arrears from his respected employer. I had also agreed
to come upon the same terms during my novitiate, and had indeed paid
a small premium, but I had not anticipated such a lengthy term of
apprenticeship.

Wiman now entered and announced dinner, a call to which we quickly
responded. Mrs. Wiman appeared to have quite a genius for making
hashes; indeed, she was a rustic Soyer. As I had by this time learned
to expect, the chief dish was a resurrection of the morning’s meal,
with sundry vegetable additions. I was very hungry, but I must confess
indulged in irritants (_i. e._, pepper and salt) to an extent which
would have put to shame an Anglo-Indian with a cast-iron interior.
Pastry was a sybaritic innovation which had not then found its way into
this part of the Dominion.

We passed the afternoon in much the same way as the morning, and worked
until 7.30 ~P. M.~, when we supped on bread and cheese and went
to bed.

The next day was Sunday, a day which in the dear “old country” is
usually kept holy, with an exemption from all toil not absolutely
necessary. My first Sabbath on the farm had almost slipped away before
I remembered what the day was. Thinking that the farmer had also made
a mistake, I mentioned the matter to him. He seemed quite surprised at
my religious scruples, which he regarded as another evidence of British
insular retrogression, and remarked that all days were alike to him.
And so it proved, for we spent the whole of that afternoon ploughing
snow, which drifted again almost as quickly as it was furrowed.

In the evening Jim broached the subject of his resignation to the
“boss,” who blankly refused to accept it, and informed him that
if he wanted to go he must walk to the station, as he would see
him--ahem’d--before he would allow him the use of a horse and sleigh.
As I have said before, the village was considerably over five miles
from the farm, and to walk there through the snow was out of the
question. It meant almost certain death.

But Jim avowed his intention of performing this feat, and very early
on the following morning he rose, packed up his scanty wardrobe, and
departed.

Just before daybreak, about two hours after Jim’s exit, the infernal
clock rang out my doom. Upon reaching the barn I hung my lantern upon a
hook in the beam above, and sitting down upon my milk-stool, commenced
operations upon one of the cows.

Suddenly I heard a voice at my elbow. “I can’t go through that
wood--it’s haunted.” A little bit scared myself, I turned round
abruptly, and in the dim light encountered the white face of the
adventurous Jim. Pulling myself together, I rather hastily demanded
what uneasy spirit could find pleasure in being out in such beastly
weather.

“Well, you come with me, and see if there ain’t a ghost.”

Curious to know what had frightened the fellow, I took down the
lantern, and together we sallied forth into the snow. We had hardly
reached the middle of the meadow when a dark object came rushing
towards us, and a sepulchral “bur-bur” sent Jim flying back in the
direction of the barn.

“There it is!” he cried, in a voice full of terror.

I held the lantern aloft and shouted, “Who’s there?”

“Bur-bur,” was the reply. Then I ascertained the name and condition
of this perturbed spirit. It was a _calf_! It suddenly dawned upon me
that I had noticed the barn door was open when I first came down, and
I immediately came to the conclusion that Jim had let the ghost out
himself when he went in to put on his boots, which he was in the habit
of leaving in the barn when his day’s work was over.

When Jim received a personal introduction to his ghost, he grew as
courageous as Bob Acres before he came into actual contact with pistols
and cold lead, and shouldering his bundle again he started forth, just
as daylight was dawning in the east. I gave him my pouch of tobacco to
render his journey less irksome, and that was the last I ever saw or
heard of poor Jim.

The weather for the next three weeks was comparatively fine, and I got
along far better, and sometimes managed to find time to indulge in the
luxury of a “farmer’s holiday,” viz., chopping wood. Mr. Wiman seemed
to be, on the whole, very well satisfied with me, and encouragingly
informed me that he had no doubt but that I should get into working
order by the time work commenced, which, in his opinion, was not
until the spring, when ploughing, etc., began. This was something of
a revelation to me. In my intense ignorance of farm matters I had
imagined that there was already plenty to do.

It now became forcibly evident to me that I was not intended for a
farmer. A daily communion with nature appeared every day less like the
celestial “all beers and skittles” I had previously conceived it to
be. The smoky London I had left became by comparison with my present
surroundings a very seventh heaven of felicity. I began to long once
more to relapse into a unit in one of the world’s great loveless hives.
I communicated my desire to Mr. Wiman. He would not hear of my leaving
him until the expiration of three months, vowing that I had agreed
to stay for that term, and threatening that if I attempted to leave
without his sanction, he would “have the law of me.” I had made no such
agreement, but I saw that it would not help me to make a disturbance,
and so restrained my natural indignation at such treatment. However, I
determined to seek pastures new, and prepared my traps for flight at
the first opportunity which offered itself.

I had not long to wait. A few days after my skirmish with the “boss,”
he had to attend to some very important business at a neighbor’s farm
about two miles farther east. Now or never was the time to escape.
I immediately began my preparations by harnessing the best horse in
the stable to a sledge. Everything was packed, so there was only the
transfer of my chest from my room to the sledge. But how should I
accomplish this without arousing her ladyship’s suspicions? The fates
were propitious. I had barely finished harnessing the horse, when Mrs.
Wiman’s stately form emerged from the house, with a hatchet in her hand.

“Where are you off to?” she inquired.

“Oh, I’m going to the wood to draw bark,” I replied, leisurely
surveying the straps to disarm suspicion.

“S’pose you’ll be back in time for dinner,” she said, picking her way
across the yard and entering the corn-bin, where a plentiful supply of
killed cow was always kept.

“Oh, yes,” I answered. “And I guess when I return I’ll be jolly
hungry, so please cut off a double dose for me,” I added, venturing
upon a little joke as a kind of farewell. Then I darted across the
yard, and went up to my room--I don’t know how many stairs at a
time--and, by a herculean effort, shouldered my box, hurried down
again, almost breaking my neck in my haste, and had it on the sledge
before I had breath enough to say “Jack Robinson.” I was just in the
act of covering it over with some sacks when Mrs. Wiman reappeared with
a huge piece of raw flesh in her hand. She comprehended the situation
in a flash.

“So you are a-going to draw bark, are yer? Not to-day, my beauty!” I
cannot lay much claim to this distinction, and so remained modestly
silent. Men cannot receive flattery with the same brazen effrontery
which characterizes the least beautiful members of the softer sex.

“Now just take that ’orse out, afore I come and ’elp yer,” she
continued. “And be lively about it, my fine feller.”

I was now fairly seated ready to start, and catching up the reins I
lashed the horse, and we plunged out of the yard.

“Stand away, there, ma’am. Look out, or there’ll be a circus on this
farm!”

* * * * *

What a drive that was! The snow began falling in heavy flakes, and I
had only a very slight acquaintance with the road, but we went like the
wind. Here we go through a drift! Capsized?--no, another miracle in our
favor. The horse stumbles--he’s down? No, Providence again! Shall I be
too late for a train? I have not the least idea of the time-table, but
drive as if a whole legion of excited women in old huzzar jackets, with
streaming hair and vengeance in their hearts, were after me.

Ah! there’s the lake, and over yonder is the railway station. The wind
blows in my teeth; my blood tingles with excitement, and the horse,
entering into the spirit of the affair--bolts! Yes, I have lost all
control over him. He throws up his head, sniffs the keen air, and
taking the bit between his teeth, tears through the snow, scattering
it in clouds on either side, like a thing possessed. Here is another
dilemma. Supposing he should take it into his head to gallop on right
past the station, and return home by a short cut known only to himself.
I hardly know now whether I should accentuate this period with a
mark of interrogation or exclamation. I think a very large? would be
the most suitable, as somewhat expressive of the chaos of horrors
presented to my mind as the possibility of such a contingency arose. I
cannot express what my feelings were at that moment; I leave the reader
to draw his own inferences from the--?

The station at last! Thank Heaven! The runaway tears into the yard, but
not deeming himself capable of clearing either the fence or the shanty,
he comes to a dead standstill. I’m saved! I rush into the shanty, where
I find the station-master fast asleep in his chair. My hurried entrance
awakes him, and he starts up red in the face with anger and surprise,
at such a display of energetic impatience in his private domain.

“What do you want, young man?” he asks, severely.

“I want a ticket for Montreal. When does the next train start?”

“Is that all ye disturbed me for? Well, I guess,” he replied, with
provoking deliberateness, again settling himself comfortably in his
chair, “I guess you’re afraid of being late, ain’t you? I likes
punctual young men, that I do!”

“When does the train start?” I cried, angrily.

“Well, I rather think she’s got to get here first. _But_, if all’s
well, she’ll start from this ’ere dee-pôt in three hours’ time.”

Three hours!--three mortal hours to wait. Horrors! Why, that gave time
for Wiman to return home and start in pursuit. I paced up and down the
yard like a caged lion, glancing every few minutes in the direction of
the lake. At length the train came in sight, and almost simultaneously
I noticed a team galloping with incontinent haste through the blinding
snow, half-way across the lake.

It was a race between the iron horse and thews and sinews. On they
come. Which will be the first in? With breathless interest I glance
from one to the other.

Hurrah! the train is in. My baggage is checked and in the van.

“All aboard there! Right away!”

Here comes Wiman through, puffing and blowing like a grampus; and
standing with easy grace upon the platform of the hindmost car, there
goes “yours truly.”

A NIGHT PADDLE.

Amid the lilies in the marsh
The frogs in solemn chorus croak;
The owlet’s hooting, weird and harsh,
Is sounding from the hollow oak.
And far upon the hillside dark
I faintly hear the foxes bark.

Across my face the bat’s light wing
Just brushes with a strange dismay;
And from the shores some frightened thing
Slips softly down and swims away.
A fish leaps up--a silver flash,
’Mid widening ripples--and a splash!

A thin, wan spectre of the moon
Is rising late behind the hill;
The strange mad laughter of the loon
Peals o’er the lake--then all is still.
Amid the reeds, a gleaming spark--
A fire-fly dancing in the dark.

I hear the heart of Nature beat!
The world of men is far away.
O Soul, thy tameless brothers greet!
Thou art, to-night, as wild as they.
The savage blood is coursing fleet!
My heart with Nature’s heart doth beat!

_M. E. Gorham._

[Illustration: Editor’s Open ~Window~.]

BASEBALL.

~The~ legislative work of the season of 1888 ended with the
conventions of the National League and the American Association; the
former being held in New York on November 21st, and the latter in St.
Louis on December 5th. What was accomplished by the two organizations
will unquestionably lead to an improvement in the working of the
professional baseball business in 1889. Not only were the playing rules
of the game greatly improved--though there is still room for further
advancement toward a perfect code--but a movement was made toward the
adoption of a system of salaries for players, more in accordance with
the merit of the individual, and with the increase in the financial
success of the clubs as a whole, than is possible under the previous
star systems with its fancy salaries. The plan of grading salaries
which was adopted at the League convention, and which could not be
successfully carried out without the co-operation of the American
Association, was virtually endorsed by the latter at their December
convention by the appointment of a special committee to work out with
a similar committee of the League a plan of grading salaries. These
committees meet in New York in March, 1889. Neither organization took
action at their respective conventions as to the adoption of the
double umpire plan, which is the only true solution of the umpire
difficulty. The American Association, by reducing the salaries of
umpires to figures below those paid to their lowest-salaried player,
took a decided step backward, as it is a short-sighted policy to
discourage the entrance of the best class of men into the corps of
umpires. The onerous duties of a capable staff of umpires exceed in the
value of the work done those of the most important players of the club
team, and they should be placed on a par with the best players in the
matter of salaries, especially in view of the fact that good umpiring
conduces as much to the financial success of a club as the work of
successful battery players. Thousands of patrons were driven from ball
grounds last season by the disgraceful rows which were induced by
unsatisfactory umpiring, and this fact should be borne in mind when
arranging the umpire salary question of 1889.

The movement, inaugurated by the editor of the Dublin _Sport_, in favor
of the introduction of our national game, as one of the established
sports of Ireland, naturally excites great interest in the United
States. It is to be hoped that it will be followed up until the
American game is practically inaugurated in Dublin. Since the baseball
teams now in Australia have decided to return by way of Europe and the
British Isles, an opportunity will be afforded our Irish friends to
see how the game is played by our professional experts. It will give
a great impetus to the game if the efforts of _Sport_ in organizing an
Irish professional team can be practically carried out in time for the
season of 1889. It only needs some of the Yankee energy and enterprise
illustrated so strikingly in Mr. Spalding’s Australian tour to make the
Irish movement a decided success. As Colonel Fellows says, “There’s
millions in it!”

~Henry Chadwick.~

* * * * *

BOWLING.

~No~ game has taken a greater hold on the public than bowling.
The game has always been very popular at summer hotels, and most of
them have half a dozen alleys. One reason of its popularity is that
both sexes can join in it, as in lawn tennis; and though, of course, a
man has a great advantage, there are ladies in New York who can hold
their own with the majority of the men. This was shown last year at the
Knickerbocker Bowling Club, when the ladies’ aggregate scores were but
a few points behind those of the men, and a score of 232 was made on
one occasion by a lady. So great a demand for alleys has arisen that
several have been specially built in such a way that portions of the
building can be cut off. Thus several clubs use the same building, and
yet the members of the one club need not intermingle with the members
of the other.

Of the physical advantages derived from this exercise it is unnecessary
to speak, but on the matter of appropriate dress some few remarks
may not be out of place. A lady’s dress should not have too abundant
skirts. They should be plain and fitting to the figure as the hand
is apt to catch in flowing draperies. The bodice should be tight at
the waist and loose in the arms, to allow ample room for the play of
the muscles. It is impossible to bowl properly in a tight bodice that
restricts the action of the chest and shoulders. For the same reasons a
man’s costume should be loose and easy. Care should be taken to wrap up
well after bowling. The exercise heats the body and a chill is easily
taken.

As a rule, people are inclined to over-bowl, _i. e._, they will insist
on using a ball too heavy for their strength. A “strike” can be made as
easily with a ball of medium weight as with a very heavy one, and not
one man in ten or woman in a thousand is capable of using the latter.
The ball should be held firmly and a short run allowed of about six to
ten feet. The ball should leave the hand easily and smoothly so that no
decrease of pace or deviation of direction occur from the ball bumping.
The center pin should be aimed at. It is well not to aim too much in
the center of the pin, as the ball is apt to “cut” through and take
only the center pins, a result usually alluded to as “hard luck,” when
it is in reality bad play. It does not pay to use too great exertion,
for a medium pace ball is as effective as a very fast one, and the
strongest cannot keep up the pace through a long game. Complaints are
often made that the fingers get sore and raw from bowling. A little
alcohol applied in the morning and evening and occasionally a little
alum rubbed in will be found very efficacious.

One thing is absolutely necessary, viz.: that there shall be efficient
boys to place the pins exactly on the proper marks. A boy can if he
chooses defeat the best bowler by misplacing the pins. This may not be
visible to the bowler, but it will make a vast difference when the ball
reaches the pins.

~C. S. Pelham-Clinton.~

* * * * *

THE CANOEING SEASON.

~Each~ year marks a decided advance in the popularity of
this delightful sport. It appeals to a great variety of tastes
and temperaments. It can be enjoyed on almost any sheet of
water from a small stream or pond to the ocean itself. It is so
many-sided--cruising, paddling, sailing, racing, exercising--that any
one who has a taste for aquatics must be interested in it, even if
not to the extent of owning a canoe. The season of last year was a
memorable one in many ways. The coming season promises to be a still
more remarkable one in the line of racing and the perfection of the
sailing-canoe, on which a great amount of thought, work and money have
been spent.

It is not probable that any one canoe will be able to beat the ’88
record of the _Eclipse_--seventeen first prizes and four second prizes
out of a total of twenty-one races--but it is quite likely that canoe
_Eclipse_ will find a worthy rival, as the last races of the season
showed canoe _Fly_ to be quite her equal if not her superior in point
of speed under sail.

The canoe is limited in size by the Association rules to a length
of sixteen feet, with a beam of thirty inches for that length. The
problem, therefore, is to get the very best lines for this size of
boat, and the best sail plan. It is wonderful that the speed of the
canoe has been so increased from year to year, each season showing a
marked advance over the previous one. It does seem as though the limit
must soon be reached unless some better material than wood can be
invented to build the boats of. The fact must also be considered that
these racing-canoes are not simply racing-machines, but generally good
honest boats, capable of a variety of uses and remarkably safe for
navigation. The most minute details of construction and rig receive
great attention, and all sorts of experiments are tried with the hope
of increasing the speed a few seconds in a mile. That 1889 will show
some new boats of marked speed is certain from the amount of building
and designing now going on--although there seems to be little chance of
any international matches being arranged.

More is written and said of the racing-canoes than of others, but the
fact remains that the cruising-canoe increases at many times the rate
of the racers. Cruising appeals to so many--racing to the few--canoeing
has “come to stay.” As racing is now carried on the sport presents
almost as many purely scientific problems as yacht-racing and building.
The solving of problems is a universal occupation--and all the canoe
problems will not be solved for a generation at least, so there is no
fear of the interest abating.

~C. Bowyer Vaux.~

* * * * *

FOILS AND FENCING.

~An~ encouraging feature in the athletic improvement noticeable
throughout the country is the increase of the devotees of the foil.
Fencing is acknowledged to be the accomplishment _par excellence_ of
the nobility and gentry. To its practice may be attributed much of
the grace and dignity of deportment conceded to the seigneurs of the
ancient regime. There is no exercise that assists so materially in
keeping the members of the body in good all-round condition during the
winter months. We hear of active work being indulged in by members
of the leading athletic clubs in New York, Washington, Baltimore and
Boston. At the New York Fencers’ Club Captain Nicholas has his hands
full and is giving more lessons than ever before. Three days in the
week he devotes to a large class of lady pupils; friends, sisters or
relatives of the male members only being admitted to the privilege of
the elegant _salle d’armes_ of this club.

Professor Regis Senac is fully employed at the New York Athletic Club,
and with such pupils as Messrs. Lawson, Bloodgood and others to point
to, it is no wonder that his _clientèle_ is a strong one.

The Knickerbocker Fencing Club is undoubtedly one of the most perfectly
appointed and most thoroughly workmanlike _salles d’armes_ in this
country. With the services of such an able and accomplished swordsman
as Monsieur Louis Rondell, it is not surprising that some very fine
exhibitions of clever fencing may be witnessed in the rooms. M.
Rondell also has a promising class of lady-fencers. He says that
his fair pupils seem to thoroughly enjoy the sport and enter more
enthusiastically and spiritedly into the bouts than his _protégés_
of the sterner sex. Great things are promised in the way of a grand
_salle d’armes_ in the new building that will soon be the home of
the Manhattan Athletic Club. Those who don the “double diamond” will
see that fencing is not neglected. In fact, they have now, under
the tuition of Louis Tronchet--a graduate of the famous college of
Joinville les Ponts, and the present champion of America--a very
promising class.

With such an enthusiastic following as this fascinating accomplishment
now boasts of, it is somewhat surprising that a champion amateur
tournament is not instituted. We hope that the present season will not
be allowed to pass without an attempt of the kind being made. We feel
sure the leading clubs in Annapolis, Baltimore, Washington, Boston and
other cities will be glad to send representatives. Will not some one
take the initiative?

~Charles E. Clay.~

* * * * *

PEDESTRIAN CONTESTS.

“~The~ noblest study of mankind is man,” quoth Pope; but since
these words were written man has been presented in new aspects which
would have made the poet open his eyes in wonder and amazement. What
would our forefathers have thought if they had been told that a man
could be treated as an automatic machine, and be set going and kept
going for a certain length of time? What would they have thought if
they had been told that a man would succeed in covering 623 miles in
six days? Yet marvelous as such a performance appears even to a man
of the present day, it seems probable that the limit of endurance and
pluck has not yet been reached. The outcome of the contest between
the four great walkers of the world, Littlewood, Albert, Rowell and
Herty may and very possibly will eclipse the new record. The remarkable
feature of the last “go-as-you-please” is that no less than ten men
shared in the gate receipts--a record hitherto untouched. The excellent
condition of Littlewood at the end of his task speaks volumes for
the thoroughness of his training, and the other contestants who had
undergone a course of preparation, suffered remarkably little from
their efforts. The management of the show was all that could be desired
in the hands of Mr. O’Brien and his able colleagues.

~Sporting Tramp.~

* * * * *

DOG CHAT.

~The~ Executive of the National Dog Club at its last meeting
passed the following resolutions:

“That the American Kennel Club be formally notified that the National
Dog Club of America is ready, and will be pleased to aid it in
advancing the interest of the breeders and exhibitors of this country.

“That hereafter at all bench shows there shall be appointees of the
Executive Committee of the National Dog Club to take charge of the dogs
of those of the club’s members who are unable to attend; to see that
such dogs are properly benched, fed, watered, groomed, brought before
the judges, etc., and at the end of the show to superintend their
reshipment. The expense of such service to be borne by the National Dog
Club.”

A committee was appointed to consider the expediency of “listing” the
breeders of America, with the ratings of each as regards fair dealing.
Twenty new members were admitted to the club.

* * * * *

~The~ American Kennel Club will do well to bury the hatchet and
meet the N. D. C. half way. Far more good can be accomplished by united
action. No fitter representative could have been chosen by the National
than Dr. J. Frank Perry, the honored president.

That is a bold venture, their proposed appointment of attendants at all
bench shows, to take charge of members’ dogs. But it is a praiseworthy
one, and will act as a most tempting bait to those fanciers who like to
get their money’s worth.

* * * * *

~However~, the American Kennel Club has not been idle. They have
not only drafted a new constitution and by-laws, materially differing
from the old, but they propose to publish a Kennel Gazette and to form
a club of associate members. This last scheme seems a great mistake.
It is intended as a rival to the N. D. C.; but instead of being an
autonomic association, it will be entitled to one representative in the
counsels of the A. K. C., just as if it were a club of the local stamp,
“run” by one man. As it is hoped that the unattached representative
breeders will join, it will clearly be seen what an utter farce the
thing would be. A body of our leading breeders would have no greater a
representation than the one-man figure-head clubs!

The Kennel Gazette, it is proposed, will publish the prize lists, etc.,
of shows held under its rules, judges’ reports on their respective
classes, and the official news of the American Kennel Club. President
Belmont will provide financial support for the venture.

* * * * *

~The~ detailed report of the last American Kennel Club meeting
has not been received up to the time of writing, but the telegraphed
synopsis conveys news that is gratifying in the extreme.

When kennel editor of the lately defunct _Sport_, of Montreal, a
case was brought to my notice which I thought demanded the fullest
ventilation. It was nothing less than the fraudulent substitution of a
borrowed dog for a dead one that had been entered at the Westminster
Kennel Club’s Show in ’87 by a Mr. J. F. Campbell, of Montreal. I
exposed the matter editorially and demanded that it should be brought
before the A. K. C. for consideration. The culprit blustered, and
threatened me with a suit for libel; but I was determined to see
justice done, and had all the papers bearing on the case placed in the
hands of a friend who “licked” them into shape, and forwarded them to
an A.K.C. delegate, a friend of his, to be submitted at the earliest
meeting of the club. Judgment in the case has at this last mentioned
meeting been delivered, and John F. Campbell is declared suspended
for one year and ordered to repay the amount of the prize-money
fraudulently won by the Yorkshire terrier “Bertie,” alias “Sir Colin,”
to the Westminster Kennel Club. The A. K. C. is slow, painfully slow,
but in this instance it has “got there all the same.”

Last year witnessed the importation of a great number of high-class
dogs. As a rule, in previous years, we have been content with buying
second, third or no-class-at-all specimens in England; but not so in
1888. First, that king of all St. Bernards, the giant Plinlimmon,
was exchanged for five thousand one hundred and thirteen good Yankee
dollars (the highest price ever paid for a dog). Then, the hardly
inferior Burns is soon to cross the pond, and Lysander and many other
grand specimens of the mighty Alpine breed. The mastiffs, Orlando,
Baldur and others, must not be omitted from the roll, nor the great
English setters, Champion, Comet, Howard, Blue Nell and others. Gordon
setters have also had added to their ranks the Champion Beaumont and
his kennel mates, and the Irish setters, too, have several recruits.
Nor must the many spaniels, Sussex, Field and Cocker, be forgotten.

From present indications, moreover, it would appear that we are to
see other new faces from across the water on the show benches this
year. Mr. E. M. Oldham, of New York, has gone to England, intent on
purchasing some Black Spaniel flesh of the highest quality, especially,
though low be it spoken, something with which to trail Bridford
Negress’ colors in the dust. He also gives out that it is his purpose
to import some Clumber Spaniels, the best obtainable; and I truly hope
he will, for they are a grand breed, and are deserving of a far larger
share of public favor than is at present accorded them. Our Canadian
cousins have the best dogs of this breed and our State-bred specimens
stand no chance in competition with them.

“Scotch” Baillie, of Lexington, Ky., has also crossed the seas, on the
purchase of dogs intent. Gordon setters will probably head his string;
but be on the lookout for something else. Our people are recognizing
more fully each succeeding year the satisfaction to be derived from
owning high-class specimens of man’s best friend. They think like an
acquaintance whom I overheard say: “I love a dog, but hang it, life’s
too short to waste affection on a cur, when a thoroughbred can be
bought for a small outlay!”

~Dogwhip.~

OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

THE ENGLISH EXOTIC.

Mrs. Langtry and Mrs. Potter have possession at present of the two
theaters occupied immediately before their coming by Booth and Barrett,
and Mary Anderson. The Langtry and the Potter are types of a class of
dramatic exotics which have, of late years, come into prominence. They
represent nothing in art; their schooling, teaching, and social life
have tended to unfit rather than prepare them for work on the stage.
If Mrs. Langtry had not obtained prominence in one way or other and as
a beauty in England before she turned her attention to play-acting,
no American manager would have troubled himself to introduce her to
the American public as an actress. Without the notoriety she achieved
abroad she never would have been accepted in this enlightened country
by the theater-going public. Like a thoroughly sensible and practical
woman she saw a chance to make a fortune here and took advantage of the
opportunity. She is now playing to large houses at the Fifth Avenue
Theater. When Booth and Barrett appeared there the attendance was
not nearly so great. This fact alone speaks volumes for the artistic
intelligence of American theater-goers. Make hay, Mrs. Langtry, while
the sun shines!

THE AMERICAN EXOTIC.

Mrs. Potter is another type of the hot-house actress. Her great
drawback is that she is an American, and Americans, though
protectionists in the main, strange to say, dearly love the foreign
article in the way of imported talent. It took Mrs. Potter some time
to make up her mind whether or not she should adopt the stage as a
profession. It was all right to be an amateur actress, but to be a
professional actress was another thing. However, she finally made the
plunge, and now she is a full-fledged actress of the Langtry type,
without the slightest chance of making anything like the fortune the
Lily has already piled up. Strangely enough Mrs. Potter succeeded
Miss Anderson at Palmer’s Theater, just as Mrs. Langtry succeeded Mr.
Booth at the Fifth Avenue. There is no other great city in the world
where a similar state of things could exist. Edwin Booth, one of the
greatest actors of his time, succeeded by Mrs. Langtry, a professional
beauty, and Mary Anderson, who has won her position on the stage by
earnest toil, hard work and persistent study, followed by Mrs. Potter,
an amateur fledgeling of two seasons professional growth. _Miserere,
Domine!_

A DRAMATIC GEM.

One of the best and most interesting plays New Yorkers have had an
opportunity of enjoying for a long time is “Little Lord Fauntleroy,”
as at present played at the Broadway Theater. It is a dramatic gem of
the purest water, and will long continue to interest play-goers who
have a taste for the refined in art in preference to the meretricious.
Mrs. Burnett’s charming story has lost nothing of its beauty by its
adaptation for the theater. As a novel it is interesting; as a stage
story where its personages appear and take form before the footlights
it is a delight.

IRISH ROMANCE.

Edward Harrigan, when he produced “The Lorgaire,” at the Park Theater,
made an entirely new departure in his dramatic work. Laying aside
for the time being the task of drawing pictures of New York life
at the present day, he entered into the field of romance, and on
Irish soil gathered together the material with which he has woven
his story together. Apart from the dramas of Boucicault it is one of
the best Irish plays written in years. Unlike the machine-made Irish
play of the revolving stars, which are generally made up of a song,
a jig, a priest and a handful of English soldiers, Mr. Harrigan has
endeavored to picture an Irish story in dramatic form on the stage,
as Carleton, Lever, Maxwell and Griffin sought to relate their tales
as story-tellers in their books. If “The Lorgaire” did not catch the
fancy of theater-goers as quickly as “a local” might have done, that
is nothing to be wondered at. The new drama offered at the Park will
enhance Mr. Harrigan’s reputation both as a writer and a player.

ENGLISH REALITY.

Pinero has written many good things for the stage, and though they may
not live much beyond the present day, they are as enjoyable as anything
we have in contemporaneous dramatic literature. “Sweet Lavender,” the
latest of Mr. Pinero’s works, is now in the full tide of success at
the pretty Lyceum Theater. It well deserves the victory it has won.
Mr. Le Moyne, who plays the part of a good-hearted old barrister, with
a fondness at times for his cups, is the best thing that accomplished
actor has ever attempted. It is not, however, Mr. Le Moyne’s acting or
the acting of any particular member of the Lyceum Theatre Company which
wins approval. It is the decidedly English atmosphere of the work--the
setting, scenes, properties, business and everything connected with the
play--that shows with what care “Sweet Lavender” was prepared; and with
such preparation it is not a matter of surprise that the public crowd
the little theater to take a look at this picture from nature.

REAL GAIETY.

As intimated in a previous number of ~Outing~, the London Gaiety
Company, with Nellie Farren as the bright particular star of the
organization, has made a deep impression on American theater-goers.
The feeling entertained by some people that Miss Farren and her ways,
and the ways of the company by whom she was surrounded, were too
thoroughly English to meet with recognition here, proved erroneous.
The theater-goers of this city are not limited by such narrow
boundaries. It was not Miss Farren’s nationality or the nationality
of her company that was to undergo a test, but Nellie Farren and the
London Gaiety Burlesque Company as artists. With a burlesque not
adapted for an American audience--for “Monte Cristo, Jr.” is anything
but bright in dialogue--they won the favors of New Yorkers. Even
with the disadvantage of a poor book, they succeeded in convincing
the public they could act, and dance and sing themselves into
appreciation as burlesquers. Moreover the Gaiety Company did not rely
wholly on the ability of Nellie Farren and Fred Leslie for all the
supply of burlesque entertainment as is too often the case with such
organizations. After a short trial, New Yorkers rather fancied the
new comers, and toward the end began to regard them as favorites. The
success of the return visit of the London Gaiety Company to the United
States is pre-assured, notwithstanding the movement of Louis Aldrich,
Harley Merry, and others.

~Richard Neville.~

[Illustration: ~Among the Books~]

~A breath~ of warm summer air seems to dispel for a moment
the cold rawness of the winter day, as one turns over the pages of
that most exquisitely executed volume of French drawings--“Plages de
Bretagne et Jersey,” by “Mars,” (Paris: E. Plon, Nourrit et Cie.).
Intensely Gallic are these drawings, and just as dainty and attractive
as one would expect from the clever artist whose work they are. The
bathing-dresses of Trouville are no longer strangers to these shores;
but it seems as if the book fairly teems with suggestions for the
amphibious maiden preparing for a summer campaign by the sea.

* * * * *

~A really~ remarkable novel, with a purpose, and that purpose
strongly defined, is “Dr. Ben,” by Orlando Witherspoon (Boston: Ticknor
& Co. 1888). The existence of the purpose, instead of decreasing the
interest of the book by dwarfing the other incidents, in this case
only heightens and increases its power. The plot is strengthened by
its existence, and the story fairly abounds in incident, thrilling
enough to satisfy the most insatiate novel-reader. It is extremely
sensational, but the character-sketching, humor and pleasing style
suffice to relieve the book of the brand of morbid sensationalism. The
utmost sympathy is evoked by Ben’s character, his misfortunes, and his
ultimate recovery, and the fascination exercised is so intense that
scarcely one reader will lay the book down without finishing it, and
what is more, carrying off an impression vivid enough to last for years.

* * * * *

~Nothing~ marks the increased popularity and importance of the
cycle more than the rapid growth of its literature. “Rhymes of the Road
and River,” by Chris. Wheeler (Philadelphia: E. Stanley Hart & Co.), is
a volume to meet with a ready acceptance from every lover of the wheel
and oar. The author shows his genuine ardor for these sports in every
page, and imbues the products of his pen with this spirit. The comic
poems strike us as particularly good, even though in some the author
prove untrue to his first love, as, in “The Lay of a Recreant,”

“Two within a buggy, boys, behind a trotting mare,
The devil take the bicycle that can with that compare!”

* * * * *

~To~ cyclists the modest, unpretentious account of a really
noteworthy cycling trip, which is contained in “Pedal and Path,” by
George B. Thayer (Hartford: Evening Post Association), must have
proved of considerable value, while to the outside public it cannot
fail to be interesting. The distance actually traveled by wheel was
4,239 miles, and the work and fatigue undergone were extreme. Mr.
Thayer tells his story in a pleasant, chatty style, well adapted to
the original form his writings took--newspaper letters--and furnishing
pleasant light literature in book-form. There is rather an undue amount
of personalities, as regards appearance of people encountered, etc.,
and some few passages savor of a _naïveté_ which might prove somewhat
embarrassing to a young lady reader, but these are minor faults.

* * * * *

~To~ the jaded palate of the habitual novel-reader, anything
new and sensational is acceptable, however wild in its conception.
We should imagine, therefore, that “The Heart of Don Vega,” by
Alfred Allen (Westerly, R. I.: George G. Champlin, 1888), will meet
with considerable appreciation among a certain class. Novelty,
sensationalism, horrors and tragedies abound in the little volume, and
are withal strung into a very readable story.

* * * * *

~Among~ the best books for the benefit of the younger members of
society are the following published by Messrs. Lee & Shepard, Boston:
“Up the North Branch” forms the fourth volume of the Lake and Forest
Series, by Capt. Charles A. J. Farrar, and is an exciting narrative
of sport and adventure in the wilds of Maine. It is bound to hit the
fancy of every boy. “Biding His Time,” by J. T. Trowbridge, is a story
of the adventures and subsequent good fortune of a poor Ohio lad.
“Mother Goose’s Melodies” and “Songs of Our Darlings” are cheap and
well printed collections of old familiar nursery rhymes. “The Readings
from the Waverley Novels”--edited by Albert F. Blaisdell, A.M., are
a capital selection of just such passages as will catch the youthful
fancy.

* * * * *

~A day-book~ of pretty thoughts, strengthened by scriptural
quotations, is to be found in “Pansies for Thoughts,” from the writings
of “Pansy”--Mrs. G. R. Alden--compiled by Grace Livingston. (Boston: D.
Lothrop & Co.). The selections are apt and happy, while the appearance
of the little volume is most charming.

* * * * *

~The~ holiday number of “Sun and Shade” (Brooklyn: The
Photo-Gravure Co.) is extremely handsome. The reproductions are
a marvel of art, that of Raphael’s “Madonna della Sedia” being
particularly striking, while “See-Saw,” by John Morgan, makes a most
charming picture.

* * * * *

~Pithy~ and appropriate sentiments are found in the little
pamphlet, “Stray Notes from Famous Musicians,” compiled by G. H. C.
(Boston: Oliver Ditson & Co.). No page can be opened without some
tersely worded truth impressing itself on the mind.

* * * * *

~The~ volume of music, entitled “Classic Tenor Songs” (Boston:
Oliver Ditson & Co.), is one which fully justifies its title. It will
prove a valuable addition to the existing collections of songs for male
voices.

* * * * *

~A capital~ specimen of what can be done in compiling a
university record is afforded by “The Yale Banner,” Louis L. Barnum,
editor and publisher. The make up of the volume is all that can be
desired, and the portrait groups form an interesting feature.

* * * * *

~We~ have received the “American Newspaper Annual” for 1888,
issued by N. W. Ayer & Son, Philadelphia. It forms an extremely
complete volume, and is of great service to advertisers.

[Illustration: AMENITIES.]

SHE ONLY SHOOK HER HEAD.

“Dear Madge, you’re the joy of my heart,
And the pride of my life!
Please name the near day
You’ll be my true wife.”
But she only shook her head,
(A blonde head)
And said, “Nay, nay, I cannot wed.”

(In a season or so,
As I’ve reason to know,
She went to Pau,
And married
A lord,
Or an earl,
Or a count.)

“Dear Kate, _you’re_ the joy of my heart,
And the pride of my life!
Pray name the dear day
You’ll be my fond wife.”
But she only shook her head,
(An auburn head)
And said, “Nay, nay, I cannot wed.”

(In a season or so,
As I’ve reason to know,
She, too, went to Pau,
And married
A duke,
Or a prince,
Or a king.)

“Dear Fan, you _are_ the joy of my heart,
And the pride of my life!
Now, sweet, name the day
You’ll be my dear wife.”
But she, too, shook her head
(A darling head),
And said--Nay, nay, I’ll not tell you what she said,
Only this: a month from to-morrow we wed.

N.B.--(’Tis the joy of my heart
And the pride of my life
That I lost Madge and Kate
And got Fan for a wife.)

_A. A. P._

[Illustration: ~Pleasure, Travel and Resorts~]

~The~ acclimatization of the wild turkey has been tried with
great success in Austria. Count Breuner, on his estate at Graffeneck,
turned down three males and four females with the result that there is
now a flock of 580. In addition, some 150 have been shot on neighboring
estates. The largest weight yet recorded is 19 pounds.

* * * * *

~A curious~ incident is reported from England. The Catswold
hounds, Gloucestershire, recently found three foxes, and after a good
run two foxes at once were killed at a place called Postlip.

* * * * *

~According~ to report, Prince Henri de Bourbon and the Princess,
who are traveling in India as the Comte and Comtesse de Bardi, have
been badly hoaxed by some person or persons, who are alleged to have
given them tame tigers and cows to shoot. The cows one can understand,
but tame tigers! Such may be found in the possession of dervishes
in temples, but we doubt if any are available for turning out and
shooting. A tiger so tame as that would be worth several hundred pounds
to any circus proprietor.

* * * * *

~The~ London _Sunday Times_ publishes the following from its New
York correspondent:

“One of the rarest and finest specimens of big game ever mounted has
recently been presented by Mr. Royal Carroll to a Fifth Avenue club,
where it hangs over the mantel in the smoking-room. It is the head of
a Harris deer, which Mr. Carroll recently shot in that part of Africa
made famous by Rider Haggard’s novels. The deer is jet black, save
only his face and ears, stood 14.2, weighed 400 pounds, has backward
curving horns like the ibex, and is the only specimen of the species
in this country. The glowing descriptions which Mr. Carroll gives of
his adventures with big game in the jungles of India and the forests
of Africa have given considerable impetus to a department of sport in
which we have permitted our English cousins to far outstrip us, and
several expeditions similar to Mr. Carroll’s are now being planned.”

* * * * *

~Lieut.-General Burton~, in “An Indian Olio,” refers to the
increasing scarceness of large game in India. After pointing out how
the intrusion of the railway with the “diabolical screech of the steam
whistle,” and “the demoralizing puff and snort of the rushing engine,”
and the “evil odor of coal gas” penetrating the forest, acts upon such
shy animals as the bison, he shows what the natives have to do with
it. “Guns have of late years come much more generally into use with the
natives. Where there was, fifty years ago, perhaps only one matchlock,
a venerable flint musket, in a village, there are now a dozen, and
natives have got much more into the habit of killing game--the eatable
animals for food, the fierce and dangerous beasts (potted from a safe
shelter) for the Government reward. I knew a party of natives go out
under supervision, in fact, in pay of Brahmin (save the mark), with a
big jingal, or wall piece, carried between two of them, until they came
upon the fresh tracks of a herd of elephants. They then crept to within
ten or fifteen paces and tied the jingal, ready loaded, and laid for
the biggest elephant, to a tree trunk, lighted a slow match and retired
to a safe distance. Presently the great weapon, which had been pointed
straight for the vitals, behind the shoulder of the elephant, exploded
with a report like that of a small cannon echoing through the forest.”

* * * * *

~Among~ the features of New York life which particularly strike
the visitor is the extreme elegance and luxury of the Hoffman House
baths. The comfort of indulging in a thorough cleansing after the
inevitable discomforts of travel, whether by sea or land, is sufficient
to induce every traveler to visit them. But, moreover, residents of
Gotham find that nothing so conduces to general health, or is so
efficient a foe to rheumatism, neuralgia, or other “evils that the
flesh is heir to,” as the Turkish bath. The result is that one and all
fly to this, the best appointed establishment of the kind in the city.

* * * * *

~Everybody~ is going to Paris this year to the Exposition,
and in this age of progress it is no great undertaking to cross the
ocean, nor is one compelled to forego many comforts while traveling.
True, some dissatisfaction is expressed from time to time at the want
of proper accommodations in English hotels. This criticism does not
apply, however, to the magnificent _Hotel Metropole_ in London, which
has already come under the favorable notice of many Americans, and
is fast making new friends. Situated conveniently to the business
portion of the city, while at no great distance from society’s haunts,
it furnishes home comforts to the weary traveler, and affords every
possible convenience and luxury.

An equally excellent and not less pretentious “hostelry” is the
magnificent _Victoria Hotel_, one of the finest hotel buildings in the
world, and conducted in a manner sure to please the American tourist.
Its large number of patrons speak of it in terms of the highest praise.
At either house rooms may be secured by cable from New York. We would
advise tourists in 1889 to make sure of their apartments certainly by
telegram from their landing-places in Britain.

[Illustration: ~Glances at our Letter File~]

~The~ following communication will have much interest,
especially to our college readers:

The December number of ~Outing~ says: “The first game of
football in the United States was played in New Haven, in 1840, between
the class of ’42 and ’43 of Yale College.” I am a graduate of the class
of ’28. Immediately after the opening of the fall term in 1824, the
then Freshman class were summoned to a class meeting, at which they
were informed that by an established custom from time immemorial it
devolved on the Freshman class to furnish footballs for the use of
the college. The time-honored custom was recognized at once by the
class and by every succeeding Freshman class during my student life.
The games were played on the upper part of the public square directly
in front of the college. There were frequent contests between the two
lower classes; but the great games, played as often as convenience and
weather allowed, were contested by the whole body of the students,
divided into two parties known respectively as “North Entries” and
“South Entries.” There were then standing on the college campus four
dormitory buildings, each having two halls or entries. Those students
who roomed in a north entry, or if rooming anywhere north of the
central building, known then as now as the Lyceum, were on one side;
the rest of the students were on the other. Those were famous games,
where three or four hundred men engaged in earnest contest. The
long-used ground was necessarily abandoned when the civil authorities
decided, in 1828, to build the State House upon it.

~Yalensis Sexagenarius.~

* * * * *

_To the Editor of_ ~Outing~:

~Dear Sir~,--I was extremely pleased to note in your Open Window
of the January edition that a word was spoken in behalf of rabbit
coursing. Since the late cases at Hempstead an intolerable amount of
nonsense has been written in the daily and weekly publications, and
wholesale condemnation has been meted out to this sport, presumably
by people who have never seen coursing, either with greyhounds or
terriers. Those who have will, I feel sure, join with me in affirming
that there is certainly no more cruelty in one sport than another;
as is the greyhound to the hare or jack rabbit, so is the terrier to
the ordinary rabbit, and in both cases the chance of escape is, in
truth, but very small. But in rabbit coursing, as usually practiced
in England, the rabbits are both found and coursed on their “native
heath,” and therefore they have a very considerable advantage. I
am not, however, trying to defend this or any other sport from the
imputation of cruelty, for in every field-sport, properly so called,
cruelty must exist. What better antidote exists to the emasculating
tendencies of our boasted nineteenth century civilization? Or, who will
contend that the natural propensity of the Englishman, as affirmed by
the French, “to go out and kill something,” has not had much to do
in placing the old country in her present position? I fail to see,
myself, why the imputation of cruelty, which every journalist seems
to be trying to fix on rabbit coursers, should not equally well apply
to a man who will fire a gun at a partridge or pheasant. But with the
curious logic of the present day, such is by no means the case. In
conclusion, I must apologize for trespassing so far on your space, and
heartily congratulate ~Outing~ on having spoken bravely on the
matter. It is too frequently the case that where one publication leads,
the others follow like a flock of sheep. Yours respectfully,

~An Old-Time Sportsman~.

* * * * *

_To the Editor of_ ~Outing~:

~Dear Sir~,--In the January number of ~Outing~ there is
among the Answers to Correspondents a point which I should like to see
developed in your valuable magazine. It is in reference to the new
Forest ponies, about which some questions had been asked by “Breeder.”
The words to which I specially refer are, “they are handy and useful.”
In proportion to their inches, ponies can accomplish vastly more
work than full-sized horses. In fact, this remark applies equally
well to donkeys. Why is it that we see no donkeys and scarcely any
ponies put to do useful work in America? In England the costermonger’s
“moke” has become proverbial, and it is an inspiriting sight to see a
well-tended donkey trotting cheerily along, with a heavy load behind
him of which he makes most marvelously light. And, again, in London
every small shop-keeper has one ambition at least, and that is to own a
fast-trotting pony, and a smart cart, in which to take the “missus” for
her Sunday outing. The same pony pays very amply for food and lodging
by taking goods to customers’ houses during the week. How different
is it in New York! Here we have broken-down old car-horses, with very
palpable ribs, dejectedly sauntering wearily along in the shafts of the
street vendor’s wagon, and the smart pony and the patient “moke” are
unknown.

Can not and will not ~Outing~ do something towards inaugurating
a movement to popularize the smaller and more useful breed? Yours truly,

~A Lover of Animals~.

* * * * *

_To the Editor of_ ~Outing~:

~Dear Sir~,--I have read with great pleasure Mr. Hallowell’s
article on Harvard Athletics, and look forward to the account of Yale
pastimes, which I understand are to be described in the February
number. I am not a graduate of either institution, but I like to
read about them and the other colleges and learn of their doings in
athletics, and the method ~Outing~ has adopted of presenting
from time to time an account of some college athletic organization is
to be highly commended. We all know the position athletics nowadays
hold in the collegian’s life, and the many objections which the
uninformed raise to an indulgence in sport on the part of students.
~Outing~ is doing a noble work in showing that good results from
them, not harm.

~A Westerner.~

[Illustration: OUR MONTHLY RECORD]

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

ARCHERY.

~The~ increased interest in archery continues. The unpleasant
weather about Thanksgiving Day no doubt prevented many bowmen from
shooting, who otherwise would have taken part in the contests at
Crawfordsville, Ind., on that day. The following are the scores
received from L. W. Maxson:

Crawfordsville, Ind. 1st 24 2d 24 3d 23 4th 24 Total
Will H. Thompson 24-124 21-107 14-148 22-110 91-489

Cincinnati, Ohio.
W. S. Gwynn 24-130 20- 90 24-110 23-125 91-455
B. R. Byerly 19- 99 23-115 19- 95 23-101 84-410
C. R. Hubbard 17- 77 20- 92 17- 73 21-103 75-345
S. H. Duvall 19- 65 18- 88 17- 71 24-112 78-336

Brooklyn, N. Y.
G. C. Spencer 23-123 22-120 20- 90 21-101 86-434

Dayton, Ky.
J. T. Shawan 18-104 22-106 19- 81 19- 89 78-380
J. P. Newman 16- 62 18- 94 18- 90 20-104 72-350
Chas. Longley 21- 95 20-108 18- 76 16- 70 75-349
H. W. Longley 17- 83 21- 97 17- 85 16- 62 71-327
R. Venables 19- 79 20- 74 14- 58 15- 77 68-288
C. Heeg 13- 53 13- 75 15- 55 12- 48 53-231
W. C. McClain 9- 29 8- 28 9- 41 11- 43 37-141

Chicago, Ill.
H. S. Taylor 80-378
B. Keyes 78-376
E. I. Bruce 76-322

Dayton, Ohio.
A. Kern 18- 88 19- 89 20- 86 22- 88 79-351
E. B. Mumma 22-100 17- 83 17- 63 19- 89 75-335
J. A. Mumma 17- 75 17- 83 15- 69 16- 80 65-307
R. D. Wells 10- 50 3- 17 9- 37 6- 18 28-122

Washington, D. C.
S. C. Ford 17- 83 22- 94 20- 84 21-107 80-368
L. W. Maxson 23- 99 23-133 23-117 21- 91 90-440

* * * * *

ATHLETICS.

~The~ Athletic Association of the Twelfth Regiment of the
National Guard held its annual fall games at the Armory, December
17. The night was most disagreeable and the weather inclement. The
following is a summary of the events:

Sixty-yards handicap run; first round; winners to run in second trial
heats--First heat, M. Keating, N. Y. A. C., 10 feet, 7s. Second heat,
E. E. Barnes, O. A. C., 5 feet, 6 4-5s. Third heat, P. E. Dehnert, S.
I. A. C., 10 feet, 7 1-5s. Fourth heat, T. I. Lee, O. A. C., 3 feet, 7
1-5s. Fifth heat, W. E. Hughes, P. A. C., 6 feet, 7s. Sixth heat, A. H.
Hutchings, S. I. A. C., 6 feet, 7s. Seventh heat, E. C. Bowman, A. A.
C., 8 feet, 7s. Eighth heat, W. P. Henery, O. A. C., 2 feet, 7 1-5s.
Ninth heat, C. G. Bolton, N. Y. A. C., 5 feet, 7s. Tenth heat, W. H.
Morgan, New York City, 8 feet, 6 4-5s. Eleventh heat, R. R. Houston,
P. A. C., 7 feet, 7s. Twelfth heat, G. W. Petty, K. C. C., 8 feet, 7s.
Second round; winners to run in final; second men in each heat to run
in a third trial heat, the winner of which shall run in final--First
heat, Lee, 7s.; Keating, 2. Second heat, Hutchings, 6 4-5s.; Bowman, 2.
Third heat, Morgan 6 4-5s.; Houston, 2. Third round; winner to run in
final--First heat, Bowman, 7s. Final heat, Hutchings, 6 4-5s.; Morgan,
2.

Half-mile novice race; first round; first five in each heat to run in
final--First heat, H. W. Paret, N. J. A. C., 2m. 31s.; F. B. Monell, L.
I. W., 2; C. P. Stillman, New York City, 3; F. R. Farrington, O. A. C.,
4; T. Atkinson, B. A. A., 5. Second heat, E. L. Sarre, H. Y. M. C. A.,
2m. 32s., W. M. Moore, 7th Regt. A. A., 2; C. A. Simmen, New York City,
3; H. Gray, O. A. C., 4; C. B. Waite, New York City, 5. Third heat,
C. Curtis, Y. M. C. A., 2m. 25 2-5s.; J. O. Jenks, P. A. C., 2; C. C.
Greene, S. I. A. C., 3; A. Nickerson, S. I. A. C., 4; G. H. Christ, New
York City, 5. Final heat, Nickerson, 2m. 17 4-5s.; Curtis, 2; Jenks, 3.

440-yards handicap run; first round; first and second in each heat
to run in final--First heat, G. Y. Gilbert, N. Y. A. C., 9 yards, 58
3-5s.; F. S. Greene, N. B. C., 9 yards, 2. Second heat, A. Brown, P. A.
C., 9 yards, 58 3-5s.; E. E. Barnes, O. A. C., scratch, 2. Third heat,
W. F. Thompson, S. I. A. C., 9 yards, 59 2-5s.; E. Lentilhon, Yale A.
A. and N. Y. A. C., 9 yards, 2. Final heat, Green, 57s.; Barnes, 2;
Thompson, 3.

One-and-a-half-mile handicap run--E. Hjertsberg, O. A. C., 15 yards,
7m. 25s.; T. A. Collett, P. A. C., 55 yards, 2; W. D. Day, I. A. C.,
100 yards, 3.

220-yards handicap hurdle race; first round; winners to run in final
heat--First heat, W. H. Struse, S. I. A. C., 3 yards, 30s.; F. C.
Puffer, O. A. C., 2. Second heat, A. Prentiss, S. I. A. C., 8 yards, 29
4-5s.; F. S. Greene, N. B. C., 6 yards, 2. Third heat, B. G. Woodruff,
Y. M. C. A., 10 yards, 30 2-55.; E. McMullen, A. A. C., 10 yards, 2.
Final heat, Prentiss, 29 3-5s.; Woodruff, 2.

One-mile handicap walk--W. A. Berrian, M. A. C., 5 seconds, 7m. 23s.
W. Pollman, P. A. C., 5 seconds, 2. W. Donaghy, P. H., 20 seconds, was
at first adjudged the winner in this event, but after a good deal of
wrangling the men were placed as above.

Two-mile handicap bicycle race; first round; first and second in each
heat to ride in final--First heat, E. I. Halstead, N. Y. A. C., 6m.
40 4-5s.; W. Schumacher, L. I. W., 55 yards, 2. Second heat, W. E.
Findlay, N. Y. B. C., 120 yards, 6m. 37s. J. Borland, B. B. C., 125
yards, 2. Final heat, Halstead, 6m. 32 1-5s.; Borland, 2. In the final,
while Schumacher and Findley were spurting side by side, Schumacher
fell and Findley fell over him, receiving a terrible fall. He was
carried away unconscious, but fortunately received no serious injuries.

One-mile relay race, open to teams of four men from any company in the
Twelfth Regiment; contestants to wear fatigue uniform. Co. B, H. F.
Reichers, C. J. Leach, F. M. Tyson, D. Melville, 4m. 30s.; Co. I, J. J.
Stein, H. E. Hocher, A. F. Bertram, E. Cudlipp, 2.

Obstacle race, handicap; open to members of Twelfth Regiment--F. M.
Tyson, Co. B, 1m. 25 2-5s.; I. C. King, Co. B, 2.

Everything passed off pleasantly.

* * * * *

~The~ Christmas paper chase of the American Athletic Club
started from Four Corners, S. I., the trail covering twelve miles
of rough country. The hares, W. H. White, V. Goode and J. Bailey,
with eight minutes’ start, were not caught. The hounds included A.
S. Malloy, E. White, J. J. McMullen, G. A. Ganz, E. Bowman, G. C.
Sauer, H. A. Hertz, W. Bernard, W. H. Rose, S. Green, S. Levien, H.
F. Reichers, J. Oppenheimer, J. Roberts, L. Levien, W. Camerar, J. J.
Craft, R. Storey, C. Dieger.

* * * * *

~The~ Twenty-second Regimental Athletic Association will give a
tug-of-war, open to colleges only at 650, regulation belt, to be pulled
February 16. The entries will close February 9.

* * * * *

~The~ Elizabeth, N. J., Athletic Club recently elected the
following board of officers for the ensuing year: President, H. E.
Duncan, Jr.; vice-president, W. C. Phelps; secretary, E. S. Coyne;
treasurer, M. B. Heibner; trustees, W. M. Oliver, W. C. Phelps,
S. Toby, G. Griffen, and F. W. Pond. The club has no outstanding
obligations; there is a goodly sum in the treasurer’s hands; the club
property is valued at $7,000, and the members see their way to erect a
building in a fashionable quarter, and equip it fully.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Riverside Athletic Club, Newark,
N. J., was held last month, when the following officers were elected:
President, J. K. Gore; treasurer, F. H. Presby; secretary, J. D. Mills;
first lieutenant, W. A. Martin.

* * * * *

~The~ first annual meeting of the Oritani Athletic Club, of
Hackensack, N. J., was held recently, and the following gentlemen were
elected officers for the ensuing year: F. A. Anthony, president; J.
B. Bogart and G. M. Fairchild, Jr., vice-presidents; C. J. Van Saun,
recording secretary; J. Z. Ackerson, corresponding secretary; G. W.
Berdan, the Rev. Arthur Johnson, A. Trowbridge, and W. M. Johnson, a
board of governors.

* * * * *

~The~ Manhattan Athletic Club games were held, December 15, in
Madison Square Garden. About 2,000 people were present, rather a small
gathering for so important an event. The treatment, according to the
_Sun_, to which the reporters of the daily press were subjected by the
managers of the affair deserved condemnation. It was announced that
Mr. Myers, the runner, was ill, but he very kindly consented not to
disappoint the public, so gave an exhibition, with Danny Tompkins as
pace-maker, but fell behind his indoor record of 1885. The following is
a summary of the events:

One-and-a-half-mile walk, handicap--Won by F. Tillistrand, W. S. A. C.,
75 yards; E. D. Lange, M. A. C., second; F. A. Ware, M. A. C., third.
Time, 12m. 8 3-5s.

Sixty-yards run, handicap--Final heat won by W. M. Mackdermot, M. A.
C., 12 feet; H. L. Dadman, W. P. Ins., 12 feet, second; J. McCarty, G.
A. A., 9 feet, third. Time, 6s.

Tug-of-war, handicap--Won by Manhattan Athletic team, scratch (D.
T. Brokaw, J. Senning, D. S. Low, J. F. Johnson). The only other
contending team was the Cables of Jersey City, with a handicap of 6
inches (John Filce, W. Cuff, M. Cuff, M. Hanne).

One-mile run, handicap--Won by Thos. Owens, W. S. A. C., 100 yards;
A. S. Vosburg, C. C. A. A., 85 yards, second; W. T. Young, Spartan
Harriers, London, 73 yards, third; time, 4m. 33 4-5s. Young led until
the last half lap, when Owens and Vosburg closed and beat him out.
Conneff ran gamely and finished fourth. Conneff’s time, 4m. 37 2-5s.

One-mile walk, novice--won by T. McIlvaine, C. C. A. A.; C. H.
Nicholas, Brooklyn, second, and C. Lardiner, W. S. A. C., third. Time,
7m. 49 3-5s.

Running high jump--Won by Z. A. Cooper, M. A. C., 10 inches, 6 ft. 1
in.; W. M. Mackdermot, second; L. D. Wildman, Stevens Institute, third.
Cooper’s actual jump, 5 ft. 3 in.

Half-mile run, handicap--Won by H. L. Dadman, M. C., 39 yards, in
2m. 1 2-5s., by four yards; A. B. George, Spartan Harriers, London,
second; J. A. Forbell, Brighton, A. C., 31 yards, third. George, the
Englishman, caught a Tartar in young Dadman, who is but a boy. The
Englishman led 100 yards from home, but the boy had great speed and won
easily.

Throwing 56-lb. weight for height to beat M. O’Sullivan’s record of
13 ft. 9 in.--Mitchell, as was expected, beat all previous records,
reaching 15 feet.

Attempt by Lon Myers, the middle distance professional runner, to lower
his own half-mile record in the Garden, time, 2m. 2s. Myers’s time, 33,
66, 1.40 3-5, 2:11, failing by nine seconds.

Putting the 24-lb. shot--Lambrecht and J. S. Mitchell, both of M. A.
C., tied at 32 ft. 7 in. There has been no putting with this odd weight
for a number of years, and both men beat the best previous record by
over four feet.

250-yards novice race--Won by J. A. Smith, Crescent A. C.; J. M.
Hewlett second, and J. A. Lanthorn, C. C. A. A., third. Time, 30 2-5s.

Two-mile bicycle race, handicap--Won by G. F. Brown, Kings Co. W.,
15 yards; J. H. Ganson, M. A. C., 16 yards, second; H. A. Keller,
Thirteenth Regiment, 150 yards, third. Time, 7m. 30s. In the final heat
all four contestants fell and were piled in a heap. Fortunately no
one was hurt, and all remounted and finished the race. Kingsland, the
Southern rider, who started from scratch, was unplaced.

250-yards hurdle race, handicap--Won by C. F. Bostrick, Crescent A. C.,
8 yards; H. S. Young, Jr., M. A. C., 5 yards, second. Herbert Mapes, C.
C. A. C., 3 yards, third. Time, 32 2-5s.

440-yards run, handicap--Won by J. C. Devereaux, M. A. C., 10 yards; W.
J. Carr, Brighton A. C., 25 yards, second; C. P. Ward, W. S. A. C., 15
yards, third. Time, 54 3-5s.

* * * * *

~The~ second cross-country race of the Athletic Club of the Schuylkill
Navy took place December 14, over a course in Fairmount Park, extending
from the Malta Boat House to and around Belmont Mansion and return. The
distance was 5½ miles, over a rough course. The following members of
the club took part in the run: Paul E. Huneker, W. P. Myrtelus, W. H.
Rocap, J. C. Graham, P. J. Siddall, Abbott Collins, W. B. McManus, John
Y. Parke, and E. F. Van Stavoren. Myrtelus finished first, time, 35m.
2 2-5s.; Rocap second, time, 35m. 17½s.; Graham third; Huneker fourth;
Siddall fifth, and Parke sixth. Edward Flood acted as referee, and Fred
Allen, T. H. Cameron, and R. M. Camanche were the judges and timers.

* * * * *

~The~ games given under the auspices of the Seventh Regiment
Athletic Association were held in the regiment’s big armory in this
city December 8. The gathering of ladies and gentlemen to witness the
events was very large. The prizes were gold and silver trophies to the
first and second in each event. The track was ten laps to the mile.

Officials--Referee, Lieut. Walter G. Schuyler, staff; judges, Capt.
Daniel Appleton, Co. F, Capt. J. Thorne Harper, Co. I, Capt. Charles E.
Lydecker, Co. H, Lieut. George W. Rand, staff, Lieut. Walter S. Wilson,
Co. E; judge of walking, William Wood, N. Y. A. C.; handicapper, W.
G. Hegeman; starter, Prof. George Goldie; timekeepers. Corporal F. W.
Colwell, Co. F, Mr. John H. Abeel, Jr., Co. K; clerk of the course,
Private George B. Barcalow, Co. B.

93-yards run, scratch--H. C. Jones, Co. C, 1; G. R. Martin, Co. H, 2;
time, 10 3-5s.

130-yards run, scratch, for the regimental championship--C. L.
Jacquelin, Co. G, 1; W. C. White, Co. B, 2; time, 15s.

Half-mile walk, scratch--Open only to those who had never won a prize
at walking--William McKee, Co. E, 1; S. Frothingham, Co K, 2; time, 4m.
1s.

440-yards run, handicap--J. P. Thornton, Co. C, scratch, 1; F. H.
Crary, Co. H, 12 yards, 2; time, 59s.

Tug-of-war--As Company H was the only one to enter a team no contest
took place, but an exhibition pull was given, in which Company H beat a
picked team by two inches.

One-mile bicycle race, scratch--Herbert Janes, Co. I, 1; S. V. Hoffman,
Co. K, 2; time, 8m. 53 1-5s.

Running high jump, scratch--Alexander Stevens, Co. F; height, 5 ft. 4
in.

220-yards run, handicap--C. L. Jacquelin, Co. G, 5 yards, 1; E. L.
Montgomery, Co. I, 11 yards, 2; time, 27s.

1000-yards run, handicap--G. Y. Gilbert, Co. B, scratch, 1; W. M.
Moore, Co. I, 50 yards, 2; time, 2m. 26 2-5s.

Sack race, 50 yards--J. C. Westlake, Co. I, 1; C. L. Jacquelin, Co. G,
2; time, 8s.

220-yards hurdle race, handicap--C. F. Bostwick, Co. G, 6 yards, 1; C.
S. Busse, Co. F, 15 yards, 2; time, 29s.

One-mile walk, handicap--F. A. Ware, Co. B, scratch, 1; Thomas
McClelland, Co. E, 55 seconds, 2; time, 7m. 25s.

Half-mile run, scratch; for regimental cup--Alex. Stevens, Co. F, 1;
Herbert Jones, Co. I, 2; time, 2m. 30s.

Wheelbarrow race, two laps, handicap--C. S. Busse, Co. F, 8 yards, 1;
F. H. Crary, Co. H, 8 yards, 2; time, 51s.

One-mile run, handicap--P. R. Irving, Co. K, 100 yards, 1; F. Vores,
Co. E, 100 yards, 2; time, 4m. 45s.

Three-legged race, one lap, handicap--C. L. Jacquelin and C. S. Busse,
6 yards; time, 25s.

Two-mile bicycle race, handicap--C. T. Burhans, scratch, 1; H. Janes,
75 yards, 2; time, 6m 52s.

Team race, four laps, scratch--Co. B, G. Y. Gilbert, F. A. Ware and W.
C. White, 1, by 11 points; P. R. Irving, H. L. Bloomfield and H. W.
Warner, Co. K, 2, with 16 points.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Manhattan Athletic Club was held
December 10. The officers, with the exception of President Carr, the
vice-presidents, and Treasurer Walton Storm, who hold over, were
elected as follows: Secretary, Charles C. Hughes; first lieutenant,
Charles M. King; second lieutenant, John Black; trustees, E. F. Hoyt,
L. A. Stuart, J. M. Tate, James Magee, Warren Sage and George F. Linlay.

* * * * *

~A new~ Athletic Club has been formed in Minneapolis, which
bids fair to be an influential organization. Recently it had a grand
entertainment at the Opera House, and a programme arranged by Professor
Charles Duplessis was carried out very effectively. The charter members
of the club as it now stands number 100. With a few exceptions they are
as follows:

A. W. Grismer, S. P. Jones, H. C. Chapin, R. R. Rand, H. J. Pyle, S.
B. Hall, R. de Freville, C. M. Palmer, W. E. Haskell, J. W. Molyneux,
James Gray, C. M. Shultz, W. Wettleson, B. J. Mullany, W. A. Edwards,
M. R. Thurlow, L. D. McLain, C. A. Ostrow, E. A. Taylor, R. E. Park,
P. H. Beall, J. O. Davis, H. C. Stebbins, H. T. Black, A. H. Bare, G.
S. Dammond, R. H. Gallagher, S. Kelliher, A. R. Walker, W. T. Pauly,
B. Bryan, J. L. Kearney, J. E. Luck, E. M. Christian, W. M. Wright, J.
W. Field, W. B. Wheeler, J. H. Steele, S. Baker, F. D. Larabee, F. H.
Boardman, O. Abbott, J. Rose, F. M. Rowley, F. J. Scudder, A. K. Skaro,
J. G. Skaro, E. J. Morrison, J. Scanlon, J. C. Harper, A. Poehlin, G.
Rallis, T. Gallagher, E. H. Crane, C. A. Brown, W. H. Curtiss, W. A.
Schoenbaum, J. McNall, J. C. Black, C. G. Goodrich, E. W. Goddard, C.
H. Babcock, A. Nagle, F. A. Parker, C. D. Parker, F. G. James, J. L.
Amory, P. C. Most, E. E. Graham, A. P. Erickson, F. W. Eastman, A.
J. Blethen, A. T. Rand, H. J. Neiler, L. Harrison, F. B. Drischel,
C. W. Darling, J. Boyer, N. Whitney, W. B. MacLean, F. W. Maynard,
G. A. Dusigneaud, W. C. Martin, George Caven, Sam Morton, H. Hock,
H. Griffin, H. Libby, C. Libby, C. W. Dana, L. Watson, H. Watson, H.
Saulspaugh, J. C. Callahan, C. L. Jacoby, E. M. Murphy, W. Hays, J.
W. Burton, Theo. L. Hays, M. Breslauer, S. C. Lewis, Bert Goodhue, Ed
Blomquist, W. W. Lewhead, G. A. Berwin, A. J. Berwin, P. A. Halther,
Pat Gibbons, H. C. Hanford, and A. R. Taylor.

* * * * *

~An~ athletic tournament was held, December 15, at the First
Regiment Armory in Chicago, under the auspices of Company C, First
Infantry, I. N. G. There was a good attendance of athletes, and many
ladies were present.

The event of the evening was the six-round sparring match for points
between W. W. Wade and Thomas Morgan, the winner to carry off a
handsome diamond medal. The contest was well fought, and both men
showed evidence of being pretty well winded when the referee, amid much
applause, declared. Wade the winner.

The fencing bout between the Misses Jennie Hepburn and Josephine Friel,
pupils from Mrs. Roundtree’s Gymnasium, was won by Miss Jennie Hepburn,
who was thereupon presented with a handsome pair of foils by Company G.
The remainder of the programme was as follows:

Heavy-weight collar-and-elbow wrestling between James Curran and Albert
Zimmerman; won by Curran in 1 minute and 30 seconds.

Light-weight sparring between Frank Gebbard and William Church.

Middle-weight catch-as-catch-can wrestling between Walter Moore and
George K. Barrett; won by Barrett.

World’s champion Indian club swinger, A. H. Rueschau.

Feather-weight sparring, Messrs. Wood and Frazier.

Queen of clubs, Miss Hilda Rueschau.

Scientific sparring.

Græco-Roman light-weight wrestling, Messrs. Smythe and O’Day.

Middle-weight sparring, Messrs. Arthur and Toomey.

Fencing lesson and attack double.

* * * * *

~Considerable~ dissatisfaction is shown by Amherst students
at the lack of interest in athletic sports. The football team met
with little success, and general sports have but few followers. An
effort will be made to arouse the students to a sense of their duty
to support, with muscle or the welcome dollar, the various athletic
games. A felt running track, canvas covered, has been put down in the
gymnasium, and some good results may be looked for in the spring.

* * * * *

~The~ cross-country race for the championship of Yale University
was held on Saturday, December 8, with only six entries. The course was
laid starting from the south end of the Field due west to Lake Maltby,
around it, and back to the Field by way of the Derby road, a distance
of about six miles. Lloyd, ’91, was the first man in, time 35 minutes,
followed by Holton, T. S., two minutes later. Reynolds, ’91, Ryder,
’91, and Hinckley, ’89, also finished in the order named. Sherill, ’89,
acted as starter and judge. The winner received the cup emblematic of
the cross-country championship, and the second and third men were also
awarded prizes.

* * * * *

~Strenuous~ efforts are being made by the students and alumni of
Phillips Andover Academy to raise a sufficient amount to warrant the
erection of a new gymnasium building. The want of proper facilities for
gymnasium work and the absence of a running track have hindered the
students from achieving much in this branch of sport in late years.

* * * * *

~The~ Athletic Association of Trinity College held a
hare-and-hounds December 8. The hares were given a start of eight
minutes. Fourteen hounds followed. The course was between eight and
nine miles, over a stiff country. The hares were in first, with the
leading hound but three hundred yards behind. The first hound received
a silver-plated vase, the second a silver medal.

* * * * *

~Hare-and-hounds~ and cross-country runs are very popular just
now among college men.

* * * * *

~At~ the Manhattan Athletic Club games, December 15, Samuel
Crook, Williams, ’90, gained the title of champion in three events--the
standing high and broad jumps, and three standing broad jumps.

* * * * *

~The~ Brown University Athletic Association has a large number
of men at work in the gymnasium under a competent trainer. Each man is
training for the events he is best fitted to enter, and two tug-of-war
teams have been put to work.

* * * * *

~The~ thirteenth field day of the Athletic Association of the
University of California occurred December 5, and was one of the most
successful and satisfactory ever held. The list of events is as follows:

100-yards run--T. McGee, ’91, first in 10 4-5s.; J. B. Garber, ’92,
second.

220-yards run, handicap--F. W. McNear (scratch), first in 24 2-5s.;
Wright, ’90 (5 yards), second.

Mile run, handicap--E. R. Rich, ’90 (scratch), first in 5m. 23½s.; E.
Bunnell, ’91 (45 yards), second.

Putting 16-pound shot--J. Bouse, ’91 (scratch), first with 35 ft. 6
in.; De Winter, ’92, 2½ ft., second.

100-yards run--F. W. McNear (scratch), first in 10 3-5s.; E. Mayes (2
yards), second.

Half-mile run--E. C. Hill, ’90, first in 2m. 10 2-5s.

100-yards run, three-legged race--Lakenan, ’90, and Gates, ’91, first
in 12½s.

120-yards hurdle race--H. C. Moffitt, ’89 (scratch), first in 19s.; J.
Bouse (10 yards), second.

440-yards run--F. W. McNear, first in 53½s.

Throwing 12-pound hammer, handicap--Morrow, ’91, 8 ft., first with 102
ft. 6 in.

Running long jump, handicap--W. A. Wright, ’90, 1 ft., first with 19
ft. 5 in.; F. W. McNear, ’90 (scratch), second.

One-mile relay race--Won by ’91 in 3m. 47 2-5s, with the following
team--Gallagher, Fisher, Gates, T. Magee, and Head.

Tug-of-war--’89 vs. ’91, won by ’91; ’91 vs. ’92, won by ’92.

In six of the above events--putting 16-pound shot, half-mile run,
three-legged race, 440 yards, throwing 12-pound hammer, running long
jump--the University records were broken.

* * * * *

~At~ the Lincoln College sports, Oxford, England, which took
place December 4, F. J. K. Cross added yet another to his list of
records. The day was almost perfect for running, the atmosphere
being clear and mild, with almost a dead calm, while the track was
in faultless order. In the open-quarter handicap, with a field of
excellent sprinters, he had to yield starts ranging to 32 yards, and
the general impression was that he would not be placed. The pace was
forced from the first, and at the 100-yard post the men were all in
a bunch. The finish was most exciting, but Cross, having undoubtedly
the best position, on the outside, won by half a yard. The time was 49
2-5s., which is the fastest ever made by an Englishman over a level
track.

In the other events, L. H. Stubbs and C. A. Pease displayed good form,
the former winning the 100, the 120-yards handicap and the long jump,
while Pease easily took the half-mile handicap and mile.

* * * * *

~The~ Inter-Varsity hare-and-hounds between Oxford and
Cambridge was run, November 30, over an eight-mile course at Oxford
in a pouring rain. There were two hares and five hounds for each
university. Pollock-Hill, Oxford, took the lead at once and maintained
it throughout, finishing with a lead of a hundred yards in 47m. 52s.
The race resulted in favor of the Light Blue by 13 points, the scores
being--Oxford 21 and Cambridge 34. Of the nine contests which have
taken place, Cambridge has won seven to Oxford’s two.

* * * * *

~Measurements~ taken by Dr. Seaver, last fall, of the Freshman class
at Yale show that the physical development of the 326 men, taken
as a whole, is very good. These measurements are of young men from
almost every State in the Union, and may be looked upon as fairly
representative of the class of men who enter college, and will, with
some few exceptions, be applicable to the other large colleges as well.
Except in particular cases, there is a noticeable absence of over or
under developed men in the class of ’92. The tallest man is 6 ft. 2
4-5 in., the shortest 4 ft. 9 5-8 in. The oldest is 26 years 2 months,
the youngest 14 years 10 months (an exceptionally youthful age). The
heaviest member of the class weighs 200 and the lightest 86½, pounds.
Only 17 per cent. of the academic Freshmen use tobacco, and 25 per
cent. of the students in the Scientific School.

BASEBALL.

~Keefe~, the great pitcher, will coach the Amherst nine during the
season.

* * * * *

~Regarding~ the prospects of the Yale nine for the coming
season, it is said that Stagg has absolutely refused to play. Dalzell,
change pitcher of last year’s nine, is showing great promise, however.
Dann has left college. With a new battery, it remains to be seen
whether Yale can retain the championship which she has held for three
successive years.

* * * * *

~The~ University of New York will attempt to put a first-class
ball nine in the field in the spring.

* * * * *

~Baseball~ men at Princeton are somewhat handicapped in their
practice by the loss of the cage which was blown down during the
summer. The gymnasium is not suitably equipped for winter practice, and
there is almost no opportunity for batting. King, ’89, the captain,
will probably pitch; Brownlee, ’89, and Brokaw, ’92, are candidates for
the position of catcher.

* * * * *

~The~ Athletic Committee of Harvard University has granted
the two petitions presented by Captain Willard in behalf of the
members of the nine. The first petition was for the employment of a
professional coach, and named for approval Mr. Clarkson of the Boston
nine. The second petition was for permission to play practice games
with professional teams. On the first petition the committee voted,
“That the management of the nine be authorized to employ J. G. Clarkson
as coach for the season of 1888-9, to act in the gymnasium or on the
athletic grounds of the university.”

* * * * *

~An~ effort is to be made to form a baseball league, which is to
consist of Lafayette, Lehigh, Rutgers and Stevens.

* * * * *

~Madison~ University will attempt to join the New York State
College League in the spring. To raise funds for the purpose, the
students have resolved to give a series of concerts, the first of which
was held Dec. 7, and netted $110.

BICYCLE.

~F. A. Elwell~, of Portland, Me., is arranging for a cyclists’
tour through Europe next summer. The pace will be an easy one, so
that ample time will be given for sight-seeing. It is expected the
party will reach home about the 1st of September, and the cost of
the trip will be about $400 per capita. The party will be limited
to twenty-five, and Ireland, England, France, Switzerland, Germany,
Holland and Belgium will be visited.

* * * * *

~Last~ spring a bicycle was run into on Broad Street,
Providence, R. I., by Patrick H. Collins, an expressman, who, according
to the evidence, refused to pay any regard to the warning whistles of
the rider. The wheelman’s hand was broken and his machine seriously
damaged. Collins was convicted in the lower court of a violation of the
law requiring him to drive reasonably to the right of the travelled
centre of the highway, and took an appeal. A short time ago the Court
of Appeals sustained the lower court, deciding that a bicycle is a
vehicle, and entitled to all the protection afforded other vehicles.

* * * * *

~John S. Prince~ is to manage the bicycle department of the new
Coliseum in Omaha, a building 300 by 170 feet, with a bicycle track
20 feet wide and 10 laps to the mile. The building will seat 10,000
people. A six-day race is being arranged. Inside of the cycle track is
a horse track 17 feet wide.

* * * * *

~Chicago~ will have a six-day bicycle race next, and it will
possibly take place in the Exposition building.

* * * * *

~Interest~ in wheeling matters has been on the increase in
Cincinnati, and there is every prospect that the State meet will be
held there in 1889.

* * * * *

~The~ Harvard-Technology road race was held Saturday, December
8, over a nine-mile course through the Newtons. The race was close and
exciting, and resulted in a victory for Harvard. The start and finish
were on Watertown street, Newton. Technology entered eight men and
Harvard six, but only the first five men from each club were counted.
The men finished in the following order:

1. Greenleaf, Harvard, 10 points.
2. Norton, Tech., 9 “
3. Williston, Tech., 8 “
4. Brown, Harvard, 7 “
5. Barron, Harvard, 6 “
6. Rogers, Harvard, 5 “
7. Webster, Tech., 4 “
8. Holmes, Harvard, 3 “
9. Warner, Tech., 2 “
10. Hutchins, Tech., 1 “

Total--Harvard, 31 points; Technology, 24 points. Officers of the
race--Referee, R. H. Davis, of Harvard; judges, H. M. Waite and F. C.
Jarecki, both of Technology.

Greenleaf’s time for the nine miles was 36 minutes 23 4-5 seconds,
which is very fast considering the condition of the roads. Norton
and Williston, of Technology, were very close to him at the finish.
The others were some distance behind, owing to a delay at a railway
crossing in West Newton. Bradly, of Technology, took a bad header near
the finish and was unable to go on.

The banner subscribed by the clubs, jointly, now belongs to Harvard.

* * * * *

~At~ a meeting held December 13 by the Harvard Bicycle Club,
the following motion was unanimously carried: “That the Harvard
Bicycle Club challenge the Yale Bicycle Club to a road-race next June,
immediately after the final examinations, leaving to Yale choice of
distance and course; the number of competitors to be from five to ten.
If Yale chooses a course at New Haven, they are to allow Harvard $8 per
man towards the expenses; but if a course near Cambridge is chosen,
Harvard shall allow Yale $8 per man.”

If this plan is carried out it will add another to the list of
championship contests between the two colleges, and a race like the
one proposed will tend to lift bicycling from the comparatively
insignificant place it now holds as a college sport.

CRICKET.

~The~ following cricket team, organized by Major Warton, left
England for the Cape per s. s. _Garth Castle_:--Major Warton, Messrs.
C. A. Smith, captain, M. P. Bowden, E. J. McMaster, B. A. F. Griese, J.
H. Roberts, A. C. Skinner, and Hon. C. J. Coventry; Abel, Read, Briggs,
Fothergill, Wood, and F. Hearne. Sir Donald Currie has presented a
Challenge Cup, which is to be presented to the Colony, and will go to
the team representing Griqualand West, Natal, the Transvaal, for Orange
Free State, which makes the best approximate show against the English
team. After that it will remain the subject of annual contest.

* * * * *

~The~ games scheduled for the Philadelphia cricket team, which
will visit England next season, are as follows: July 2, 3, Trinity
College; July 4, 5, Gentlemen of Ireland; July 8, 9, Gentlemen of
Scotland; July 11, 12, Gentlemen of Liverpool; July 15, 16, Gentlemen
of Gloucester; July 18, 19, Surrey; July 22, 23, M. C. C.; July 25, 26,
Kent; July 29, 30, Hampshire; August 1, 2, United Service; August 5, 6,
Sussex; August 8, 9, Oxford or Cambridge University.

* * * * *

~The~ Belmont Cricket Club, of Philadelphia, has elected these
officers for 1889: President, John P. Green; vice-president, William L.
Longstreth; clerk, James F. Fahnestock; corresponding secretary, Milton
C. Work; treasurer, Henry W. Cattell, M.D. Board of directors, William
Nelson West, J. Allison Scott, Clarence North, Joseph H. Rastall, W. N.
Brown, William L. Longstreth.

CURLING.

~The~ Montreal branch of the Royal Caledonia Curling Club
recently elected the following officers for the ensuing year: Messrs.
David Brown, president; Geo. Brush, vice-president; Rev. James
Williamson, secretary; Rev. James Barclay, chaplain.

* * * * *

~At~ the annual meeting of the Montreal Curling Club, on
December 15, the election of officers resulted as follows: President,
F. Stancliffe; vice-president, W. I. Fenwick; representative members,
A. T. Paterson, James Williamson; chaplain, Rev. J. Williamson;
treasurer, R. W. Crompton; secretary, E. L. Pease; committee of
management, C. E. Smyth, C. W. Dean, R. W. Shepherd, Jr., D.
Williamson, A. F. Riddell; skips, A. T. Paterson, R. W. Tyre, W. I.
Fenwick, F. Stancliffe, D. Williamson, C. W. Dean, R. W. Shepherd, Jr.,
A. F. Riddell.

FENCING.

~A fencing~ club was formed at Harvard, December 13; Sig.
Castroni will be the fencing-master, and the club has guaranteed him
a salary which will be raised by paying fixed prices per lesson.
Thirty-five men signed as charter members. The officers are E. P.
Rawson, ’90, president; L. M. Greer, ’91, vice-president; F. T.
Goodwin, ’89, secretary; J. S. Beecher, ’90, treasurer.

* * * * *

~An~ effort is being made at Columbia to form a fencing club.
Many recent graduates are experts in this branch of sport, and would
doubtless aid the scheme in every way.

FISHING AND SHOOTING.

~The~ Niagara County Anglers’ Club, a flourishing organization,
is making an effort to secure greater uniformity in the present State
fish and game laws. At a recent meeting a committee was appointed
which will enter into correspondence with the various sporting clubs
throughout the State, in order to learn their views regarding the
advisability of the move. The Secretary of the Niagara County Anglers’
Club, Mr. W. H. Cross, may be addressed at Lockport, N. Y.

* * * * *

~The~ Michigan Fishing and Hunting Association is the title of a
new organization of gentlemen just formed in Detroit, with a capital of
$20,000 in 200 shares. One half the shares have already been taken. The
association has already selected a site, and will shortly erect thereon
a handsome edifice 80 × 60 feet, containing forty rooms, including
billiard-rooms, ladies’ parlors, a large dance hall, kitchen, etc.
It will be finely finished, and in every respect a model club-house.
The cost will be between $6,000 and $7,000. The construction has been
placed in the hands of the contractors, and is to be rapidly pushed to
be in readiness for opening early in the season.

* * * * *

~The~ first move ever made for a systematic protection of
fish and game in and about Barnegat Bay “is the organization of a
corporation known as the Bounat Gunning and Fishing Association,” by a
number of famous New Jersey gunners and fishermen. It will stock its
preserves with both game and fish. The members favor only legitimate
sport. Under its charter the association has the right to prosecute
all pot-hunters who violate the New Jersey game laws. The club-house
will be situated on Lazy Point, about fourteen miles below Barnegat
Bay Inlet. Among the stockholders are ex-Congressman Charles Haight,
Sheriff Fields, County Clerk Patterson and Surrogate Crater, all of
Monmouth County; Thomas A. Ward, ex-Judge Morris, Robert Drummond and
Harold E. Willard.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Mak-saw-ba Club of Chicago was held
recently at the Sherman House. The following officers were elected
for the year: President, R. B. Organ; vice-president, W. P. Mussey;
treasurer, Joel A. Kinney; secretary, C. S. Petrie; board of managers,
R. B. Organ, W. P. Mussey, T. B. Leiter, C. S. Petrie and W. H.
Haskell. Among other business transacted, rules were passed requiring
that shooting must cease at sunset and not begin until after sunrise;
also forbidding the use of two guns in one boat and the use of rifles
on the marsh. The club has decided to follow the example of the
Tollestone Club, and distribute feed for the ducks during the season.
The club is in a flourishing condition.

* * * * *

~The~ woodcock shooting season ended in New Jersey December 1.
Taken altogether it was a bad season. Birds were few. It is probable
that the privilege of shooting woodcock in summer will be restored by
the Legislature.

FOOTBALL.

~The~ convention of the Eastern Intercollegiate Football
Association was held at Springfield, Mass., Friday, December 7.
Delegates from Boston Technology, Dartmouth, Williams, Amherst,
and Stevens Institute were present. The protest with regard to the
Technology-Stevens game was considered, and the game was awarded to
Technology. Inasmuch as Dartmouth and Technology tied for first place,
no championship was awarded, but a resolution was passed that in
case of a tie in the future, the winners of the previous year should
retain the championship. The following officers were elected for the
ensuing year: President, W. Merrill, of Technology; vice-president,
M. H. Beecher, of Dartmouth; secretary, R. A. Hopkins, of Williams;
treasurer, A. Smith, of Amherst.

* * * * *

~A recent~ alumnus, in a letter to the _Princetonian_, advocates
the appointment of professional umpires in football as the only way of
securing fair decisions. He suggests Mr. Edward Plummer and Mr. George
Goldie as men who would acceptably fill the position.

* * * * *

~Students~ at the University of California, Berkeley, Cal.,
enjoy the good fortune of being able to play football during the
winter. Chas. Thompson, ’89, has been chosen captain of the team, and
close and interesting games may be looked for with neighboring clubs.

* * * * *

~William Odlin~, ’90, has been chosen captain of the Dartmouth
Football Team for the next season. M. H. Beacham, ’90, was elected
manager, and A. H. Baehr, ’90, president of the association.

* * * * *

~A game~ took place between the universities of Cambridge and
Edinburgh, December 6, at Cambridge. The visitors won the match last
year, but the same fortune did not attend them this time, as they were
defeated by the Light Blue by one goal to two tries. The game was,
however, a closely contested one, and in the first half Edinburgh had
the advantage. Failure to kick goals from tries may be said to be the
cause for defeat.

* * * * *

~Four~ Rugby football teams from Montreal played at Ottawa on
Thanksgiving Day. The following is the result of the matches: McGill
College Medicos defeated Ottawa College second fifteen by 16 to 1;
Montreal second fifteen defeated Ottawa City second fifteen by 6 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ match on the Metropolitan grounds between the Britannias
of Montreal and the Atlantic City team, resulted in a victory for the
former by 11 points to 2.

* * * * *

~The~ match for the championship of the Dominion, November
29, between the Montreal first fifteen, champions of the Province of
Quebec, and Ottawa College first fifteen, champions of Ontario, was a
draw; neither side scored a point. The match was a series of scrimmages
from beginning to end. The teams were as follows: _Montreal_--Backs,
J. D. Campbell (captain), A. A. Hodgson; half, A. S. Browne, A. E.
Abbott; quarter, H. Cleghorn; forwards, R. Campbell, P. Barton, F.
W. Taylor, Edward Black, A. L. Drummond; F. Matthewson, A. G. Fry,
A. D. Fry, J. Louson and G. Geo. Baird; field captain, J. J. Arnton.
_Ottawa College_--Back, F. Devine; half-backs, M. Cormier and J.
Murphy; quarters, M. Guillet and W. F. Kehoe; forwards, A. Hillman,
O. Labrecque, P. O’Brien, M. McDonald, J. Curran, D. McDonald, C.
Fitzpatrick, P. Chatlin, D. McDonald and W. McAullay; field captain, M.
F. Fallon. Referee--J. Rankin, Queen’s College, Kingston.

HOCKEY.

~The~ annual meeting of the Canadian Amateur Hockey
Association was held in the Victoria Rink, Montreal, on November
16. Representatives from most of the hockey clubs were present. The
election for the ensuing year resulted as follows: President, Mr. J.
Stewart; first vice-president, A. Shearer; second vice-president, D. B.
Holden; secretary-treasurer A. Hodgson. Council--H. Kinghorn (McGill),
S. Lee (Crystal), T. Arnton (Victoria), A. G. Higginson (Montreal).

* * * * *

~The~ first match of the season, for seven gold medals, was
played in the Victoria Rink, Montreal, on December 15, between the
Victorias and the Montreal Amateur Athletic Association team. The teams
were as follows:

M. A. A. A. POSITION. VICTORIA.

Paton Goal J. Arnton
Stuart Point T. Arnton
Cameron Cover point J. Campbell
Hodgson { } E. Barlow
Lowe { } J. Kinghorn
McNaughton { Forwards } A. Elliott
Findlay { } B. Waud
Umpires--Messrs. Wardlow and Black.
Referee--Mr. Crathern.

Summary of the games:

First game, M.A.A.A. Lowe 5 mins.
Second game, Victorias Kinghorn 2 mins.
Third game, M.A.A.A. McNaughton 8 mins.
Fourth game, M.A.A.A. Lowe 26 mins.

LACROSSE.

~For~ the first time in the history of Harvard lacrosse, the
candidates for the teams have had regular practice in the fall. The
prospects of the ’varsity and freshman teams are good. Seven men of
last year’s ’varsity team will probably be on next year’s team. The
other positions will have to be filled by men whose acquaintance with
the lacrosse stick is limited.

* * * * *

~Students~ at Rutgers College, New Brunswick, N. J., are
developing a liking for lacrosse, and the prospects of a representative
team this season are good.

* * * * *

~It~ is stated on good authority that the Lacrosse Club of the
University of the City of New York, which has been in existence for
many years, will be allowed to die. Its place will probably be taken
by the club at the New York College, which is somewhat better off
regarding practice grounds and student support.

* * * * *

~The~ Detroit Lacrosse Club suggests that an International
League be formed, taking in Detroit, Windsor, Chatham and some Michigan
towns.

PEDESTRIANISM.

~The~ gross receipts of the last professional six-days’ walking
match, which ended in Madison Square Garden December 1, netted
$19,316.50. Of this the management received fifty per cent. and the
balance went to the contestants, to be divided proportionately among
them. The score at the finish was:

Miles. Yds.

Littlewood 623 1,320
Herty 609 ----
Moore 553 1,100
Cartwright 546 ----
Noremac 442 440
Hart 539 1,100
Howarth 536 440
Connor 536 ----
Golden 534 440
Mason 528 660
Taylor 450 880
Campana 450 220
Elson 421 1,540
Peach 262 880
C. Smith 201 1,540

RACQUETS.

~Several~ exciting contests at racquets took place at the New
York Racquet Club courts last December, a feature of which was a match
for the professional championship of America between Albert Wright, the
leading marker of the New York Club, and the English player, Boaker,
the principal marker of the Quebec Racquet Club. In some preliminary
practice games, in which Boaker gave odds to Robert Moore--the other
marker of the New York Club--the latter had the best of it; but in the
games for the championship, Boaker bore off the honors, as will be seen
by the appended score:

Boaker 15 15 12 13 10 15 15--Total aces 95
Wright 10 4 15 18 15 7 8--Total aces 77

Total aces by service, Boaker 13, Wright 17. Time of game, 1 hour 17
minutes.

Referee, Mr. Lawrence Perkins. Scorer, Mr. Stewart. Umpire for Boaker,
Mr. E. W. Jewett. Umpire for Wright, Mr. Paul Dana. Marker, Robert
Moore.

In the first two games Boaker showed marked superiority in play, but
in the next three games Wright pluckily rallied and took the lead. The
fourth game was the most closely contested of all, the score standing
at 13 all at the end of the seventeenth innings. Then Boaker set the
game at 5, and Moore won by 5 to 0, making a total of 18 aces to 13. In
the sixth and seventh games Boaker showed his superiority in strategic
play, and he finally came in victor in four out of the seven games
played. It was the best exhibition of racquet playing seen at the court
during the year. The match took place December 8.

RIFLE AND TRAP SHOOTING.

~Al. Bandle~, of Cincinnati, and Rollie O. Heikes, of Dayton,
Ohio, shot a match at live pigeons at the Fair Grounds, Dayton, Nov.
29. The conditions of match were 100 live birds, 30 yards rise,
Hurlingham rules, for a stake of $250 a side. There were over 2,000
people present. Promptly at two o’clock the match was called. Mr.
George Wells, of Covington, Ky., was chosen as referee. Owing to
darkness the match was not finished, eight birds being left over until
the following day. The scores were:

Killed. Missed. Total.

A. Bandle, first day 84 8 92
“ “ second day 8 0 8
-- -- ---
92 8 100

R. O. Heikes, first day 82 10 92
“ “ second day 5 3 8
-- -- ---
87 13 100

The second day the attendance was small, the day being cold, raw and
cloudy. Heikes’ friends immediately challenged Bandle to a match for
$500 a side, to be shot in Cincinnati Christmas Day, same conditions.

* * * * *

~The~ Second Gatling Battery, National Guard, New York, held a
prize shoot at Creedmoor Thanksgiving Day. The Overton Medal was won by
A. L. Klein.

The champions’ match for a $300 medal was won by Driver G. R. Kelly,
W. B. Lowe, second, and S. D. Coborn, third. In the honorary members’
match Capt. A. H. Baker won 1st prize, C. J. Doran 2d. E. C. Webb won
the revolver match; S. D. Coborn 2d, H. J. Jordan 3d. Prizes were also
won by Capts. Nutt and Limberger, Lieut. Castell, Sergt. Yugman and
Corp. Lennon. A banquet was served by Capt. Limberger after the shoot.

* * * * *

~Thanksgiving~ Day at Elkwood Park, near Long Branch, Miss
Annie Oakley and Phil. Daly, Jr., shot a match at 50 live birds for a
handsome gold badge; Mr. Daly shooting at fifty-five and Miss Oakley at
fifty birds. Mr. Daly won, missing but seven birds, Miss Oakley missing
8. There was a large crowd to witness the shooting.

* * * * *

~A new~ Gun Club has been formed at Topeka, Kansas. It had a
shoot Thanksgiving Day, using Peoria blackbirds.

* * * * *

~At~ Arlington, Md., Nov. 29, Wm. Graham and H. Capron shot a
match at 25 live birds for $50 a side. The conditions were: 25 birds
each, Graham standing at 28 yards rise, and using a 12-gauge gun, with
one hand only; Capron standing at 30 yards, using a 10-gauge, with both
hands. Hurlingham rules. E. C. Hall, referee. The match resulted in a
tie, as follows:

W. Graham 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 24
H. Capron 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 24

The tie was then shot off, and resulted as follows;

Graham 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 11
Capron 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 8

Graham won the match.

* * * * *

~At~ Troy, Kansas, November 27, Dr. Dinsmore, with a 32-40,
185 calibre rifle, did some fine shooting at 500 yards. The score in
detail was: 5, 5, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5--48; 5, 5, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5,
5, 5--49; total, 97 out of a possible 100 points. This, with so small
a calibre as a 32, is extraordinarily fine work. In fact it would be
considered fine with any kind of a rifle. The Doctor also shot a fine
score with the same rifle off-hand, at 200 yards, his scores being: 78,
85, 88, 82, 88--421--possible 500 points.

* * * * *

~W. W. Bennett~, on Thanksgiving Day, at Walnut Hill, made the
following scores at 50 yards on the standard target with revolver:
92, 92, 89--273; and on December 1, made the following scores, same
conditions: 94, 89, 89, 89, 89--450.

* * * * *

~At~ the Southern California Trap Tournament, held at Riverside,
Cal., Mr. M. Chick, of San Diego, won the Selby champion medal for the
third time against all comers in Southern California--killing 88 out of
a possible 100; 50 single and 25 double rises. During the meeting Mr.
Chick shot at 160 blue-rocks and broke 148.

* * * * *

~The~ Wichita, Kansas, Trap Tournament was held under very
adverse circumstances, the weather being very disagreeable. Some fine
shooting was done by Messrs. Stancer, Swiggett, Brown and Smyth. Mr.
Stancer shot at 396 and killed 358, only missing 38, which is an
exceptionally fine record.

* * * * *

~The~ contest for the Standard gold medal at Cleveland, Ohio,
between the West End, Rockford and Locksley gun clubs, resulted in a
victory for the West End Club, the total scores being: West End, 171;
Rockford, 158; Locksley, 145. The medal has to be won three times
before it becomes the property of either club, and until won, the
highest score on the winning team wears it. The same day the West End
Club held their badge shoot, which was won by Mr. W. Bell, who also
wears the Standard badge for three months.

* * * * *

~There~ were about 200 present to witness the match at Starr’s
Driving Park, Baltimore, Md., between Mr. Fred Kell, of Baltimore, and
Mr. W. Graham, the Englishman. Graham held one hand behind him. The
match was for $100 a side. It resulted as follows: Fred Kell, 20; Wm.
Graham, 20. The conditions were twenty-five birds. The twenty-second
bird of Graham’s was lost through his going to the trap with his gun
unloaded, and calling pull, which cost him the match.

* * * * *

~The~ Rod and Gun Rifle Club of Springfield, Mass., paid a
friendly visit, by invitation, to the Broad Brook, Ct., Rifle Club,
recently. A very enjoyable day was spent at the targets and also at the
dinner table. The Broad Brook Club will visit Springfield at an early
date.

* * * * *

~The~ celebrated Zettler Rifle Club, of New York City, have a
champion medal. Captain B. Walther won it the second time with 115 out
of a possible 120.

* * * * *

~At~ Walnut Hill, Boston, Mass., a short time ago, Mr. J.
B. Fellows, the well-known amateur rifle and pistol shot, made the
following scores at 50 yards with a 22-calibre pistol: 93, 92, 90,
88, 93--456. Mr. W. W. Bennett holds the professional record for same
distance with a total of 470 points.

* * * * *

~Major James P. Frost~, Brigade Inspector of Rifle Practice,
M. V. M., has obtained permission to organize a rifle team from the
Massachusetts State troops to go to Europe next summer to compete
against teams across the ocean. It is proposed to leave about the
middle of June, and to be gone a month or six weeks.

* * * * *

~The~ Schuetzen-Verein, of San Antonio, Texas, held their
tournament in November. The prizes aggregated in value $642. In the
off-hand team contest the winners were:

San Antonia S. V., score 350, $17; Cuero Rifle Club, 326, $10.20; San
Antonio Rifle and Gun Club, 308, $6.80.

In the Individual contest the winners were:

Ed Steves, Jr., 93; S. V. Pfeuffer, 92; Alois Altmann, 87; Ern Seffel,
86; Earnest Steves, 86; G. Altmann, 84; W. J. Suter, 84; A. Steves,
84; A. Holeyapfel, 84; R. Krause, 84; L. Simon, 83; P. Nulm, 83; E.
Gruene, 83; F. Scholl, 83; I. P. Samer, 82; O. Forcke, 82; Chas.
Hummel, 82; A. Altmann, 81; W. Forcke, 81; H. Faust, 80; Ad. Wendler,
80; Dr. A. Herff, 79; H. Arnold, 78; J. Muschel, 78; A. Guenther, 78;
Ed. Mittendorf, 78; T. Herff, 77; H. O. Journeay, 77; E. Dosch, 77; H.
Vanseckel, 75; H. Clemens, 75; H. L. Fowler, 74.

There were 94 individual riflemen who took part in this contest. The
conditions were, 5 shots at 150 yards, muzzle rest, and 5 shots at 250
yards, standard target.

* * * * *

~At~ the last meeting of the Houston, Texas, Schuetzen-Verein
the following scores were made at 200 yards, three shots at rest,
possible 30: W. Kamin, 27 points won at 117 yards, off-hand, two shots,
possible 30; W. Keiler, 29; O. Erichson, 29.

* * * * *

~The~ American Field Championship Cup, won by L. S. Carter, is a
magnificent piece of work. It was to have cost originally $200; but the
artist elaborated his designs, so that $300 will be nearer the figure.

* * * * *

~A friendly~ rifle match was shot at Troy, Kansas, between Dr.
R. S. Dinsmore, of Troy, and Dr. G. I. Royce, of Topeka. Both used
Dr. Dinsmore’s rifle. The scores were: Dr. Dinsmore, 78, 78, 79, 77,
80--392; Dr. Royce, 72, 70, 76, 76, 74, 76--368.

* * * * *

~Company G.~, California National Guard, is considered the crack
rifle company in the State. At the late State shoot 43 men made 1,488
points out of 2,150.

* * * * *

~Mr. J. A. Huggins~, of Pittsburgh, Penn., made in a rifle match
at 200 yards, off-hand, with a 32-calibre rifle, within the rules of
the N. R. A., the unprecedented score of 440 points out of a possible
500 in 50 shots. The same day he also made 436, same conditions. These
scores beat all previous records, being the record for 50 and 100
shots. The American standard (Hinman) off-hand target was used.

* * * * *

~Officers~ of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals stopped a rabbit coursing meeting that was in progress at
Hempstead, L. I. There were over 100 visitors present, among them Mr.
and Mrs. S. D. Ripley, Mr. and Mrs. A. Belmont, Jr., Mrs. S. S. Sands,
Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, Mrs. Dodge, Miss Morgan and Miss Bird.

Mr. A. Belmont, Jr., had expended a great deal of time and money to
make the meeting a success. The following gentlemen appeared before
Squire Clowes: A. Belmont, Jr., Theo. Rutherford Beach, John Doty,
William Reardon. They were charged with wilfully, unlawfully, wickedly
and unjustifiably mutilating and killing an animal. The trial was set
for the following Friday, when the court room was crowded. The jury
returned a verdict of not guilty, and there was a great outburst of
applause when the verdict was announced.

It is to be hoped that Mr. Bergh will see that to follow in the
footprints of his late uncle in all things is not the proper thing. No
one will assist him more than the true sportsman. But for him to array
himself against the legions of true sportsmen is sheer folly, as he
will do himself and the cause he represents more harm than good. If
such sport can be stopped it is hard to say where it will stop.

* * * * *

~Pistol~ and revolver shooting is having quite a boom throughout
the country. At St. Louis, recently, some fine shooting with a pistol
has been done, Mr. L. V. D. Perrett making the following scores at 50
yards on a Standard American target: 87, 85, 87, 83, 86, 82, 91, 86,
80, 87--854.

* * * * *

~The~ Miller Rifle Club of Hoboken, N. J., and Our Own Rifle
Club of Newark, had a match at the Miller’s quarters, Hoboken,
recently. The target used was the Zettler ring. The scores were: Our
Own Rifle Club, 2,380; Miller Rifle Club, 2,356.

* * * * *

~Mr. E. C. Mohrstadt~ won the handsome gold medal of the St.
Louis Pistol Club, with the good average of 81-4--11; Fred A. Todde
second, with 80-8--13; W. Bauer third. Mr. Bauer made the highest
single score of 93 points out of possible 100. They will hold a
tournament July 15-19, 1889, when $700 will be offered in prizes.

* * * * *

~At~ Dover, N. H., November 29, the following scores were made
at 200 yards off-hand, with match rifles: H. M. Wiggan, 100 shots, 82,
89, 82, 80, 81, 87, 80, 88, 79, 73--821; J. B. Stevens, Jr., 90 shots,
73, 82, 73, 80, 78, 67, 77, 80, 78--697; G. H. Wentworth, 60 shots, 86,
91, 79, 88, 84, 92--520.

* * * * *

~The~ following were the best scores made by the Zettler Rifle
Club, December 11, 10 shots each, gallery target and distance: G.
Zimmerman, 115; L. Flach, 115; M. B. Engel, 115; F. Lindkloster, 114;
J. H. Brown, 113; A. Bertrandt, 113.

* * * * *

~A team~ match was shot December 1, at Springfield, N. J.,
between teams captained by E. D. Miller and C. Johnson; teams of three
men, 50 clay pigeons each. The scores were: Miller’s team--E. Miller,
43; A. Sickly, 43; W. Sopher, 38--123. Johnson’s team--C. Johnson, 39;
I. M. Roll, 40; D. Conover, 34--112.

* * * * *

~The~ Williamsburgh Schuetzen Gesellschaft elected these
officers at their annual meeting: Captain, Charles Horney; first
lieutenant, Geb. Krauss; second lieutenant, A. Hoffman; secretary, J.
Richards; treasurer, K. Sohleich; first shooting-master, G. Kleinbut;
second shooting-master, W. Horney.

ROWING.

~The~ first intercolonial university eight-oared race was
rowed October 6, on the Lower Yarra course, from Humbug Beach to
the Gasworks, a course of about two miles and a half in length. The
universities represented were Sidney, Adelaide, and Melbourne. Sidney
struck the water first, but Melbourne and Adelaide dashed off with
the lead, the former at 38, and Adelaide rowing at 39. The latter’s
coxswain steered badly at first. Melbourne gradually went to the front,
reaching the winning post first in 13m 5s., Adelaide four lengths to
the bad, and Sidney about six lengths further behind.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Fairmount Rowing Club of
Philadelphia was held last month. The election resulted as follows:
President, E. B. Pyfer; vice-president, J. W. Harrison; corresponding
secretary, J. Watermeyer; financial secretary, L. C. Moore; treasurer,
C. Pressendanz; captain, G. W. Mitchell; Coxswain, C. Tierney;
directors, W. Brownell, E. F. Brownell, C. Pressendanz, N. C. Upton.

* * * * *

~The~ Vesper Boat Club of Philadelphia at its annual
election selected the following officers: President, A. R. Parsons;
vice-president, H. Thomas; treasurer, C. F. Grim; recording secretary,
B. Hooley; corresponding secretary, G. King; Captain, G. S. James;
first lieutenant, G. Hooley; second lieutenant, J. Hutchinson; third
lieutenant, H. W. Mende; house committee, J. Leibert, T. Park; inquiry
committee, F. Munson, G. Hooley, H. Thomas; naval delegate board, A.
R. Parsons; financial committee, A. F. Cottingham, J. Hutchison and G.
Hooley. The club is flourishing.

* * * * *

~The~ Mystic Boat Club of Newark, N. J., elected the following
officers for the year: President, H. M. Darcy; secretary, F. W. Mercer;
captain, F. H. Glaze; lieutenant, A. J. Barclie; trustees, E. H.
Osborne, C. L. Winters, F. Barclie, S. Depue and S. Durand.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Manayunk, Penn., Rowing Association
resulted in the election of the following officers: President, J. A.
Maguire; vice-president, G. Martin; secretary, F. Wall; treasurer, F.
Milon; steward, M. McLaughlin; captain, J. W. Caffrey; lieutenant, P.
W. Maxwell; directors, G. Martin, G. Cassidy, F. Milon, J. Wall and M.
McLaughlin.

* * * * *

~All~ previous individual mileage records of the Minnesota Boat
Club have been beaten by Mr. Herbert W. Brown, who rowed 1,135 miles
during the season of 1888 just closed.

* * * * *

~The~ Dauntless Rowing Club elected the following board of
officers for the present year: President, J. H. Redfield; first
vice-president, T. H. Froehlich; second vice-president, Chas. M. Hall,
Jr.; secretary, E. H. Anderson; treasurer, L. M. Edgar; captain, M.
F. Connell; first lieutenant, F. S. Polo; second lieutenant, C. A.
McIntyre; trustees, W. F. Bacon, J. J. Duff and F. F. Burke.

* * * * *

~At~ the annual meeting of the Catlin Boat Club of Chicago
the following officers were elected: President, Charles Catlin;
vice-president, Harry A. Cronin; secretary and treasurer, T. P.
Hallinan; lieutenant, James McCormick; captain and trainer, Charles
Goff. The president and vice-president were elected as delegates to the
Mississippi Valley Rowing Association, and Messrs. Harris, Huehl and
T. W. Reading were chosen as delegates to the Chicago Navy. The Catlin
Boat Club is in a prosperous condition, having a membership of forty.

* * * * *

~The~ Yale Freshmen have challenged the Harvard Freshmen to an
eight-oared two-mile straightaway race, to be rowed at New London next
June. For several years the Yale Freshmen crews have challenged the
Harvard Freshmen, but the latter have persistently declined, fearing
that it would develop material for the Yale University boat. There is
little prospect that Harvard will change her policy toward Yale.

* * * * *

~Both~ the Yale and Harvard crews have begun systematic
training, which will increase in severity as the season advances.
Much is expected by Harvard men of the tank, which has lately been
completed, and which will put them on an equal footing with Yale in the
matter of preliminary training.

* * * * *

~Much~ interest has been aroused among college men by reports
that a race had been arranged between Cambridge, Eng., and Yale, to be
rowed April 14. At Yale it is said that no negotiations had been begun
with Cambridge, but something would undoubtedly be done to bring about
a race. The date announced, April 17, is out of the question, inasmuch
as the severe winter prevents all outdoor practice. The time best
suited to the rowing men here would be during the long vacation. But
that might not suit the Englishmen. Altogether it will be a hard matter
to arrange a race which will be fair to both contestants.

* * * * *

~Intercollegiate~ boating has received an added impetus by the
decision of Cornell, Columbia, and the University of Pennsylvania,
to row an annual race at New London about the same time as the
other ’Varsity races. The plan was originated by Columbia, and on
December 12, E. Klapp, representing Columbia, met T. G. Hunter, of
the University of Pennsylvania, and C. G. Psotta, of Cornell, at
Philadelphia, and an agreement was drawn up and signed by the three
representatives, stipulating for an annual three-mile race between
eight-oared crews with coxswains, to be held between June 10 and 25, on
the Thames at New London, the exact date to be named on or before April
1. Columbia has also been invited to contest for the “Childs’ Cup” with
Cornell and the University of Pennsylvania, but will probably decline,
because great extra expense would be involved. The Harvard-Columbia
race will be rowed this year as usual, as it was only set aside last
year by the consent of both colleges.

SKATING.

~The~ National Amateur Skating Association of the United States
held its annual meeting last December, and elected the following
officers for 1889: President, G. L. M. Sacks, M. A. C.; vice-president,
Gus C. Walton, N. Y. A. C.; secretary, S. J. Montgomery; treasurer,
J. B. Story; captain, W. B. Curtis; first lieutenant, G. D. Phillips;
second lieutenant, H. M. Banks, Jr.

The association announced its determination to hold its fourth annual
amateur championship meeting in the vicinity of New York City, Jan. 17,
and following days. The programme was as follows:

Jan. 17.--220-yards and 5-mile races.

Jan. 18.--1-mile and 10-mile races.

Jan. 19.--Figure skating.

This is what is now arranged and intended, but as the association
has no control over wind and weather, it cannot guarantee a strict
execution of its programme. The committee can only say they will
endeavor to give the contests as above announced. If on either of the
announced days no good ice can be found, the whole programme will be
postponed from day to day until there is good ice.

The events open to the amateur skaters of the world are: Figure
skating, 220-yards, 1-mile, 5-mile and 10-mile races. Gold medal to
first, silver medal to second, and bronze medal to third in each
contest. Entrance-fee, $1 for each man for each event. Skaters unknown
to the committee must submit satisfactory proof of their amateur
standing. Entries closed Monday, Jan. 14, to S. J. Montgomery,
Secretary National Amateur Skating Association, P. O. Box 938, New York
City.

It is also probable that there will be special races at quarter-mile
and half-mile for prizes offered by president and vice-president.

The following is the programme of the association for figure skating
contest. The object of this programme is to set forth the movements
of figure-skating so as best to test the proficiency of skaters, and
in an order that will economize the strength of the contestants. The
movements are arranged under comprehensive, fundamental heads, designed
to include everything appertaining to the art. It is to be understood
that whenever practicable all movements are to be executed both forward
and backward, on right foot and on left. It should be continually
borne in mind that _grace_ is the most desirable attribute of artistic
skating.

1. Plain forward and backward skating.

2. “Lap foot”--as field step and in cutting circle.

3. Outside edge roll, forward.

4. Outside edge roll, backward.

5. Inside edge roll, forward.

6. Inside edge roll, backward.

7. Figure eight on one foot, forward.

8. Figure eight on one foot, backward.

9. Cross roll, forward.

10. Cross roll, backward.

11. Change of edge roll, forward--commencing
either on outside or inside edge.

12. Change of edge roll, backward--beginning
either on outside or inside edge.

13. (_a_) “On to Richmond;” (_b_) reverse “On to Richmond.”

14. (_a_) “Locomotives,” forward, backward, side-ways--single
and double; (_b_) waltz step (not to be done
on the point of the skate).

15. Spread eagles, inside and outside edges.

16. Curvilinear angles; (_a_) single, double, chain,
and flying threes, beginning on inside or outside
edge; (_b_) turns from outside edge to outside edge,
or from inside edge to inside edge, forward and backward.

17. Grapevines, including “Philadelphia twist,” etc.

18. Toe and heel movements, embracing pivot
circling, toe spins (_pirouettes_), and movements on
both toes, etc.

19. Single flat-foot spins and double-foot whirls.

20. (_a_) Serpentines on one foot and on both feet;
(_b_) change of edge, single and double.

21. Loops and ringlets on inside and outside
edges, simple and in combination.

22. Display of complex movements, at the option of the contestant.

23. Specialties, embracing _original_ and _peculiar_ movements.

* * * * *

~The~ Canadian Amateur Skating Association held their second
annual meeting in the Victoria Rink, Montreal, on Nov. 21st, and
elected the following officers for the ensuing season: President,
Lieut.-Col. Fred Henshaw; first vice-president, Mr. G. Geddes, Toronto;
second vice-president, Mr. H. V. Meredith; third vice-president, Mr. L.
Pereira, Ottawa; secretary-treasurer, Mr. A. E. Stevenson; council, H.
M. Allan, W. G. Ross, J. A. Taylor, J. A. Findlay, F. M. Larmouth, W.
D. Aird, L. Rubenstein, R. A. Elliott, F. W. Barlow.

* * * * *

~A race~ for the half-mile skating championship of the world
took place at Amsterdam, Holland, on January 8, between Joseph F.
Donoghue, of Newburgh, N. Y., and Alexander Von Panschin, of St.
Petersburg, Russia. Donoghue fell during the race and Von Panschin won;
time, 1 min. 25 3-5 sec. Donoghue afterwards skated over the course
against time and covered the half-mile in 1 min. 27 2-5 sec. The next
day, January 9, Von Panschin won the one-mile race also. His time was
2 min. 59 sec. The American champion, Donoghue, was second, his time
for the mile being exactly three minutes. G. Smart, of England, won the
one-mile international professional handicap in 3 min. 9 sec.

SNOW-SHOEING.

~Le Canadian~ Snow-shoe Club, of Montreal, have elected the
following officers: President, J. A. St. Julien; first vice-president,
E. J. Bedard; second vice-president, Alf. Lussier; secretary, C. O.
Lapierre; assistant secretary, W. Pilotte; treasurer, J. E. Clement;
committee, L. N. Moreau, A. W. Beauclaire, N. Malette and H. Blanchard.
The club decided to hold weekly tramps to Cote des Neiges.

THE KENNEL.

~New York~ (the Westminster Kennel Club) is out with its premium
list for its February show. The prizes offered for the dogs in the
large dog classes are $20 to first, $10 to second, $5 to third and the
club’s medal to fourth. The next grade of classes get $10 to first, $5
to second and medal to third. The specials are valuable, and include
the mastiff club cups, valued at $600; the St. Bernard club cups,
valued at $140; the kennel prizes of $25 each for the best kennel of
four of each of the following breeds: Pointers, mastiffs, St. Bernards,
bloodhounds, deer-hounds, greyhounds, foxhounds, hunting-spaniels,
beagles and English setters, Irish setters, black-and-tan setters and
collies. The inducements are great to exhibitors, and the show bids
fair to be as well attended and as successful as heretofore.

* * * * *

~The~ committee of the American Kennel Club held a meeting
December 28, 1888, and decided upon the following matters, which are
herewith printed for the benefit of the readers of ~Outing~:

1. The American Kennel Club Stud Book, after the completion of the
present volume, will be issued annually, will contain a full index, and
will be published bound in cloth.

2. Numbers will be assigned upon the receipt of each entry, and will be
published monthly in the _American Kennel Gazette_.

3. Registry in the stud book can be made _only_ upon the following
conditions:

1. Where sire and dam are already registered or are directly descended
from dogs already registered in said book.

2. Where dogs possess an authenticated pedigree, extended back three
generations.

3. Where dogs (not eligible under the provisions as above required)
have won not less than two first prizes in the regular classes at any
show recognized by the American Kennel Club.

4. All entries for the stud book will be published in the issue of the
_American Kennel Gazette_ following the receipt of said entry to enable
the correction of any errors that may appear.

5. The fee for entry in the stud book will remain as heretofore. Fifty
cents for each dog entered.

6. All dogs shown at any show held by a member of the American Kennel
Club, and not already registered in the stud book, _must_ be registered
in the _American Kennel Gazette_, the fee for such entry will be
twenty-five cents.

7. The _American Kennel Gazette_ will be published on the last Thursday
of each and every month.

Yours truly,
~A. P. Vredenburgh~, Sec’y.

* * * * *

~The~ following is a list of the dog-show fixtures for February:

The first annual dog show of the Columbus Fancier’s Club, at Columbus,
O., will be held at Columbus from February 5 to 8; Thomas R. Sparrow,
secretary.

From February 7 to 12, the first annual show of the Hudson River
Poultry, Dog and Pet Stock Association, will be held at Newburgh, N. Y.
J. H. Drevenstedt, of Washington, N. J., is the secretary.

* * * * *

~The~ Detroit Kennel Club recently lost fifteen valuable
dogs that had been raised for stock purposes by a strange epidemic,
resembling pneumonia. Examination of the lungs of a number of the dogs
was made soon after death, and they all bore evidence of the same
disease that characterizes the lungs of human beings who have died from
pneumonia. It seems from information received from different parts
of the country that the mysterious malady is quite general, and not
confined to any given section.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the New England Kennel Club was held
recently at its rooms, Hamilton Place, Boston. In token of his long
services to the club as treasurer, that pleasant gentleman and
enthusiastic spaniel-man, W. O. Partridge, of Boston, was tendered a
suitably engrossed testimonial by the club. The following officers
were elected for 1889: President, F. B. Fay; vice-president, E. H.
Moore; secretary, J. W. Newman; treasurer, Geo. A. Fletcher. Executive
committee, the officers and J. E. Thayer, Jean Grosvenor, Frank M.
Curtis, J. H. Long, Dr. J. G. W. Werner.

YACHTING.

~The~ Toronto Yacht Club and the Royal Canadian Yacht Club have
decided to consolidate, and after May 15 next will be known only as the
Royal Canadian Yacht Club.

The fusion of these two organizations will make the Royal Canadian one
of the strongest yacht clubs in the world, with a membership of 650.

* * * * *

~Mr. C. D. Mosher~, of Amesbury, Mass., who built the phenomenal
launch _Buzz_ last season, whose mile record is 2 min. 8 sec., is now
designing a steam yacht twice the size of the _Buzz_, but on the same
lines.

* * * * *

~Mr. S. Austin~, Jr., of Philadelphia, has purchased of Mr.
Jacob Lorillard his yacht _Anita_. Mr. Austin paid $22,500 for the
_Anita_, and Mr. Lorillard is now having designs made for his fiftieth
yacht.

[Illustration:

Drawn by A. C. Corbould.

“ONE FAIR PURSUER GOES AT IT WHERE THE HUNTSMAN LEADS.”]

~Outing~.

~Vol. XIII.~ MARCH, 1889. ~No. 6.~

FOX-HUNTING.

A DAY IN THE SHIRES.

BY HENRY H. S. PEARSE (“PLANTAGENET”).

There is a touch of original barbarism in all field sports--at least
that is what our critics say, and I am prepared to put aside all cause
for controversy by admitting without hesitation that there is much
truth in the charge. Nay, more, I am even disposed to know the very
quality that squeamish sentimentalists condemn, and to regard the
spirit of sport in its most ferocious outbursts as the very antithesis
of cold-blooded, wanton cruelty.

If proof were required that the most typical hunting-men are not
insensible to animal suffering, one need only point to their tender
care for horses and hounds, with which they have bonds of sympathy
utterly inexplicable to people who are not sportsmen. A keen, bold
rider may gallop his horse to a standstill in the rapture of hot
pursuit, or put him at an almost impossible leap, staking life and
limb and neck of man and beast against the chance of holding a place
in the first flight, but when that effort is over his hand will rival
a woman’s in the tenderness of its caresses for the noble brute that
has answered so generously to touch of whip or spur. This combination
of fierce daring and feminine weakness has never been more elegantly
expressed than in Whyte Melville’s stirring song, “The Place where the
Old Horse Died.” The man who will jest at his own scars, and make light
of a broken rib or a dislocated shoulder, can be moved to infinite
pity for an injured hunter. But even if the capacity to greatly dare
and stoically endure were only to be attained by the sacrifice of
sympathy with animal suffering, it would, I fancy, be worth cultivating
by any race in danger of overcivilization. Such qualities may be
characteristic of original barbarism, but no nation has yet been
able to find satisfactory substitutes for them. As tending to their
development, there is no pursuit within reach of ordinary citizens in
an old and populous country that can for a moment compare with the
moving accidents of fox-hunting. Very few sportsmen, however, stand in
need of this excuse for the passion that possesses them.

A defense of the chase on high moral grounds would sound to them very
like cant, and a fox-hunter worthy of the name may well dispense with
the services of an apologist. If there be any foreigner who believes
that the sturdy manhood of Great Britain is in danger of being played
out, let him make a tour of the rural districts of the island from
November to March. Taking a map of ordinary scale, one cannot put his
finger on any spot outside the densely peopled cities, between Land’s
End and John O’Groats, and say, “Here is a place where the music of
hounds is never heard!” Every county has its two or three, and some a
dozen, packs of fox-hounds, hunting here up to the outskirts of busy
towns surrounded by networks of railways, and there amid the stillness
and silence of mighty mountain ranges far from “the madding crowd.”
On rugged heights where no horse could find secure foothold, their
loved bell-like chorus may be heard cleaving the thin air and echoing
from rock to rock, with the accompaniment of shrill cheers from sturdy
hillmen who follow on foot from morn to even-tide without sign of
fatigue. These, however, are rather the by-ways of sport, and to make
acquaintance with fox-hunting in its more conventional phases one must
needs follow great Nimrod’s footsteps to the classic fields where Hugo
Meynell, John Ward, Osbaldiston, Assheton Smith, Anstruther Thomson,
and many other masters of woodcraft graduated. Not there will one find
the science of hunting practiced in its highest development; but there,
alone of all countries in the world, may one see the art of riding to
hounds illustrated in every variety of style.

[Illustration: A FOXY VARMINT.]

To describe hound work, pure and simple, with the incidents of a
long hunting run, I should have to take as my theme a fixture in
some remote provincial hunt, where plough and pasture alternate with
deep woodlands. A day with wild Jack Parker, of the Sinnington, and
his trencher-fed pack, among Yorkshire dales; or with Mr. Lawrence’s
half-bred Welch hounds in the coverts of Monmouthshire, or with any
of the Devonshire fox-hounds, where open moors and densely wooded
coombes are the haunts of foxes, wild as their native hills, would
best illustrate the science of woodcraft, and all the minutiæ about
which Beckford, Delmé, Radcliffe, and the author of “Notitia Venatica”
discoursed so learnedly.

We might then begin with the earth-stopper, on his lonely midnight
rounds in storms of snow or rain. Following the track of his ambling
pony, and guided by the pale gleam of his lantern through the mists, we
might watch him as he bent to work under the dripping twigs of bramble
and hazel, or rolled a great stone into the mouth of some cavernous
hole among a “clitter of rocks,” as they say in the west country. We
might learn from him much concerning the dissipated habits of the red
race--male members of which follow very much the customs of men about
town, devoting their nights to feasting or flirtation and their days
to rest and sleep. In regard to the latter, no bachelor of the Albany
could be more fastidious in the choice of quarters. Should a belated
worker find the door of his regular abode closed against him, he always
knows where to seek cozy shelter in the warmest corner of a gorse
covert, or the dry top-growth of a grassy hedgerow. In the spring-time,
when his “fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love,” he is apt to wander
far from his familiar haunts and make his bed wherever the first flush
of dawn lights on him. All these are habits of which the earth-stopper,
in his nocturnal watches, takes careful note, and he knows the exact
hour of every season when improvised doors should be stopped at night
to keep the gay old dog out, or put to after daybreak to shut the vixen
securely in.

[Illustration: THE ROAD-RIDING DIVISION.]

About such details as earth-stoppers and their duties, however, the
merry sportsmen who throng the midland shires concern themselves only
when a brilliant burst is brought to a premature end by the cunning
fox slipping into a drain that has been overlooked. Hunting the dray
of a wild rover from his midnight foraging grounds to some distant
lair is also a tedious detail of woodcraft in which the Meltonian would
disdain to take part, even if he could tear himself from his bed at
the chill hour when our grandfathers’ sport began. There are not many
countries nowadays so scantily stocked that this preliminary to a find
need be resorted to, but in some very provincial corners of the land,
and notably among Welsh mountains and Cumberland fells, the custom is
still pursued. Fashionable midland fields would dwindle to very small
proportions indeed if half a dozen coverts were drawn blank, and the
ardor of thirsting youths would ooze away if they had to watch hounds
patiently puzzling out a cold scent for an hour or two before the fun,
fast and furious, began. Yet their languid regard for creature comforts
is only a harmless affectation after all. The first note of horn or
hound sends the hot blood tingling through their veins, and when once
they have thrown off the cloak of conventional unconcern, it must be a
formidable obstacle that can balk them, and a long run that takes the
keen edge off their rivalry.

If we elect to throw in our lot with glorious Tom Firr and the Quorn;
to meet Will Goodall with his Pytchley bitches at Weedon or Crick;
Frank Gillard and his bright Belvoir tans at Piper Hole, where the
“partickler purty landscape” of Belvoir Vale unfolds a pleasant
prospect before us; or Gillson and the Cottesmore at Langham’s
far-famed Ranksborough gorse, there will be nearly the same brilliant
galaxy of sporting celebrities, only with a different setting. Let us
make for ourselves, then, an imaginary fixture at some centre that is
surrounded by the most characteristic features of all these favored
countries, and watch the gay cavalcades from different points converge
at the trysting-place.

A few farmers, well mounted, neatly attired in black coats and
workmanlike cords, and bearing about them no visible signs of
depression, are first to appear at the meet. Then follow rough-riders
of the Dick Christian order, on raw young ones, qualifying for hunters’
certificates, or queer-tempered animals that need some schooling yet,
though the season is far spent, and many a hard run ought to have
taken the devil out of them. The Leicestershire rough-rider is _sui
generis_, and his exact counterpart is not to be found in any other
hunting country that I know of. Long training has made him amenable
to every form of discipline exacted by the M. F. H., and he is never
out of his proper place, no matter what other people may be doing.
He betakes himself now to a quiet out-of-the-way corner where hounds
are not likely to come within reach of his restive horse’s heels, and
whenever the rush for a start may begin, he will display marvelous tact
in getting clear of the ruck to cut out a line for himself. His nether
limbs have been battered out of all shapeliness by frequent fractures,
so that he seems to have no grip of the saddle, and his hands look too
rigid to yield the fraction of an inch in play; but somehow he has the
knack of sitting like a jackanapes, never off, and he can squeeze the
veriest jade over a stiff line of country.

There is a blaze of scarlet along the lane yonder, and flashes of
white between the thorn fences as the hounds are brought up, followed
by groups of gorgeously arrayed gallants. The huntsman and his whips
are turned out in the perfection of neatness, their breeches spotless,
and every item of equipment scrupulously bright. The twenty couples
of hounds have the glossy bloom of faultless condition, as if this
were only the beginning instead of the fag end of a hard season. And
now the throng grows denser every minute. The master threads his way
through a maze of vehicles and a mass of horsemen, exchanging courteous
greetings with friends or strangers alike. Four-in-hands, tandems, and
smart buggies come in quick succession to choke the crowded highway.
Covert-hacks are dexterously exchanged for hunters. Fair damsels throw
aside wraps and newmarkets to appear in all the bewitching simplicity
of dainty habits, or the more pronounced combinations of masculine
cut, with open coats, snowy vests, folded cravats, masher collars, and
all the latest triumphs of sartorial ingenuity. There is mounting in
hot haste, for the word has been given to draw a favorite gorse brake
not two miles away, and that is a sure find. The February sun-shine
is screened by soft clouds, “the wind in the east most forbiddingly
keen,” and all the conditions favorable to a brilliant run, if only
a stout traveler can be induced to lead pursuers across the fair
pastures that stretch far away to a hazy line of coverts yonder. The
keen-faced huntsman, lithe, wiry and active as a boy yet, gets his
hounds through the thicket of restless heels with quiet coolness which
no confusion can ruffle. Then begins an eager rush for short cuts to
the covert-side, only restrained by the master’s imperative “Hold hard,
gentlemen! Let hounds go first, if you please.” A Yorkshire dealer, who
has been extolling the young horse he bestrides as a wonderful fencer
who does not “jump from here to there, but from here to yonder,” begins
looking already by way of putting these exceptional leaping powers to
the proof, but he will have quite enough of that in the legitimate
course of things before the day is over.

[Illustration: “IT IS THE HORSE IN AND THE MAN ON THE RIGHT SIDE.”]

At length the foremost squadrons are marshaled quietly, in compact
order, beside a five-acre brake--all keeping a little down wind so that
the fox may be forced to break covert towards that inviting stretch
of verdant pastures with its heavy thorn fences, tall bullfinches,
stiff oxen and gleaming brook, brimful from recent rains. If kindly
fortune should take us that way, how soon the field will be squandered,
the faint-hearted follower stopped, and the reckless brought to grief!
There is little danger that hounds will chop their fox before he can
get well away. He must be a sound sleeper indeed if the tramp of five
hundred horses and the voices of his foes have not roused him to alert
action before our huntsman’s “Loo in yoi, wind him, bo-oys!” gives
peremptory notice to quit.

[Illustration: “AND TOPS THE NEXT GATE.”]

There is no sign of movement, however, except where the hounds are
working through tangled growth of sedge and brier with ceaseless
waving of their “rush-grown tails,” as Somerville phrases it, and for
a while no whimper is heard. Impetuous spirits are beginning to be
a little dashed by the dread that this brake may for once be blank;
then a light challenge is heard from a bitch that never lies, and the
huntsman answers with a cheer. To that sound every hound flies eagerly,
and the chorus of their music clangs like a carillon. Another brief
pause, while hearts beat high, hats are thrust tightly down, horses are
pressed up to their bits, and the squadrons stand in severed ranks like
cavalry waiting for the bugle to sound a charge.

Now there rises at the far corner, clear and shrill, a “Gone away!”
that electrifies everybody. Hounds are out in a twinkling as their
huntsman dashes forward with a spirit-stirring “Hoic, holloa,” and
a few short, sharp blasts of his horn. Then the headlong rush of a
hundred horsemen sweeps like a thundering mountain torrent down the
slope. In that glowing stream a few dark habits flutter, and all the
first flight men and women charge a blackthorn fence abreast. By this
time the pack is half a field ahead, rising with ferocious dash, and
skimming like a flock of wild doves over the grass. Three or four men
are down in the ditch, more than one loose horse is sailing along in
gay career, rejoicing to be free, and the boldest riders have to harden
their hearts as they face a ragged bullfinch with a broad grip towards
them, and a stiff ox-rail a yard or two on the far side. Some take a
strong feel of their bridles and pull back into a hand gallop, hoping
by a double effort to negotiate the obstacle cleverly; others send
their horses out at steeplechase pace, riding for an almost certain
fall, but trusting that by sheer impetus they may be able to clear
the timber or smash it. There is a sharp crunching of thorn twigs, a
repeated rapping of hoofs on the timber, a loud crash as one gallant
horse breasts the rail, shivers it into atoms, staggers, and recovering
himself, goes on again in hot pursuit; the dull thuds of some heavy
falls, and then all who are left of the line that swept so proudly
down hill at the outset speed on, a shattered section of their former
strength, but with two dainty habits still proudly holding their places
in the first flight.

The road-riding division has been swiftly scattered in all directions.
One column is galloping hard towards some well-known coverts five
miles off. Regardless of the fact that our fox would have to travel
dead up wind every yard of the way to reach there, these skirters
place confidence in their pilot, who boldly asserts his knowledge of
the hunted one’s point, because he has taken “that very line twice
before.” It is strange how some men, who might go straight enough
across country if left to their own devices, will often follow the
lead of a rank impostor of this order simply because he can ride
like a demon after dinner “across the walnuts and the wine,” and is
always taken at his own valuation until found out. Nobody ever saw
him perform the daring feats he has been credited with, but many have
followed him mile after mile on the “’ard ’igh road,” and kept the
secret carefully to themselves, lest in exposing him they should have
to confess how they also rode the run. Not that one exposure would
abash him much, for he has always a variety of excuses ready to explain
why he failed to get through the crowd at the start, or took a wrong
turn at a critical point, and so had to make up his lost ground by a
short cut. Resplendent in garb of closest conformity with conventional
ideas--a single-breasted coat, long in the waist and with square-cut,
ample skirts, beneath which are just visible the faultless folds of
breeches that fit like skin about his knees; boots without a wrinkle
or a blemish in the brilliancy of their enamel; delicately tinted
tops that are not the fraction of an inch too long or too short for
Fashion’s fastidious eye; a cravat which quaint old Jack Parker would
say “must have been starched and ironed on him,” and a gardenia in
his button-hole--this youth is, from the crown of his polished silk
hat to the buckle of his silver spurs, the perfection of scrupulous
neatness, and the ideal presentment of a Meltonian sportsman; but his
riding to hounds is a melancholy delusion. Conspicuous by the obtrusive
correctness of his “get up,” he is the centre of much misplaced
admiration among the fair at every meet; and, equally conspicuous now
as he heads the torrent that rolls down a lane, he is the subject of
misplaced confidence also.

Once thrown into the wake of such a pilot and fairly committed to a
road, while Leicestershire hounds are flying like swallows over the
grass four fields away--

“Not a nose to the ground, not a stern in the air,”

even you, bold rider, know how next to impossible is the chance of
getting to them again. Like a stout swimmer caught in a rapid, from
which all struggles to escape are vain, you can only float on with the
foaming current, deafened by its din, paralyzed by its force, and hurl
anathemas at the unconscious head of that weak being whose example
led you to plunge into mid-stream. If he had shown the white feather
palpably you would never have followed him; but it is the boastful
funker’s characteristic that he never gives you cause to suspect the
fear that is in him. He looked up to the last stride like going at that
bullfinch, but just then the hounds seemed to swing round a little. He
saw this, and in a second was shaping his swift course for the nearest
gate; you hesitated, thinking he must surely know the country best,
and, having hesitated, were lost.

Let me not be misunderstood. I condemn no man merely because he shirks
a big jump, for not all of us have the nerve or the confidence, the
horsemanship or the quick, resolute judgment to hold our own with
hounds when they are racing hard over a strongly-fenced country. Such
gifts in combination are not vouchsafed to one in every hundred,
even among those who hunt with the Quorn, and he who frankly admits
that nothing would tempt him to put his horse at any obstacle more
formidable than a sheep hurdle may be a sportsman to the backbone,
worthy of our highest respect; but Leicestershire is not quite the
country for him. Only a man’s assumption of courage and attempts to
cloak his cowardice make him and the action ridiculous. Nor would I
for a moment hint, as John Warde once did, the fastidiousness which
marks Meltonians in matters of hunting costume is a sign of effeminate
weakness. A perfectly dressed man is never out of place except in
the ruck; and to do the most foppish youths justice, it must be said
that funking is not their characteristic fault. Digby Collins, one
of the quietest, boldest, and best riders to hounds in his day that
any “provincial” country, or the shires for that matter, could boast,
summed up the exquisite’s character in brief when he said: “Your true
hunting dandy would as soon think of omitting those minutiæ and obvious
sacrifices to the Graces as he would of turning aside from a nasty
place for fear of soiling them; and if he can carry his splendors well
to the front for forty minutes from Ranksboro’ Gorse or the Coplow, nor
fear to smirch them in the muddy waters of the Whissendine, who shall
blame him?”

There are half a dozen of this type holding their own now in the first
flight, from whose doings our thoughts have been for a few brief
moments turned aside. Dandies they are in every detail, scrupulous even
as to the correct length and width of the bow above their boots, and
fond of personal adornment as the bewitching maiden whose white-vested
habit has flashed past them once or twice, and whose presence has
nerved them to all that man dare do. The wiry huntsman, full of dash
and fire for all his fifty years, rides straight as he rode it from
Waterloo Gorse nearly a quarter of a century ago; and the master,
hoping to shake off the incubus of exuberant youth, puts his horse at
the stiffest timber, where nothing but fine nerve in a crisis can save
him from a crushing fall. But neither these nor the hounds, turn which
way they will, can get half a field away from those half-dozen dandies
who charge an oxen as their soldier forefathers did a line of infantry,
and count fifteen rapturous minutes with the Quorn as worth a cycle of
slow hunting in Clayshire.

As the line of chase bends down wind a little, and the bitches can no
longer drive at topmost speed, they are in danger of being overridden.
One youth, more reckless than the rest, lands over a double almost on
top of the pack. The master’s reprimand is muttered in D minor, but
he looks unutterable language, against which the thickest hide should
not be armor-proof. The offending youth, however, speeds on with
unruffled composure, his imperturbability reminding one of another
thrusting pursuer in a distant hunt whose propensity for pressing
hounds off a line the M. F. H. ironically rebuked by requesting him to
take particular care not to jump on one of them, as it was a special
favorite. Not a jot abashed, the youth replied: “I have a shocking bad
memory for hounds, and I am afraid he will have to take his chance with
the others.”

If our fox had held on up-wind he could not have stood before hounds
another mile at the pace they drove over those first ten meadows. But
now the line bends with a sharper curve from the easterly breeze, and
the speed slackens somewhat, but only just enough to let the second
flight up as we find our faces set straight at the brook that never
fails to thin a Leicestershire field. We can already see the willow
trees that mark its course. One ragged thorn fence and two furlongs
of furrowed water-meadow lie between us and the yawning channel. That
fence does not look forbidding; but ride at it carefully, for old gaps
unmended mean that there is some other obstacle beyond. It may be
broad, it may be deep, and the branches droop as if over a ditch, but
you cannot afford to chance anything now. A crumpler here would take
half the remaining breath out of steeds already sorely pressed, and you
will want it all for a bigger effort presently. That warning came not a
minute too soon. The old horse pricks his ears, but his rush had best
be restrained. Sloping ground on the far side tells of a deep drop, and
the horse that goes fast at that will want ready hands controlled by
iron nerves to save him as he lands. There goes one! With just a turn
too much speed put on at sight of a broad ditch and rotten banks, he
spanned the chasm, but that drop was more than wearied forelegs could
stand as they struck the steep slope. A falter, a peck, a heavy thud,
and the rider executes a somersault two yards clear of the prostrate
steed. Now watch how a workman deals with the obstacle. He seems to
go at it just as fast, but by a firm, light feel of the mouth he has
collected his horse for a supreme effort. The impetus is just enough
and no more; the distance has been measured to a nicety; the hunter,
well bred and high mettled, leaps “from the hand” without a pause,
lands lightly as a bird, and like a bird skims on again.

There has been no check yet, but just a brief pause where the fox
changed his course, and hounds are driving on as if he were now only
a field ahead of them. The scent is breast-high and they have no need
to stoop to it. Nor do they throw their tongues freely; the pace is too
good for that. Like cavalry charging with a broad front, they carry
what sportsmen call a good head. At every twist and turn there is keen
rivalry for the lead, as first one and then another flashes out in
front and swings to the scent like a yacht keeling over on a new tack
or a swallow turning in mid-air. There is just a shrill whimper then,
and the whole pack wheels to it as if at word of command. Fifteen
minutes, full of more incidents than can be crowded into the hours
of an ordinary day, have passed since our fox was halloa’d away. The
hundreds from among whose thundering heels the tail hounds had to make
hazardous way as we sped over the first broad meadow, have dwindled
down to a twentieth of their number, and now we are heading straight
for the sluggish brook, which is so full now that we cannot see where
its slimy banks have been worn hollow by the slow curves and eddies of
its summer current or the first rushes of winter floods.

The riding and spurring o’er Canobie Lea was as nothing to the rush
with which men wheel right and left, galloping hard to find a gate and
avoid the water. It is

“No shallow dry ditch, with a hurdle to screen it,
That cocktail imposture a steeple-chase brook;
But the flood-fretted banks tell as plain, if we mean it,
The less we shall like it the longer we look.”

How that “dream of the Old Meltonian” rings in our ears as we clench
our teeth hard, sit down in our saddles and ride for the brook! There
are not twenty followers left with the pack now, and not more than half
of them look as if they mean going.

The quiet, determined horseman who negotiated that last awkward drop
so cleverly (typical of the best man of any country, whether in
Leicestershire or the most remote provinces), is taking a line of his
own, but without any sign of shirking or hesitation. At one point a
light thorn-fence half screens the brook, and he goes for it at that
point, well knowing that the roots of bushes will give him firm ground
to take off from; and as to the sort of place on which he may land,
he is content to take his chance. Catching firm hold of his horse’s
head, but so lightly that there is no perceptible increase of pressure
on bit or bridle, he sends an electric thrill of sympathy, along the
reins. A strong squeeze of the knees, just one touch of the spur, and
they go at it best speed. Like a bullet the good steed flies through
the screen of slender twigs, hangs a brief beat of time above the
glittering water, and with just a scramble where the hollow bank gives
way, is on _terra firma_ once more. It was a yawner indeed--broad as a
Lincolnshire dyke, deep enough to engulf horse and rider, and gloomy as
the Styx. One fair pursuer goes at it where the huntsman leads, and,
thanks to her pilot’s quick eye for selecting a sound place, gets over
cleverly. The other races hard at a bend where ceaseless eddies have
worn a wider channel. The little teeth are clenched tightly, and every
nerve in her slender frame is tingling with excitement. The gallant
thoroughbred shares this feeling, and, big as the effort is, he will
not be balked. With nostrils dilated and quivering, eyes straining
forward, and every muscle at tension, he bounds boldly forward, and
rather by impetus of speed than any palpable exertion of his own, flies
across the broad chasm. It is a hair’s breadth too much at this point
even for his superb leaping powers to compass; the hind feet drop in,
but fortunately find hold on a lower submerged shelf. The rider’s
lithe, light figure is instinctively thrown forward, the plucky steed
has his head, and by a second effort such as the underbred cocktail
seldom makes, he carries his rider safely ashore, shakes his dripping
quarters, and a minute later is speeding on beside the pack again.

On either hand the splash and gurgle of waters tell that somebody has
gone down. In the one case it is the horse in, the man on the right
side, with reins in hand and rueful contemplation on his face; in the
other it is a man in mid-stream, spluttering and gesticulating for
the help of a friendly hunting crop, while his recreant steed, with
sweating flanks and straining eyes, looks over the brink at him.

A minute later hoofs are clattering hard against the unyielding oak
of stiff post and rails, whereat one horse, that has been done to a
turn in his efforts to catch the first flight, rises impotently out of
sticky ground. His knees hit the top bar, which scarcely bends before
the weight, and turning heels over head, he falls heavily on his rider.
Fortunately the ground is soft and there are no ribs broken, but all
the fiery spirit has been pumped out of both horse and rider by this
disaster. Now we cross one of the modern curses to fox-hunting in the
midlands--a newly cut railway--go slowly over the next field, jump the
bank and binders up-hill into a roadway, and then come to our first
real check at the end of twenty fast minutes.

Up to this point there has been more riding than hunting; but what
Meltonian has eyes for hounds, or cares about them, while they lead
the field at highest speed if only they furnish musical accompaniment
enough for him to ride by? Those twenty minutes, full of dash and keen
rivalry, are to him worth all the slow hunting runs ever chronicled,
and the delight of watching hounds puzzle out a cold scent or drive a
fox through dense woodlands where no man can ride to them, and when
only by their sonorous music one can know which way the tide of chase
is rolling, is to him a sensation unknown. At this first check, which
means that either the fox will beat his pursuers or that they will
have to hunt him patiently to death, the man who comes out simply to
ride would fain go home again, were it not that a fresh fox may be
found presently, and another fast scurry give him the opportunities of
steeplechasing distinction for which his soul craves.

There is a popular superstition that the typical Leicestershire
huntsman is very much of the same mind on these points--that, having
got off the line of one fox, he will neither give hounds time to make
their own cast nor complete the work with painstaking science himself,
but will simply fling forward in a half-circle, like an over-eager
hound. That, if he fails to hit off a scent in this dashing fashion,
he will gallop straight to the nearest brake and find a fresh fox,
thereby getting credit for a wonderfully clever cast from those who
have been too far behind to see what happened, or too inexperienced to
know. These things, or something like them, happen, it is true, when
hounds come to their first check before there has been time to shake
off the crowd. A huntsman who could not practice little deceptions of
this kind at times without making either his pack or himself hopelessly
wild, would be as useless in the shires as a hound that had not the
courage to thread its way among hundreds of heels, and slip through the
torrent of mad pursuers when the “gone away” has been sounded. I have
seen such methods resorted to with brilliant success by Will Goodall of
the Pytchley, by Neill of the Cottesmore, and Tom Firr of the Quorn,
when the throng pressed so persistently that hounds had no chance to
hunt. But the perfection of breeding and training is attested by the
fact that, though frequently lifted thus, all three packs will stoop
readily to a scent when they have room, make their own casts with dash,
not waiting with heads up for their huntsman to help them whenever
they come to a difficulty, and hunt a cold line as cleverly as any
“provincial” pack.

There is not much time to “leave ’em alone,” or practice slow tactics
now, for the thunder of road-riders rolls down the wind, and in a few
minutes more the presence of hundreds may spoil all that would have
been possible with a field of only fifty followers. Still the huntsman
will not hurry. The hounds probably know more than he does, and he
knows enough to be sure that a mistake made at the first check can
rarely be retrieved. There is a little feathering and waving of sterns
on the line our fox has come; then a few couples try forward without
success, and then, as if actuated by one impulse, they all swing round
in a wide self-cast. In this there is no flashy wildness, but perfect
steadiness and close work, yet nothing to suggest the style of harriers.

See one hound as he circles round, stops suddenly, stoops to the
furrow, feathers along it for a few yards, and then throws his tongue
lightly. “Hoic to Festive! hoic together! Hurrah for the blood of
Belvoir Fallible!” shouts the huntsman, all animation in a second
at the sound. Every hound flies to where Festive spoke, but they do
not stop to “quest” the scent and make sure of it for themselves, as
harriers would. Each, jealous of honors and striving for the lead,
flies eagerly forward to feel for the line a few yards in advance of
his rivals. So, one after the other, they take up the cry until all
burst out in a clamorous chorus, and speed over the open once more.

Luckily, we are set going just in time, and straight for a line of
frowning bullfinches, where network of thorns to be bored through,
and ox-rails and ditches to be got over somehow, would stall off the
faint-hearted. A minute later the road-riding division in all their
might would have been upon us, but now they are left behind again.
There is a gorse covert ahead, where fresh foxes are sure to be on
foot, and if only we change to any of these, our hunted one may save
his brush after all. But Will, the whipper-in, slips round as fast as
he can to the fox side as hounds dash into the cover.

A red-roan steers away when he gets there, but it is not the right
animal, and Will stops the leading hounds when they come to him. Then
all is silence. But what is that old bitch doing in the dry ditch
beside the boundary fence? Our huntsman has one eye on her, the other
on the uplands a field or two off. Yes, that’s it. Something brown is
stealing along a furrow. The fox has never gone into this gorse, but
skirted it, his cunning telling him that he might thus delay pursuers
and throw them off on a false scent. Two or three light touches of the
horn bring hounds to him. In a cluster they follow him as he crashes
through a bullfinch and tops the next gate. He takes them along as if
they were running in view, but at one wave of his hand when he comes
where the fox was last viewed, they spread out like a fan, own to the
scent with notes of joy, and take us on again mile after mile, their
pace quickening as the power of horses to rise at a leap begins to flag.

A welcome breathing space comes when hounds enter a chain of woods in
which our fox is certain to pause for a while. But here the huntsman
gives his quarry little time to rest. His voice rings out in answer
to every whimper from a hound he can trust, and so they keep driving
straight through for the far end. Evidently our fox is a stout-hearted
traveler, who does not mean to dwell and be caught like a rat in a
trap. He will run until he can run no longer, and then die like a
gentleman. Shall we be there to see, or is the end yet afar off?

The bold first flightman, whose example disproves the fallacy that a
hard rider neither cares nor knows anything about hound work, shall be
our guide still. Watch him as he moves quietly through the rides of
this wood--his eye quick to take in all that each hound is doing, his
ear sensitive to every sound, while he may seem to be noting nothing.
He knows instinctively, though he may never have seen the pack before,
when a hound is lying with the reckless clamor of youth, or with the
half-closed mouth and faint whimper of long-continued weakness for
riot, or when another is telling the truth with hot outspoken tongue.
Directly that last welcome sound reaches him, followed by Will’s
view-halloa, he is out of the wood like an arrow from the bow, and with
the pack as it comes together in the open.

Two fields have been crossed, and we begin to realize that the fox’s
point must be a well-known stronghold of the neighboring hunt where
tree-tops can be seen in the hazy distance; but his gallant effort to
reach it is in vain. We see by the way hounds begin to twist and turn
that the hunted one’s sinewy limbs are beginning to fail him, though
his courage holds out to the last. There is no need to nurse your horse
any longer, for the chase is near its end, and you may push over wet
meadow or deep plough without fear. You cannot override hounds now
or turn them from the line, for see, their hackles are up; that low,
fierce growl means that they have caught a view of the sinking fox, and
the shrill scream that makes every fibre tingle with excitement is a
death-knell.

A minute later the clear “Whaw! whoop!” rings out over the tattered
remnants for which hounds are struggling and wrangling. The superb
young horsewoman, whose daring deeds have put many a bold Meltonian
to shame, is handed a trophy which Diana might proudly hang at her
saddle-bow, for it is the brush of as good a fox as ever led his
pursuers a fast forty minutes over Leicestershire pastures.

It may justly be objected that a run like this is not typical of the
terrific rush as of a whirlwind, the brilliant burst for fifteen
minutes with hounds racing every yard of the way from find to
finish, and the reckless rivalry that goes to make up all that is
most characteristic of a run in the shires. But my answer is, that
these fast scurries are not fox-hunting, and I have chosen rather to
describe the incidents of a run that may be seen once in a season, but
not oftener, in the much vaunted shires; or with the “blue and buff”
followers of the Badminton or the tawny coats of Atherstone; with the
Warwickshire, the Fitzwilliam, the Cheshire, the Vale of White Horse,
or any of the leading provincial hunts.

Of the minutæ of wilder sport in countries where hounds must do all
the work and mere riding is at a discount, I shall have to write in
another article. The happy hunting-grounds of old England are being
rapidly hemmed in by railways and curtailed by the abnormal growth of
manufacturing centres, but fox-hunting flourishes still, and there are
many counties wherein the cheery notes of horn and hound may be heard
from October to May.

SPANIEL TRAINING.

BY D. BOULTON HERRALD.

~Many~ a dog is ruined for the field by injudicious training.
With all the good intentions in the world he trains his puppy to
retrieve, using a stick or a stone, and encourages him to chase the
sparrows in the street, because, forsooth, he thinks that checking him
would have the effect of blunting his hunting enthusiasm when on game.
The result is a dog that reduces the birds to a pulp while retrieving
them, and who rushes about the covert at railroad speed, hundreds
of yards ahead of the gun, flushing the birds far out of range, and
chasing everything he sees, until, exhausted, he is forced to return to
his master and rest.

The following lines are penned especially for the benefit of the
sportsman (and his name is legion) who pursues this mode of training
(?) in the hope that his next spaniel, taught under the rules laid
down in this article, will be at least an improvement on the one he at
present owns.

Before commencing work, remember that you must always be firm but kind,
and that above all things you must not lose your temper with your
pupil. Never give in to the dog; always make him do what he is told.
Be sure that he knows what he is being punished for when it becomes
necessary to do so, and don’t delay the punishment long enough for him
to forget for what he is being corrected. Do not stint your praise when
he does well.

The first lesson to be taught is retrieving. The nearer the puppy is to
two months old the better, in my opinion, for our purpose. Some writers
recommend waiting until he has lost his milk teeth and the new ones are
well grown in, as they say that a dog taught to retrieve before getting
rid of these first teeth is apt to be hard-mouthed in retrieving birds,
etc.; but the experience of the writer has been that if properly
taught, however young, the puppy will not develop that evil habit. If a
youngster of any “go,” he can be taught more easily at that age, though
a dull one cannot be taken in hand so early.

Roll an old and soft woolen sock into a ball, then sit down and call
your pupil to you. Push the ball in his face to attract his attention
to it, making him try to take hold. Then, throwing it six inches away,
say, “Go fetch it, Jack” (as we will call him), motioning him towards
it with the right hand at the same time. If he refuses to pick up the
ball, go to him, and, placing it in his mouth, force him to go with you
to the place you threw from, making him hold it until you have said,
“dead bird!” or “dead!” Should he refuse to give up the ball, force his
jaws open with the thumb and second finger of the left hand inserted
at the base of the jaws, removing it with the right, saving the while,
“Dead! dead!” Never _pull_ anything away, as he will pull too, and a
nice state your partridge or duck would be in were such a proceeding
permitted. He _must_ be taught to drop whatever he is carrying when
commanded to do so by voice or sign. For a sign, hold up the right
hand, with the forefinger erect and the rest folded. Never let him
worry nor mouth anything.

Should he pick up the ball, and run away, refusing to bring it to you,
take him behind the shoulders and drag him to the place where you
were sitting when it was thrown. Make him hold the ball until you get
there, and then proceed as hereinbefore directed. He will soon learn
this lesson. Throw the ball farther and farther as he progresses, and
continue until he is perfected in it.

When he has learned to retrieve the thrown ball he can be advanced a
stage. Show him the bail, not letting him take it, and, saying “Dead!”
place it on the ground and walk away, telling him to follow. After
going a few steps, turn, and, waving the hand in the direction in which
he is to go, say, “Go, seek dead!” Should he fail to understand your
meaning, go back, show him the ball, and, after again taking him away
some little distance, order him to get it and then deliver to you.

When three or four months old, if he is perfect in his other lessons,
take, say, a game bird’s wing, or in default of that, a fowl’s, show it
him, and, putting him out of the room (I am supposing that you teach
him in the house), shut the door. Then hide it where it can easily be
found, and let him in, saying, “Go, seek dead!” motioning the direction
in which he is to quest. Continue this for some time until he does it
perfectly, hiding the wing in out-of-the-way places about the house as
he progresses.

Never let his search be a fruitless one. If he cannot find for himself,
show him the hiding-place, and make him fetch the wing to the place
from which you sent him.

To teach the puppy to retrieve from water after he has learnt to do
so on land, take him, when the water is warm, to a shelving beach.
First throw his ball to the water’s edge (for this work fold some cork
shavings in it), then into the water far enough to force him to wet his
feet, and so on, farther and farther, until at last he is obliged to
swim. This should be gone about gradually, and with extreme care, so
as to give him confidence in his powers. Above all things do not throw
him into water over his depth, as it will only tend to make him dislike
it, and may ruin him for water retrieving altogether. It is well to
make your pupil retrieve sometimes _in the dark_, as if only worked by
daylight he is apt to depend too much on eyesight, which practice must
not, of course, be tolerated for a moment.

The next lesson to be taught is “coming to heel.” When you are out
walking, and he is running ahead, call sharply, “Heel, Jack--heel!”
forcing him behind you at the same time. Should he try to break away,
tap him smartly with your whip or walking-stick, saying, “Heel! heel!”
Continue this until he will come in at once when called, and thrash him
if he breaks away without the order to “hie on” or “go on.” To teach
this, wave the hand forward while verbally giving the order, and run a
few steps onward. This lesson will be easily inculcated, and it will be
to him the most welcome order he has to obey.

Few spaniels in this country are trained to drop to shot or command;
but presuming my reader to be desirous of giving his pupil a finished
education, I will describe an easy mode of teaching it. Order him
sharply to “drop!” when standing beside you, at the same time forcing
him to the ground by placing the knee on his shoulders, and keep him
there for a few moments, saying “Drop! drop!” Then removing your hand
or foot from off him, say “Up!” making him rise. When ordering him to
drop, hold your right (or left) arm erect above the shoulder, so that
in time he will associate the uplifted arm with the verbal command. In
due course he will drop at the signal alone. Do not allow him to get up
until ordered to do so, whether you walk away and leave him or not.

Next take some firearm, a muzzle-loading horse-pistol for choice, and,
commanding him to drop by voice and sign, fire it. In time he will
associate the report with the other orders to drop, and so “drop to
shot.”

Never weary your pupil; stop the lesson before he tires of it. Always
have him alone with you when at work, as his attention must not be
distracted from the matter in hand. _Never deceive him._ It is well to
reward him now and again for good behavior with some dainty of which
he is fond. Use the whip as little as possible; but when you do whip,
_whip soundly_.

And now for the field. On arriving at the covert in which you purpose
beginning operations, order him in; instinct then teaches him to quest
for a scent. At first allow him to range at will to put a keen edge
on his appetite for the work, and do not check him when so hunting.
If he goes too far away, hide carefully and make him find you without
assistance from you. He will think he is lost, and be wary of going too
far in future.

When he begins to enjoy his work thoroughly you can begin to curb his
ranging propensities. If he runs too far, call “Close, Jack--close!”
and should he persist in doing so, thrash him, repeating the while,
“Close! close!” He should not be allowed to range farther than twenty
or twenty-five yards from the gun.

Should he give chase to a flushed bird, shout “Ware chase, Jack!” and
if he persists, call him in and thrash him, repeating the order whilst
doing so. If he springs a hare and attempts to chase her, shout “Ware
fur, Jack!” and calling him to where you stand, scold and thrash him.
He must be broken of noticing “fur” at all hazards.

When you shoot the first bird over him order him to “go seek dead!”
motioning the direction in which it fell. If he cannot find it, go and
find it for him, then pointing to it, say “Dead!” and calling him to
follow, go back to where you stood at firing, and order him to get it.
If he refuses to pick the bird up, put it in his mouth and force him to
carry it to where you stood. Order him to put it down, and praise and
make much of him, and ten to one next time he will retrieve. Use every
endeavor to kill the first bird you fire at to his flush.

After this, “practice makes perfect,” and the reader will in time own a
dog of whose accomplishments afield he may be proud.

LAWN TENNIS IN THE SOUTH.

BY H. W. SLOCUM, JR.

The remarkable interest displayed in lawn tennis throughout the North,
and the increasing popularity of the game, as shown each year by the
multitude of new players and new clubs, have been fully equaled in
the South during the past two seasons. The Southern interest is an
awakening one. The athletes of that section have become aware, only
during the last few years, that lawn tennis is a game which fully
develops every muscle, and at the same time possesses the elements
of excitement and competition which render any athletic game more
attractive.

The Southern Lawn Tennis Association, which was organized in the
fall of 1887, made it a part of its constitution that “no club which
is situated north of Wilmington, Delaware, should be admitted to
membership in the Association.” So we may well take a line drawn east
and west through Wilmington as the northern boundary of the Southern
tennis field; and what a vast field it is! Winter visitors to the South
find the game in full swing in every town from Wilmington, Delaware,
to St. Augustine, Florida. Tournaments are held in the largest cities
of the extreme South in the middle of winter, and the turf is as green
and the temperature even more delightful for lawn tennis than the
Northern players enjoy at Newport where the tournament for the National
championship is held in midsummer.

The enthusiasm of the extreme South has reached its highest point
in St. Augustine, Florida, where a valuable challenge cup has been
offered, to be played for in February or March of each year. The cup
was last year contested for by only a few Northerners, who happened
to be sojourning in Florida, and was won by Mr. H. G. Trevor, of New
York City. It has lately been reported, however, that a special Pullman
car, finely equipped, will convey to the scene of conflict Northern
contestants in the next tournament, to be held in the month of March,
1889. The St. Augustine Lawn Tennis Club has recently become a member
of the United States National Lawn Tennis Association, and the coming
tournament will be held under its auspices.

To reach the centre of Southern interest and enthusiasm, however, we
must travel far north of St. Augustine and visit three large cities,
viz., Washington, the national capital, Baltimore and Wilmington. In
Washington, particularly, the game has taken a long stride forward;
and what place could be better adapted for such a sport? Its climate
is such that the “tennis fiend” may enjoy his favorite game all the
year round. Turf courts can be used as late as December and as early
as April, and during the intervening months practice on asphalt is
sufficient to keep the eye and the hand well “in.” Some years ago a few
members of the Metropolitan Club built an asphalt court on I Street,
and since that time there have been few winters when the court has not
been in constant use. On many occasions the snow has been shoveled
away to afford an afternoon’s amusement. The members of the different
foreign legations have been accustomed to use this court, and during
the past few years Lord Sackville-West, the unfortunate victim of
American politics, was an almost constant attendant, usually as a
spectator. On this court Mr. W. V. R. Berry and Mr. H. W. Slocum, Jr.,
played almost daily during the winter of ’84 and ’85, and Mr. Berry
showed the value of his winter practice by capturing most of the rich
prizes offered at Northern tournaments during the following summer, his
rank among expert players being second only to the champion, Mr. R. D.
Sears. Mr. Berry is almost a giant in stature, and few of his opponents
in tournaments of that summer will be apt to forget his strong and
accurate “smashing,” which was the feature and chief strength of his
game.

Prior to the summer of 1887, tournaments for the championship of the
South had been held on the grounds of the Delaware Field Club, at
Wilmington, that club being a member of the United States National Lawn
Tennis Association, and the tournaments being held under its auspices.

During the latter part of that summer, a few active spirits in
Washington, the most prominent of whom was Dr. F. P. MacLean, conceived
the idea of organizing an association, to be composed exclusively of
clubs situated in the South, and of holding an annual tournament for
the championship of the South, under the auspices of that association.
Up to this period no tournaments had been held in the District of
Columbia, except a few local contests, which had aroused little or
no enthusiasm. There were probably not more than ten clubs in the
city, and most of these were composed of but few members. To Dr.
MacLean, more than any one else, was due the interest which was now
newly excited. His enthusiasm was contagious, and active preparations
were begun for the first tournament of an association which was not
yet in existence. It was decided to hold the tournament in October,
and circulars were sent to all of the prominent clubs of the South,
inviting their members to contest in the coming tournament and share in
the organization of the Association.

The responses were numerous and favorable, and on the 30th of October a
meeting was held at Wormley’s Hotel, in Washington, at which delegates
from the Baltimore Cricket Club of Baltimore, Md., the Delaware
Field Club of Wilmington, and other smaller clubs scattered through
Virginia and Maryland, met representatives of the prominent clubs of
the District of Columbia. A permanent organization was effected, to be
known as the Southern Lawn Tennis Association. Dr. F. P. MacLean was
elected president, Mr. Leigh Bonsal, of the Baltimore Cricket Club,
vice-president, and Mr. C. L. McCawley, of the Columbia Athletic Club,
of Washington, secretary and treasurer. It was resolved that no club
situated north of Wilmington, Del., should be admitted to membership in
the Association.

The first tournament of the Association was successful, far beyond
the anticipation of its promoters. It was held on October 30, and the
following days, at the United States Marine Barracks. The championship
of the South, in singles, was won by Leigh Bonsal, of the Baltimore
Cricket Club, and the same player, with L. V. LeMoyne as partner,
secured the honor of the doubles championship for his club. Washington
was obliged to rest content with second honors, R. B. Goodfellow
securing second place in the singles, and C. L. McCawley and R. S.
Chilton the same in the doubles. The tournament was ably managed by a
committee composed of Dr. MacLean, W. V. R. Berry, and C. L. McCawley.
The prizes were donated to the Association by two prominent firms of
New York City, A. G. Spalding & Bros. giving a challenge cup for the
singles, to be won two years before it became the property of the
holder, and Peck & Snyder presenting two silver cups to the winners of
the doubles championship.

[Illustration: GROUP OF CONTESTANTS--TOURNAMENT OF THE COUNTRY CLUB OF
MARYLAND.

A. W. TOMES. TOM PETTITT. F. V. L. HOPPIN.
A. H. S. POST. F. MANSFIELD.

R. V. BEACH. YATES PENNINGTON. A. L. RIVES.
]

[Illustration: CLUB HOUSE, BALTIMORE CRICKET CLUB.]

The success of this initial tournament of the Association greatly
encouraged its officers. Many of the contestants had been hitherto
unheard of, and some of them coming from clubs located in small
towns and villages of Virginia and Maryland, had shown skill of no
mean order. Particularly surprising was the play of Mr. Abel John
Layard, a young Englishman, and a member of the Winchester Club, of
Winchester, Va., who, during the progress of the tournament, played a
very interesting exhibition match with Mr. W. V. R. Berry, and showed
remarkable skill. His play demonstrated anew that the skill of the
average Englishman in lawn tennis is superior to that of the average
player in this country. It is equally true, however, that we are
approaching nearer and nearer to the English standard of excellence,
and that in a few years our experts will be able to meet the best
players of England on even terms.

This tournament virtually ended the lawn tennis season of 1887 in the
South. Its effect was noticeable, however, in the largely increased
number of clubs and players in Washington and its vicinity. The
officers of the Southern Association were not idle during the winter.
It was determined that the next championship tournament should be held
in the spring, and that the grounds of the Baltimore Cricket Club
should be used, in order that the city of Baltimore might share in the
newly awakened interest in lawn tennis. Early in the month of May,
however, the most active players of Washington arranged a tournament
for the championship of the District of Columbia, believing that such a
competition would develop players who might represent Washington with
honor in the championship tournament at Baltimore.

It is unquestionably true that tournament practice, as a promoter
of skill, is far better than any other. The player competing in a
tournament is continually alert and strives hard to win every point,
while one who has no such incentive is apt to become indolent and
indifferent as to success, in which condition he is little apt to
improve. Two days in a tournament is worth more than a week of ordinary
practice to one who desires to improve in skill.

The committee in charge concluded to hold the tournament on the courts
of Kendall Green, the ably conducted Government college for deaf mutes,
at the head of which is the well-known Dr. Gallaudet. Two tennis
organizations ordinarily use these courts; the one composed mainly of
the college professors, and the other almost entirely of the students,
some of whom have become quite proficient, and are always among the
most interested spectators of any important match played at Kendall
Green.

Having secured these grounds, the committee made the tournament
additionally attractive by adding two events for ladies, both a singles
and a doubles competition. There are no ladies in the District whose
skill rivals that of the seemingly invincible Miss Robinson of Staten
Island; she appears to be in a class by herself among the lady players
of this country, and the only ambition of a majority of her opponents
is to do as well as possible against her; but there are many of
considerable skill, and the entries in these two events were sufficient
to make them very interesting. The championship of the District of
Columbia, in ladies’ singles, was won by Miss Bayard, a daughter of
the Secretary of State, who had often demonstrated the strength of
her game while a member of the Delaware Field Club of Wilmington. The
contest in ladies’ doubles was won by Miss Bayard and Miss Safford. The
championship in men’s singles was rather unexpectedly taken by Mr. John
Pope, who had shown a considerable knowledge of the science of the game
when representing Cornell University in the Intercollegiate tournament
of the previous year. Mr. Pope’s most troublesome competitors were Mr.
R. B. Goodfellow and Mr. C. L. McCawley, both of whom showed marked
improvement in their play. Mr. McCawley, with Mr. Stevens as a partner,
succeeded in winning the final round of the doubles from Messrs.
Woodward and Davidson, and thus carried off that championship.

[Illustration: CLUB HOUSE AND TENNIS COURTS--COUNTRY CLUB OF MARYLAND.]

The success of this tournament and the good play shown did not,
however, appear to materially affect the result of the next
championship meeting of the Southern Association, held on the grounds
of the Baltimore Cricket Club, on June 13 and following days.
Washington was represented by some of its strongest players, who made
a creditable showing. Messrs. Bonsal and LeMoyne, however, who, as a
result of continued practice together, showed admirable team work,
succeeded in winning the double event for the second time, and thus
became the owners of the two cups presented by Peck & Snyder. A new
champion made his appearance in the singles. Mr. A. H. S. Post gave by
far the best exhibition of skill that had up to that time been seen in
the South, and won the championship without much trouble. Mr. Post is
only seventeen years of age, and as his play is not free from some of
those faults and weaknesses common to young players, it was greatly to
his credit that he succeeded in wresting victory from opponents of so
much greater experience. His strokes are at times positively brilliant,
and, though he often shows inexcusable carelessness and an apparent
lack of steadiness, it was demonstrated that his game possesses real
strength by the closeness of the match which he played with a strong
opponent, Mr. Q. A. Shaw, in the open tournament held at Narragansett
Pier last summer. Mr. Post is undoubtedly one of the most promising of
the young players, and the development of his skill will be watched
with interest.

Though the two tournaments held at Washington in the fall of ’87 and
the spring of ’88 did not produce a player capable of winning the
championship, yet their beneficial influence was shown in the improved
play of the greatly increased number who followed lawn tennis as
a pastime. There were about ten clubs in existence two years ago.
There are now seventy, and the total number of players, as estimated
by the “Capitol” newspaper, is two thousand. If a devotee of lawn
tennis, who is anxious to improve but does not himself wish to compete
in a tournament, will observe carefully the methods of different
contestants who are struggling to win the prizes, he is certain to
obtain some hints which will be useful to him and strengthen his game.
Thus did these tournaments result in a substantial improvement in
play throughout Washington. Among the most expert, and among those
whose improvement has been most rapid, may be mentioned Messrs. Oscar
Woodward, C. L. McCawley, John Pope, R. B. Goodfellow, John Davidson,
W. P. Metcalf, and Dr. J. L. Wortman. No list could be complete without
adding the name of Mr. W. V. R. Berry, who established his reputation
as an expert some years ago, and who now appears to have joined the
ranks of retired veterans.

Some few years ago a club, social in its nature, was organized by
several gentlemen of Washington, prominent among whom was Mr. John F.
Waggeman. A clubhouse and grounds were secured on the Bladensburg road,
at a point located in the State of Maryland, but only a short distance
from the boundary line of the District of Columbia, and not more than
three or four miles from the centre of the city of Washington. The club
is known as the Country Club of the State of Maryland, or the Highland
Country Club, and it was designed to occupy the same relation to the
city of Washington as the country clubs of Boston and New York hold
to those cities. One of the earliest sporting features added to the
club was a tennis court, and it at once occurred to the ever active
mind of Dr. F. P. McLean, who was a member and interested in the club,
that this would be a grand place in which to hold a large lawn tennis
tournament. Tournaments for the championship of the South had been held
under the auspices of the Southern Lawn Tennis Association; but it had
been required, as a condition of playing, that a contestant should be a
member of a club belonging to the Association, and, consequently, only
a resident of the South was able to compete.

Dr. McLean knew that the Middle States Championship had been won by
Mr. R. D. Sears, a resident of New England, and that the New England
championship is at the present time held by a New Yorker. He felt that
a tournament for the championship of the South, open to all comers,
whether from the North or the South, would excite general interest,
and would, moreover, give the residents of Washington an opportunity
to witness the skillful playing of the Northern experts, who, it was
hoped, would be induced to compete.

As a first step, the Country Club of the State of Maryland applied
for membership in the United States National Lawn Tennis Association,
with the idea of holding the proposed tournament under the auspices of
that Association. The application was granted and authority given to
the club to hold the tournament for the championship of the Southern
States. This action, of course, placed the National Association in an
attitude of apparent rivalry to the Southern Association. The latter
had already held a tournament at Baltimore, as has been related, and,
naturally, would not recognize any champion for the year except the
winner of that tournament. The rivalry was more apparent than real,
however, as Dr. McLean, the president of the Southern Association,
was one of the originators, and, in fact, the most active in the
management of the Country Club tournament. The apparent conflict and
championship complication will not be experienced in the future, as it
is probable that the United States National Lawn Tennis Association,
whose membership is now limited to single clubs, will at the next
annual meeting engraft into its constitution a clause under which other
associations may be admitted to membership in the older organization,
thus making it a central and undisputed authority in lawn tennis
throughout the United States. Under such a clause the Southern
Association can become a member, and only one annual tournament for the
championship of the South will hereafter be held.

Dr. McLean spent a great part of last summer in visiting Northern
tournaments and extending to Northern experts an invitation to compete
in the Country Club tournament. To each one was offered the hospitality
of the club during the tournament, and Dr. McLean finally succeeded
in securing the entries of several players prominent in the North.
In the meantime active preparations were being made at the Highland
Country Club. A more interesting place for such an event could not be
selected. The club is located, as before noted, on the old Bladensburg
road, about three or four miles from Washington, and one or two from
the village of Bladensburg. The club-house is in the centre of a
large area of level ground, every foot of which is rich in historical
association. On this very ground occurred, in the year 1814, one of
the most important conflicts of the war of that period, the battle of
Bladensburg, and on one side of the lot, close to the main road and
distant only three or four hundred yards from the club-house, is a plot
of ground particularly interesting as being the scene of the many duels
which have made the name of Bladensburg famous.

The club had at this time but one lawn tennis court, and as soon as
the tournament became an assured fact, it was at once decided to lay
out four more. A description of the means by which these courts were
finally constructed will not be uninteresting to one who proposes
to build a court of clay or dirt, the materials used in this case.
September had already arrived, and as it was proposed to hold the
tournament during the latter part of that month, there was but little
time for the construction of courts; but a plot of ground was easily
leveled, a foundation of some solid material laid, and a mixture of
dirt and clay filled in. At this point it seemed as if fate were
against the club, for rain began to fall before the mixture had
commenced to solidify, and rain continued to fall for one whole week,
until the space occupied by that dirt and clay assumed the aspect of
a quagmire. The rain ceased only a week before the time set for the
tournament, and it was at first feared that it could not be held; but
the ingenious idea of some brilliant mind saved the day. An old negro
farmer, with a small army of mules at his command, lived near by, and
both he and his mules were at once sent for. The old fellow brought
his fourteen mules to the club, and they were turned loose upon the
quagmire of clay and dirt. They tramped and stamped over it from
daylight until eleven o’clock at night, and at the end of the third
day of tramping, the Highland Country Club had as solid a piece of
ground as could be desired. A few irregularities on the surface were
easily smoothed away, and four courts were laid out, good enough to be
used by the most exacting of lawn tennis experts.

The tournament was held on Tuesday, September 25 and the following
days, and could hardly have been a greater success. Mr. F. Mansfield,
of the Longwood Cricket Club, Boston, Messrs. F. V. L. Hoppin and H.
A. Ditson, of the same club; Messrs. Ludington and Beach, of Yale
University; Mr. Dean Miller, of New York; Mr. F. W. Kellogg, of New
Haven; Mr. A. W. Tomes, of Brooklyn, and Mr. J. W. Smith were among
the entries from the North, and all of these gentlemen enjoyed the
hospitality of the club. The most expert of their Southern opponents
were Mr. A. H. S. Post, the champion of the Southern Association,
representing Baltimore, and Messrs. Davidson, Woodward, McCawley,
Rives, Goodfellow, Metcalf and Wortman, all from the District of
Columbia. There were in all thirty-six contestants, making it by
far the largest tournament ever held in the South, as well as the
greatest in interesting features. Dr. McLean had secured the presence
of Thomas Pettitt, the professional champion of the world in court
tennis, and also remarkably expert in lawn tennis. Pettitt played
two exhibition games during the week, one with Mr. A. H. S. Post, in
which he successfully conceded odds of fifteen, and the other with
Mr. Mansfield, to whom he was unable to give the same odds, and was
defeated. Pettitt’s game is a model of good form, and delighted the
spectators.

The play in the tournament proper demonstrated that Southern form is
not yet up to Northern, for, as the contest approached the final round,
it was found that the four men left to battle for the prize were all
representatives of the North. They were Messrs. Mansfield, Miller,
Hoppin, and Smith. The final round was contested by Messrs. Mansfield
and Miller, and was won easily by the former, who thus became the
second champion of the South for the year 1888. In this connection a
word or two in praise of young Mr. Post is not out of place. Having
already won the Southern championship at Baltimore, he might well have
refused to risk the loss of that honor by competing in the Country Club
tournament. Mr. Post showed true spirit in preferring to play, and
although beaten in one of the early rounds by Mr. Hoppin, undoubtedly
stands at the head of Southern players.

[Illustration: F. MANSFIELD, CHAMPION, HIGHLAND COUNTRY CLUB
TOURNAMENT.]

The success of Mr. Mansfield was particularly gratifying to those
who have been familiar with his undoubted skill in practice, and
disappointed that he could not exhibit the same skill in tournament
play. His experience demonstrates plainly that “confidence” is a
most important factor in the success of a lawn tennis player. Mr.
Mansfield’s trouble has been a lack of that factor. He has one day
played a practice game of unusual strength and the next been beaten in
a tournament by some player much his inferior in skill, and only by
reason of lack of confidence in his own ability. Sincere modesty, such
as Mr. Mansfield’s, will make a man extremely popular among lawn tennis
players, but it may be regarded as a settled fact, that when two men,
at all equal in skill, meet in a lawn tennis contest, the one who has
the most thorough confidence in his own ability to win will surely be
the victor.

The double event was won by Messrs. Mansfield and Hoppin, but in
the final round Messrs. Davidson and Metcalf, the crack Washington
team, gave a good exhibition of double playing and won one set from
the victors. This brought to a close a most successful tournament,
and the Northern players returned to their homes with a very high
opinion of Southern hospitality. A feature of the visit, which will be
remembered with much pleasure by all, was their call on the President
of the United States. One morning about thirty of the players boarded
a hay-cart, the property of that “same old negro” and drawn by two of
his mules, were taken to Washington, shown all points of interest,
and, finally, invaded the White House, where they were presented to
President Cleveland.

As we leave Washington, with its multitude of small clubs, and arrive
at Baltimore, after an hour’s travel by rail, a widely different
condition of affairs is presented; for in this city the lawn tennis
interest is almost entirely centred in two clubs, the Baltimore Cricket
Club and the Towson Club of Towson, a suburb of Baltimore. Of these
two, the Cricket Club is by far the more prominent. It is an old
organization, having been founded in 1874, but it was not until 1878
that the club, then quite small in membership, leased grounds at Mount
Washington, also a suburb of Baltimore and situated about six miles
from the city, on the Northern Central Railroad. The railroad runs
numerous trains to Mount Washington, and the drive to the club, through
Druid Hill Park, is a most pleasant one.

As its name signifies, the Baltimore Cricket Club was originally
organized for cricket purposes. But after lawn tennis was introduced
as a club sport in the year 1879, that game rapidly became so popular
with the members that the interest in cricket has decreased, a fate
somewhat similar to that which has befallen this scientific game in
our own St. George’s Cricket Club of New York. The rapid rise of lawn
tennis in popular interest could not be more plainly demonstrated than
by the experience of the Baltimore Cricket Club. Its tennis courts
were originally laid out on a part of the cricket field, but the game
became so widely played that it was found necessary, in 1884, to grade
an additional plot of ground, to be used for tennis alone, upon which
there are now ten excellent turf courts. This number was thought to be
ample, but the past season has shown the necessity for still larger
accommodation, and preparations are now being made for the construction
of four dirt and four additional turf courts. A number of improvements
were made during the past summer, the most important of which was the
erection of a large and picturesque club-house, for the use of both
tennis and cricket members. Ladies do not contribute to the finances
or take any part in the management of the club, but become members by
courtesy. A small house has been erected for their use, and some of
their number, notably Miss Bonsal and Miss Latrobe, have shown much
skill in lawn tennis tournaments of the North.

Tournaments open only to members of the club are usually held in the
spring and fall. In these contests Mr. Leigh Bonsal has uniformly
proved himself to be the club champion, until the past summer, when
Mr. A. H. S. Post, the holder of the championship of the Southern Lawn
Tennis Association, captured that honor. The last club tournament, a
handicap, was held in October, 1888, and Mr. Post conclusively proved
his superiority by winning it, though conceding considerable odds to
all contestants. Mr. W. J. Bell and Mr. A. D. Atkinson, both very
young players, won the doubles. Among other experts of the club are S.
Taggart Steele, H. M. Brown, R. B. McLane, Jr., L. V. Lemoyne, Yates
Pennington, and Frank Bonsal. With a total membership of over two
hundred, and a lively interest in sports of every nature, the Baltimore
Cricket Club is perhaps the most prominent athletic club of the South.
Next in importance in Baltimore is the Towson Club of Towson, which
does not boast of so many players, but embraces in its membership a
number of those who also belong to the cricket club. It has seven good
turf courts, and is particularly popular among ladies of the city.

At Wilmington, Delaware, is located one of the most flourishing clubs
of the Southern section. The Delaware Field Club was organized in
1882, grounds were secured and buildings erected in 1883, and the
club was incorporated in 1885. Since that time it has made its mark in
the athletic world in more ways than one. Lawn tennis has always been
the favorite sport of the members, and it now seems to be definitely
settled that the lawn tennis world is indebted to the Delaware Field
Club for the introduction of “progressive tennis,” a novelty founded on
that once popular craze, “progressive euchre.”

[Illustration: A. H. S. POST, CHAMPION, SOUTHERN LAWN TENNIS
ASSOCIATION.]

The club was one of the earliest to join the United States National
Lawn Tennis Association, and in 1886 a tournament for the championship
of the South, held on its grounds under the auspices of that
association, was won by Mr. C. B. Davis, of Lehigh University. Mr.
Davis was thus the first champion of the South, both in singles and
doubles, for he also captured the latter event with Mr. R. H. E.
Porter, of Lehigh, as a partner. An open tournament, held in 1887,
was likewise won by Mr. Davis, but on this occasion his partner in
the doubles was Mr. A. G. Thomson, of Philadelphia. The grounds of
the club will accommodate at least twenty-five courts, and as many
as eighteen are in almost constant use. Out of a total membership of
two hundred, about eighty are active lawn tennis players, and in this
number are included several ladies, the most expert of whom is Miss
Florence Bayard, a daughter of Mr. Cleveland’s Secretary of State. Of
the club tournaments, which have been held since 1883, Mr. W. S. Hilles
has succeeded in winning three, including that of 1888, while Mr. J.
E. Smith was known as club champion in 1887, and Mr. J. L. Tatnall in
1884. Other leading players of the club are Mr. W. C. Jackson, the
present champion of Cornell University, Mr. H. B. Bringhurst, Jr., and
Mr. A. H. Smith. It is now believed that the next annual tournament of
the Southern Lawn Tennis Association will be played on these courts,
and everything points to the continued prosperity of the club.

Looking back over these brief sketches of lawn tennis in Washington,
Baltimore, and Wilmington, we find that tournaments for the
championship of the South have been held since 1886. The following
table gives, in a condensed form, the facts relating to those contests.

TOURNAMENTS FOR CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE SOUTH.

The coming season promises to be a most interesting one to the
lovers of lawn tennis throughout the United States, for it is hoped
and expected that England will send some of her most expert and
representative players to contest for our national championship at
Newport. Let the South, also, send in its entries. Certain it is, that
if the same interest and general improvement as has been shown during
the past two seasons mark the future development of the game in that
section, it will soon be able to send representatives who will win
laurels among the most skilful.

[Illustration: CLUB HOUSE AND GROUNDS, WILMINGTON FIELD CLUB.]

SNOWSHOEING IN CANUCKIA.

BY JAMES C. ALLAN.

[Illustration: THE CLUB HOUSE.]

Snowshoeing is surely one of the most fascinating of sports. To the
uninitiated it might appear strange that there should be any pleasure
in ambling along over the snow in a manner somewhat resembling the
ungraceful waddle of that unornamental bird, the domestic duck, and
with feet hampered by the weight and the inconvenient form of a pair of
ungainly snowshoes, so-called.

To a certain extent our captious critic would be right; the source
of enjoyment is to be found in the accessories of the sport, and in
the knowledge that under him are many feet of yielding snow, in which
he would be helplessly floundering but for the aid of his trusty
_raquettes_.

Then there is the peculiar indefinable charm of the winter scenery, the
beautiful effects of the sunset on the dazzling expanse of snow, scenic
effects perhaps even more entrancing when the pale moonlight casts
ghostly shadows here and there, and brings into brilliant prominence
some snow-crowned elevation in the landscape. I cannot do better than
quote the glowing description which a noted American writer gives of
the appearance of the country over which he tramped on one of his first
excursions on “the merry snowshoe”:

“The mountain rose up behind us, covered with snow. Away toward the
declining sun the landscape spread as far as the eye could reach, with
low white hills away off on the horizon. Between the hills and the
foreground flowed the river under its cover of ice. The red, wintry sun
now low in the heavens, touched the prominent points of the rolling,
snow-covered country with crimson, while the far-off clouds that stood
motionless in the sky were of all the hues of the rainbow, and these
varied tints were in turn faintly reflected on the broad expanse of
spotless snow.”

The snow, let it be borne in mind, is not of the nature or consistency
of that which falls in softer climes; it is so fine, so dry and loose
as much to resemble flour, only infinitely whiter, and of dazzling
purity.

[Illustration: MR. J. G. ROSS, CHAMPION SNOWSHOE RUNNER, CANADA.]

As many of my readers very probably have never seen a snowshoe, a short
description of its form and construction may not be amiss. It consists,
broadly speaking, of a framework composed of a long, narrow piece of
hickory wood, over which is stretched a network of thongs, or cords,
made sometimes of strips of deerskin dried and prepared in a peculiar
manner, and sometimes made of the intestines of animals. This network
is called the “gut.” The hickory rod of which the frame is to be made,
after having been steamed and steeped in boiling water, and so rendered
pliable, is placed edgewise and then bent round somewhat in the shape
of a tennis-bat, with an oval-shaped front, and the two ends joined
together at one extremity and tapering off to a point corresponding to
the handle of the tennis-bat. The total length of the shoe is about
three feet, the extreme width from thirteen to sixteen inches. Across
the oval and fitted into the inside of the framework by mortises, are
two bars or battens of wood, each of them five or six inches clear of
either end. In front of that cross-bar nearest the fore part of the
shoe is an open space, and over the bar a deerskin thong is fastened,
forming an aperture for the reception of the great toe. The thong is
then crossed over the top of the foot, passed around the ankle once
or twice and then tied. This leaves the heel free to move in any
direction; the toe works in and out of the opening in the shoe, and
in lifting the shoe in making a step forward its weight rests on the
toe. When placing the foot down again the toe touches the snow first.
Occasionally the framework is adorned with tufts of many-colored wool.

The size and shape of the snowshoe varies according to the requirements
or the taste of its owner. Some are nearly round and present a squat
appearance; others again are long and narrow, and resemble somewhat in
shape the Norwegian _ski_.

For a tramp over untrodden or “virgin” snow, of course a large shoe
of considerable area is desirable; for racing purposes over a beaten
track, a smaller shoe is used. The regulation width of a pair of
racing shoes is not less than ten inches of gut; the weight, including
strings, must not be less than one and a half pounds.

The Indians and the half-breeds seem to enjoy a monopoly of the
manufacture of snowshoes, and of toboggans as well.

The snowshoe enabled them, in former days, to traverse with ease, when
in pursuit of game or on the warpath, leagues of wilderness otherwise
impassable in the winter season; the toboggan they used as a sledge on
which to drag their provisions or to convey to camp their slaughtered
game.

It is true that there is in use in Norway an implement somewhat similar
to the American snowshoe, called a “_ski_,” and composed of a couple
of long, narrow slabs of wood, one for each foot, painted and turned
upward at both ends. The ski, however, is principally used for sliding
down declivities and jumping crevasses; it is ungainly and awkward to
use on level ground. The aid of a staff, or alpenstock, is necessary in
skiing, and a description of it hardly comes within our province.

“Raquettes” was the name originally given by the hardy Canadian
_coureurs du bois_ and the _voyageurs_ of the Hudson Bay Company to the
snowshoe, and we can easily imagine of what inestimable value it must
have been to these adventurous individuals in their trips of almost
incredible length, difficulty and peril. To the present day hardly a
farmhouse in all broad Canada is without its pair of snowshoes, and
they are generally of the sturdy, old-fashioned kind, long and broad
and substantial.

[Illustration: HOMEWARD BOUND.]

In hunting the moose and the caribou, in the wilder parts of the
Dominion, the snowshoe plays an important part. The crust on top of the
snow is insufficient to sustain the weight of these heavy animals; they
break through it at every stride, its sharp edges lacerate their legs,
and the hunter can follow their course guided by the blood-marks on the
snow. Sustained by his trusty shoes, he soon overtakes the laboring
game, and a well-directed shot puts it out of misery.

But it is in its aspect as a sport, as a means of healthful recreation,
that we have principally to consider snowshoeing. Of late years many
clubs have been formed all over Canada, and in those parts of the
neighboring Republic favored with the slightest suspicion of the
“beautiful,” and of all these the premier, in point of seniority, is
the Montreal Club, founded in 1840, and composed originally of twelve
members.

As Canada is the home of snowshoeing, so is Montreal, _par excellence_,
the leading city of Canada in this branch of athletics, both on account
of the severity and the long duration of its winters, the natural
advantages possessed by the city as regards its situation, and the
widespread devotion among its young men to sports in general.

And of all the hardy winter sports snowshoeing is easily the first.
Tobogganing and skating rise in public estimation and decline, but
snowshoeing, like Tennyson’s “Brook,” “goes on forever,” and is
continually gaining ground, as any one who has been so fortunate as
to witness one of those unique winter carnivals in Montreal, and to
gaze upon the hosts of picturesquely clad athletic young “knights of
the shoe” in their attack upon the marvelously beautiful ice castle may
well believe.

[Illustration: _Old Time Rendezvous._]

In place of the one solitary club of twelve members in existence in
1840, Montreal may now boast of dozens. The old Tuque Bleue Club,
_alias_ the Montreal, has now a membership of 2,000. The St. George
has, perhaps, half that number; other principal organizations are the
Emerald, Argyle, Le Trappeur, Le Canadien, St. Charles, Maple Leaf,
Wolseley, Vandalia, Royal Scots, etc., while other Canadian cities are
not far behind.

Toronto, Ottawa, Quebec, St. Hyacinthe, Winnipeg, Brandor, Souris and
Portage la Prairie have all sent their representatives to the Montreal
Ice Carnivals, and now St. Paul and Minneapolis, those twin cities of
the American Northwest, have caught the fever and are enthusiastic in
their emulation of their Canadian brethren.

A snowshoe club is organized in much the same manner as other athletic
associations. It has its president, vice-president, secretary,
treasurer, and last, but by no means least, its entertainment
committee, whose pleasing duty it is to provide amusement for their
fellow-members at the club rendezvous when half the tramp is over and
the “boys” are resting previous to their return home.

The costume of the snowshoer is at once comfortable, singularly well
adapted to its purpose, and picturesque in the extreme. The head is
protected by a gaudy knitted woolen cap, with brilliant tassel, and
is called a _tuque_, in the Norman French of the Canadian habitant,
who used it first of all. Then there is a coat with capote, and
knickerbockers made usually of white blankets with many-hued border. Of
late years, however, colored blankets have come into favor and bid fair
to rival the white in popularity. Around the waist the coat is drawn
together by a sash; colored stockings and deerskin moccasins, and, of
course, snowshoes, complete the costume. Each club is distinguished
by some peculiarity in the uniform of its members; for example, the
Montreal club affects a blue _tuque_, red sash and red stockings; the
Knights of St. George, or the “Saints,” as they somewhat arrogantly
style themselves, a purple _tuque_ with white stripes, purple sash, and
stockings of Tyrian hue also. So with the other clubs.

[Illustration: _Rendezvous of To-day_]

An entire outfit, including complete costume and snowshoes, may be
procured for less than twenty-five dollars, and the suit under ordinary
circumstances will outlast several winters. Some of the boys who have
plenty of cash, or better opportunities of obtaining the articles than
the rest, invest in buckskin hunting shirts and fringed leggings. They
are made by Indians and half-breeds in Manitoba and the Northwest, and
are, of course, more expensive than the blanket suits.

In Montreal it is usual for each club to tramp out on one evening in
each week, and to take a more extended tour across country on Saturday
afternoons.

On the evening appointed for the tramp the boys meet at their
club-rooms; shoes are strapped on, the president leads the way, the
members follow in Indian file, and the whipper-in brings up the rear
to give the novice or the lazy a lift, and off they go. Let us suppose
we are taking the route usual for evening tramps, partially around and
up over a spur of Mount Royal, thence across country for about a mile
and a half to our rendezvous. The pace increases, and, excepting an
occasional nip at one’s ears, Jack Frost is forgotten as we warm to
our work. “Number off,” cries the president. “No. 1, No. 2,” and so on,
until the whipper-in responds, “No. 60; all up.”

What a pretty picture the long line of ghost-like shadows makes, as it
silently winds in and out in the light of the moon! Now they disappear
from view for a moment or so as they plunge through brushwood; they
race down gullies, clamber over fences and mount hills, until at last
the goal of their desire is reached at mine host Lumpkin’s, or at the
Athletic Club-house, where, after enjoying the programme provided by
the committee, and perhaps refreshing the inner man, we take up our
homeward march, and, our starting-point attained, separate for another
week, or until the following Saturday afternoon.

It is a popular though erroneous idea among the uninitiated that
snowshoeing in the night is done by torchlight. Torches are never used.
This notion probably owes its birth to the fact that at the various
carnivals snowshoers have used torches, purely, however, for effect,
and rather against their will.

A new member of the club or a distinguished visitor is generally
welcomed by his future comrades or his hosts by “bouncing” him.
The victim is seized by as many as can lay hold of him and is
unceremoniously flung skyward, or, more correctly, ceiling-ward, and on
his descent from on high he is caught again and the ceremony repeated
two or three times. He is not allowed to fall, however. He suffers only
in his wind and perhaps his nerves.

In snowshoeing the fatigue and consequent stiffness are great at first,
but with practice this soon wears off, and the motions become easy
and rapid. Of course, it is hardly possible to travel on snowshoes as
rapidly as afoot on dry ground, yet, nevertheless, the speed obtained
is not inconsiderable, as the records of snowshoe racing will show. For
the various distances these are as follows:

Min. Sec.
100 yards, 12
220 “ 26
440 “ 1 08
½ mile, 2 33
1 “ 5 42½
2 “ 11 52¾
3 “ 20 18½
5 “ 33 43

Mount Royal Steeplechase, distance about 2 miles, 500 yards, 17m. 20s.

The last record, as well as others, is held by Mr. James G. Ross,
perhaps the fastest all-round amateur who ever buckled on the
“raquette.”

It is not an uncommon thing, however, for clubs to traverse thirty, and
even eighty, miles across country in a tramp. A tramp from Montreal to
St. John’s is a regular annual event with the Tuque Bleues.

I will conclude by quoting the words of a well-known litterateur, who
had been induced by the genial president of a certain club to come out
for a tramp with his club:

“Thus briefly was I brought to know that our winter sports are a means
of health and good spirits to all who take part in them. They quicken
the circulation, clear the brain and lighten the heart. No such good
is got out of the formal drill of a gymnasium as there is out of a
snowshoe tramp or a toboggan slide, under the broad sky with pleasant
companionship. Men with kinky spines, sluggish livers and narrow
chests--get blanket suits, moccasins and snowshoes, and use them soon
and often. They will dispel your pains and aches and gloomy views of
life.”

[Illustration]

HOW TO CYCLE IN EUROPE.

BY JOSEPH PENNELL.

A desire for independent traveling is growing daily. The reasons for
this are various. It may be the person who wishes to indulge the desire
is eccentric and eager to make a show of himself. It may be economy
which prompts him to leave a railway carriage and foot it. It may be
because he imagines it to be “English, you know,” though let me assure
him that this is one of the many myths about the English. Englishmen as
a rule are not great cycling tourists. More Americans, comparatively,
have toured in England and on the Continent than Englishmen themselves,
and the number is increasing daily. Or it may be that the tourist
wishes to see the country in the only way it can be properly seen; and
this is probably why in the winter and the spring so many Americans
write to me, as the representative in England of the League of American
Wheelmen, and ask for information about roads and routes.

I presume this last to be the real reason for the growth of independent
traveling, and I leave out of consideration all walking tours, because,
after having walked in one year 500 miles and cycled nearly as many
thousand, I feel justified in saying that walking is not for a moment
to be compared with cycling. I may some day compare these two modes
of traveling, but just now this is not my purpose. What I say about
cycling applies equally well to riding and driving, though of course
you cannot ride or drive continuously the same number of miles you can
cycle. I can very well remember the state of dense ignorance concerning
the means of independent traveling in Europe, in which I was six
years ago, as well as the almost utter impossibility of obtaining any
definite information. Six years, every one of which has seen at least
one tour, have, however, given me some little experience.

If you are a rider of an American cycle, of course it will be necessary
to bring your machine with you. Ask the steamship authorities whether
to crate it or not. If it is a bicycle, and you carry it without
crating, they may charge nothing. There is no duty on entering England;
but if you ride an English machine, I should advise you to sell your
present mount and make arrangements, either with the dealer you know
in America or the firm itself in England, giving them three or four
months to get your machine ready and to have it awaiting you at their
agents in Liverpool, Southampton or Glasgow, or wherever you may land.
Tell the makers what sort of a tour you propose taking, and you will
probably find that they will understand your needs better than you. If,
however, you are confident you know exactly what you want, you may be
able to make suggestions.

Before leaving America--though I suppose what I say applies equally
well to Australians--join the Cyclists’ Touring Club. From their
offices you will receive a vast amount of useful information concerning
your tour. You can also obtain route-books, maps, guides, etc.
Americans should apply to F. W. Weston, Savin Hill, Boston, Mass.;
Canadians to H. S. Tibbs, 26 Union Avenue, Montreal; Australians and
Indians to S. A. Stead, 19 Tabley Road, Holloway, London, N. The
subscription is the equivalent of two shillings and sixpence, and
the entrance fee is another shilling. Any amateur cycler can become
a member without trouble. Another thing to be provided is a Baedeker
guidebook for the country over which you wish to tour. In it you
will find the rates of the various hotels, and of course you will
go to those which suit your pocket, remembering that now you are an
independent traveler, and that if you do not like the outside of an
hotel, there is no reason why you should go in. The C. T. C. hotels in
England are mainly respectable, and with the hand-book you know where
you are going. But the C. T. C. rates, except in the large towns, are
frequently an advance upon the ordinary rates. You will find it almost
impossible to obtain breakfast before eight o’clock in the morning, in
many places before nine, without considerable trouble. A breakfast will
cost from one to three shillings, according to the hotel: On leaving
the hotel it is necessary to fee the boots and the waiter, but sixpence
goes quite as far as half a crown.

In riding, keep to the left, Englishmen differing in this, as in
so many other respects, from all creation. Do not ride on the side
paths or you will be promptly arrested. It is useless to expect any
cycler you meet to be more civil to you than the driver of any other
conveyance. Cycling clubs in England are not what they are in America
or on the Continent. Therefore you need not look for any of those
attentions bestowed upon the touring cycler at home, though you may
encounter some very delightful fellows. Of course, it is a very good
thing to have letters of introduction.

At noon, in any save the large towns and on market days, you will not
be able to get a hot dinner without waiting a long time. But you will
probably find excellent cold roast beef, or you can eat a succession of
lunches of bread and cheese and drink a modicum of bitter ale, called
beer. My practice is never to eat much in the middle of the day when
touring. The succession of small lunches and short rests is better than
a single long one. Coffee taverns--that is, temperance houses--may be
found everywhere, but they range from very good to very bad, and you
had better investigate them before deciding to stay overnight. It is
unnecessary and quite useless to bargain for anything in England. Your
lunch will cost from sixpence to two shillings, and you should give the
waiter a penny for every shilling. You will have to order your dinner
in the evening in the majority of places, and in the small towns it is
wiser to have what is called a “meat tea,” that is, a chop or a steak,
one or two vegetables, jam and tea; or else a cold supper, that is,
cold meat or fowl, salad, a tart and cheese.

If you arrive wet, you will find it possible to have your clothes
dried, and very well too, as innkeepers in England rather expect
to have to perform this duty. In fact you may receive many little
attentions which are very pleasing, and there is a cozy, homelike
feeling about an English inn which one finds nowhere else. It is not
necessary to inflict the fact that you are an American upon everybody
you meet; they have seen Americans before, and they probably knew it
before you opened your mouth. I have seen it stated and hinted that one
can obtain a room in an English inn or hotel for sixpence or ninepence
a night. This is, of course, absurd. You can, if you go to a house
with the sign “Accommodation for Travelers; beds, sixpence a night.” In
the same way, in America, you can go to a station-house for nothing,
or to a tramps’ lodging-house for almost as little. It is necessary
to count upon spending about eight shillings or two dollars a day for
touring in England; but it is possible to do it for half that amount,
though not comfortably or decently. Even this is a moderate figure, and
is less than the C. T. C. rate.

In London I can recommend the Charing Cross Hotel, and, I believe,
Burr’s private hotel in Queen Square. There are thousands of hotels in
London, but both of these are central, and can be reached on the wheel.
London streets, however, require very careful riding, owing to the
rapid driving, and, to the American, the fact that everybody seems to
be on the wrong side of the road.

I have presumed that you are a practical cycler, and therefore that you
will carry whatever you are in the habit of taking with you at home, or
will send your baggage from one place to another as you do there. In
England it is wiser to use the Parcel’s Post, as the express is very
unreliable. Personally, I either ride a safety or a tandem tricycle,
and, whether alone or with my wife, always carry every thing we want on
the machine. We are consequently perfectly independent, and have been
out for six weeks at a time.

On leaving England for the Continent, unless money is absolutely no
object, you must go to France by Dieppe, Havre or St. Malo. By Calais
or Boulogne the charges are extortionate, and you will have to pay in
the custom-houses. The greater part of Belgium is paved with Belgian
blocks, over which you cannot ride. To Holland you can go by way of
Amsterdam, and I believe the riding is fairly good over the brick
roads, but I have never been there. The principal attractions in Norway
seem to be the cheapness and the scenery, and for both you have to walk
about as much as you ride, which is not my idea of cycling. Anyhow, it
cannot be compared to Switzerland, and the reason it is so much talked
about in English cycling papers is because it is a fine pot-hunting
ground for racing men.

Of Spain I am entirely ignorant, and the accounts of this country all
contradict each other with the most wonderful unanimity. No reliable
data of the roads have yet been obtained. I hope to go over them
myself before long. But in the first place, to visit any foreign
country you must understand something of the language, the more the
better.

The following, which is a portion of an article I contributed to the
_Pall Mall Gazette_ a short time since, contains all that need be
said on touring in France: “You must provide yourself with good road
maps, showing the main road, the _routes nationales_ and the _routes
départementales_. There are, of course, byroads all over France--that
is, _routes communales_ and _routes vicinales_--but it is never safe,
save in the south, to make short cuts or detours or to trust to these
byroads in any way. They are frequently as bad as the others are good.
Stick to the high-road. Work out on your map the route you wish to
follow. You can buy excellent road maps of Hachette or of Phillips. The
maps sold by the Cyclists’ Touring Club are not up to date, and you are
compelled to purchase four sheets when you may only need one. Recently
I was detained in Avignon for having these maps in my possession, being
told by the _préfet_ of the department of Vaucluse that it was illegal
to carry them, as in France they are made and sold for the private use
of the War Department. How true this is I do not know. I have usually
carried them, and never before had any trouble. However, they are
becoming rather out of date, and Hachette is bringing out new series
all the time.

“Supposing you land at Dieppe, your machine will be taken to the
custom-house, whither you should accompany it. If you can succeed in
satisfying the officials that you intend to leave the country with
your machine within three months, they will not charge you duty, and
will not, unless you ask for it, give you a receipt. If you do get a
receipt--this is, of course, the lawful method--you will be obliged to
deposit 50f., only two-thirds of which will probably be returned to
you when you leave the country. But the French Government has usually
been very accommodating in this matter, though at Calais the duty or
the deposit is nearly always demanded. If you wish to go by train from
Dieppe, have your cycle registered, for which you pay a penny if it
is under 56 lbs. Two people can take a tandem for the same money, if
it is under 112 lbs. But do not stand on your dignity, and write to
the papers, and make a frightful row, because the Swiss, German, and
Italian railways compel you to pay a big price whenever you carry a
cycle on their lines. Their rules are not those of France. In frontier
stations you need never be surprised at any regulations.

“But let us suppose that you intend to ride away from the station at
Dieppe. You are hungry, having been landed there at five o’clock in
the morning. Have your coffee in any café on the Place, or in the very
expensive one in the station. And this is the point where, if you want
to live inexpensively, you must remember the customs of the country.
In the station you never see a Frenchman, and on one occasion I paid
two francs and twenty-five centimes for the privilege of having a
pot of coffee and rolls and butter there. The next time, I went to a
café in the street leading from the pier to the Place. It was full of
townspeople, was more gorgeous, the coffee was equally good, and I paid
seventy-five centimes. Why I should pay a franc and a half for having
my coffee on the pier, I am unable to see. Cafés are always good, and
charge just about half the price of an hotel or a station restaurant,
and the French traveler, as a rule, does not take his coffee in the
hotel unless he is in a great hurry. He goes to the café across the
street, reads his morning paper, and pays half the price. The landlord
does not object; it is the custom of the country. For lunch, if I know
the town where I am going, I stop, not at the swellest restaurant on
the boulevard, nor at the dirty _estaminet_ of the workman--I object
to one as much as to the other--but at a decent, clean, middle-class
restaurant, where it is the exception if I do not fare very well at
the cost of about a franc and a half. And how do I find it? Either
by using my own eyes, or by asking the first decent-looking man who
comes along. If it is between half-past ten and one in the day he will
probably be on his way to or from his own breakfast, and will be only
too glad to show you the place. If you do not like the place, there is
no reason why you should go in. If it is good, and the people are jolly
and talkative, as they usually will be, ask them for a good hotel, of
the sort they, as Frenchmen, would go to, in the town where you purpose
to spend the night. They will tell you readily. It may be the first,
or more likely the last, on Baedeker’s list; it may not be there at
all. If it is a very swell place, don’t be afraid to go in if Frenchmen
have recommended it; if it is very disreputable on the outside, and the
proprietor in cook’s cap and apron rushes out to meet you, do not turn
away, for he will probably greet you as warmly and give you as good a
dinner as you have ever had in your life. You will find at the table a
lot of jolly commercial travelers, who will take pleasure in giving you
a list of hotels from one end of your route to the other. And what will
it cost you? The dinner will vary from two and a half to three and a
half francs, and your room from one and a half to two and a half, and
there will be no extras. Totting this up, we have eight francs fifty
for the day. Say you give the waiter half a franc. That makes nine.

“But the next night, being a touring cycler, you have not reached the
town where you intended to stay, owing to something of interest on the
road, or you have passed beyond it. You will stop in a decent, clean
_auberge_ by the roadside--and you will find many--or in the best inn
in the village, where your bill will be about four francs for lodging,
dinner and coffee. And so, in the course of two or three weeks, instead
of exceeding an average of seven francs a day, you will fall below it.
This is the way Frenchmen do. This is the way men like Louis Stevenson
have done. And this is the plan I like to follow; not to go to an hotel
where one has to pay for the dirty swallow-tail and bad English of the
waiter, the sham plate and the stupid _table d’hôte_; nor, on the other
hand, to stint one’s self and to glory in saving a sou here and doing a
man out of a franc there; but to quietly adapt yourself as much as you
possibly can to the habits and customs of the people, of the middle
and characteristic class, whose country you are visiting. If you do not
like to do this and cannot afford the swell hotels, you had better stay
at home.”

Very much the same conditions exist in Italy and Switzerland. In Italy,
however, you must bargain for everything; you must even know how much
your candle is going to cost you before you go to bed, and how much you
are to pay for the waiter and chambermaid. In Germany one lives more in
English style. The laws of the road are the same in all these countries
as in America.

Many of the hills on the Continent, owing to their S-shaped curves, are
very dangerous. In England one finds warnings everywhere for cyclers.
You can ride or be pulled or pushed up behind a diligence over every
pass in Switzerland that is used by vehicles. On the Continent you will
find yourself everywhere legally treated as the driver of a carriage.
Carry a passport, and do not regard all foreigners as fools and thereby
make a fool out of yourself. Do not regard yourself as the first man
who ever visited the place, and do not try to paint the town red. I
admit these foreigners do not understand our little ways.

As to touring singly or with a party, that is your own affair, not
mine; only I can warn you it is rather lonely work to cross a great
country by yourself. If there is anything I have not made clear, write
to me to the care of ~Outing~. I shall be only too glad to
answer your questions.

[Illustration]

AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY.

BY ELLERSLIE WALLACE.

When we come to criticise photographs _as pictures_, we find that one
great defect is to be found in their small size. It is true that the
perfection of detail and fine finish compound for this in a measure,
but it has often been said that one good print of 11 × 14 inches, or
larger, is worth dozens of the little scraps made on 5 × 4 and 4 × 3
inch plates. It has lately become too much the fashion to advise the
use of small sizes, and to depend upon some enlarging process when
a print of good size is wanted. The idea of making small negatives
and enlarging them afterwards seems fair enough, and it is, indeed,
successfully done in many cases; but if such a size as 10 × 12 were
settled upon, we should advise that the negatives be made direct, and
the prints not enlarged from, say, 5 × 7 or 5 × 4 inch negatives.
All experienced operators agree that the making of negatives for
enlargement requires great skill and care. Remembering how greatly the
cost of making photographs has been reduced, and what excellent outfits
can now be had for a moderate sum, we feel justified in advising those
who aim at good artistic results to begin boldly with plates of a fair
size--certainly not less than 8½ × 6½, or, better, 10 × 8 inches.

Now, since the first thing to be considered in the selection of a
photographic outfit is the size of picture desired, and the next the
character of work to be done, let us here say that the difficulties of
obtaining clean, good results increase with the increase of size to a
certain extent, and the expense of making the picture increases very
materially. Nevertheless, in spite of the various processes for making
large prints from small negatives--enlarging processes, as they are
technically termed--we repeat that we should not advise the purchase
of very small cameras, unless mere amusement is the only thing to be
considered. Plenty of fun can undoubtedly be had out of the little
“detective” cameras now so commonly used, but more satisfaction will be
felt in a nice collection of views or portraits on plates measuring,
say, five inches by eight or ten inches by eight, the camera for which
would be too large to be conveniently concealed as the smaller sizes
are:

Since the introduction of the gelatine dry plate, and the consequent
simplifying of the chemical part of the work, large-sized photographs
may be made with far greater ease than formerly, and to those of our
readers who have devoted any attention to art matters we will suggest
one of the larger-sized cameras for plates, say fourteen inches by
eleven, as offering more scope for the artistic treatment of fine
subjects, particularly landscapes.

The size of plate and camera being settled upon, the next thing is
to get a suitable lens, and this is often no easy matter. In most of
the detective cameras the lens is supplied as a part of the outfit,
but one intending to provide himself with a regular photographic
apparatus ought to have some knowledge of lenses before purchasing.
Without going into too great detail in the matter, we may say that
some general distinctions between the different varieties of lenses
should be borne in mind, as follows: (1) Lenses including an ordinary
angle or amount of subject, say forty to fifty-five degrees on the
base-line of the picture, and of tolerably long focus; and (2)
wide-angle lenses including eighty degrees, or even more, and of very
short focus. It would be natural for the purchaser to imagine that that
lens which included most subject would be best, but as a general rule
the contrary is true, namely, that the longer-focus lenses are the
more practically useful and give the more pleasing pictures. There is
another distinguishing characteristic between lenses that are “single”
or “doublet.” The former are cheaper, but quite good enough for
average landscape work, while the latter are indispensably necessary
for architectural subjects and the accurate copying of anything like
maps, plans, engravings, etc. To those who are disposed to be very
economical, we may say that the front lens of an opera-glass will make
excellent photographs. It should be unscrewed from the barrel, and
set in a short tube with its flat side facing the view; or, in other
words, it should have its position just reversed from what it was in
the opera-glass. A stop of suitable size is then set in front of it at
a distance equaling one-fifth of its burning focus.

It should be remembered that the _perspective of the photograph is
made by the lens_, and cannot be altered by the operator, except in so
far as he provides himself with a number of lenses of different focus
and angle, so as to be able to treat different subjects with lenses
suitable to their peculiarities, using each lens _pro re rata_, as the
doctors would say.

It may not be generally known that experienced outdoor operators are
pretty well agreed upon certain proportions between the focus of the
lens and the size of plate, as affording the most pleasing pictures,
and being most useful in the long run. We should thus choose an 11-inch
focus lens for the 8½ × 6½ plate, a 9-inch for the 8 × 5, etc., or,
in other words, _one whose equivalent focus was about equal to the
diagonal of the plate_.[5] But let us take this occasion to say that we
cannot too strongly insist upon the desirability of the photographer’s
having more than one lens irrespective of the size or style of his
pictures. We ourselves have worked with lenses of 11-inch, 7-inch, and
5½-inch focus on the 8½ × 6½ plate, and succeeded in a great variety
of subjects. The 11-inch was probably used five or six times where
the 7-inch was once, while the 5½-inch was only resorted to on rare
occasions where the peculiarities of the subject required a very wide
angle.

We enter into this matter at some length because the artistic qualities
in landscape photographs will be found to depend in great measure
upon the ability of the operator to include just the desired amount
of subject on his plate from any given point of view; for the latter
cannot always be changed so as to favor the lens. Then, also, it must
not be forgotten that every change in the position of the camera will
change something in the view; the whole character of the picture may
be altered by shifting the apparatus a little in one direction or the
other. A speaking proof of this is seen when examining the results
obtained by the members of photographic clubs and societies after
having been out for a field-day; here we often see two photographs of
the same subject, where the men have stood side by side, one being
complete as a picture, while the other fails in its effect simply
because the lens has been a few inches or a few feet farther to the
right or left, and has omitted or included some object which has been
the making or marring of the picture.

Another prominent defect in photographs, taken as a whole, is that they
are usually made in fixed sizes in spite of varieties or peculiarities
of subject. How unpleasant it is in the case of a fine panoramic view,
where the interest lies in the extended horizontal sweep rather than in
the sky or foreground, to see things forced into a nearly square plate,
say 10 × 8 inches, which gives entirely too much space above and below,
with insufficient length! On the other hand, how empty the ends of a
long, narrow 8 × 5-inch plate appear if some isolated and rather square
object, such as a villa or group of trees, occupies the centre! Many a
picturesque subject, dealing in high and narrow lines, will be utterly
ruined if crowded on a square-shaped plate--street views in cities,
for example, made near to churches with high steeples. Here we must
either have a long, narrow plate, or use a lens of short enough focus
to reduce the whole scale of the picture so that it can be afterwards
trimmed to suit the subject. Here we see an additional reason why the
plate should be of a good generous size to start with, and the outfit
of lenses complete. If we had only a small plate on which to make the
view, the trimming might make the finished print too small to be worth
anything.

Let us now consider the shape of the picture, or plate, together with
the proportions existing between its boundaries or sides, premising
that while here and there a print may be trimmed square, circular or
oval, to suit some particular subject, the oblong shape will be by far
the most generally useful.

If we compare two plates, one measuring 8½ × 6½ inches and the other
8 × 5, we find that the diagonal line connecting two opposite corners
is 1¼ inches longer in the former than in the latter. We also find that
the former has a clear space 1½ inches wider than the other, extending
over the whole of the long dimensions of the plate, together with
another space half an inch wide at the narrow end. To put it in other
words, the 8½ × 6½ plate differs from the 8 × 5 both in shape and in
size, but offers considerably more surface with but a slightly longer
diagonal. This latter has an important relationship to the covering or
defining powers of the lens, for, supposing we wanted a lens to just
cover the plate, we should have to select one the diameter of whose
field or circle of light was equal to the diagonal of the plate--_not_
to its base line, for in that case the plate would not be covered.
Again, if we desired a lens to give perfect sharpness up to the corners
of a given size of plate, we should reckon by the diagonal, and not by
the base line.

A little study of perspective is most highly to be recommended to those
who desire their pictures to be truthful and pleasing. Now, by this
we do not at all mean that our readers should wade through ponderous
volumes filled with mathematical problems and long equations, but that
they should, for instance, set themselves to consider such facts as the
following: If an empty box be set on the end of a long table with its
hollow facing the student, it will be observed that the bottom and the
sides are in a certain proportion to each other, and that the lines
of junction between them appear to recede at a certain angle. If the
box now be moved up to within twelve inches of the face, these lines
of junction will be seen to stand at much more obtuse angles, besides
which the sides will appear broader in proportion to their height
than when the box was at a distance. Let him now consider that the
principles here involved would hold true in the photographing of street
views, and many other subjects where both near and distant objects were
included. For if a wide-angle lens be employed, all the receding lines
in the picture, such as cornices of buildings, railroads, curbstones,
etc., etc., will stand at much more obtuse angles than when a
narrow-angle lens is used; the terms “wide-angle” or “short-focus,” on
the one hand, and “narrow-angle” or “long-focus,” on the other, being
indiscriminately used by the photographer.

This great obtuseness of angle in the perspective of pictures made
with wide-angle lenses, is sometimes the cause of most unsightly
and ridiculous pictorial failures. It will be seen at once that the
objection to using very wide-angle lenses is that, owing to this great
obtuseness of angle of the perspective lines, distant objects will
appear unnaturally dwarfed in size, while those near at hand will come
out immensely larger than they ought to. A few trials on street views
with a lens including, say, eighty degrees of angle, with prominent
objects close in the foreground, will soon prove the truth of what
we have been saying, and sometimes well-known localities will be so
changed in the photograph that no one would recognize them. We are
thus met by the paradox that the perspective of the photograph, while
mathematically correct, is false to the eye.

These ideas of perspective will be found very useful in photographing
architectural subjects, wide-angle lenses often being indispensable
here. Caution must be observed in using them on these subjects,
however, for if the buildings stand in confined positions, where
there is no room to move the camera backward, the picture will have
an unnatural effect, and might be compared to the eye of an observer
trying to see something that was too close for convenience.

In portraiture, the perspective will suffer very much if the distance
between the sitter and the lens be too small, and the lens of too wide
an angle. In this case, the cheeks will look too narrow in proportion
to the length of the face, while the hands and feet will be absurdly
larger than they ought to be if at all obtruded. The head, and indeed
the whole figure, will look more rotund and more life-like if a fair
distance--say twice the sitter’s height--is kept between the lens and
the sitter. If this should give too small a picture, a lens of longer
focus will have to be used. Objects look broader when taken near at
hand with wide-angle lenses. Interior views of buildings, halls, etc.,
where there is plenty of room to keep the camera well back, will not be
found difficult, but the interiors of small private houses and rooms
will often be very unsatisfactory subjects because there is not room
for the camera to be set well back and give a life-like, natural effect.

Photographs of long, narrow objects will be great failures in the
pictorial point of view if the camera be brought too close, and so that
the nearer portions are unduly magnified while the more distant become
dwarfed in size. Here we see one of the principal reasons why the
photographer should have lenses of different focus, so that if he is
compelled to take an unfavorable point of view he may not be confined
to one focus and angle.

To be continued.

[5] The equivalent focus of a compound lens is taken as equal to
the focus of a _single lens_ which would form an image of the
same size.

EVOLUTION OF FORM IN COLLEGE ROWING.

BY E. M. GARNETT.

I.--~The Harvard Stroke.~

~Scientific~ rowing may be properly called a modern luxury. It
may be said, with a moderate degree of certainty, that neither the
Greeks, the Romans, nor yet the early English, were in the habit of
pulling themselves about in ten-inch shells provided with anti-crab
swivel rowlocks and ball-bearing slides. Had any one of them been
caught in such an act he would have been condemned, in all probability,
to drink the hemlock, or worshipped as a wizard. Of course, from time
immemorial there have been certain vague principles regulating the
application of the weight of the body to the oar. But up to the time
when that eccentric genius lubricated the seat of his boat and the
seat of his trousers with some fatty substance, and slid his greasy
way to victory, rowing was much more a matter of brute strength
than of exquisite skill. And with the evolution of the sliding seat
from the crude but effective idea, possibilities were offered for
great improvements in the art of pulling an oar. During the last
twenty years new inventions and radical changes in the rigging of
boats have necessitated a departure, not only from former methods of
rowing, but also from its recognized tenets. The principles are not
immutable--as some would have us believe. For example, it is a physical
impossibility, with some styles of rigging, to apply much power at
the end of the stroke. Still, different systems have their ardent
supporters, and the superiority of one over another is apparently a
mooted question.

According to some aquatic enthusiasts, it is the best plan to let the
men get into a boat and pull: time and a little intelligence will
remedy their faults. Others urge that it is only necessary to master
“the few essential principles,” and, as Mr. Julian Hawthorne says, “the
refinements will take care of themselves.” Still others, who treat with
withering scorn the opponents of “form,” lay great stress upon the
absolute importance of sedulous attention to the minutest details.

In support of this first view, numerous instances have been cited of
rough, awkward professional crews “yanking” and “yawing” their way in
ahead of the best trained and disciplined amateur oarsmen, and, as one
writer upon rowing aptly says, “casting despite upon the traditions
of the art.” Indeed, until recent years it has been the current
belief that a good amateur crew was no match for a set of skilled
professionals. And the apparent truth of this opinion was never better
illustrated than by an impromptu race rowed on the Charles River in
’78 or ’79--I forget the exact date--between the famous Bancroft crew
and eight of the best oarsmen that could be gathered together from
the purlieus of Boston. It is true the professional crew was made
up of such celebrities as Ross, Plaisted, Gorkin, Faulkner, etc.,
but before that morning they had never sat together in a boat. Their
boat, by the way, differed utterly in rigging from those they had been
accustomed to, and, in fact, was the worst and most dilapidated the
Harvard Boat-house could afford. After a preliminary “paddle” down to
the starting-point--the Brookline Bridge--the race was rowed over the
regular two-mile course. Well, it is related--and I have it from one of
the victors--that by the time the celebrated Harvard crew reached the
Union Boat-house their untutored rivals had carried their boat into the
house and were nonchalantly wiping her off.

Now, why did this crew, composed as it was of the heaviest and
strongest men that had ever sat in a Harvard boat, who moreover, by
their irreproachable “form,” had crowned themselves with glory at New
London, allow themselves to be so lamentably defeated by a set of men
who labored under almost every possible disadvantage? Evidently there
was some potent influence at work. Although the hardy and callus-fisted
members of the professional crew gained a precarious livelihood in arts
which did not sap their physical vigor, yet the superior endurance
of the crew as a whole can hardly be urged as an excuse for such
an overwhelming defeat in a two-mile race. We are left the bitter
alternative, then, of shocking the æsthetic sensibilities of our
amateurs by the inevitable conclusion that the professionals possessed
superior skill.

Now, intelligent amateur, before turning away in disgust, reflect a
moment. What is skill? What is form? Are they synonymous?

Skill is that which in almost every sport--in sparring, in fencing,
in wrestling, in baseball, in tennis, etc., etc., other things being
equal--enables one to win. Like elegance in writing, it is “the
exquisite adaptation of means to ends.” In rowing it is that management
of the body and oar--other things being equal, of course--which is
conducive to the greatest speed of the boat.

“Form” in rowing is not so easily defined--for what would satisfy
the most rigid exactitude in one system would be found defective in
another. In general terms, however, it may be called, in crew rowing,
“the graceful and nice management of the body and oar which contributes
most to the appearance of similarity and uniformity throughout the
crew.”

Now, it is true the professionals did not row with backs as straight,
nor with a swing as even as the canons of good “form” call for, but
they possessed the all-important secret of economizing all their
strength and time. They not only knew how and when to apply their
weight to the oar, but were fully alive to the necessity of holding
the oar in the water no longer than it could do good, and in the air
as short a time as possible. These and other less perceptible virtues,
which such a constellation of aquatic lights will always possess, are
generally obscured by the rugged and uncouth appearance of their body
work.

But this body work, as far as the effect is concerned, though by no
means all that can be desired, is not so very bad after all, for the
swing of one man across the boat is counteracted by the swing of
another. This fact, coupled with the firm, strong, simultaneous finish
of the stroke, will effectually prevent the rolling of the boat.

On the other hand, the Harvard crew, whose “form” would have sent an
æsthete into rhapsodies of praise, were skillful enough in their own
peculiar way, but their rowing itself was unskillful because radically
wrong in principle. But didn’t it enable them to win at New London?
Yes, to be sure; but always against the same system or an inferior one.

The defeat of a well-trained amateur crew by a set of professionals
does not, then, necessarily bring the traditions of the art of rowing
into disrepute. “Form” without skill must always succumb to skill
without “form.” The combination of the two should be the goal of the
aquatic ambition. And the one need not be detrimental to the other. It
is all very well to scoff at “form” and rest placidly content to let
the refinements take care of themselves. They won’t, and the result
will be a lot of irremediable faults.

In sparring, or, still better, in fencing, what is called direction,
_i. e._, the precision of one’s aim, will be greatly affected by the
slightest deviation of the hand from its proper position. The man who
adheres to this principle through all the complications of attack and
defense will be indeed a formidable antagonist. A master must pay the
strictest attention to the details of his art. Then why not in rowing,
where the object is to get in ahead of your adversary, and where the
lightest touch of the flat of the blade to the water will add its
mite to diminish the speed of the boat? Besides, the acquirement of
the details will always add zest to one’s pleasure in the sport. Few
sensations, indeed, are more pleasing than that of shooting through
the water in a frail shell with a clean, strong sweep of the oars,
especially when that sensation is flavored by a consciousness of a
complete mastery over the situation.

To become an adept in the art of rowing does not demand the patience of
a Palissy, nor yet the sagacity of a Socrates. True, a certain class of
men of rare physical and intellectual torpidity will never master the
correct methods, but to a man moderately well endowed as to mind and
body, they are quite accessible.

Perhaps those practical gentlemen who scout the idea of “form,” and
seem to believe that by some secret process sufficient excellence will
be attained if the men get into a boat and pull, are like some of
George Eliot’s good people of Raveloe, who supposed “there was nothing
behind a barn door because they couldn’t see through it.”

Now, the essential thing is to first get hold of the correct principles
of rowing, and then apply the refinements to them. The result will be a
winning crew every time. And this happy combination and its inevitable
consequences were brought about for the first time in the history of
college boat-racing at Harvard in ’85. That is to say, the principles
involved in the stroke of that year are the best that have yet been
discovered. They, the principles, mind you, are identical with those
believed in by Hanlan, the father of them--Teemer, Gaudaur, O’Connor,
and all the crack scullers of the present day. And these principles,
the fruits of years of experience and unremitting toil in the
acquirement of a method that would enable men to win races and their
daily bread, it is natural to suppose, should be pretty nearly correct.

It is a great mistake to believe these men so deficient intellectually
that they are forced to rely principally upon brute strength to put
their boats through the water at the highest possible rate of speed.
Rowing is not such a subtle and complex thing as all that. Is it not,
to say the least, a bit of conceit on the part of amateurs to presume
that with all their transcendent intellect they can, by a few years of
intermittent devotion to a sport, acquire a more rational knowledge of
it than men like Hanlan, who give their lives to it?

It is the same with professionals in any sport--in sparring, in
fencing, in baseball, etc.--what amateurs can compete successfully with
them?

But let us see what prodigy was warmed into being by the genial light
of correct principle.

Until 1885, college boating-men had failed--inexplicable it almost
seems--to keep pace with the modern improvements in rigging and
consequent advance in the science of rowing, which professionals had
been for some years familiar with. They were under the able tuition
of Mr. Faulkner, the veteran but progressive coach and bow-oar of
both the champion “four” of America and of the champion “pair-oar” of
the world, and adopted “in toto” the rigging and system which had won
him such marked distinction. The result surpassed their most sanguine
expectations.

After the new stroke had been pretty well mastered, a series of
impromptu races with the best crew of professionals that could be
scraped from the Charles was gotten up. This crew was composed of
Hosmer, Faulkner, Gorkin, Casey, and others, including the burly Jake
Kilrain, an oarsman as well as pugilist, and now at the summit of his
fame. As they were given the _best_ shell in the boat-house, and _one
week_ in which to _rig_ it and “_get together_,” they were really
superior to the crew which so mercilessly defeated the Harvards in ’78.
Well, the Harvard crew not only forced them to take their back-wash
for two miles, but in a number of half-mile spurts cleared them each
and every time a full boat-length in the first quarter mile. Pretty
conclusive evidence, is it not, taken in connection with the unusually
light weight of the ’85 crew, and the comparatively _short time_ they
had _rowed together_ under the _new regime_, that the new system was
superior to the old?

It proves abundantly, also, that “form” and skill will triumph, even in
a spurt, over skill alone. Some one--that is, some one who _did not_
see these races--will say, perhaps, “Oh, the professionals allowed
themselves to be beaten!” For the benefit of the more skeptical, I will
say, that on one occasion, when the struggle of the professionals was
more than usually hopeless, I had the distinguished honor of occupying
a vicarious position in the bow of their boat. The genial Jake Kilrain,
who, by the way, oftentimes, in a spirit of jocose repartee, has beaten
me cruelly about the head, was, besides myself, the only amateur
(oarsman) in the boat. Spurred on by our frantic stroke’s disgusted and
unorthoepical plaint, “Aw, yoose amatoors don’t back me up!” we leaped
madly against the stretcher at the rate--it seemed to me--of about
fifty-five strokes to the minute. No! there was no lack of sincerity in
that boat.

Moreover, the pride of a professional is wounded to the quick when an
amateur happens to subvert the natural order of things by defeating
him. Indeed this particular set, in an ebullition of amazement,
admitted that the “amatoors” could show their rudder to the best
professional crew that ever sat in a boat. But so long as the
professionals, no matter what principles of rowing they may build their
faith upon, persist in sacrificing “form” to skill, so long must they
suffer defeat at the hands of a crew who preserve both these elements.

As the two leading universities, Harvard and Yale, have experimented
in the last five years with every recognizable system of rowing,
from the slow, stately and intensely amateurish English stroke to
a hideous exaggeration of the professional style, the history of
college boat-racing during this period will afford the best means of
illustrating and demonstrating the superiority of one method over
another. Let us gird on our polemical armor, then, and enter the lists.

There is probably no athletic event in America which excites such
universal interest and enthusiasm, among amateurs at least, as the
annual boat-race between Harvard and Yale, on the Thames.

Weeks before the “eventful day,” windy interviews with the Nestors of
the rowing world appear in the daily papers, rooms are engaged at the
hotels in and about New London, the enviable owners of yachts prepare
for the sail, and every one is speculating upon the chances of his
favorite college adding to its list of victories. “Straight tips” and
wiseacres are equally plentiful, and equally inefficient in increasing
one’s store of knowledge.

At the race the river is dotted with gayly bedecked steamboats,
yachts, and small craft of every description, the banks are lined with
people, and the observation train, which from a distance looks like
a huge colored snake, is a blue and crimson mass of bunting-waving,
horn-tooting, yelling, frenzied collegians. It is not an exaggeration
to say that fully fifteen thousand people annually witness the race.

Is it not strange that among all this crowd of intensely interested,
over-excited spectators it would be extremely difficult to find a
single person sufficiently informed to give one an adequate explanation
of the causes leading to the defeat of one crew by another? For,
especially when there is a great discrepancy in the times made by the
two crews, there is always a reason beyond the overstrained condition
of No.----, the slowness of the boat, or the eel-grass course, why one
crew should cross the finish line a quarter of a mile in the lead.

But no! the spectators, though their native fancy for mystification is
tickled by the triumph of skill and “form,” are quite impermeable to
their constituent elements. They seem to follow the principle laid down
in Hudibras, that

“Still the less they understand,
The more they admire the sleight of hand,”

for they certainly seem more delirious than their more experienced
fellow-men.

It is not remarkable that men who acquired their knowledge of rowing
when the art was in its infancy, and quite innocent of the time and
labor saving contrivances now in vogue, should allow their ideas
to grow rusty or fail to keep abreast of the times. It is rather
extraordinary, though, that many college boating-men of to-day, who
have had ample opportunity to study the principles involved in the
various strokes, should be unable to elucidate the reasons for their
particular styles of rowing. And this sad fact has been the indirect
cause of some of the most disheartening defeats at New London.

There has always been at college a sort of Bœotian haziness of ideas
regarding the merits of this or that way of pulling an oar. And
while the last few years--thanks to Mr. Storrow--have seen a certain
development in the inquisitive instincts of college boating-men,
indecision and uncertainty as to the virtues of the different systems
of rowing seem still to prevail at Harvard.

The mooted question of superiority is confined practically to the
English style of rowing; that introduced in ’85 by Mr. Storrow, and the
so-called Bob Cook stroke.

In the following brief sketch of what the last five years of college
boating can show, let it be borne in mind by those who see their
long-cherished convictions ruthlessly attacked, that all excuses for
the defeat of one crew by another must be considered as necessary
adjuncts to the attempted demonstration.

In 1883, Yale, under the tutelage of that aquatic Archimedes, Mike
Davis, made a radical departure from the stroke which had been brought
over from England some years previously by Mr. Cook, and introduced,
with slight modifications, at both Yale and Harvard.

Although this stroke, which had failed to bring victory to Yale in
’82, was almost the same in principle as that which defeated her, and,
therefore, could not be held responsible for the defeat, yet she saw
fit to discard it for the unique ideas of Mr. Davis.

The boat was made unusually long, to provide for a novel method of
seating the men in pairs, all of Mr. Davis’s latest inventions were
introduced, and phenomenal results were expected. Whatever good there
may have been in these inventions, the fact remains that in the race
Yale rowed a short, rapid, jerky stroke, while Harvard adhered to the
long, slow, English style, and won with comparative ease.

The experiment having failed, the next year Yale returned to her former
method of rowing. But, aided by her experience of the past, as well as
by a few valuable hints, it is said, from one of the famous Ward crew,
she had the rare good sense to improve upon her previous conception of
the English or Bob Cook stroke--for the sake of convenience, I shall
call it English at present. As to the exact share Mr. Ward had in the
amendment I do not speak with authority, but regarding the character of
the difference between the strokes rowed that year by Yale and Harvard
I speak whereof I know.

After the first two miles it was patent that Yale had the race well in
hand. Her oars were in the water longer and in the air a shorter time
than Harvard’s. Every man in her boat threw his weight more directly
against the stretcher, and instead of holding his slide on the recover
until his arms were straightened and the body was swung forward from
the waist, he diminished materially the time the oar would otherwise
have been in the air by starting his seat and shoulders immediately
after extending his arms. He used his legs more, and “hung” less at
both ends of the stroke. The slow, stately sweep of the Harvard crew
succeeded in bringing them in about fifteen lengths behind their happy
rivals.

It is true, the speed of the Harvard boat was affected by a number
of important changes which she was compelled to make, prior to
the race, in the composition and seating of the crew. But despite
this fact, which could not alone account for such an overwhelming
defeat--especially as the substitutes were good oars--she had the
strongest and heaviest crew that ever represented a college.

In 1885, as we have seen, there was a revolution in rowing at Harvard.
It was not until the early part of winter that Mr. Storrow, in the
face of a certain amount of passive opposition, took the rather
daring step, by engaging Mr. Faulkner as coach, of throwing overboard
all those principles which, it is supposed, had won Harvard many a
splendid victory. An entirely new system of rowing was inaugurated,
and there was much grumbling and dubious head-shaking at the issue.
Yale, on the contrary, was highly elated at Harvard’s adoption of the
“professional” stroke. Her crew, be it said, was deemed so strong as
to earn the appellation of the “Yale giants,” while Harvard’s was not
only unusually light, but, with two exceptions, was composed of men
who had never before sat in a ’Varsity boat. Save with the brave but
meagre minority who believed in the new régime, up to a week before
the race Yale’s success was a foregone conclusion. Well, the race, as
one disappointed wearer of the blue expressed it, was a “procession.”
Yale, vulgarly speaking, carried the bucket. Harvard jumped into
the lead the moment her oars struck the water, and though averaging
about thirty-four strokes to the minute after the first spurt, to
her opponent’s thirty-seven, increased her lead at every stroke. On
the last mile there were twenty-five boat lengths between the two
crews. Harvard’s rowing was remarked upon, though little understood,
by all who saw the race. So little effort was apparent in her style,
that the uninitiated were at a loss to account for the speed of her
boat. While it was manifest that the “Yale giants” were not as well
trained as the Harvard men, it was palpable to the merest tyro that the
immense distance between the two crews was due to causes other than
the physical condition of the rowers. Although, be it remembered, Yale
had _improved somewhat_ upon the English stroke, yet the laborious
wastefulness of her style was in sharp contrast to the _ease_ and
_dash_ of the Harvard stroke.

The moment Harvard’s blades gripped the water every man in the boat,
with a spring from the stretcher and simultaneous heave of the
shoulders, threw his whole weight into the oar, and kept it there
until the stroke was finished. The blades were covered throughout the
stroke, and remained in the air as short a time as was consistent
with the avoidance of “rushing” the slides. There was hardly the
slightest perceptible “hang” of shoulders or hands at either end of the
stroke. Although the body work was not all that could be desired, the
“watermanship” or action of the blades was as smooth as the stroke of a
piston-rod.

On the other hand, after making all due allowance for the air of
general wretchedness which always surrounds a defeated crew, and for
the halo of perfection about the victors, Yale’s rowing was really bad.
Before the last mile was reached the desperate tugging of her men, the
not infrequent splashing of her oars, and other symptoms of fatigue,
showed plainly that the pace was too hot for her labored style of
rowing. But her reputation for pluck and doggedness was never better
sustained. In spite of the conscious hopelessness of the struggle, her
efforts throughout the race were titanic.

After the race the usual exculpatory rumors developed the intelligence
that the stroke of the Yale crew had been lifted from a sick-bed, and
supported, tottering and nerveless, to his seat in the boat. Either
this was a laudable attempt to apotheosize Mr. Flanders, or else his
powers of recuperation must have been miraculous, for no man ever
pulled a pluckier and more apparently powerful oar.

The next year, 1886, Harvard went down to New London with her
crew of ’85, with a single exception, presumably strengthened by
an additional year’s experience. Yale, on the other hand, had a
comparatively new set of men. The race was the closest for several
years, but ended in the defeat of Harvard by about _five lengths_.
This may seem incomprehensible at first sight, but Harvard labored
under a combination of untoward circumstances, which alone were enough
to account for a defeat of _five lengths_. She was compelled by an
accident which happened to her shell prior to the Columbia race, to
row in an old class tub, which possessed the additional defect of
_shorter slides_ and _outriggers_ than her _style of rowing called
for_. The shorter stroke, which this change necessitated, was visible
to all who saw the race. Add to this the fact that, through Yale’s
aversion to rough water, the race was postponed and rowed up the river
in the evening; that Yale, who had the east side, where the swift
current which with the incoming tide flows up the course for a mile
and a half, was permitted to jump ahead at the start; that Harvard
had the dead water on the west side; that in spite of her rough water
and ill-rigged tub, after Yale had left her lively current, Harvard
gained four or five lengths upon her, and we have sufficient reasons to
account for a defeat of _five lengths_. Nor is this all. The hopes of
the advocates of the English or Bob Cook stroke, so-called, must fall
to the ground like wilted rose-leaves when it is considered that Yale
rowed as _nearly the same stroke_ as Harvard as close attention and the
exercise of some intelligence during a limited time could make it. If
the diligent reader of newspaper interviews doubts this truth he should
have been at the Thames during the race weeks of ’85 and ’86.

In noticeable contrast to her “watermanship” of previous years, and
in a laudable attempt to improve upon it, Yale exaggerated the rather
flat feather of the Harvard oars. But she had almost mastered the idea,
so conspicuously absent in the English stroke, of throwing the whole
weight of the body, the moment the oar gripped the water, directly
against the stretcher. Had the race been rowed in the rough water and
wind of the morning, the exaggerated feather, the noticeably longer
“hang” at both ends of the Yale stroke, and the weaker “finish”--which
last fault must always fail, against a strong wind, to keep the boat
jumping between the strokes--would have conspired to defeat her.

In 1887, Harvard, after winning an exciting victory from the fastest
crew Columbia ever sent out, and lowering the intercollegiate record,
was again defeated by Yale, this time by about seven lengths. Her twice
happy rivals deserved all the approbation showered upon them by their
overjoyed supporters, for their rowing was magnificent. They had almost
the same crew as in the previous year, and had still further modified
their style in conformity with the stroke rowed by Harvard in ’85.
Indeed, to connoisseurs the only perceptible differences between these
two strokes were the longer “hang” of the Yale oars before entering the
water, the slightly stronger “catch,” the slower start of the shoulders
on the “recover,” and the weaker finish. As the wind blew down the
course, these defects did not tell against her. As for her time, it
would have delighted the rhythmic sensibilities of a Wagnerian.

Harvard, on the contrary, through her inability throughout the year
to secure the regular services of a coach, and on account of her
comparatively raw crew, did not adhere as closely in practice as
in theory to the standards of ’85. After the first two miles, the
punishing work her rather young crew[6] had undergone _three days
previously_ in the Columbia race began to tell upon her. They began
to “clip” still more off their already short stroke, and their rowing
became slightly ragged.

These reasons will answer the question, “Why was Harvard defeated _by
seven lengths_?” and, taken in connection with the fact that Yale
rowed in a boat as similarly rigged as Harvard’s as a foot-rule and
the faculty of imitation could make it, will deal a death-blow at any
marked individuality which the Yale or Bob Cook system of rowing may
now be said to possess. Waters, of Troy, is the boat builder to both
colleges. The innuendo, I hope, is quite fathomable.

It is not my intention to cast any slur upon Yale. Indeed, her whole
progressive course under the skillful guidance of Mr. Cook, who knows
a good thing when he sees it, but is not the aquatic god some would
make him, has been marked by rare good judgment. I am merely marshaling
my evidence for a final onslaught upon the system of rowing in vogue
before ’85.

In 1888, a committee of four graduates, only one of whom had rowed
in recent years, was appointed to take charge of boating matters.
Naturally enough they strove to inculcate in the crew those principles
with which they were most familiar, viz., those which pertained to
the English or Bancroft system of rowing. Despite the fact that the
method introduced by Storrow had brought about the overwhelming defeat
of the Yale giants in ’85, despite the manifest adoption by Yale of
the essential features of this method, and her consequent successes,
and despite the marked improvement in the speed of the boat since ’85,
the crew of ’88, we are told, endeavored to “_unlearn the radically
wrong principles_” of the three previous years. The endeavor was
pre-eminently successful, and what was the result? A crushing defeat,
such as had never been seen upon the Thames. At one time in the race
there was almost half a mile between the two crews. Yale, naturally
enough, retained the principles, the efficacy of which she had tested,
and gave even a better exhibition of rowing than the Harvard crew of
’85.

My standpoint is well illustrated by a letter to the New York _Spirit
of the Times_ of September 29th, upon “Why Yale beats Harvard.” The
letter is written by a man “who has done for Harvard good work with
the oar.” Among other good things he says (the italics are my own):
“The Yale and Columbia crews of 1886 beat Harvard _after close races_
because they adopted to a considerable extent the _same system and
ideas_ that Storrow had taught Harvard the year before. Yale beat
Harvard again last year because she still believed in and practiced
the same system, while Harvard seemed to have _endeavored to forget
as much of it as possible_. The _contrast_ between the styles of
rowing of the Harvard and Yale crews in the race was _most striking_.
The Yale crew carefully covered their oars at the beginning of the
stroke, and kept them covered to the end, maintaining a firm pressure
throughout, the appearance of their oars in the water reminding the
observer of the Harvard crew of ’85, but otherwise their work was far
superior to the Storrow crew. The Harvard crew seemed to have forgotten
the accepted principles that govern the management of the oar in the
water; their blades made a _complete circle_, and but a _small arc_ of
its circumference entered the water, the oar being _fully covered but
an instant of time_. In their _body work they followed the principles
taught by Bancroft_, but did not attain the smoothness which Bancroft
himself, and his more skillful pupils acquired. In this respect they
_tried to follow the English system_, and seemed to _have adopted the
English style of rigging_, for their slides were noticeably shorter
than those of the Yale crew. The whole course of the committee clearly
showed their incompetency to direct the crew.” And again: “It is
reported that before coming to New London they rowed a series of races
with a scratch crew, composed of substitutes and old rowing-men about
Boston, and _were beaten again and again_, although the men in the
scratch crew _had never before sat together in a boat_.”

Rather a striking coincidence with the feat of the ’78 crew who rowed
the same stroke, is it not?

So much for what the history of college boating during the past five
years can show. The supporters of the English system of rowing are
welcome to any solace they may derive from a perusal of it.

It seems incredible that any doubt as to the superiority of one system
of rowing over the other should still linger in the minds of Harvard
men.

But the result of last year’s race leaves them, no doubt, “more
troubled than the Egyptians in a fog.”

To be continued.

[Illustration]

[6] The average age of the Harvard crew was about 21, the stroke
being 18; while Yale’s average was about 24, her stroke being
29.

[Illustration: STATE-COACH OF QUEEN ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND.]

COACHING AND COACHING CLUBS.

BY CHARLES S. PELHAM-CLINTON.

[Illustration]

In “Tom Brown’s Schooldays,” that ever-popular book, there is a sketch
of coaching which stands unequaled for concise and graphic description,
and which will bear repetition. Tom was starting for Rugby by the
coach, and his father is seeing him off. They hear the ring and rattle
of the four fast trotters and the town-made drag, as it dashes up to
the “Peacock.”

“‘Anything for us, Bob?’ says the burly guard, dropping down from
behind and slapping himself across the chest.

“‘Young gen’l’m’n, Rugby; three parcels, Leicester; hamper o’ game,
Rugby,’ answers the hostler.

“‘Tell young gent to look alive,’ says the guard, opening the hind-boot
and shooting in the parcels, after examining them by the lamps. ‘Here,
shove the portmanteau up atop--I’ll fasten him presently. Now then,
sir, jump up behind.’

“‘Good-bye, father--my love at home.’ A last shake of the hand. Up goes
Tom, the guard catching his hat-box and holding on with one hand, while
with the other he claps the horn to his mouth. Toot, toot, toot! The
hostlers let go their heads, the four bays plunge at the collar, and
away goes the ‘Tally-ho’ into the darkness, forty-five seconds from the
time they pulled up.”

Considerable more romance about this than a departure from the Grand
Central or Jersey City depots. There was much fun on the road in those
days, and the jehu generally had a stock of old jokes that he let off
at the box-seat passenger day after day. For instance, a crusty and
stingy old curmudgeon who had neglected to “dampen the whistle” of
the driver in the proper fashion, and who grumbled at the wet weather,
would be greeted with, “Why don’t you invest a penny in a Yarmouth
bloater? and you’ll be dry all day, I’ll warrant.” Things are more
staid now, and the Irish coachman who demanded “Shall I pay the ‘pike’
or drive at it?” is happily gathered to his fathers, and life and limb
are in the hands of a less humorous but more sober set of drivers.

From one source I learn coaches were first introduced into England in
1580 by Fitzallan, Earl of Arundel, before which time the customary
mode of travel was on horseback. The Queen used to ride on a pillion
behind her chamberlain. Another history says that in 1564, Booner, a
Dutchman, became Queen Elizabeth’s coachman, proving that she must have
had a coach. In 1619, however, things had so improved that Buckingham
drove a coach and six.

A very authentic history says that the first coach in England was built
in 1555, for the Earl of Rutland, by Walter Rippon. This maker must
have been the Brewster of his day, as he made a coach for Queen Mary,
and in 1564 built a state-coach for Queen Elizabeth, presumably the one
that the above Booner drove. Hackney-coaches came into vogue in 1605,
and in 1640 the stage-coach was first adopted. It was built to carry
six or eight persons, and was hung upon leather straps.

In 1662 six stage-coaches were running, and in 1673 stage communication
was started between Exeter and Chester and London. No less an authority
than Sir Walter Scott says that in 1755 the speed of a stage was
frequently but four miles an hour. A year previous to this, however,
steel springs had been invented, and in 1784 it is authentically
stated that the average speed was eight miles an hour. Prior to this
rapid increase of speed, the Lord Mayor of London’s state-coach
was built in 1757, and weighed the trifle of three tons, sixteen
hundred-weight. In 1762 a royal state-coach was built for George
III. which weighed four tons, and which is still used on full state
occasions, being drawn by eight cream-colored horses.

Through the efforts of Mr. John Palmer, M.P. for Bath, in 1784 the
mails were entrusted to the care of the coaches, the first mail-coach
leaving London on the 8th of August of that year. Until 1834 the
mail-coaches were not allowed to carry more than three outside
passengers, while the ordinary stages carried four inside and fourteen
outside.

[Illustration: STATE-COACH OF KING CHARLES II. OF ENGLAND.]

It was at this period that gentlemen began to “tool” not only their own
but public coaches, and the amusement, which in many cases combines
business with pleasure, has been continued ever since. Smedley, the
novelist, creates a character in “Frank Fairleigh,” under the name of
the Hon. George Lawless, who shows how thirty to fifty years ago this
fashion had come into vogue.

The spirit of the times was such that in 1807 the first club was
established, under the name of the Bensington (_Oxonicé_ Benson)
Driving Club, the number of members being limited to twenty-five. There
were four meets in a year--two at the White Hart, Bensington, near
Oxford, and two at the Black Dog, Bedfont, near Hounslow. There was no
annual subscription; but each member paid £10 on his election. After
the first sixteen years of the club’s life, the meetings were entirely
confined to Bedfont, as being more easy of access. Here it was that
the wine of the club was kept, and hence it was that, after dining,
the members “dashed home in a style of speed and splendor equal to the
spirit and judgment displayed by the noble, honorable, and respective
drivers.” Among these were the “Squire of Squerries,” the father of
fox-hunting; Sir Henry Peyton, who, like his descendant Sir Thomas,
drove grays, and introduced the second ferrule on the whip; the Marquis
of Worcester, Sir Bellingham Graham, Mr. Charles Jones, and Mr. John
Walker, who drove the Bognor coach.

[Illustration: COLONEL DELANCY KANE’S FOUR-IN-HAND.]

This was very quickly followed by the Four-Horse Club, founded in
1808 by Mr. Charles Buxton, which existed only about twenty years.
The members included Mr. Warde, Sir John Peyton, Lord Anson, the
Marquis of Worcester, Sir Bellingham Graham, Lord Sefton, and a host
of others. This body used to meet twice a month in Cavendish Square,
and its meetings, wrote “Nimrod,” were “perhaps objectionable as making
unnecessary parade.” What would he have said of the Magazine meets? The
Four-Horse Club was also known as the Barouche Club, and, according
to “Nimrod,” as the Whip Club; but Lord William Lennox would seem
to imply that the Whip Club was a distinct society, inasmuch as it
used to meet in Park Lane and drive to Harrow-on-the-Hill, instead
of meeting in Cavendish Square and driving to Salt Hill, as was the
custom of the Four-Horse members. In “Hit and Miss” Charles Mathews
caricatured the many-pocketed drab coat, with its buttons the size of
a crown piece; the blue waistcoat, with its inch-wide yellow stripes;
the plush breeches, and the three-and-a-half-inch hat, that formed the
club uniform; and the celebrated comedian offended many of the foremost
coaching men by the travesty. Joey Grimaldi also made capital out of
this somewhat startling dress. A drab coat was formed out of a blanket,
a purloined cabbage was used as a bouquet, plates formed the buttons of
the coat; the opportune appearance of a cradle and four cheeses enabled
a coach to be built, while a toy-shop furnished four blotting-paper
horses.

[Illustration: THE FOUR-IN-HANDS IN CENTRAL PARK.]

[Illustration: FAMILY TRAVELING COACH, 17TH CENTURY.]

About 1820 the Four-Horse Club came to an end, but was resuscitated
about two years later, only to be dissolved again.

The Bensington Driving Club kept on, and was joined, in 1838, by the
Richmond Driving Club, under the presidency of Lord Chesterfield.
The meets of this club took place at Chesterfield House, and the
destination of the club was Richmond. The R. D. C., however, only had
a short life, and the parent society, the B. D. C., was alone in its
glory till 1852, when it came to an end.

Then came an interregnum of about four years, until it occurred to
the late Mr. William Morritt, of roans and yellow coach celebrity, to
establish the Four-in-Hand Driving Club--this is its real name--of
which the Duke of Beaufort and the late Sir Watkin Wynn were original
members. In 1870 the Coaching Club was started, and this completes
the list of clubs--past and present--formed in England for the
encouragement of the difficult art of driving four-in-hand. On the
books of these societies are to be found the names of all the best
coachmen of the time; and it may be doubted whether the institutions
of the present day may not fairly anticipate a longer life than was
vouchsafed to their predecessors.

For some time it was a legitimate boast that no other country could
show a sight equal to the English coaching meets; but the monopoly in
that, as in other lines connected with sport and pastime, is at an end.

Sundry attempts, but wholly unsuccessful ones, have been made to
organize meets of other vehicles than coaches. Once there was a meet of
tandems in Hyde Park, but it was a sorry exhibition. Then a sleighing
meet was tried; but the only result of the venture was to show that
England is not quite the place for an experiment of that kind. Later
came the meet of trotters, a yet more ludicrous affair, so it is only
necessary for some one to organize a meet of “pickaxe” teams, to have
introduced to the British public every variety of driving not in common
use.

So much for coaching in England. In America its history does not
run back quite so far; but, in 1697, John Clapp, a New York Bowery
innkeeper, is recorded as having a hackney-coach built for him, and
must be booked as the first of the “cabbies” whose extortion give New
York such a name among travelers.

We hear of the first private carriage in 1745. In 1750, the Rev. Mr.
Burnaby, writing of New York, mentions Italian chaises as the proper
means of conveyance in his time, excepting in Virginia, where coaches
were used and required six horses to drag them. They require that
number now in most parts of that State, particularly in the winter and
spring.

Boston is said to have had a stage in 1661, and in the middle of the
eighteenth century a stage-line was established between that city and
New York. Stages were, however, very little in use until 1786, at which
time there were only three carriage builders in New York. The “boom”
must have commenced about then, as I learn from an article on coaching,
written by Miss Jennie J. Young some fifteen years ago, that during
the next three years the number had trebled, and that there were five
livery yards as well.

[Illustration: TRAVELING COACH, 18TH CENTURY.]

During the next two decades the number had grown to twenty-nine, which
would have been further increased had it not been for the enormous
cost of production, a complaint that prevails a hundred years later.
Most people, therefore, imported their coaches. Among these was
Washington. Mr. J. T. Watson describes his coach as follows: “It was
cream-colored, globular in its shape and capacious within, ornamented
in the French style with cupids supporting festoons and wreaths of
flowers emblematically arranged along the panel-work, the figures and
flowers beautifully covered with fine glass, very white and dazzling to
the eye of youth and simplicity in such matters. It was drawn sometimes
by four, but in common by two, very elegant Virginia bays, with long
switch tails and splendid harness, and driven by a German, tall and
muscular, possessing an aquiline nose.” A handsome vehicle in its time,
no doubt, but one that would appear as an advance guard of Barnum’s in
these days of workmanlike simplicity.

A less gorgeous vehicle, but equally curious, was lately, Miss Young
says, in the possession of Brewster, of Broome Street. “It was built
in 1801 by Leslie, of London, and was brought to this country on
the occasion of a matrimonial alliance between the families of Van
Rensselaer and of Vischer. The body is painted yellow, and on the
panels are the arms of both families. The lining is green. The wheels
are high, and the body, instead of being let down between them, is kept
as far from the ground as possible. The driver’s seat is also pushed up
to the highest possible altitude.”

At the commencement of this century three stages were enough for the
requirements of the travelers from and to this city. One of these ran
from the corner of Wall and New streets to Greenwich, and the other
ran from the Bull’s Head to Harlem and Manhattanville respectively.
Twenty-five years made a vast difference in the travel by road, and
the country roads being improved a large number of coaches left this
city daily, among them being daily mails to Albany, Philadelphia,
Westchester and Danbury; and there was a day mail between this city
and Boston. This did not last long, as the advent of steam-cars sent
the coaches to the rightabout, or relegated them to the interior where
steam had not penetrated.

Then came a long period before the time-honored sport was renewed.

It is said that in 1860 there was only one private four-in-hand in
the Union, which was of English build, and belonged to Mr. T. Bigelow
Lawrence, of Boston. It eventually passed, on his death, into the hands
of Brewster & Co. While in their hands it attracted the attention of
Col. William Jay and Mr. Thomas Newbold, and was purchased by them, the
copartnership being increased by Mr. Frederick Bronson and Mr. Kane.
Three years later, in 1863, Wood Brothers built a coach for Mr. Leonard
Jerome; Mr. August Belmont imported one from England, and during the
next decade coaches were imported by Mr. Bronson, Col. Delancy Kane,
and Mr. James Gordon Bennett, whose importation was afterward purchased
by Mr. William P. Douglas.

Curiously enough, the organization of the Coaching Club was started
abroad, several gentlemen, among whom were Col. Delancy Kane and Col.
W. Jay, being the prime movers in this idea. In 1875 the organization
was effected. The first parade was held in 1876, and six coaches made
their appearance. Many of the names that were included on the roll in
the first year are still represented on the box-seat; Mr. Frederick
Bronson and Col. William Jay were, however, the only two who put
in an appearance at the meet last May. The others are James Gordon
Bennett, William P. Douglas, Leonard Jerome, Delancy Kane, Nicholson
Kane, Thomas Newbold, and Mr. Thorndike Rice. This list was speedily
augmented, and included August Belmont, senior and junior, Hugo S.
Fritsch, George R. Fearing, Theodore A. Havemeyer, G. G. Haven,
Frederick Neilson, Fairman Rogers, Francis R. Rives, G. P. Wetmore,
Pierre Lorillard, Augustine Whiting, and Augustus Schermerhorn--all
names that are interesting to students of the history of the sports of
the past twenty-five years.

The membership was originally twenty-five, but so popular has the club
become that it has been deemed advisable to increase the number, and
the limit now stands at forty-five, with only one vacancy, and plenty
of applicants. The uniform consists of a dark green cut-away coat with
brass buttons, and a yellow striped waistcoat, the buttons bearing
the initials C. C., and having the bars as a design. The club only
comes before the public twice a year, one of these occasions being the
annual meet in the Park, and another being the annual drive to some
spot within about fifty miles of New York. At these times the club is
greeted by a large portion of the New York public, and when the weather
favors the annual meet it takes all the energies of the “sparrow
police” to keep the road clear for the coaches.

Very few of the members have ever driven public coaches, so the rule
that obliges members of the English coaching clubs to have previously
driven a public coach, would be prohibitory here. Col. Delancy Kane
is about the only member that has done so in England, and he was,
with Colonel Jay, Theodore Roosevelt and Frederick Bronson, the prime
mover in the “Tantivy” which ran for several seasons from the Hotel
Brunswick to the Country Club at Pelham. Last year Mr. Hugo Fritsch and
Mr. Frederick Bronson ran this venture, but I fancy that the returns
were by no means commensurate with the expenses, and that they lost
money. It seems a pity that no one is public-spirited enough to follow
in their footsteps, as after all the expense is not so very vast, and
it would give the prestige that many strive for in other ways. Colonel
William Jay was the first president of the club, and he still retains
that position, leading the van in the parades, and sits at the head of
the table at the dinner which follows.

The parades have been attended with very few accidents, and indeed the
whole history of amateur coaching in America is singularly devoid of
exciting incidents. The Central Park gates are wider than those of Hyde
Park, and the example of a noble lord who not very long since took a
wheel off and quietly “dumped” his load on the sidewalk, has not as yet
been emulated. I have heard of a case in which a four-in-hand and a
street-car tried conclusions to the detriment of the former, and one or
two of the starts at Jerome have been fraught with considerable peril
to those who were on the coach. Fortune favors the brave, however, and
Jerome luckily has not such a tremendous hill on the way home as has
Goodwood, the historic racecourse situated above the beautiful park of
the Duke of Richmond and Gordon. To this course some thirty private
four-in-hands make the trip from the different country houses and towns
in the neighborhood.

[Illustration: “THE CAMBRIDGE TELEGRAPH,” WHITE HORSE TAVERN, FETTER
LANE, LONDON.]

About ten years back, Lord Charles Beresford, of “Condor” fame, was
driving his coach home from these races; on the seat beside him was
Lady Folkestone, and another lady was among those behind. When a couple
of hundred yards through the park had been compassed, a sudden block
occurred on the road, and Lord Charles, to save running into some of
the carriages in front, swung off the road onto the grass. The jerk
broke the chain of the “skid,” and the coach ran away with the horses.
The hill at this point is very steep, and the pace was simply terrific.
The coach swayed from side to side, but did not turn over; the horses
were going at a mad gallop, and a stumble meant instant death to all.
Down the hill they plunged, Lady Folkestone never moving or saying a
word, and the rest of the party, with teeth set, grimly facing the
end that seemed inevitable. The bottom of the hill came at last, and
over the rolling sward tore the horses. Finally, about a mile and a
half from the bottom, they came to a stand, not a strap broken, and
no damage of any kind done. Lord Charles could not release his hands
from the reins, and they had to be forced from him. Since then he can
never depend on them, as any strain seems to paralyze him, and at one
or two meets of the Coaching Club he has been obliged to relinquish the
“ribbons” in consequence of the horses’ pulling. This all reads like
a traveler’s yarn to those who do not know the steepness of the hill;
but Lord Charles told it to me himself, and added that the only thing
lost was the whip. This could hardly occur at Jerome, as there are no
precipices to encounter.

The annual drive of the Coaching Club is quite a feature, and some very
charming trips have been made. Last year the chosen spot was “Idle
Hour,” the beautiful country seat of Mr. William K. Vanderbilt, at
Oakdale, L. I. The start was made on June 2, at 9.30 ~A. M.~,
from the Brunswick Hotel, Col. Jay “handling the ribbons.” Idle Hour
was reached by six ~P. M.~ Changes were made at Flushing,
Lakeville, Garden City, Belmore, Amityville, Bayshore, and Islip; the
different gentlemen horsing the coach and driving the several stages
being Messrs. F. A. Havemeyer, F. Bronson, A. Belmont, Jr., Delancy
Kane, and Prescott Lawrence. The return journey was made on Monday,
the changes being made at the same places, and at six o’clock, dusty
and thirsty, the members of the C. C. drew up at the door of the
Brunswick. It was the eleventh annual drive of the club, the other
places visited having been the country seats of A. J. Cassatt and of
Fairman Rogers, at Philadelphia; Mr. Frederick Bronson, at Greenwich
Hill, Conn.; Mr. Francis Rives, at Cornwall-on-the-Hudson; Col.
William Jay, at Bedford, N. J.; Theodore Havemeyer, at Mawah, N. J.;
Pierre Lorillard, at Rancocas, N. J.; Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, at Hyde
Park, and Mr. Schermerhorn, at Lenox, Mass. The trip made in 1878 to
Philadelphia was a long one, the entire ninety miles being accomplished
in about seven hours and a half. The route was divided into nine
stopping-places, these being Newark, Rahway, Signboard, Six Mile Run,
Princeton, Trenton, Hulmeville and Holmesburg--the drivers being Col.
Delancy Kane, F. R. Rives, P. Belmont, Jr., T. A. Havemeyer, G. P.
Wetmore, Hugo O. Fritsch, F. Bronson, G. R. Fearing, and Fairman Rogers.

The meets which take place on the last Saturday in May have for the
two past years been subject to atmospheric depression, which has had
a deteriorating effect on the attendance and on the spirits of those
present; but, rain or no rain, the meet takes place. Only seven coaches
were in line last year, which shows that, however much the “art” may be
appreciated in New York, the increase in the number of coaches during
the past decade has hardly kept up with the corresponding increase in
the membership of the club.

Colonel Jay drove a pair of useful golden chestnut wheelers and gray
and roan leaders to his red and yellow coach. His leaders were not
quite as showy as the gray and chestnut leaders that he had last year.
Dr. Seward Webb’s coach was black and yellow, his horses being four
well-matched chestnuts. Mr. Prescott Lawrence’s coach has a primrose
body with yellow carriage, and his cross-team of chestnut and brown
wheelers, with roan and gray leaders, were as good as any on the
ground. Mr. Fairman Rogers drove bays and grays, and Mr. Hugo Fritsch’s
coach was drawn by brown and bay wheelers and bay and roan leaders. Mr.
E. N. Padelford deserted the traditions of the club and brought a “stag
party” in his white and blue coach horsed by four bays. Mr. Frederick
Bronson had a useful pair of brown wheelers with chestnut and brown
leaders. Weather has a great deal to do with these parades, and there
seemed a lack of enthusiasm on the part of the spectators, and a lack
of the pleasurable animation on the part of those on the coaches, which
is necessary to make a meet of the Coaching Club a perfect success.

Let us hope, in the interest of this grand sport, that the sun may
shine very brightly on the last Saturday of next May, that the number
of coaches be quadrupled, and that all the beauty of New York occupy
the seats on the tops of the different drags.

SALMON FISHING ON LOCH TAY.

BY “ROCKWOOD.”

~Partridges~ and pheasants have just come under the protection
of the Close Time Act, and the gun has been laid in its old place
on the rack, there to remain till the 12th of August, when the
grouse-shooting opens; the greyhound courser is thinking of the near
approach of Waterloo, when, on the plains of Altcar, at Liverpool, the
Blue Riband of the Leash will be fought for amongst the cracks of the
“longtails;” the fox-hunters of the shires are hard at it and keen as
ever, though their horses are leg-weary and suffering from overreaching
and attendant sprains of the sinews, when we fly north from London by
the London and Northwestern Railway _en route_ to Loch Tay for the
early spring salmon fishing.

Every Scottish lake has had its poet. Scott and Christopher North have
in prose celebrated the praises of Loch Lomond. The Gaelic bards, like
Robb Donn Mackay, have sung of Loch Maree, the silent and majestic,
beloved of all the lakes by Her Majesty the Queen; but Loch Tay is
the loch of the angler and the sportsman. It is, _par excellence_,
_the lake home_ of the Scottish salmon, that fish which, viking-like,
cruises annually along the west side of the German Ocean, and with
health and vigor charges mill-lades, linns, weirs, and a hundred other
obstacles, with all the fury of a Highlandman on a battle-field,
and not a little of the Celt’s cunning in dodging round the ends of
stake-nets on his return to his native waters.

The Purdies and the Kers of the Border may swear by the superior charms
of killing “a guid Tweed fush.” On the Solway Dee they will contest
for the merits of their own waters, and where the Dee of Aberdeenshire
sweeps through the woods of Invercauld and down under the shadow of
the windows of Balmoral, the Farquharsons and the Gordons, adepts at
throwing a long fly, will hold in contempt the anglers of less favored
streams. Each riverman has his opinion, yet all are agreed that Loch
Tay is the premier fishing loch.

[Illustration: “FROM KENMORE TO KILLIN.”]

This magnificent sheet of water drains, by means of the rivers Dochart
and Lochy, the large range of hills which guard central Scotland from
the storms which sweep across the Atlantic past the North of Ireland,
and to whose accompaniment of heavy seas Mull, Skye, and other of the
Hebridean islands form a huge breakwater. Loch Awe takes the drainage
of the west water-shed, the river Awe carrying it through the Pass of
Brander to the Atlantic. Loch Tay gathers all on the east and north
and carries it by means of the silver Tay right across Scotland to the
German Ocean, through varied and unsurpassed scenes of beauty. Onward
the river flows, under the walls of stately mansions, once the homes of
fierce chieftains, now the residences of enthusiastic sportsmen. Among
these the most noted is Murthly Castle, where Sir John Millais every
year makes known to the salmon the lightness of the hand required to
successfully apply a brush to canvas.

[Illustration: THE BOATS STARTING--KILLIN.]

But the train whirls northward, through counties renowned in hunting
song, past old coaching “half-way” houses, famous in the history of
the English mail coach. Here the travelers of sixty years ago used to
hold merry jinks, whilst the coachman fretted and the guard shouted
and four good steeds pawed the sward, anxious to start on the next
stage. On between blazing furnaces, the coal ground of the iron horse,
past reeking coal pits. Descending those dark shafts and traveling
along every corner of the mine, you will find British sportsmen, each
as ready and as enthusiastic in backing a horse or a greyhound as his
master, the wealthy mine owner and member of the Jockey Club. Over
the Cumberland hills, where wrestling is still the favorite pastime,
as in days of yore, to merry Carlisle, that old English border-town
which was the scene of many a fierce battle between Scotch and English.
Skirting Gretna Green, where runaway couples were hitched tight by the
old blacksmith in the days when marriages were made more binding than
now, Bectloch summit is crossed, and soon the train crosses the Clyde
valley. At Stirling Junction carriages have to be changed, and while
the setting sun is gilding the western sky, we dip from Killin old
station, beyond Callande, down into the lovely valley of the Dochart,
to Killin, the capital of Breadalbane and the head fishing quarters
of Loch Tay; and this, too, only twelve hours after leaving Euston
Station, London.

All the time the talk has been of fish and fishing-rods, of big fish
that were caught and the far bigger fish that escaped. The angling
romancer has a special license as regards story-telling. Rarely,
indeed, does he fail to take full advantage of his privilege. But in
the journey up the talk has been all of the past; now it is all of the
future; the hope is of the morrow.

Stewart, the landlord of “The Royal,” is too busy looking to the
comfort of his guests to answer all the questions so eagerly put by
the new-comers; but the boatmen of the lake stand near, ready to shake
hands with old patrons and to tell them that in the late floods “the
fish have jist been literally croodin’ into the loch, till there’s
scarcely room for them unless they lie heids and thraws [head and foot]
like bairns in a bed.” The Scottish boatman does not promise so much
as his Irish brother, who said that the snipe in the bog were “jist
jostlin’ wan another, sir,” but he does not find it advantageous to
damp your spirits with prospects of indifferent sport. A shilling or
so will make them happy enough in the back bar of the hotel. There,
in Gaelic, they will hook and kill salmon which they gaffed long ago
for old sportsmen long since dead, for the ranks of _the_ opening-day
fishers of Loch Tay have of late been very much thinned of veterans.

Before breakfast the early-rising angler will have time to explore
Killin, which is beautifully situated within the peninsula formed
by the confluence of the rivers Dochart and Lochy. The great Dr.
McCulloch, most charming of all writers on Scottish landscape, says:
“Killin is the most extraordinary collection of extraordinary scenery
in all Scotland; unlike everything else in the country and perhaps on
earth, and a perfect picture gallery in itself, since you cannot move
three yards without meeting a new landscape. A busy artist might here
draw a month and not exhaust it. Fir-trees, rocks, torrents, mills,
bridges, houses--these produce the great bulk of the middle landscape,
under endless combinations; while the distances more constantly are
found in the surrounding hills, in their varied woods, in the bright
expanse of the lake and the minute ornaments of the distant valley, in
the rocks and bold summit of Craig-Cailliach, and in the lofty vision
of Ben Lawers, which towers like a huge giant in the clouds--monarch
of the scene.” This picture we can endorse, having seen Killin in all
seasons of the year, when the Dochart in spate was foaming and churning
among the rocks and the tree-roots of the numerous wooded islands;
where the bluebell and fox-glove bloomed bonnily on the banks of the
Lochy in early summer, and again where the red glow on the upper
mountain betokened that the grouse-hiding heather was in full bell. But
the angler loves it best when Ben Lawers has on his nightcap of snow.
No matter though a snow-shower sweeps like spin-drift before a squall
and makes him shiver as he watches the rods at the stern, if he have
the shelter of the bays and the “saumont” is in a taking mood.

But the “halesome parritch” is reeking on the breakfast table, and
every angler, be he Scotchman or not, will be wise if he puts the
contents of a “coggie” and some rich milk from a Highland cow within
him. They will keep heart in him and cold without all day, besides
“man,” as his boatman will tell him, “they mak’ gran’ bottoming for
the whisky ane maun keep drinking.” Breakfast over, the boats are soon
manned where they lie at the lochy a few minutes’ walk from the hotel
door. This leads to a description of the system of fishing which is
pursued on the lake.

Except the reserved water of the Marquis of Breadalbane, the
proprietor, who keeps a favorite portion for himself and his guests,
the rights belong to the hotel proprietors, whose houses are situated
on the lake. Kenmore Hotel has four boats and about eight miles of
water at the east end of the loch, and across its whole breadth. Killin
Hotel has six boats, and its beat extends to about eight miles, also
across the whole breadth. Bridge of Lochay Inn, with three boats, has
the same water as the Killin Hotel. Ardenaig Inn has two boats, and
Lawers Inn, at the foot of Ben Lawers, two boats. The regulations at
these hotels are the same, each boat being allowed to carry only two
rods at £5 per week, or 25 shillings a day; if two anglers are in one
boat, at 30 shillings a day, all fish caught to be the property of the
angler. Two boatmen are necessary, and these are paid 3s. 8d. per day,
the angler allowing them luncheon only when he feels so disposed. This,
no doubt, looks very costly, but when the sport obtained is considered,
in reality it seems very cheap. Take the following score made by Mr. I.
Watson Lyall, made through the favor of Lord Breadalbane a few years
ago:

Feb. 5.--Opening day, after two o’clock ~P. M.~,
8 salmon, 28, 23, 23, 21, 20, 19,
18 and 16 lbs. 168

Feb. 6.--6 salmon, 32, 20, 20, 18, 19, 17 lbs. 126

Feb. 7.--4 salmon, 20, 19, 23 and 18 lbs. 80

Feb. 8.--Weather too stormy for fishing. --

Feb. 9.--6 salmon, 32, 17, 22, 19, 21, 17 lbs. 128

Feb. 10.--Stopped at two o’clock, 2 salmon,
30 and 19 lbs. 49
---
Total for five days’ fishing, 26 salmon,
weight lbs. 551

Not bad fishing that, and far from costly when salmon is selling in
London at two shillings per pound.

[Illustration: “HE LOOPED THE LINE ONTO THE OTHER ROD.”]

The fish, which rarely weigh under twenty pounds, fight strongly,
and carry out as much as eighty yards of line at a single rush, so
that they always give magnificent sport before being landed. For
some reason or other which cannot be explained, they will not rise to
the fly. Phantom minnows of the ordinary form are used, with small
screw-propellers at the nose to make them spin, and the better they
spin the more likely is the angler to be successful. On arrival at the
fishing-ground, the rods, which as a rule are fourteen feet long, are
fixed in little forked rests and so made to point sternward at an angle
over the gunwale. Forty yards of line are let out to trail (some allow
as many as sixty yards), and a small stone is placed upon a part of
the line under each of the rods. When these stones are jerked off, the
watchful angler knows that he is fast in a fish. There are, of course,
certain favorite bits of water, and these the boatmen take the rods
over with great care.

[Illustration: “WAS OBLIGED TO SIT DOWN WITH SUCH A STORM ON.”]

The Loch Tay tackle has for some reason or other remained very heavy,
and so boats cannot be taken close inshore for fear of the lines
fouling the rocks or the weeds, which grow in many places in rich
profusion at the bottom. And yet in these waters, near the shore, the
most of the salmon are to be found lying in wait for food. Last year
the heaviest salmon of the year--a magnificent forty-pounder--was
caught with the lightest tackle and lightest rod ever used, and so
there is very likely to be a considerable reform in Loch Tay trolling
rods within the next few years. The capture of this fish is worth
relating.

Mr. Geen, of Richmond, Surrey, a famous angler of southern waters, had
determined to use the very finest tackle, notwithstanding remonstrances
from fellow-anglers and boatmen. He made up his mind that with lighter
tackle he could “troll” his phantom a few feet nearer the surface than
with heavy tackle, an undoubted advantage in the bays, and that with
a line less likely to be seen a fish was far more likely to take the
bait. A light rod, he moreover thought, would kill a fish once caught,
quicker than one which had neither spring nor balance, so he used
what might be classed as an ordinary fly trouting rod of cane, with
greenheart top. All the epithets of derision to be found in the Gaelic
dialect were hurled at this determined innovation. Mark the sequel, and
with it the adventure, one of the greatest feats of perseverance with a
salmon under difficulties ever known in any angling water.

One of those sudden squalls which come down on Loch Tay and raise lumpy
water in the centre came up. To seek shelter from it, he directed his
two Highland boatmen to keep as near the shore as possible, so as to
come circling round on the landward side of the fleet. This was close
to a bold bluff known as Fat Man’s Rock. It was well on to five o’clock
in the afternoon, and he had not struck a fish. Suddenly the stone
sprang off the line under his inner rod as the boat swept round, and
the reel began to run with a desperate speed and noise.

“We have got hold of the county,” said his boatmen--this being an
ironical way of saying that he had hooked the land.

“No, we’ve not; it’s a fish,” said Mr. Geen, seizing the rod.

A fish, and a good one it was, too, for away it went seaward for 100
yards with a rush which staggered the boat, and then, salmon-like,
jumped into the air. It was not long, however, before it returned to
the place it was hooked, and here it began to be most troublesome
among the rocks. These troubles, however, were small compared with
what were to follow. As they reached deeper water again, his holder
began to handle with much success, apparently, for he got him almost
within reach of the gaff. _Almost_, but unfortunately _not quite_.
James reached out, but miscalculated his distance, caught the line,
and Mr. Geen felt something slip. His heart fell. Was he free? No! for
immediately the music of the reel was heard again, and he was off, this
time right to the bottom, sunk like a newly harpooned whale. There he
assumed the customary sulky disposition. In vain they tried to drop
stones on him. He was fully sixty yards down, and the stones no doubt
never dropped near him. The weight of the rod was tried on him, with
the result that six feet broke off at the top.

[Illustration: “HE WAS CAUGHT IN THE BACK FIN.”]

Darkness was now gathering, and the boats were crowding down homeward
to Killin and the Lochy Hotel. There was little sympathy on the part of
boatmen and sportsmen for the gentleman with the light tackle and the
cane rod. Some said he had hold of “the county,” others that his fish
was a small one, too much for his rod, and some betted him two to one
that he would not get it. One gentleman hailed him and said: “I will
stand by you all night, and watch the result.” This gentleman, though
he had not touched a fish for three days, was rewarded in the next five
minutes by a salmon on his own line--the recompense of true sympathy
with a fellow sportsman.

But what was to be done, and how was the rod to be mended? “Row quietly
out, James, so that I may cut all my trolling line” (the line which is
used outside the boat), “and I will put him on the other rod.” This
was slowly done, till the line was fastened quietly on the second
rod; though for precaution it was still, for the time, kept fast on
the broken rod. The broken rod was then slipped by cutting off the
connection, and once more Mr. Geen was prepared to fight in earnest,
but this time against almost pitch darkness.

“We maun raise him, sir; he’s a deed fish,” said James; “he’s like a
stane at the bottom.”

Inch by inch for sixty yards of line did James draw him up. At last he
said: “I have come to the first swivel.” Still no fish showed the white
of its belly. Up and up an inch or two more, and then--

“She’s gone, James!” said the holder of the rod, breathless with
excitement, as the boatman made a lightning movement.

“Yes, sir. Give him the gaff!” and the next instant the magnificent
fish was in the boat. Yes, there he was, _hooked by the back fin_. No
wonder, indeed, that he was hard to lift. The reason that he had been
hooked foul was because he had somehow got a turn or two of the line
round his body, and while the hook had been jerked out of his mouth at
the first time of gaffing, it slipped round and fouled him.

It was eight o’clock when the boat got back to Killin, and the whole
village, man, woman and child, turned out to learn of this wonderful
exploit, which will long be talked of on Loch Tay side.

Because Mr. Geen fought and killed this salmon successfully, it would
be absurd to argue that all men who fish under the shadow of Ben Lawers
should follow his example and fish with tackle of the finest quality,
and rods as springy as a tandem whip. It will be argued by many that
the difficulties in landing the fish were partly his own creation,
_i. e._, the use of a rod which was not equal to the heaviest Loch Tay
fish. We have had the pleasure of handling the rod, which is one of
Canter’s best make. We have no hesitation in saying that though a lady
might handle it without fatigue, it would prove far more fatiguing to a
fish than the stiff rods at present in use on the lake. A salmon would
come quicker within reach of the gaff when such a rod were wielded by
good hands--and a man with bad hands will never make a good steersman
or a clever man on horseback.

An invention made by Mr. Geen we liked much. It is a telescopic extra
length of rod which drops off when the butt is seized and a fish is
about to be played. This arrangement permits the point of the rod, in
trolling, to be lowered, so that the angle between the phantom and the
point is made more oblique, and the more oblique the angle is made
the higher in the water will remain the lure. This is a matter of the
utmost importance with revolving baits, as the screw will not work
at times unless kept going almost parallel to the waterline, and the
illusion remains incomplete. If any one is exercised in his mind about
this, let him take a phantom and attach head and tail to something
which will whirl round at the rate of six or eight revolutions
per second, and he will understand the necessity. Hooks and all
disappear, and you see but a small fish, and so does the salmon. Stop
the revolutions and you see a fish with hooks, barbs, and everything
else. I believe the double-screw propeller, which I saw some years
ago, though not successful when applied to ships, would do well for
phantoms, as giving one extra spin. However, it might raise the Gaelic
bile to say too much, and when that is raised there are more than
broken rods flying about.

[Illustration: “THEY HEAVED HIM UP INCH BY INCH.”]

When the fishing on Loch Tay palls on the angler, he may have some
capital off-days in the neighborhood, a drive up Glenlocky being a
favorite. The hotel is noted for its good horses. Then one can have
a sail up the lake in these little fresh-water models of Atlantic
greyhounds, _The Lady of the Lake_, and _Alma Carlotta_, to Kenmore.
These pretty little steamers were designed by Mr. G. L. Watson, whose
name is so well known in the yachting world. At Kenmore the beautiful
grounds of Taymouth Castle may be visited, and they are well worthy
of it, as there is nothing to beat them in either the Highlands or
Lowlands of Scotland. Three miles beyond Kenmore is Abergeldy, where
are the celebrated Banks of Abergeldy, whose praises the poet Burns has
celebrated in undying song. The ascent of Ben Lawers may be made from
Ben Lawers Inn, and a grand view of the Taymouth district be obtained,
as it is the fourth highest mountain in Scotland.

As a rule, many of the off-days are spent nearer home, and a much
frequented spot is the old ruins of Finlarig Abbey, close to Killin,
and situated on the banks of the lake. One of the smoking-room stories
tells how on one occasion, before an off-day party had been arranged
by Stewart the landlord, a Macgregor had been bouncing about his
famous ancestor, Rob Roy, in a manner which would have astonished the
famous cateran himself. These, if not taken with a pinch of snuff,
would denote that the Macgregor was always jumping rivers at the
widest points, and playing at hop, step and jump from Ben Lomond to
the Cobbler, and from the Cobbler over to Ben Lawers. Common report
makes Rob out to have been a very clever gentleman cattle-lifter, but
when a Macgregor gets hold of a few southern anglers over a tumbler of
toddy in the smoking-room of a Scotch hotel, he is allowed to make him
execute performances worthy of Jupiter. And “ye must na’ doot the word
o’ a Macgregor, for ye ken it has aye been true, no like the word o’
the Cammells, which has never been kept.”

To get a joke out of a real genuine Macgregor was quietly suggested,
and next day it was fully carried out. In the large hotel drag the
Macgregor of the party was allowed to continue his marvelous sketches
of the old chief’s exploits.

“But,” said a Saxon of the party, “how does it happen that all the
places of interest connected with the Macgregor family are associated
with escape? In Loch Lomond you are pointed out his Cave of Refuge; on
the burn at Inversnead, the place he jumped when pursued, and the same
in the Lyon--all, too, when fleeing from a Campbell.”

“A Cammell, did you say? A Macgregor flee from a Cammell? Never! It
takes ten Cammells to make a Macgregor turn his back. Say a hundred
Cammells and you will be right. Rob Roy flee frae a Cammell? That’s
impossible! No; when his foot was on his native heath, and his good
broadsword in his hand, all the dead Cammells that are in the ill place
itself would never have made him run. Sir, you do not know the speerit
o’ the Macgregors!”

“But they were a lawless, useless lot,” was the interruption of another
knight of the rod, “and the country around here never did any good till
they got rid of them in the old-fashioned Scotch way.”

“What do you call the old-fashioned Scotch way?”

“Oh, the gallows; dancing Gillie Callum and the Highland fling from an
ash bush, with three feet of daylight below them.”

“And who dare do that with a Macgregor?” was the response, in tones of
thunder.

Fortunately the skirr of the brake on the wheels of the trap, as
Stewart took a pull at his horses, stopped the conversation. It
heralded, also, our arrival at the old castle gates. The castle
of Finlarig was in stormy times the residence of the Breadalbane
Campbells, and the “auld laird” who occupied it made short work of such
as were not Campbells who were found straying in the neighborhood.
As the party walked in quietly, Stewart whispered to Mrs. Campbell,
the guide, “When ye come to the hangman’s-tree ye maun say ‘saxty
Macgregors’, instead of sax.”

“Guid save us, Mr. Stewart! Saxty Macgregors!” was the astonished
reply, “that would be the hale clan o’ them!”

“Never mind; say saxty,” was the whispered answer.

The old ruins having been well explored--the Macgregor fuming all
the time because “Sassenach fushing-men” would persist in making
comparisons in its favor with the dirty old fox-kennel-like caves
in which Rob Roy used to live--the party was then shown the old
gallows-tree.

“Thet’s the plece,” said Mrs. Campbell, “where the auld laird hanged
saxty Macgregors one morning before his breakfast.”

“Gregarach, woman! ye dinna say sae. It could na be saxty Macgregors,”
was the indignant response of Rob Roy’s descendant.

“Saxty Macgregors, I say--saxty Highland vagabonds, if ye like; a
half-dizzen [dozen] at a time. And a bonnie braw mornin’s work, nae
doubt, it would be for the country side!”

“Saxty Macgregors allow themselves to be hanged! Hoots, woman, ye be
bletherin’; they could nae have been true Macgregors!”

“_True_ Macgregors? Weel, I’ll no say that; the Lord never made sich a
thing as a _true_ Macgregor.”

“And never anything but false Cammells. Saxty Macgregors!” and the
champion of the old clan fairly wept for his unfortunate countrymen.
Had the Maccalumore himself looked in and a claymore been handy, there
would have been more tragic narrative. Humbled before the Sassenachs,
he remained silent till the graves of Black Duncan and the old Campbell
chief were pointed out, and then he had his revenge.

Jumping into the vault, he shouted to the attendant piper to play up
“Macgregor’s March.” He then danced on the stones above the grave
till the sparks were flying from the hobnails of his heavy boots.
Ever and anon, as he wheeled and jumped, he uttered the words, “Saxty
Macgregors!--hang saxty Macgregors! the scoundrels! Blaw up, piper, a
guid auld Macgregor reel tune, Rothermurchis Rout, or anything with the
music o’ the deevil in it. I could dance over a Cammell’s bones for a
fortnicht!”

Mrs. Campbell possibly did not relish the performance as much as the
“Sassenach fushing-men,” but very wisely did not interfere. Had there
been a hatchet on the spot, the gallows-tree would soon have been
removed and flung into the vault or hollow. Fortunately there was
nothing better handy than the old headsman’s axe of the Stuart period
(James Rex) given in the picture.

The Macgregor told no stories in the smoking-room that night about the
feats of his ancestors, but if any “Bleck McFlea” roused him in the
night-time, he was heard murmuring “Saxty Macgregors!” and then letting
forth his opinions of the whole Clan Campbell in certain Gaelic words
which are forbidden to be used by the Free Kirk in preaching Gaelic
sermons. The little story of the gallows-tree at Finlarig Castle,
where he was fair effronted afore the “fusher’s folk,” still haunts
him, and he shows this by sudden fits of temper, which seemed to worry
him when on the streets. But the smoking-room at Killin reeks with
fishing stories and anecdotes of the kind, and more than one number of
~Outing~ would be required to give them as they are given, over
a tumbler of good Scotch whisky toddy, after a long day in the boats
when salmon fishing on Loch Tay.

[Illustration: “HE WAS SENT HOME TO BE STUFFED.”]

SONNET.

The moon shone full upon the tide,
On whose dark, heaving bosom wide
The white light broke, till far and near,
With dancing jewels, silver-clear,
The sullen waves were glorified.

We spoke no word--all beauties vied
To charm our souls; and, satisfied,
We felt no care, no doubt, no fear--
For there we vowed, in accents dear,
To walk life’s pathway side by side.

_Howell Stroud England._

WINTER SHOOTING IN FLORIDA.

BY F. CAMPBELL MOLLER.

With the middle of December the upland shooting in the Eastern States
comes virtually to an end. To be sure, a couple of weeks remain before
the curtain of legal protection descends over the game still to be
found in the dead fields and snow-whitened coppices on the first day of
the new year, but the remnants of the quail bevies are wild, and, in
much shot-over districts, begin to approach in their watchful behavior
and antics the typical wariness of the hawk. As for the ruffed-grouse,
one needs to be a thorough workman, both in shooting and stalking, to
render even a tolerable account of these birds. The last woodcock was
seen nearly a month ago, this mid December day, as one fired and missed
him among the black alders, and he is up and away on the next stage of
his journey to the swamp-lands of the Carolinas or the Mississippi.

The sportsman resident of the country may at this season of the year
have an occasional sun-gilded winter’s day with the setters, when the
breeze comes warm from the south. But more often will he be listening
to the tinkling, musical notes of his beagles as the brown hare leads
them a circling chase through the brier-fields, or the deeper notes of
the fox-hounds will strike upon his ear as they echo among the gray
cliffs of the brown-treed mountain-side.

Yes, it may not seem to be quite the correct thing to my English
readers, but we shoot foxes from a “runaway” in the rough, wooded,
hilly country of the Eastern States, where it would be impossible to
ride to hounds, and gladly do we accept this chance to rid our farmers
of this destroyer of game and poultry.

After the 1st of January, comes the exodus of fashion, sport and
ill-health from the rigors and blizzards of a Northern winter, and many
are the queries from brethren of the gun, visiting for the first time
the land of Spanish-moss and palm-trees, to those who have shot quail
among the wild violets and sweet jessamine in the Carolinas during
early springtime, or “plugged” alligators in some muddy “backout” of
the Upper St. John.

No matter whether he knows how to use a gun or not, nearly every man
off for an outing in the South thinks it necessary to take with him
some such weapon for the destruction of animal life. This fact, in
brief, is sufficient reason for the scarcity of game along the shore
and in the waters of the traveled portion of the St. John’s River.
Continual bombarding has driven the denizens of flood and field to
remoter districts, and if one wishes really good sport, he must
literally hunt for it.

The majority of men going South solely for sport take the Charleston,
Savannah or Fernandina steamers, continuing by rail, if necessary, to
their destination, which is certainly the most economical procedure,
especially if one’s dogs be taken. This should always be done, if
possible, as a dog fit for a sportsman to shoot over can rarely be
hired or even bought in Florida until the end of the season.

If quail-shooting be the expressed desideratum, one had better confine
one’s self to the Carolinas or to Georgia, both for quantity and proper
ground to shoot over. But if he desires a variety, such as snipe, deer,
’gator and quail shooting, all on diverse grounds, lying, however, in
the sweep of a short radius from the spot he makes his headquarters,
Florida must needs be his objective.

If one is not going below the Carolinas, a rifle will be an unnecessary
encumbrance. Bird-shooting alone will be obtainable unless you visit
the wild mountainous country far from the paths of the Northern
tourist. Here the shotgun and buckshot are the chief agents used in
killing deer, and, in this sport as practiced in that section of the
wildwoods, one must nearly always be able to ride well; and unless one
is shooting on some friend’s invitation, he must also pay well for the
auxiliaries necessary to secure a shot at the denizens of the woods.

The same directions will apply to “jumping” deer with dogs from among
the stunted scrub covers of the Florida brakes. One generally shoots
from horseback at the small deer of this region, because the saddle
affords a much better opportunity of seeing over the clumps of dwarf
oaks or palmettos than would be obtained on foot.

For alligator shooting a heavy bored rifle--especially an express--will
be indispensable. A forty-four calibre repeater will, however, be
found to answer very well for all-round work on the river. And here,
let me at once dissipate any tyro’s fallacious belief regarding the
invulnerability of the American saurian, save in the eye. I have
known them--aye, big ones at that--to be killed with buckshot from
a close-carrying shotgun, at a distance of thirty-five yards by
planting a few pellets behind the fore-shoulder, and in the thinner
skin of the lateral abdominal walls. Frequently a second or even a
third shot at close range will be necessary to finish them as they lie
floundering in the shoal and blood-stained shore-waters by the side of
a half-submerged old tree-trunk. But more of ’gator shooting anon.

Tweed clothes of light color and loosely woven texture should be worn
for Florida sporting, as it is warm shooting there even in midwinter.
When shooting or outing generally, it is much better to increase the
thickness and warmth of the underclothing as the coolness of weather
renders such advisable, than to encumber one’s movements by heavy coats
and trousers. A pair of thick, oil-tanned grained-leather knee-boots
with legs made as narrow as permissible, to be worn with thick-ribbed,
long hose, will be found the best shoeing to be used in the Florida
bottoms. The long boots, coming over the buttonings of the snug-fitting
knee-breeches of whipcord--not knickerbockers, mind you--where they
fasten just above the swell of the calf, will be found the most
comfortable and consistent rig, whether splashing through the sloppy
prairies, along the river after snipe, or tramping the waste fields in
the clearings between the pine woods. Should you wear ankle-boots and
the baggy knickerbockers, always don a pair of thick leathern leggings
as an indispensable precaution against the musical and larksome rattler.

Along the St. John’s, from Magnolia to Enterprise, increasing
proportionately as one nears the latter place, fair sport may be had
with all the before-mentioned varieties of game by driving or boating
far enough into the recesses of the back country, away from the spots
easily reached by the average hotel lounger. But for really good
shooting one must get over into the Indian River region, or, better
still, the Hummocks on the Gulf coast, and especially about Homassassa,
if he wants good accommodation and an abundance of deer, quail, and
snipe as well as bass fishing. Below Lake Georges and extending toward
the Everglades is an immense breadth of country, comparatively unknown,
rich in sport and adventure to the exploring tourist who is willing to
endure much rough travel by canoe and portage, and to pitch his tent o’
nights in the great dense swamp-lands.

In Florida, quail are mostly shot in the open of the stubble fields
or clearings, or in the slight cover underlying the tall, shadowy
pine-lands, for the simple reason that the “thickets” in the far South
are almost impassable. I remember once following a bevy of quail,
flushed from an old maize field, into a bordering covert of prickly
plum, cactus and palmetto, with the same indifference with which I
generally plunge into the many-stemmed alder-brake or waist-high
cat-briers at home. I shall never do it again. Let the bevy go! Start
up a fresh one, and trust to your skill in “driving” them into lyings
more favorable for your purposes, if not for theirs.

For shooting in the country back from one’s hotel a wagon and pair
will be needed, and, unless you are well acquainted with the region,
a driver and guide combined, be he “Cracker,” “Nigger” or Indian. As
most of these gentry do a little pot-shooting themselves, in season and
out, they will generally insure you good sport, particularly if the man
is made to understand that an extra “tip” may be forthcoming, when you
return in the evening, proportionate with the amount of game found.

A deal of shooting is done driving through the rough country, among
the pine woods, leaving at times the sandy road for miles together,
provided the undergrowth be not too dense. And with the dogs quartering
on each side of the wagon, one has but to get out and shoot when a
point is obtained.

I find No. 10 shot, backed by a heavy charge of powder, the best size
for shooting Southern quail, which, by the way, are a trifle smaller
than the Northern bird, although identical in all other respects. No.
10 shot is also the proper size for snipe. Some capital bags of these
migratory birds may be obtained even on the meadows--or prairies as
they are called in Florida--suburban to Jacksonville.

But quail and snipe shooting in the South, with trifling differences
as to covert, haunt and lyings, inseparable from the richness of the
tropical setting and coloring, will be found so analogous to the same
sport in the North that further comment is unnecessary. However, it
will prove a new and delightful experience to the Northern sportsman
to flush birds, as is frequently done, in the scent-laden atmosphere
amid the glorious coppery splashes of color of an orange grove, and see
through the tree-stems the blue St. John’s flashing its sapphire width
in the warmth of golden sunlight, and the solitary giant palm rising
here and there along the far, sandy shore.

A day with the alligators is not bad sport when properly undertaken and
provided for; and the hide, teeth and feet will put you in possession
of much valuable material to be made into bags, leggings, slippers,
shoes, whistles, and gun-racks. But since the utility of the ’gator’s
hide has been discovered, they, too, are fast disappearing from the
places wherein they formerly abounded.

This sort of sport does not demand an early morning start. The best
time to approach within easy range of the alligators is while they are
taking their siesta at midday or early afternoon, sunning themselves
on the bog burrocks, which, in lieu of a beach, mark the line of
demarcation between the waters of the bayou and the swampy forest
bottoms.

Your skiff and man--who, by the way, should be a good paddler and
familiar with the haunts of the quarry you intend pursuing--having
been engaged over-night, you may breakfast as late and as leisurely as
you will, provided you have not too far to row to your proposed ground
before high noon. So, enjoy your repast of fresh fish and game of the
region, after having previously coolingly and deliciously prepared
your palate with a goblet full of pure orange juice from fruit plucked
that morning. Your sable attendant is waiting outside in the warm,
genial sunshine, in which all of his color love to work for periods
almost indefinite, and relieves your waiter first of all, because to
him the most important, of the luncheon hamper, grinning the while,
and giving a soft “chaw! chaw!” as he hefts its portentous weight and
eyes the claret and beer bottles protruding from one of the partly
raised lids. This all being to his entire satisfaction, he will pick up
your macintosh coat and shotgun and precede the way to his boat. You
take a gun as well as a rifle, as doubtless you will get some shots at
ducks and shore-birds as you row to the creek and back, especially the
latter, because the evening flight will then be on.

Your man may have pulled you for nearly an hour, and as you near a
bay which marks the outlet of a creek leading to the lagoon where you
intend paddling for ’gators, an object well out from shore attracts
attention. It looks like a water-logged dead branch floating under
water, save for three knotty protuberances rising above the placid
surface. It is the snout, orbital bone and topmost spinal joint of a
’gator, at least eight feet in length, judging the distances between
the slightly exposed portions of his scaly frame. No use firing at him;
even if one did hit the small mark he gives at 200 yards, he would
only be lost, for a dead or wounded alligator will always sink to the
bottom, and there, where that old chap is floating in silent content,
the water is much too deep to use the long boat-hook or the grapnel to
fetch his body to the surface.

Entering the bayou, the darky exchanges the oars for a thing he calls
a paddle. Not as delicately shaped is it as are those you have used
about Bar Harbor or on the Adirondack lakes, but it will answer the
purpose admirably. You seat yourself in the bow of the boat with your
repeater across your knees. There is a fascination in this coasting
along the weird, shadowy banks of the tropical creek, with its wealth
of beautifully and vividly colored birds. Rounding into the entrance of
the lagoon one sees a flock of white heron with wings glistening and
flashing in the sunlight as they fly over yonder moss-hung headland;
and the brilliant flamingo dyes with a gliding streak of salmon-pink
his reflected flight in the shaded, still waters underlying the wild
tangle of the wooded shore along which your boat is silently creeping.
The skiff rounds the headland.

“Look yaar, sah! Dere he be--ole ’gator on a lorg.”

“Where? where?” is hastily whispered, as you anxiously scan the
shore-line for a hundred yards ahead. Nothing, however, meets the
inexperienced eye but a wild reach of water-grass, rushes, bog-burrocks
and partly submerged fallen tree-trunks.

“Dar, sah! under dat big cypress, ’bout ten rod ahead, and lying on de
lorg on de show. Shoot, or he’ll be orf next minit,” hurriedly whispers
your “gillie.”

“Ah! there he is.” One holds just back of the fore-shoulder. Bang!
“He’s hit!” Then his tail wildly beats the air, and he rolls into the
water, which just covers but does not conceal his frantic contortions,
only to expose himself to a second shot as he flounders up on some
sunken logs. The man has grasped the oars after the first shot, and is
rowing rapidly to the spot where the mud and spray are being whirled
vigorously about.

“Give him a shot in the neck.” Missed! but no matter.

Now we’re within twenty yards of him. “Stop, Joe; don’t row up any
farther. Keep well out of the reach of his tail.” Now, pump another
ball at his head or neck to break his cervical vertebræ. “Good!” He
rolls off the log, but “rolled off dead, shoo,” says woolly-head,
showing his ivories, and getting the long-pointed hook ready for use
when the blood-stained waters shall have cleared away.

While the darky busies himself with removing the alligator’s skin, you
start off for a shot at a flock of teal which has come dangerously
near, and perhaps you also secure some plover. There is every reason to
be satisfied as you turn your boat down stream for home. The waters are
aglow in the evening sun; not a breath of air is stirring; everywhere
calm and quiet. You puff away at your pipe, and as you gaze at the
’gator skin in the bottom of your skiff, you find a use for every tooth
and every inch of hide, and you picture to yourself the pleasure you
are going to give to numerous friends. It is well to dispose of your
cargo in this way before you make your landing, for there at the wharf
you will find assembled the usual contingent of pretty girls waiting
for the evening steamer and the return of the different boating and
shooting parties. Hard-hearted will you have to be to withstand the
pleadings for mementos, etc., and there is every probability that when
you reach your hotel all that you have left will be the memory of a
pleasant afternoon with a ’gator.

THE CRUISE OF THE FROLIC.

BY S. G. W. BENJAMIN.

There is no cruising-ground on the coast of the United States equal
to that around Massachusetts Bay, and north as far as Portsmouth. The
ports are frequent and generally easy of access, and the variety of
scenery, the picturesque nature of the coast, the sea flavor about
the character of the people, and the quaintness of the towns of that
region invest it with singular raciness and an endless variety of
charm. Our yachtsmen are fast finding this out, although I think one
can better enjoy and appreciate these attractions when cruising in a
small five-tonner than in a large yacht, or in the company of a fleet,
for there are many curious nooks which only such a wee ship, off on a
roving commission by itself, would think of visiting. And it is this
very dodging among these odd corners of our coast that adds especial
zest to the enjoyments of your cruising yachtsman.

So much by way of preface to the statement that a lot of jolly sons of
Gotham made up their minds, on a certain summer in the eighties, to fly
the hurry of Wall Street and the temptations of a sinful metropolis for
the pure breezes of ocean, following in the wake of the sea serpent and
of the Pilgrim discoverers.

No seaport in America offers so many small craft handy for inexpensive
cruising as Boston. And hither Benton, our Corinthian skipper, and
the writer of this log hied in search of a suitable sloop or schooner
obtainable at a reasonable sum. The keel sloop _Frolic_ was finally
selected, and put into proper condition by the addition of fresh paint,
new cushions and curtains, a yawl, and the like. Charts and compass,
lead and fishing-lines, a new cable, and a stock of provisions,
including a supply of fluids, were also put on board; the rigging
was set up anew, and last, but not least, the crew was engaged. It
consisted of one pock-marked, grizzly-bearded mariner, whose appearance
was not altogether in his favor. But he came well recommended; had been
mate of a brig, it was stated, and had also sailed in many yachts.
He declared himself able and willing to pilot us into every port as
far as Eastport, to do “light cooking,” to serve as steward, and bear
a hand in working the sloop; he was, in fact, a paragon of nautical
excellences. My experience has led me to doubt those who lay claim to
such versatility and virtue, whether on land or sea, whether in matters
horsey or matters marine. But Mr. Brown was the best who offered, and
was therefore regularly enrolled on the ship’s list of the _Frolic_.

Scarcely was everything in readiness when Will Hallett and Frank Weller
arrived from New York, and made signals from the wharf that they
desired to be taken on board with their traps. For them the proposed
cruise was one of unusual interest, as they were novices in cruising,
although not altogether ignorant on the score of boat sailing. They
anticipated no end of fun, far more, doubtless, than is generally found
in these summer wanderings along the coast, which are sources rather
of quiet, healthy relaxation than of stirring adventure, and we older
hands thought it unwise to quench their young ardor.

There was little wind, but the weather was fine, and it was hoped
that with the sunset a breeze might come up that would float us down
to Marblehead before midnight. While Brown was loosening the sails a
propitiatory libation was offered to Neptune or his representative
in those waters. All hands then fell to and set the mainsail and
gaff-topsail, and got up the anchor. It was two hours yet until the
turn of the tide, and with this to aid the sloop we might easily drop
down past the islands, and the moon would light the night watches. But
as evening drew on the light westerly air entirely died away, followed
shortly after by signs of a fog from the bay.

Under the circumstances the sloop was headed toward Long Wharf, and
anchored, amid a cluster of yachts and coasters, south of the main
channel. About midnight, the night being very still and ghostly, and
a heavy, dripping fog lying on the water, through which the moon and
the nearer anchor-lights were barely visible, Benton was aroused by a
steady thump, thump, thump. He recognized the sound at once. A large
schooner, swinging with the tide, was bearing down on the sloop,
threatening to carry away her main-boom. For Benton and Brown to rush
from the cuddy in _vestibus naturalibus_, bestride the damp boom and
jump into the boat and pull the stern of the sloop out of the way, was
but the work of an instant. But, as everything was dripping with fog,
the Spartan simplicity of the costume produced a chill which it was
thought best to modify without delay by a searching prescription of rye.

The following day opened windless and foggy. In the middle of the
forenoon the fog lifted and showed a sullen, ominous offing. By noon a
breeze set in from the northeast.

“Let’s get up the mainsail,” said Benton.

“You ain’t agoin’ to sea to-day, be you?” asked Brown.

“Why not?”

“Don’t you see the wind’s dead ahead? We’ll have a dead beat of it down
to Marblehead, and if it comes on to blow I guess we’ll get caught out
and have to run for a lee, and the fog on the coast just as thick as
mud.”

“Oh, I guess not. At any rate, there’s a breeze, and we’ll try it!
We’ve got a chart and compass, and if it don’t blow harder than this
we’re sure to fetch up inside of Marblehead Light before dark.”

Reaching down to Apple Island, through the main channel, the _Frolic_
fetched a tack up to Shirley Gut, a tortuous channel between Deer
Island and Point Shirley, which is impassable except for small vessels.
The tide was running out, while the long swell was rolling in. The two
meeting on the bar made a mass of boiling foam that looked a great
deal more savage than it was in reality, if met with a steady eye and
a firm hand at the helm. The tacks here were short, and the _Frolic_,
carrying a stiff weather helm, and buoyant as a duck, rapidly and
gracefully shivered her sails. and fell off on the other tack every
time, flinging the spray aft in sheets. But we were soon clear of this
and riding on a green swell enveloped by a mizzling fog. Now and again
a coaster suddenly loomed out of the mist and hailed the yacht to learn
the bearings of the land. The bold red cliffs of Nahant and Egg Rock
were successively passed. Ram Island, off Swampscott, and Roaring Bull,
off Marblehead Neck, were gradually seen, or rather the cold white
foam that beat against their faint coast line; then the cruel ledge
called Tom Moore’s Reef, which the sloop passed with a rush, glad to be
clear of such a dread foe under the lee beam. Soon after, Marblehead
lighthouse was hailed with satisfaction, for the rising sea and strong
gusts coming with growing frequency, made it desirable to reach a safe
anchorage before nightfall, now rapidly approaching with the settled
foreboding gloom of a gathering storm. Moll Pitcher, the presiding
witch of those shores, was evidently brewing foul weather.

Rounding the Light, and easing off the mainsheet, the _Frolic_ flew
down the little port and took a snug berth near the quarters of the
Eastern Yacht Club. That night it blew great guns, and rained in
torrents; but with both anchors down and plenty of scope, in one of the
snuggest harbors in the world, we realized that there is nothing more
cozy under such circumstances than the cuddy of a trim yacht, with a
warm supper and a jolly game of whist.

The _Frolic_ was not much to boast of in the way of size or splendor,
but she was comfortable, and that is the chief thing. She was
thirty-two feet long over all, and twelve feet beam, and, of course,
a keel boat. A centerboard box so reduces the space in the cabin of
a small cruising yacht that it should be avoided. A small stove was
placed in the forepeak, leaving a narrow transom for the sleeping
quarters of the crew. The skipper and friends entirely occupied the
main cabin, as it was called with a certain grim humor, where we had
just five feet of head-room.

The day broke pleasantly, contrary to expectation, the blow being
merely a summer storm. It was Sunday morning, and all hands except
Brown went ashore to buy beans and bread for breakfast. That meal
over, we turned out for a quiet smoke, when Brown followed instead
of remaining below to wash the dishes, a homely but necessary duty
which falls on the crew in small yachts. If there be no crew, strictly
speaking, the passengers are naturally expected to contribute their
labors toward the domestic duties of running a sloop down the coast.
It was evident from the look and manner of the aforesaid Brown that
trouble was brewing in the forecastle.

“It looks like good weather for running down to Gloucester, Mr. Brown,”
said Skipper Benton; “how soon do you think you’ll be cleared up below?”

“I guess you’ll have to go without me,” replied Brown, gruffly.

“How so? What’s up now?”

“Wall, you see, this ’ere job ain’t what I calkilated on. ’Tain’t for
me, who’ve been mate of a brig, to be washing of dishes and cooking of
food. ’Twan’t so understood when I agreed to go in this ’ere sloop.
I’m willin’ for to steer my trick and bear a hand in making sail and
the like o’ that; but I understood I was to be skipper aboard, and not
steward. I ain’t goin’ on no such job as you are givin’ me; you’ll have
to find somebody else in my place.”

“But you understood perfectly well what we expected you to do, and I
can bring witnesses to prove it. What you are after is perfectly plain;
you want to get an increase in the wages I agreed to give you.”

“Well, and what if I do? You don’t expect me to keep on with you at a
dollar and a half a day, and work in this blamed fashion?”

“I certainly did, and I could hold you to your bargain. But we’d rather
have you go at once, without another word. We’ll put you ashore, and
the sooner you clear out the better. We want no lily-fingered hands on
this sloop.”

Brown growled and grumbled, evidently disappointed at the result of the
mutiny, but Benton was firm.

The boat was hauled alongside, and the mutinous crew was rowed to the
nearest wharf. Lest he should poison the loafers on the wharf against
us, one of the party kept within earshot of him, while another went in
search of a man to take his place, which was by no means an easy thing
to accomplish under the circumstances. Happily Benton had acquaintances
among the sea-folk of Marblehead, and by their aid was soon able to
engage Uncle Joe, who came on board the _Frolic_ immediately after
bidding his wife good-bye. His only fault was his age. He was really
too old for service, having passed a good part of a long and well-spent
life on the Banks. In other respects he was an admirable specimen of
a Marblehead sailor; a clear, honest blue eye gleamed under a broad
brow, frosted with white, and a thick snowy beard fringed the lower
part of his bluff yet kindly features. He had seen seventy winters,
yet stood erect and firm as when he first walked a schooner’s deck;
his conversation was a racy combination of simplicity and shrewdness.
Uncle Joe’s outfit for the trip was comprehended within a cotton
handkerchief. He was a steady smoker of the pipe, but had sworn off
from anything stronger than tea and coffee.

Ten minutes after he came aboard, the _Frolic_ was under weigh and
bowling across Salem Bay with a stiff westerly breeze abeam. There
is not a finer yachting port in America than Salem Bay, with its
cluster of islets protecting it from easterly gales, and the group of
little harbors--Marblehead, Salem, Beverly, Manchester, and the Misery
diverging like the fingers on a hand. For sea picnics in which ladies
and children can join, there is no water safer, and at the same time
more attractive on our coast.

The _Frolic_ stowed her jib at Misery Island, and came to anchor in its
little port, where a boat may make a landing on its miniature beach
in all weathers. A quiet night was passed there, and in the morning,
while some of our party were bathing, Benton strolled over to the
east side of the Misery and painted the beautifully colored rocks of
House Island, close at hand. We hasten to add that he did not actually
paint the rocks themselves, but made a sketch of them on canvas. This
explanation is given because many on that coast would not so understand
the phrase. A friend of mine went down to Salem from Boston to take
studies of old schooners. Seeing a rusty, picturesque craft lying at
Derby Wharf, he said to the old skipper:

“How long are you going to be here, for I should like to paint your
schooner?”

“You needn’t bother yourself about a paintin’ of her. I guess I can do
all the paintin’ she needs,” replied that ancient worthy, squirting out
the tobacco juice, and not condescending to look up from the sail he
was mending.

There was to be a yacht race that day at Marblehead, and toward noon
the _Frolic_ stood out toward Halfway Rock to see the racers on the
home-stretch. The wind was sou’west, a green hump of a sea was heaving
up foam to the southward, and the sky looked very hazy to windward. In
other words, it was blowing a smoky sou’wester.

Glancing often and anxiously toward that quarter, Benton said:

“I don’t altogether like the look of things to windward; it’s going to
blow, and I’m thinking we had better be making tracks for port.”

“I don’t think it’ll amount to anything; it’ll go down with the sun;
don’t you think so, Uncle Joe?” asked Frank.

Thus appealed to, the old salt, puffing vigorously on his pipe, closely
scanned the offing, and said, “I don’t know about that; it looks kinder
measly to windward; one can’t tell much about these sou’westers; they
don’t never tell what they’re goin’ to do; but I guess ’twon’t be no
harm done if we stand in and smoothen the water a mite afore it comes
on to blow. I’m thinkin’, too, we’d better haul the topsail while we
can.”

“Aye, aye, take her in, Uncle Joe,” replied Benton, as a smart
puff laid the _Frolic_ down to her trunk. Scarcely was the topsail
stowed than it became necessary to take a reef in the mainsail as a
precautionary measure. The sloop was headed for the Marblehead shore in
order to have a lee if the breeze should develop into a heavy squall,
as now looked more than probable. The racing yachts were now sweeping
by, burying their lee rails and reefing down for the coming blow.

All went well, however, until we came abreast of Marblehead harbor.
One glance at that port was enough. The water, an inky black, was
furrowed and lashed to foam by a furious squall that was advancing with
frightful rapidity. I have never seen the surface of the sea look more
wicked.

“Now, boys, be lively! Let go all!” cried Benton, grasping the tiller
with both hands and bracing his feet for a good hold.

Frank sprang to the jib downhaul, while the others let go the mainsail
halliards, just as the squall struck the yacht. The jib went down on
the run, but the throat halliards jammed, and the pressure on the
canvas was such that the sloop failed to fall off with the helm hard
up. She lay over on her side, half buried in the water, and in the most
imminent peril. Springing up the mast and hanging to the hoops, Frank
started the gaff. As soon as this was done she began to pay off before
the wind. But for the mainsail being reefed the _Frolic_ would have
gone down; as it was, her standing room and cuddy were half full of
water when she righted.

Brought down to balance-reefed mainsail, the _Frolic_ was steered
handsomely under the lee of Peach’s Point and came to anchor in
Doliber’s Cove. During this exciting episode a small schooner, caught
as we had been, capsized and went down in shoal water, and the crew
clung to the mastheads until picked up, while in every direction
vessels were seen carrying away spars and sails, and running for a lee.

The squall proved short as it was violent. In two hours everything was
balmy and serene, and we decided to steal across the bar by moonlight,
leaving it to circumstances to guide us. The idle wind of evening
wafted us to the entrance of Manchester port, and under the jib we let
the sloop drift until she brought up in the mud and eel-grass, for it
was ebb tide. We lay half dozing and dreaming on deck until the turning
tide lifted the yacht, and a light air from the southward coyly filled
the jib. Thus we glided until fairly among the wharves of a wee little
haven inclosed by hills, houses and thickets. The mud-hook was dropped,
and with every prospect of a good night’s rest after the vicissitudes
of an exciting day, we all turned in, but, as it proved, alas, not to
sleep.

The quiet of the cuddy was suddenly broken by a strong English
monosyllabic exclamation. Then Frank was heard to give his cheek a
smart slap; expressions more or less desperate were now heard from
every quarter of the cuddy with alarming frequency and distinctness. It
was too true--the ubiquitous, merciless and innumerable musquito had
invaded the _Frolic_. He came attended by ten billions of miniature
demons thirsting for blood and buzzing a song of triumph, like the
distant tuning up of an orchestra of bagpipes in an approaching
thunder-storm: these atmospheric sharks drove us pell-mell on deck,
but there they seemed not less numerous and infuriating. At length,
as a relief, the dingey was drawn alongside, and leaving Uncle Joe to
look out for the yacht, the rest of us slowly paddled about the little
port. There was no fault to find with the night. It was absolutely
serene. The sky’s fathomless purple was without a cloud, spanned by
the Galaxy’s illimitable train of mystic splendor reaching up from the
south. The moon was at the full, and its argent light turned the little
fishing haven into a cave in the land of dreams; by that magical glow
old farmhouses and barns were transformed into fairy pavilions, and
the fireflies darting hither and thither appeared like the flicker of
torches lighting phantom halls. A weather-worn schooner leaning against
a barnacled wharf might have passed for Cleopatra’s barge, as she
lifted her moon-silvered masts against the stars, her maintruck jeweled
by a planet. The stillness was almost awful. “Dear God, the very
houses seemed asleep!” At intervals only a melancholy whippoorwill in
a distant thicket dared to utter its complaint on this perfect summer
night.

Toward dawn the tide began to slacken, and with a line attached to the
end of the bowsprit we towed the _Frolic_ to the mouth of Manchester
port. Finding no mosquitoes there, and no likelihood of a breeze to
disturb us for some hours, we again dropped anchor and enjoyed a
delicious slumber until the noisy cocks on the neighboring shores
insisted that we awake and see the dawn.

What can equal the solemn splendor of a summer dawn in such a spot!
A gradual glow deepened in the cloudless east, and the morning star
shimmered on the brow of the coming day, casting a quivering trail of
silver on the pale, glassy surface of the ocean. The shores of islet
and mainland were thinly veiled by a gray gauze of mist, and the songs
of awakening birds came from far and near. The metallic beat of oars
on the tholes, heard faintly in the distance, announced that the early
fisherman was going forth to catch the early fish. Benton, who had been
quietly feasting his artistic eye with this enchanting scene for some
time, when the vane of the Manchester-by-the-Sea church caught the
first flash from the sun bursting above the sea, put his head down the
companion-way and shouted:

“Come, boys, come! Turn out! Sun’s up, and we’ve no time to lose if we
are going to get to the Shoals to-day!”

“Oh, pshaw! why not let a fellow sleep awhile?” yawned Hallett; but
the discipline of the ship, or rather the delicious fragrance of the
morning air, could not be resisted, and ere long the seductive aroma
of coffee was noticed stealing from the cuddy. Breakfast dispatched,
all sail was made, and before long the _Frolic_ was abreast of Kettle
Cove and the pretty settlement of Magnolia. After passing the Cove the
breeze freshened, and when off Gloucester harbor the kites were taken
in, as the puffs off the land were fresh and frequent. Standing across
Milk Island Channel, then impassable owing to the tide, we sailed
around Thatcher’s Island, whose trim granite lighthouses, 130 feet
high, towered grandly above us. The wind here was very fresh, and the
_Frolic_ fairly scooted. To make it easier going we took the dingey on
board, laying it across the cabin trunk. The day was fine, and many
sails were seen, including those of a number of yachts. Having safely
passed Hallibut Point, as the day was warm notwithstanding the breeze,
it was deemed prudent to go below and partake of what Dick Swiveller
called a “modest quencher.”

Uncle Joe being weary, and Frank being willing to show his seamanship,
he was left for a few moments in charge of the tiller, the sloop being
under mainsail and jib, and the wind on the port quarter. He knew how
to steer reasonably well, and we never knew exactly how it happened
that at the precise moment that Benton declared the lemonade to be
exactly right the _Frolic_ gybed her main-boom and went over almost
on her beam ends. We were all thrown together in a heap; and as for
the lemonade--well, the less said about it the better, for it mingled
with the flood of water that deluged the cuddy. Puffing and blowing we
scrambled on deck, where, happily, nothing had been carried away, but
we had a close squeak of it.

After this drenching we found the sloop was just abreast of the
entrance to Essex. As we were off on a cruise to nowhither except the
land of fun, it suddenly occurred to us that none of us had ever been
to Essex. Why not put in there and take a look at things? Out came
the chart, which showed a clear but narrow channel hedged by shifting
shoals, and with sandbars on each side. The weather being fine, we
were soon inside the snow-white sand-hills of the bar, and came to an
anchor, as the channel thence to Essex is tortuous, beset with rocks
and impassable, except with a favoring tide.

The sunset came on serenely, the golden glow tingeing the white
sand-dunes where lay an old wreck. The plaintive wail of the sandpipers
hopping on the sand gave an indescribable effect to the quietude of
the scene. How pleasant was our long chat that evening with our pipes!
Sometimes one spun a yarn of the sea, and then followed an interlude of
silence, or a bit of humor that elicited a genial laugh. The stars were
thick that night and the dews heavy when we turned in to enjoy a night
of calm repose, after voting that there is no out-of-door sport that
offers more charms than cruising in a yacht.

The _Frolic_ was left in charge of Uncle Joe the next day. There was
a dead calm and promise of a continuance of the same for a day or
two, so we started for Essex in the dingey. It was a pull of five or
six miles along a winding channel, but we proceeded in a leisurely
manner, stopping at various attractive spots on the way. One of these
was Cross’ Island, in mid-channel, a hilly islet containing a clump of
trees to relieve its bareness. A few shanties were scattered along its
slopes, of which the oldest were thrown up years ago for the gentlemen
who were in the habit of spending a week or two in October shooting in
the neighborhood for water-fowl. One of these shanties was on a rock
at the water’s edge, having bunks built into the sides as in a ship.
On our return from Essex, two of our party passed the night there, and
the sound of the tide rushing under the shanty as one lay in his bunk
conveyed the impression of being at sea.

We found Essex a quiet, old-fashioned village of two or three thousand
people, offering no special attractions beyond the stock of provisions
we obtained there. It was formerly one of the chief ship-building
ports of New England; but now one sees only here and there a fishing
schooner or coaster on the stocks. The most striking characteristic of
the population of that worthy burg is, that the people belong mostly to
three families: the Burnhams, Storys and Choates. If one should throw
a stone in the streets of Essex, the chances are three to one that it
would hit some one bearing one of those names. It is evident that, as
in Plymouth, the people are still largely of the old New England stock,
a hard-headed, sturdy, close-mouthed, shrewd, sensible, conservative
race, not easily swayed, not given to sentiment, but liable to
occasional impulses of popular feeling that surprise one who would
not look for it in that quarter. During the period of the witchcraft
delusions, the people of Essex yielded to the notion that the devil was
marching on their place with a legion of evil spirits.

Leaving Frank and Will at Cross’ Island, Benton and the writer returned
to the _Frolic_ towards evening. Uncle Joe was seen quietly smoking
his pipe on deck, and was rejoiced to see us back. The position of the
sloop was exposed, and he was old, and did not care to be in charge
alone all night. The boys promised to be back in good season the
following morning, hoping to come off in a passing dory. But either
they failed to get such conveyance as early as expected, or they found
life on the island too agreeable, for they did not put in an appearance
until afternoon. The breeze was then too light to reach any place
before night, and we were forced to lie at Essex until another day.

The sky looked hazy at sunset, the sun was yellow, and the surf had a
deep hollow roar on the bar, all signs indicating a gathering storm of
some duration. We therefore moved the _Frolic_ a little north of the
berth where she was lying, and kept a watch on deck all night, lest
it should come on to blow before dawn. I do not know of a more wild
and desolate scene on our coast than where the _Frolic_ was anchored,
especially at low tide; on all sides white sands and dunes, or gray
sands reaching miles and miles, and the air filled with the spray from
the ever-rolling surf, beating on the bar from age to age.

It was scarcely dawn when the writer, the watch on deck having fallen
asleep, was awaked by a cold sensation on his side exactly like a snake
creeping up his leg. That it must be a slimy reptile was the first
thought that flashed across my mind, the more naturally, perhaps,
because I once had a centipede leisurely creep on the bare skin from
the ankle to the knee. But as soon as I was wide awake, I realized that
the _Frolic_ was lying aground on her bilge, and that the bilge-water
was pouring into the lee bunks. Either she had not been pumped dry the
night before, or her garboard had opened with the strain of lying high
and dry. That we should be left by the tide in such a position was due
to the extreme low ebb, and the fact that the boat had swung out of the
channel. In any case there was nothing to be done but await the course
of events.

The sun arose out of a cloud-bank, and the weather looked threatening,
but while we were waiting, two of the party walked off across the
sands to obtain fresh milk from the house where Rufus Choate was born,
which was in plain sight of the bar. While they were gone we put our
oil-stove into the dory alongside, and put the kettle on. The crabs
were running out to sea by the myriad, and when the water was boiling
we picked them out of the water and tossed them into the kettle. It is
needless to say that that portion of our breakfast that morning was
fresh and appetizing.

By the time the breakfast was eaten it became evident that the sooner
we found another port the better, as the wind was piping up out of
the northeast and the sea was rising so fast it would drive us ashore
when the _Frolic_ floated. But as the tide rose we saw to our surprise
that the _Frolic_ did not rise with it, but had settled and lay on the
sand like lead, while the water flooded her lee decks. There was not
a moment to be lost. Unshipping the block from the jaws of the gaff
we attached it to one end of a hawser, at the other end of which was
an anchor. This we carried out into deep water in the dingey; then,
bowsing on the throat halliards, we brought the _Frolic_ upon an even
keel, when she floated. In ten minutes we were under mainsail and jib
and beating out to sea. The _Frolic_ staggered under that canvas, but
was forced to carry it in order to meet the heavy sea and tide and
hold her own in the quick, short tacks in a narrow channel, hedged by
sand-shoals white with breakers.

Fairly past that danger, we had to face the question as to the course
to be followed. To beat up to the Isles of Shoals or Portsmouth against
a freshening northeaster on a lee shore, seemed foolhardy unless for a
good reason. We had to choose between running for Cape Ann and a lee,
or heading for Newburyport, by way of Plum Island Channel, Ipswich
Bay, its entrance being on our lee beam. This being a _terra_ or _aqua
incognita_ to us all, offered the zest of novelty. We decided in its
favor _nem. con._ The helm was put up and the sheets eased away, and
the _Frolic_ galloped over the high seas like a racehorse. The channel
here follows the southern shore of the bay past the light-house. That
was the only course for us to take, but under the exhilaration of
the sea wind we recklessly headed directly over the bar, a piece of
folly to which I now look back with amazement, as it was absolutely
unnecessary. The _Frolic_ steered rather wildly with a quartering sea,
and the swell rose steep, hollow and furious as we approached the bar,
which had been bare and above water two hours before. Happily for us,
the _Frolic_ whooped over the bar on the top of a great roller, and a
moment after we were gliding in smooth water. Had the sloop gone in on
the fall of the sea she would have left her bones there, and perhaps
her crew as well.

It was a short run from the turning-point to Grape Island, a section
of the long, low breakwater called Plum Island which has been thrown
up in the course of ages to protect the pastoral shores between Essex
and Newburyport, and offer a hunting-ground for sportsmen. Plover,
sand-pipers, rail and duck abound there, and the hummocky character
of the surface of the island, tufted with sedge and salt grass, and
intersected with creeks, offers fine opportunities for stalking the
game. Many a rare spirit has found solace on those lonely island moors
in the fall of the year in times past, and the region is haunted by
legends of wrecks and sporting characters, who have made it a “happy
hunting-ground.” One story may not be generally known concerning a
certain well-known worthy of thirty years ago, remembered for handling
the long-bow as well as the rifle.

“Sand-peeps?” said he to one, who was asking about game on Plum
Island--“sand-peeps? why, bless you, there’s millions of them! I
crossed over to the island one afternoon in October, and left the dory
in a creek. Then I just clamb a little hill and up flew an all-fired
big flock of sand-peeps. I up and let fly both barrels at them, but I
aimed a leetle too low and they all flew away; but just to show you how
thick they are, I picked up a bushel-basket full of legs! A fact!”

There was a cheap hostel, a sort of fifth-rate saloon “for transients,”
on Grape Island. The piazza overlooking the sea had a certain
attraction, and we decided to try our luck there for a chowder.
A clam-chowder was what we got, served without any assumptions
of cleanliness. We were waited on by a tall, slender woman, dark
complexioned and wearing large yellow earrings. She had been handsome
once, but now wore that spiritless, faded look one sees so often in
our seaport towns down east, as if hardship, disappointment and a diet
of saleratus biscuit had filled life with a general disgust. She was
evidently of the mixed race one sees in that region, formed by Pilgrim
stock intermarrying with the Portuguese who settled at Marblehead and
Cape Ann. The chowder was poor and the beer very small beer indeed, but
I look back with intense pleasure to the hours idly passed that summer
afternoon on the porch of the inn, quietly smoking and gazing over
the green slopes of Ipswich dotted with peaceful farms, the winding
steel-gray waters of the channel, the russet moors of the island, and
the vast expanse of ocean deeply blue and flashing with white crests.

The storm we had expected seemed deferred to another day, for the sun
set clear and took away the wind with it. In the twilight a little
whiffling air came up from the sea, and we concluded to run up to
Ipswich. But the wind died away, and at ten o’clock we were merely
drifting with the tide, under the jib. The sky was clear, but the moon
was still not risen, and it was exceedingly dark. It was a weird night,
whose silence was only broken by the sudden, startling scream of a
seabird, the distant boom of the surf and the swash of the tide on the
shallows and against the bow of the yacht. We became aware, at last,
that the hills were closing in around us, and the anchor was dropped
within a few yards of the shore.

We were awakened by the low of cattle, apparently not a dozen yards
from the sloop, and the rumble of a wagon over a bridge. But on putting
our heads above the companionway we could see nothing, the fog was so
dense, excepting here and there the faint ghostlike form of a tree.
There was nothing until the dripping mist thinned out for a moment and
enabled us to discover that we had run up the Parker River, and were
anchored within a stone’s-throw of Oldtown Bridge, a venerable stone
structure erected in 1718. If we had continued 100 yards farther than
we did in the dark, the _Frolic_ would have carried away her mast
against the bridge.

The tide left us this time flat on the ooze of the river bed; there was
nothing to be done but go on a foraging expedition after milk, eggs,
fresh bread and meat, all of which provisions were now scant in our
lockers. The village seemed to number about a dozen houses and as many
barns, and the people appeared to have been born and brought up in a
fog, to judge from the obfuscation of their faculties. They acted as if
they had been asleep since the days when pirates made descents on the
coasts, robbed henroosts, cast sheep’s-eyes at the women folks and hid
treasure in caves. The good people glared at us as if they had never
seen respectable men in sea-boots, blue-flannel shirts and sea-caps.
The young girls peeked at us through cracks behind the doors, giggling
in a most entertaining manner. We little thought when we set sail
that we were destined to give as much pleasure to these simple-minded
rustics of Newbury Oldtown as an Italian with a barrel-organ and
monkey, nor that we should be the cause of such breaking of the tenth
commandment on their part. The barnyards were well stocked with cows,
and healthy brahmas were cackling before every door; but at every house
we were told in the most emphatic manner that milk and eggs were not
to be found in Oldtown at that particular time. One man plucked up
courage to answer a few of our questions, but like the rest, his cows
were short of milk and his fowls did not lay enough eggs to pay for
their keeping. To take these people at their word, Oldtown was the
most godforsaken spot on the globe. One dried-up specimen of womanhood
was hanging out her clothes on the line when we appeared at her gate:
hearing the latch click, she looked around sharply and received a
shock that must have shortened her days. Exclaiming, “Sakes alive!”
she dropped the garment from her hand, rushed into the house and
slammed and bolted the door in our faces. It was useless to apply for
provisions there.

Finally, at the very last house in the village we found a family who
actually asked us to walk in, offered us seats and a drink of milk,
and supplied us with fresh eggs, milk and buns for a reasonable price.
Their hospitality was thoroughly appreciated and is not forgotten.

When the fog rose the wind rose also, a regular stiffener out of the
northeast. The little _Frolic_ beat up the exceedingly narrow and
winding channel under a press of sail, working beautifully in the
short tacks with her lee rail buried half the time. When we reached
Newburyport the drawbridge flew up, and dashing through we anchored
in the Merrimac, near the railroad-bridge, at three ~P. M.~,
just as it began to screech out of the northeast; and howl it did for
two days, while the rain fell in torrents. The _Frolic_ hung on, with
both anchors down, and a long scope of cable. But when the wind backed
into the nor’west the second night for an hour or two, and blew down
the swollen river, which ran like a mill-race, it looked as if the
yacht would drag her anchors and be blown on Plum Island or out to
sea. Luckily everything held, and the wind was soon back in the old
quarter. We had a fine period of leisure during the gale for sleeping,
reading up all the old novels on board, and living like fighting-cocks
on shore, where we found a fine old negro, whose thrifty wife has no
superior on that coast for roasting chickens and cooking coffee.

It came out fine after the gale, the wind soft and bland and the sea
as enchanting as if it had not been doing its level best to shift the
sands of Newburyport bar and strew the coast with wrecks. We hung out
all the muslin and stood over to the Isles of Shoals. After dining at
the Appledore, we started for Portsmouth. The glow of a superb sunset
suffused land and sea and sky as we slid past the Whaleback Light and
anchored in the Piscataqua, off Newcastle.

The following morning, when the flood-tide set in, we ran up past
Pull-and-be-dam Point, and the other intricacies which render the
approach to Portsmouth a matter of care and patience, and anchored
in a creek opposite the Navy Yard. Here we were detained for nearly
four days by a dense fog, sometimes accompanied by rain, which made
it inexpedient to run along the coast. While lying at Portsmouth we
repeatedly availed ourselves of the hospitalities of the Rockingham
House, a small but admirable hotel. Finally the fog cleared away,
and, in company with several other yachts detained like the _Frolic_,
we were able to put to sea. Our long detention at the last two ports
made it necessary to head for home. We passed the first night of our
return voyage at Pigeon Cove. The entrance is only wide enough to admit
the passage of one ship. The following day we towed the _Frolic_ out
in a calm, and took a breeze off Straitmouth Channel. The tide being
well up, we concluded to try this hazardous passage, which is only
reasonably safe at high tide with a leading wind. We were bowling along
quietly and comfortably, when in a most unexpected manner the _Frolic_
landed on the top of a rock scarce four feet below the surface. She
was caught only by the stern-post and the bow lay loose. The rock was
evidently steep and pointed, for the yacht rocked dangerously from side
to side and threatened to capsize. We all ran forward to the bow, and
our weight depressed the bow and caused the stern to float. Our escape
was such a relief that we felt it essential to offer a libation to
Bacchus.

Once through the channel, we took a staving nor’west breeze, which
swept us down to Point Shirley by four o’clock. By careful manœuvring
we succeeded in bringing the _Frolic_ safely back to her berth opposite
Long Wharf in time to go on shore and take a bath, followed by a jolly
dinner at one of the excellent restaurants with which Boston is better
supplied now than it was only a few years ago.

Thus ended a cruise which was attended by no remarkable adventures
nor extended over much time, but was none the less attended by much
pleasure as well as decided advantages to the health of all concerned.
We earnestly recommend a similar experience to the reader, simply
adding that cruising on that coast requires experience in things
nautical, and is sufficiently hazardous not to be trifled with by those
who are ignorant of seamanship and boat-sailing. Before closing, the
writer would suggest that for cruising and dodging from port to port, I
find the schooner rig preferable to that of the sloop, and should not
again select a sloop for such a purpose. Small schooners of the size
of the _Frolic_ are much more common in New England than New York. But
such are the advantages of this rig that it is singular it is not more
the fashion for cruising in an inexpensive manner.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Editor’s Open ~Window~.]

FOR VOLUME XIV.

~Outing~ closes its thirteenth volume with this issue. The
many readers that have come to us since we began the volume last
October furnish an unmistakable evidence that ~Outing~ has
given great satisfaction to the lovers of sport. Slowly and steadily
~Outing~ has improved. But the changes hitherto made have not
been so marked as those about to be made.

The success of ~Outing~ has been brought about by striving to
present, in the most attractive dress, both artistic and literary,
only such subjects as appeal, directly and closely, to the tastes and
proclivities of the ever-increasing army of genuine lovers of sport and
recreation.

In the fourteenth volume of ~Outing~, the best literature,
descriptive of every phase of legitimate sport as participated in by
ladies and gentlemen, will predominate.

In the hands of such mighty hunters as the late Gen. R. B. Marcy,
Lieutenant Robertson, Mr. G. O. Shields and Capt. Jack Crawford, the
crack of the rifle will be heard in the pages of ~Outing~. The
almost inaccessible fastnesses of the gigantic mountain chains which
traverse America and provide a very paradise for the lover of the
biggest kind of game hunting will be penetrated, and the thrilling
scenes and exciting adventures of following the elk, moose, bear, deer
and other game will be presented to our readers.

The streams, rivers and lakes of this continent afford finer fishing
than any other quarter of the globe. The salmon of the St. Lawrence
and Saskatchewan, the lordly muskallonge of the Nor’west, the bass and
trout of a thousand streams from Maine to California offer such sport
as is not to be mentioned in the same breath with what one gets on the
fly-whipped waters of Scotland, Ireland and Norway; and ~Outing~
will present to its readers authentic records of the experiences of the
best known adepts of this most fascinating sport.

Nothing is more remarkable in the general athletic revival of to-day
than the great attention that is given to the physical recreation and
development of the fair sex. This good work ~Outing~ has always
fostered, and to lead our gentle sisters into the joyous sports afield,
we will offer them articles on camping, rowing and swimming, and also
practical hints for horsemanship and fishing.

Recognizing that the dog is the sportsman’s best friend and most
constant companion, ~Outing~ is ready with a series of papers
on the breeding, breaking and training of the different breeds of dogs
used in the chase. Mr. Mercer will treat of Clumber Spaniels, Mr.
Anthony of Pointers, and other writers will write of setters and hounds
for deer-coursing, hunting, etc.

For the sportsman who, over lea and bracken and swamp and meadow
and upland, follows the partridge, the quail and the woodcock,
~Outing~, in the coming volume, will have a rich treasure of
useful as well as interesting reading. We have reminiscences of duck
shooting in Canada, California, Oregon and other celebrated haunts, not
forgetting, of course, the pleasures of Chesapeake Bay and the delights
of the Carolinas and Florida.

In the field of general athletics, ~Outing~ may justly claim to
have done much; and the appreciation already manifested in our Club
and College articles by all classes of readers has determined us to
give this branch of our work its full share of prominence in the coming
volume.

Summer field sports will, of course, find ample representation in
~Outing~. Mr. H. J. Slocum, Jr., Mr. Taylor, and other prominent
players and writers on Lawn Tennis, will fully describe the interest
taken in this widely popular game. Articles will appear on tennis on
the Pacific slope, the South, and the more brilliant achievements
at Newport, Staten Island, Orange, and other fashionable centres of
the game. Cricket in England, Australia and America will be fully
discussed, while Baseball, Lacrosse, and the popular pastime of Lawn
Bowls, will be the themes of handsomely illustrated articles.

Rowing has at all times been a most popular exercise among college and
club men, and ~Outing~ will publish a very valuable series of
papers on the ~Evolution of Form in College and Amateur Rowing~.
The recognized leading authorities on this subject have prepared these
articles, and they will be one of the most attractive features of the
coming numbers. While properly representing the brethren of the oar,
~Outing~ has by no means forgotten the wielders of the paddle,
and canoeists will find many a pleasant sketch of cruising and camping
in the summer pages of ~Outing~.

In Yachting matters ~Outing~ has always led the van, and we
propose to present to our aquatic friends a fine galaxy of yachting
literature during the coming season. The Larchmont Club will open the
ball, and this article will be followed by others on the Seawanhaka,
Eastern, and other prominent organizations. The illustrations for
these articles will embrace reproductions from photographs of the
leading flyers and “cracks” in each fleet, and the whole will be a most
valuable collection of modern boats.

The marvelous results that can be obtained by the modern instantaneous
camera, and the comparatively little trouble given by adding an outfit
to one’s camp or field kit, makes photography a prominent feature in
any expedition nowadays. In fact, photography may be aptly called a
picture diary, which chronicles scenes and episodes more vividly and
graphically than the most brilliant and epigrammatic collection of
notes. ~Outing~ will, therefore, furnish a series of short,
pithy papers on photography, and Mr. Ellerslie Wallace, who writes the
articles, is an instructor from whom all will be proud to learn.

Continent may differ from continent, nation from nation, in language,
religion, and government, but sport is cosmopolitan, its literature is
universal, its followers are brothers all the world over. Thus we find
sportsmen in Europe are just as eager to read the doings by “flood and
field” in America as Americans are interested in all that appertains
to sport across the sea. ~Outing~, then, must of necessity be
international, and with this idea in view the Editor and Manager of
~Outing~ went to Europe recently to look over the field in
England and on the continent, and returned bringing many MSS. and
illustrations with him in his portmanteau, and his pockets lined with
contracts for articles that will make the fourteenth volume an evidence
of a good work done.

“Plantagenet,” whose name is familiar wherever English sport is known,
will contribute regularly hereafter, and his introduction in this issue
is sufficient to acquaint those who never read his writings with the
great gain this connection brings to ~Outing~ in the department
of hunting and racing on British soil.

“Rockwood,” who has heretofore occasionally written for our pages, will
hereafter address us at frequent intervals on sport with the _Rod and
Gun_. “Redspinner,” than whom none writes better of the pleasures of
Walton’s disciples, will contribute a series of papers. Mr. Dalziel,
who has become one of the best living authorities on the _Kennel_, has
taken in hand the kennel interests in Great Britain; and Mr. R. H.
Moore, the clever English dog-artist, will furnish the illustrations,
so that ere Vol. 14 closes the friends of the Kennel will have secured
with its six numbers a pretty good history on matters canine in
England and America. Lady Arnold has contributed a series of articles
on _Yachting_, to be followed by valuable papers on this subject from
other writers. A special correspondent has been sent by ~Outing~
to the Mediterranean, and Yachting in Southern Europe will be the topic
of a series of valuable papers to our yachtsmen.

Friends of the wheel have been specially cared for, and Mr. Joseph
Pennell, who needs no introduction to cyclers, is now engaged on a
series of articles and illustrations that will give ~Outing~ a
new look altogether. But, aside from these and other valuable papers,
we have the pleasure of announcing the return of Mr. Howarth from the
Azores, whither he was sent by ~Outing~, at great expense, with
cycle, gun, and camera, to explore the islands of the sea; and the
articles on _Cycling in Mid-Atlantic_, illustrated by Harry Fenn and
Joseph Pennell, will prove one of the greatest attractions that any
magazine ever offered to its readers. Lady Brierly will contribute
papers on the horse; and last, but not least, the greatest of sporting
writers, Capt. Hawley Smart, is now completing a sporting novel for
~Outing~ that will run through at least six numbers, and be one
of the best stories ever given to magazine pages.

~Outing~ has spared no pains to secure the best artists to
illustrate its excellent literary material, and with such a staff at
our command as Harry Fenn, Henry Sandham, A. C. Corbould, Joseph
Pennell, M. J. Burns, R. H. Moore, J. W. Fosdick, Marie Guise, Eugene
Bauer, and others of minor note, the readers may look forward to seeing
each subject that is illustrated done ample justice to.

~Outing~ having thus an international field to work in, the
American editors have called to their assistance a thoroughly competent
English editor, whose authority and reputation on all sporting topics
is admitted on both sides of the Atlantic. For this most important
position we are happy in obtaining the services of no less a light than
the world-renowned “Borderer,” who for the past decade has been one of
the leading contributors to every publication of reputation in England,
and whose knowledge and judgment in sporting matters is second to none.
He needs no further introduction from us; let him speak for himself.

* * * * *

INTRODUCING OUR ENGLISH EDITOR.

I cannot outdo the Ethiopian in changing the color of my skin--even
in putting on a new coat, the color must be the same. The question of
its fitting is a serious one, and you know, readers, how uneasy and
uncomfortable a thing it is to wear a new garment for the first time.
You feel like a marked man. When a schoolboy you were pinched by all
the other boys in commemoration of the event, and however proud you may
have been of the fit, it took the edge considerably off your conceit to
be asked, “Who’s your tailor?”

And now that my old garment--the delight of many a play hour, the
warm friend of my youth, the custodian of my body in many a sport,
the well-worn aid to health and strength--has been thrown aside and
taken to the old-clothes shop to be refitted, I find myself very like
the nervous schoolboy about to run the gauntlet of fresh critics, and
perhaps ruthless ones; critics who know not the Borderer of old; who
have not followed his rambling prose through many years, and caught the
drift of his sporting thoughts; critics, too, whose tastes may not be
so thoroughly in harmony with his as those of yore. And yet, perhaps
the fear is greater than the reason for it, and on the score of plenary
indulgence at starting, I shall try to make my new garment, the English
editorship of ~Outing~, as appreciable as possible to my new
acquaintances. Would that I could say with Oliver Goldsmith--

“He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back.”

~Outing~ is now our pet. Through it Borderer can speak to the
world of sport.

What makes Jack a dull boy? The lack of ~Outing~.

“Funny name, that,” exclaimed a friend of mine the other day, “but,
after all, very expressive.”

How we all look forward to our ~Outing~! Even those who have
little chance of enjoying it. Do not they also count the days of its
possible coming? Every one to his taste. We are off, like greyhounds
from the slips, eager for sport, recreation or travel. Here still
oftener, and for a modest sixpence, is ~Outing~, to make you
learned in sport all the world over, and more worthy of your real
happy outing when it comes. As money and modes of locomotion increase
and multiply, so will ~Outing~ flourish until it spreads its
happy pages, like eagles’ wings, throughout the world. Neither sea nor
land will stop the echo and re-echo of its outspoken thoughts, and
proportionately great will be the responsibility of its utterances, as
well as of those in whom it will confide as authors. To be a sportsman
is one thing--to write of sport is another. “I must be cruel only to
be kind,” says Shakespeare. So truth, honesty and uprightness shall be
our leading characteristics. A true sportsman should be bold as a lion,
steady as a rock, quick as an arrow, ’cute as a coon, cautious as a
man, hard as nails, sober as a judge, with the temper of an angel, the
eve of a lynx, the voice of a siren, and the nerve of a hero.

Taking these mighty attributes with us, my readers, let us launch our
good ship on its transatlantic voyage. Let us fancy ourselves like
bold Æneas of old, about to venture on new scenes, and interview the
grandees of far-off countries, carrying with us the dauntless standard
of sport. Ever foremost in the fray, ever aloft as the acme of delight,
ever where virtue and destiny call--then Borderer’s reward will be
signaled by the boundless success of his new venture--

~Outing~.

~Borderer.~

* * * * *

DOG CHAT.

Negotiations are now in progress between the presidents of the National
Dog Club of America and the American Kennel Club, with the object of
bringing about some amicable arrangement between factions, and it is
quite on the cards that ere this is read they will have amalgamated,
the members of the N. D. C., in all probability joining as associate
members of the A. K. C. The objectionable feature of the “associate”
scheme, insufficient representation, has been eliminated. Every 100
members will be privileged to elect a representative who will be on the
same footing as the delegates of the kennel clubs. This should prove an
eminently satisfactory arrangement.

It has been made evident that public sentiment leans to the elder
organization (another demonstration of the incomprehensibility of _vox
populi_), and kennel matters, to all appearance, will be best advanced
by every one’s falling into line, and thereby securing a voice in the
government of dogdom. The A. K. C. makes fair promises, which, if
fulfilled, should satisfy all. If they fail, why, the traces can be
again kicked over.

This will be a busy season in dogdom, as an important show is
scheduled-for each week from January to the end of April, and others,
not as yet announced, will probably run well on into the month of May.
Truly may it be said that dog shows are advancing in public favor when
such can be the case.

The four important Field Trial meetings (those of the Indiana, Eastern,
Southern and American F. T. clubs) are now things of the past, and
taking them as a whole they have not received the liberal patronage of
former years. As usual, the Memphis and Avent Kennel of Tennessee has
swept everything before it, and equally, of course, the blood of old
“Count Noble” is again to the front.

The Hempstead fox-terrier coursing has caused a considerable stir
of late. While I am not in sympathy with the proceedings of the
“Alphabetical” Society in this matter, I cannot make out just where
the “sport” comes in in seeing a benumbed and scared “bunny” chased
and killed by terriers. We are told that the “course” frequently takes
less than thirty seconds’ time to decide, and that the rabbit _never
escapes_. Now this, to my way of thinking, damns it as a field sport,
the fascination in which is the element of uncertainty it contains;
the knowledge that your skill and training, or your dog’s, is pitted
against the natural cunning and quickness of the beast or bird pursued,
and in the knowledge that the quarry has a chance for its life. Take
away this and I am sure field sports will lose many of those who are
at present devoted to them. Give the rabbits fair “law,” a chance for
their lives, then it will be a legitimate sport.

An extraordinarily high-priced lot of greyhounds recently changed hands
under the hammer in London. They were the property of Mr. Dent, who has
given up coursing for the present. The puppy Fullerton was sold at 850
guineas to Colonel North, while Bit o’ Fashion was bought by the same
purchaser for 200 guineas, also Miss Glendyne for 510 guineas. Huic
Holloa fetched 350 guineas, and Jester 190 guineas. The prices paid
throughout were high.

The English St. Bernard, Prince Battenberg, who once beat Plinlimmon,
is for sale. His owner, Mr. King-Patten, announces that he has received
an offer of 2,000 guineas for the dog, from an American. I fear some
one has been “pulling his leg.”

~Dogwhip.~

* * * * *

COLLEGE SPORTS.

Exceptionally fine weather, October temperature, has made it possible
for active college youths to practice various pastimes which are
usually relegated to obscurity or the gymnasium during the cold winter
months. Games of ball, lacrosse and tennis have been played in the open
air, and in some places crews have been out in their frail shells. That
boating will be very popular this spring seems assured if the interest
shown by Yale, Harvard, Columbia, Cornell, and the University of
Pennsylvania in the doings of their respective crews is any indication.
With the return to college from the Christmas vacation the serious
work of training conscientiously and intelligently began, and now the
weeding-out process will soon begin. Harvard naturally expects great
things from the tank. In January, the crew was able to do some rowing
on the Charles, which, with work in the gymnasium and in the tank has
given the crew a very good send-off. At no time previous has there
been so wide-spread an interest in correct, scientific rowing as at
present, and every effort is made by the captain to get the most out
of his crew, not as one ordinarily would suppose, by getting his men
to develop muscle and pull for all there was in them, but by studying
the possibilities of each member and so combining them according to
scientific principles as to yield the best results. This method is in
vogue at Harvard and at Yale, where Bob Cook and prominent graduates,
members of former crews, for months before the great race, consult and
figure upon the material at hand, and endeavor to get it into shape.

The other sports, baseball and track athletics, are not being neglected
by their admirers. The fleetfooted sprinters have been taking part in
the several meetings of the Amateur Union and the National Association,
and are consequently in comparatively good trim. With this attention to
sport which the majority of college youths give, even in the many small
institutions which can not boast of possessing well-equipped gymnasiums
and track facilities, there is fast growing up a race which will be as
superior to the men of to-day as the present generation of young men is
superior to those of twenty years ago.

~J. C. Gerndt.~

[Illustration: ~THE OUTING CLUB.~]

WHAT YACHTING COSTS.

What does yachting cost? That to be able to own and properly maintain a
large yacht a man must have a good solid bank account to draw upon, is
a truth; but that one in very moderate circumstances may enjoy all the
pleasures of yachting is also true. Where there is one man who is able
to own and run an _Electra_ or a _Volunteer_, there are hundreds of
Corinthian yachtsmen who have “fun alive” with boats of from fifteen to
forty feet in length.

To state exactly, or even approximately, what yachting costs is
well-nigh as difficult as to guess the correct number of hairs on a
man’s head. But a very good general idea may be obtained by drawing
deductions from well-known data.

If old Commodore John C. Stevens, the first flag-officer of the New
York Yacht Club, were alive to-day, he would be surprised as well as
delighted to observe the wonderful growth and improvement yachting has
made since his time, nearly half a century ago, and no doubt he would
hold up his hands in amazement at the increase in the luxuriousness of
the appointments of a yacht during the same period.

The New York Yacht Club was organized in 1844, by Mr. Stevens and
others, and was the outcome of the first organized effort ever made
in this country to popularize yachting. The yachts of those days were
few in number, and of small tonnage, The _Maria_, Commodore Stevens’
last yacht, though in her time a giant among her sister yachts, would
be rated as only of average size compared with the larger pleasure
craft of to-day. Her appointments, too, though far superior to those of
her contemporaries, were very commonplace and inexpensive as compared
with the palatial luxuriance of the interior fittings of any of the
large yachts now afloat. To spend $20,000 at that time in building and
equipping a yacht was considered extraordinary, if not a financial
impossibility, for any man except Commodore Stevens, who, as the owner
of nearly all of Hoboken and Weehawken, was estimated to be about the
wealthiest man in America.

Since the organization of the New York Yacht Club, however, and
especially since the success of the yacht _America_ in England, each
succeeding year has witnessed a multiplication of yachts, an increase
in their size, and especially an augmentation of the luxuriance of
their furnishings that have excited the wonder and admiration of the
yachting world.

The yachts _America_, _Julia_, _Una_, and _Widgeon_, of the early
period of American yachting history, were prodigies of their day and
generation in respect to speed and size. All four were productions
of that famous designer, George Steers, and were invincible against
vessels built by other designers of the period. In this respect
Edward Burgess, of Boston, concededly holds to-day the place occupied
by George Steers thirty-five years ago; and the former designer’s
_Puritan_, _Mayflower_, _Sachem_, and _Volunteer_ have to-day a
relative standing among yachts very much like that which George
Steers’ productions enjoyed in their generation.

The total cost of all the yachts of forty years ago was less than
that of Mr. William K. Vanderbilt’s yacht _Alva_ alone. Two hundred
thousand dollars would have been sufficient to buy the entire fleet.
Year by year the amount of money expended for yachts has kept pace with
the steady increase of the wealth of the country, till now it exceeds
several millions of dollars annually. What the magnificent fleet of
vessels which constitute the squadron of the New York Yacht Club to-day
cost to build, rig, spar and furnish, represents an outlay of more than
$3,500,000. The yachts at present enrolled in the New York Yacht Club
number 184. Of these sixty-seven are schooners, sixty-five sloops,
cutters and yawls, forty-six steamers and six launches. The tonnage
of these 184 vessels aggregates 18,000 tons. The very best estimate
obtainable from figures shows that it costs $200 per ton to build, rig,
and fully furnish the average American yacht ready for cruising.

Instead of the one yacht club of 1844, there were on May 1, 1888, 101
incorporated yacht clubs in America. Of the yachting associations not
yet advanced to the dignity of incorporated bodies, there are doubtless
from two to three times as many more. These clubs are to be found in
almost every harbor on the great lakes, and on every bay, lake, river
and creek from one end of the land to the other. In fact, wherever
there is a sufficient body of water to sail some kind of a boat
upon, there will surely be found some sort of an association for the
promotion of yachting. From very careful estimates made from records
of yacht building, rigging and furnishing, which have been kept for
years, the total tonnage of all sailing or steam vessels owned and
run exclusively for purposes of pleasure in this country, on May 1,
1888, was 203,575, representing an aggregate money-value investment of
$40,715,000. In view of these large figures, and they are increasing
every year, the widespread and increasing interest taken in yachting
events is hardly to be wondered at. The money estimate must be more
than doubled, too, when “running expenses” are considered.

It is with a yacht very much as it is with a horse--it is not so much
the buying as the keeping that makes the money go. The first cost
of a yacht is, of course, very heavy, and it is estimated that this
outlay, with the money spent in keeping the boats and running them,
annually puts in circulation millions of dollars. The greatest item
of expense in running a yacht is the pay of the crew. A vessel like
the _Volunteer_, for example, gives employment for six months of the
year to fifteen men. Mr. Vanderbilt’s steam-yacht _Alva_ carries a
crew of 100 men, and the smaller of the cabin-yachts, say of about
twenty-five tons, require, to properly handle them, a sailing-master,
cook, and three men before the mast. All told, the yachts of the New
York Yacht Club furnish employment of this kind to more than 2,500
men, to whom the yacht owners pay not less than $125,000 per month
for six months of each year, or $750,000 for the six months. As the
average number of yachts belonging to each of the 101 yacht-clubs of
the country is thirty-three, the result shows that there is, or was
on May 1, 1888, a total of 3,333 yachts enrolled in the incorporated
yacht clubs of the United States; and carrying out the extensions
as based upon the estimate of the New York Yacht Club, the results
show that these 3,333 yachts give employment to 45,289 men, to whom
wages amounting to $2,264,450 are paid monthly, or the enormous sum
of $13,586,700 for a season of six months. It may be not altogether
proper to base the number and pay of crews for the yachts of the whole
country upon figures of the New York Yacht Club, for the vessels of
that club undoubtedly ton higher on the average than the vessels of
the less prominent clubs; but it must be remembered that in getting at
these figures only the incorporated associations have been considered,
and the hundreds and even thousands of yachts belonging to minor
associations, and the many yachts which fly the flag of no club at all,
have not been taken into the calculation. From this point of view, the
figures for crews and their salaries as given above furnish about as
good an idea of the totals as it is possible to obtain.

Again, a yacht which is kept up in good shape has to have her rigging
renewed constantly, and then there are the items of new sails,
repainting and overhauling on the dry dock. These expenses cannot be
estimated, and it is simply impossible to make a respectable guess, but
it amounts to hundreds of thousands of dollars each year.

One of the largest, and in some respects the largest, item of expense
in running a yacht is the steward’s department, but it is impossible
even to approximately estimate what is annually spent in this very
important department. One yacht owner may spend $15,000 a year
entertaining a great number of guests at his table, while another man,
with the same yacht may find one-third of that amount ample for the
same purpose; but the sum of money put in circulation for ship stores
and table furnishings may safely be put down as double the sum per
month paid to the crew and officers in wages, or $1,500,000 for the
yachting season of six months of the fleet of the New York Yacht Club
alone. Thus the total amount of money put in circulation in one season
by the yacht owners of this one club will not fall short of $3,500,000.

If the expenditure for maintaining the 184 yachts of the New York Yacht
Club is $3,500,000 a year, it is not improbable that not less than
$7,000,000 is spent on the 3,333 pleasure and racing craft of the 101
yacht clubs of the entire country for a like period of time.

There are other expenses which can be neither classified nor estimated,
such as, for instance, the hiring of extra men for races; the payment
of prize money to the crews of race-winners; repairs following
collisions, running ashore, carrying away of sails and spars, and a
thousand-and-one other things. Altogether, it is not overestimating the
case to say that American yacht owners put $7,000,000 into the hands of
workmen and tradesmen last year, and this amount bids fair to increase
annually. That which is put into new boats is not included in this
calculation at all, and easily amounted to $1,000,000 more.

The steamers and the large sloops built of recent years have tended to
very greatly augment the expenditure of money on yachts. The steamers,
especially, are a very expensive luxury. With them the coal bill is an
additional and large item.

Some very wild estimates have been made as to what it costs to run one
of the largest steam-yachts. It has been said that it costs Jay Gould
$3,000 a day to run the _Atalanta_. This is absurd. Vice-Commodore
E. A. Bateman, of the American Yacht Club, who owns the steam-yacht
_Meteor_, once was heard to say that he ran her at an expense of $35
a day; and several years ago, when Mr. James Gordon Bennett owned the
_Dauntless_, and was commodore of the New York Yacht Club, he is said
to have remarked that it cost him $25,000 a year to entertain his
guests alone. Probably the most expensively run yacht to-day is the
_Electra_, the flagship of the New York Yacht Club. It is said that she
costs Commodore Gerry $35,000 a year. But a yacht of fifty tons, if
economy be practiced, and she be not raced, may be run at a very modest
cost.

Many thousands of men enjoy all the sport to be had out of
pleasure-sailing in a craft whose first cost, completely equipped, was
but $1,000 or less. Such a yacht can be run at a very slight expense.
Craft of this kind are called “single-handers,” from the fact that
it requires but one man to handle them. Their number is large at
present, and they are rapidly growing in popular favor. If the cost of
such vessels, of yachts which are not enrolled in any club, and the
boats of the numerous canoe-clubs, were added to the figures given as
representing the amount invested in the pleasure vessels of the United
States, the aggregate would be something enormous.

~ROBERT DILLON.~

HOW’S THIS FOR BASS?

There are odd places in and around the waters of New York where the
enthusiastic fisherman can find plenty of sport at his favorite
pastime. One day, toward the close of September, W. E. Sibley, of this
city, an angler of some repute, and a companion, Mr. Del. Ruch, of
Clifford’s, Staten Island, set out to troll for striped bass in the
Great Kills. After they had trolled for some time, and had landed only
a few one and two pounders, the sport grew tame, and Del. Ruch left
Sibley’s boat and joined another fisherman to change his luck. Instead
of Ruch finding luck it came to Sibley. In a few minutes after Ruch
had left, Sibley’s troll was seized, and he found himself struggling
with a bass of more than ordinary fight. A lively tussle took place.
The fish had no idea of surrendering, and for half an hour the fish and
the fisherman had a nip-and-tuck time of it. Finally the bass, wearied
and worn out, yielded slowly, and when it was brought alongside of the
boat it showed up magnificently. It was a monster. Though conquered,
the fish was not captured. A difficulty arose regarding the ways and
means about getting it into the boat. There was no gaff-hook handy. Mr.
Sibley was perplexed. The thought of losing that bass, when it was so
near and yet so far, nearly unnerved him. He was equal to the occasion,
however. Holding the line stiff, Sibley ran his hand along the fish,
slipped it in beneath the immense gill covering, and lugged the big
fellow into the boat after a great effort. When measured and weighed,
it lacked just half an inch of three feet, and tipped the scale at
eighteen pounds. It is said to be the largest striped bass on record
caught within twenty miles of New York.

OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

“THE PLAYERS.”

Perhaps the most notable event in the players’ world, with which the
new year was ushered in, was the presentation by Edwin Booth to the
organization of leading actors known as “The Players,” of a magnificent
club-house in Grammercy Park. As the old year drew to a close there
assembled a brilliant audience of players and guests, and at the
stroke of twelve Mr. Booth handed over the deed to the property to Mr.
Augustin Daly, of “The Players.” Mr. Booth closed his presentation
speech in the following happy manner: “Though somewhat past the season,
let us now fire the Yule-log, with the request that it be burnt as
an offering of ‘love, peace and good-will to The Players.’ While
it burns, let us drink from this loving cup, bequeathed by William
Warren of loved and honored memory to our no less valued Jefferson,
and by him presented to us; from this cup and this souvenir of long
ago--my father’s flagon--let us now, beneath his portrait and on the
anniversaries of this occupation, drink: To the Players’ Perpetual
Prosperity.”

Mr. Daly responded appropriately in behalf of the club, and after a
general grasping of hands, all adjourned to feast around the generous
board. In every way this new home is most complete, and the decorations
are handsome and solid. In the lounging room are two oil paintings by
Joseph Jefferson. Beside them hangs Sir Joshua Reynolds’ celebrated
portrait of David Garrick. There is also a Gainsborough, and a portrait
of John Gilbert by J. Alden Weir. A goodly collection of dramatic
literature fills the library on the second floor, Mr. Booth having
presented 1,200 volumes, and Mr. Lawrence Barrett 2,000, besides a
large number of rare works from Augustin Daly, T. B. Aldrich, Stanford
White and others. An excellent maxim is found directly above the great
seal of the order, which is inserted in the ornamental brickwork under
the mantelpiece. It reads thus:

“Good friends, for friendship’s sake forbeare
To utter what is gossip heare
In social chatt, lest unawares
Thy tongue offende thy fellow-plaiers.”

OLD ENGLISH COMEDY.

For his annual comedy revival Mr. Daly has chosen Capt. George
Farquhar’s “The Inconstant; or, the Way to Win Him.” This play has not
been seen in this city since 1873, and in Mr. Daly’s hands the somewhat
doubtful _morale_ of the play has been improved, and thus the revival
was practically a first performance of the play. The change to suit
modern ideas has been admirably effected, though possibly the fifth
act might have been subjected to closer censorship. It is needless to
say that Mr. Daly’s band of players acted their parts well. The public
has come to accept that as almost a foregone conclusion. Miss Rehan as
_Oriana_ is the same person that has pleased us so long, but in the mad
scene she strikes a key that is almost pathetic. The “Inconstant” may
be looked upon as a success.

SHAKESPEARE AT PALMER’S.

Play-goers in New York have no reason to feel dissatisfied with
the feast spread before them this season. Shakespeare has not been
neglected for the newer generation of writers. Rarely has a play,
however, been put on the stage in a more complete way, with greater
magnificence and attention to details, than “Antony and Cleopatra.”
Mr. Abbey has spared no expense, and surely it would be difficult to
find an actress to look the part better than Mrs. James Brown Potter.
Whatever may be her faults, she has succeeded in ridding herself of
some of them, and in gesture, walk and pose this improvement is most
marked. She still lacks facility in expressive speaking. Thus the
presentation is of a spectacular sort, and on that fact will have to
depend success or failure. The single scene which perhaps impresses the
interested spectator most is revealed in the entrance of _Cleopatra’s_
barge--“a bizarre painting of Egypt’s historical convoy, with its
flowing sails of magenta, its glittering front and sides, its silver
oars, its fawning slaves, and, over all, the tinkle of drowsy music.”
The acting version of the play is by Mr. Kyrle Bellew, who himself
assumes the character of _Antony_. He is not a roystering old ruffian;
one does not behold scarred limbs and grizzled locks. The _Antony_ of
Kyrle Bellew is tender in speech, soft in action, and ever the lover.
The play is scheduled for an extended run, and will doubtless receive a
generous share of attention.

MACBETH.

At the Fifth Avenue Theater Mrs. Langtry has been acting _Lady
Macbeth_, and has won a good measure of success, which deserves
recognition for the reason that her conception of the part differs from
that acceptable to most Americans. Charlotte Cushman’s _Lady Macbeth_
was a grim, imperious virago, and we have accepted that version as
the true one. In Irving’s celebrated revival of the play, Ellen Terry
presents a coaxing, loving, charming contradiction to the Cushman
model. Mrs. Langtry has chosen a middle path. While not wholly able to
cope successfully with the part, she gives a thoroughly interesting
portrayal. In the sleep-walk scene she is bravely original. Utterly
sacrificing her comeliness, she comes out from her bedroom like a
veritable corpse from a tomb, a figure to shudder at in a theatre
and to fly from if met near a churchyard. While her reading of this
particular scene will call forth some condemnation perhaps, considerate
judgment must also accord praise.

The _Macbeth_ of Mr. Charles Coghlan was thoughtful, but hardly
satisfactory. It lacks the fire and passion which make the character
such a strong one in the hands of some actors. Mr. Joseph Wheelock,
as _Macduff_, was as successful as that conscientious actor usually
is in all he undertakes, and he called forth the enthusiasm of all by
his painstaking work. On the whole the venture may be looked upon as a
success.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: ~Among the Books~]

“~The~ Harvard Index” for 1888-89 is a very complete directory
of the students and the various literary and sporting organizations in
college. A valuable feature is the list of best-on-record performances,
both collegiate and other, for America and England.

* * * * *

~One~ of the best and most artistic college annuals is the
Princeton, 90, “Bric-à-Brac.” Some of the drawings are quite elaborate,
and very much to the point. The records of the doings of the different
associations, and the list of students, are as complete as it was
possible to make them.

* * * * *

~A series~ of interesting books is issued by the well-known
house of Lee & Shepard, under the general title of “Good Company.”
The name is well bestowed, and the thoughtful reader will find, as he
becomes acquainted with the various members of the company, that there
is much which he can note with profit. Not only is the company good,
but the dress is neat and inviting. The books before us are: “The
Lover,” by Steele; “The Wishing-Cap Papers,” by Leigh Hunt; “Fireside
Saints,” by Douglas Jerrold; “Dream Thorpe,” by Alexander Smith; “A
Physician’s Problems,” by Charles Elam; “Broken Lights,” by Frances
Power Cobbe, and “Religious Duties,” by the same author.

The same publishing house has issued a new edition of Rev. P. C.
Headley’s biography of “Fighting Phil.” This book, intended for young
readers, well describes the life of the dashing general, and at this
time, when his personal memoirs are receiving such marked attention,
the simpler story of Rev. Mr. Headley will be widely read by boys.

* * * * *

~An~ excellent library of sports and pastimes, the Badminton,
is being issued by Longmans, Green & Co. Those who are seeking for
knowledge on any of the subjects dealt with will find the results of
many years’ experience written by men who are in every case adepts at
the sport of which they write. There have already appeared, “Hunting,”
“Fishing,” “Racing and Steeple-chasing,” “Cycling,” “Athletics and
Football.” The latest additions to the library are “Boating” and
“Cricket.” The former volume is by W. B. Woodgate, a veteran oarsman;
the latter by A. G. Steel and the Hon. R. H. Lyttelton. The text is
handsomely illustrated, and in every respect are the volumes to be
recommended. Every sportsman should have a complete set of this series
of books; they are an ornament to any library, and the information
contained in them such as can not readily be obtained in other books on
sports.

* * * * *

“~Cruisings~ in the Cascades,” by the well-known author G. O.
Shields, is in the press of Rand, McNally & Co., of Chicago. It is a
record of an extended hunting tour, made by the author in the Cascade
Mountains in Oregon, Washington Territory, and British Columbia. The
work is handsomely illustrated from drawings and from instantaneous
photographs taken by Mr. Shields.

* * * * *

~An~ entertaining work, not only for grown people, but also for
boys, is John Augustus O’Shea’s “Military Mosaics.” The author has
tried to be faithful to truth, and the language used is as close an
approach to that which men would speak under the circumstances as can
well be given in print. This effort on the part of the author is to be
heartily commended, since boys are naturally anxious to know if things
are what they seem. In the author’s words, “There is not an event set
down which did not happen, or might not have happened, and to the
soldier’s life, as to all others, there is a seamy side.” Thus we are
told of hardships, fatiguing marches, exposure to all sorts of weather,
and are impressed with the fact that the chief pleasures of warfare are
those of memory. Messrs. W. H. Allen & Co., London, are the publishers.

The same firm has brought out “Orient and Occident,” a journey east
from Lahore to Liverpool, by Major-General R. C. W. Reveley Mitford.
It is a description of a home-coming by routes little traveled. China,
Japan and the United States are successively visited, and as the
author drifts from place to place he rather pleasantly gives us his
impressions. The text is embellished with illustrations from sketches
by the author.

A useful book for the yachtsmen who wish to spend some time cruising in
the Mediterranean is “Shooting and Yachting in the Mediterranean,” by
A. G. Bagot. Of course the yachtsman always provides himself with guns,
and is ever ready to “pepper away.” However, it is rather the rule that
he fails to bag his game. In “Shooting and Yachting” he will find much
useful information on this point, as well as learn of localities to be
visited, dangers to be avoided, etc. Not the least valuable part of
Mr. Bagot’s work are the practical hints to yachtsmen, and the list of
yacht-clubs with which the book closes. Allen & Co., London, are the
publishers.

* * * * *

~The~ author of the “Book of the Black Bass” has issued through
the press of Robert Clarke & Co., Cincinnati, a supplement, which he
calls very happily “More About the Black Bass.” In it he presents the
latest developments in the scientific and life history of this best
of American game fishes, and describes the most recent improvements
in tools, tackle and implements. The little work appears at a most
opportune time.

* * * * *

~In~ his “Hunting Notes” “Borderer” gives a valuable resumé of
the season’s work. While of no direct interest to the American reader,
these notes present an admirable picture of the way hunting is done in
Old England, and to those who follow the hounds in this country, and
their number is increasing from year to year, a perusal of “Hunting
Notes” will be profitable and entertaining. The publishers are A. H.
Baily & Co., London.

[Illustration: AMENITIES]

I’M SINGLE NO LONGER, YOU KNOW.

’Twas while kneeling at beauty’s fair shrine,
In the years that I fain would regain,
Spinster Fate drugged my vintage of wine,
And entangled me fast in her skein.
In the days ere my star’s sudden wane,
I was thought a most handsome young beau,
But I’m now called “decidedly plain,”
For I’m single no longer, you know!

Edith said that my eyes were divine
As we strolled thro’ the green country lane--
That the girls thought my figure was fine,
I discovered from sweet Mary Jane;
But alas for a once happy swain,
With the virtues of one year ago!
I am met with a haughty disdain,
For I’m single no longer, you know!

Tho’ these ballades and rondeaux of mine
Had the verdict of “quite in the vein,”
They say now I am shunned by the _Nine_,
And my verses are ruthlessly slain.
Tho’ by courtesy we are called twain,
’Tis my wife that comprises the Co.,
And of course I’ve no right to complain,
For I’m single no longer, you know!

* * * * *

In a word, to conclude the refrain,
I have hung up my fiddle and bow,
I have mortgaged my castles in Spain,
For I’m single no longer, you know!

_Sanborn Gove Tenney._

--------------------------------------------------------------------

FOR A PRESENT WHAT COULD BE BETTER THAN A SUBSCRIPTION?

[Illustration: SCRIBNER’S MAGAZINE]

Among the Artists represented are:

ELIHU VEDDER.
J. ALDEN WEIR.
J. W. TWACHTMAN.
M. J. BURNS.
WILLIAM HOLE.
GEORGE HITCHCOCK.
J. FRANCIS MURPHY.
WILL H. LOW.
W. H. GIBSON.
J. D. WOODWARD.
ROBERT BLUM.
C. JAY TAYLOR.
ALFRED KAPPES.
ELBRIDGE KINGSLEY.
BRUCE CRANE.
WALTER L. PALMER.

SCRIBNER’S MAGAZINE.

_Christmas Number Now Ready._

The completion of the second year of ~Scribner’s Magazine~
will be signalized by the publication of a remarkably beautiful and
interesting =Christmas Number=. There will be about _sixty
illustrations_, one-third of them full-pages of rich design.

=ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON= will contribute a second instalment
of his romantic novel, “_The Master of Ballantrae_,” strikingly
illustrated by William Hole.

=H. C. BUNNER’S= “_Squire Five Fathom_” is a delicate and finely
imagined story. C. Jay Taylor of _Puck_, will fully illustrate it.

=REBECCA HARDING DAVIS= will tell a story of life at a wayside
station in the North Carolina mountains. Illustrations by Alfred Kappes.

=W. M. TABER= will contribute an unusually ingenious tale of a
mystery entitled “_Three Bad Men_,” with illustrations by Francis Day
and M. J. Burns.

=JOHN J. à BECKETT= will tell the story of a sentiment. Its title
is “_The Roses of the Señor_,” and it will be illustrated by Robert
Blum.

=WILL H. LOW=, the artist, will describe the origin and rapid
growth in the United States of the art of making stained-glass windows;
with beautiful reproductions of windows by La Farge, Armstrong, Tiffany
and Lathrop.

=WINTER IN THE ADIRONDACKS= will be picturesquely described by
Hamilton Wright Mabie, and elaborately illustrated by W. Hamilton
Gibson, Bruce Crane, J. Francis Murphy, and J. D. Woodward.

=LESTER WALLACK’S= Reminiscences will be concluded; fully
illustrated with portraits--one, taken last summer, representing Mr.
Wallack at his country home, with his favorite dog at his feet.

=GEORGE HITCHCOCK=, the artist, will write of Botticelli.
Illustrations from drawings by the author.

=ILLUSTRATED POEMS= will be a feature of the number, one of them,
“~The Lion of the Nile~,” containing four pictures by ~Elihu
Vedder~.

=MR. STEVENSON= concludes for this year his series of monthly
papers with “_A Christmas Sermon_.”

The publishers of ~Scribner’s Magazine~ aim to make it
the most popular and enterprising of periodicals, while at all
times preserving its high literary character. 25,000 new readers
have been drawn to it during the past six months by the increased
excellence of its contents (notably the Railway articles), and it
closes its second year with a new impetus and an assured success.
The illustrations will show some new effects, and nothing to make
~Scribner’s Magazine~ attractive and interesting will be
neglected.

Price, 25 Cents a Number; $3.00 a Year.

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 743-745 Broadway, N. Y.

FRAUDS IN POROUS PLASTERS.

Those who cannot originate, =imitate=, and all so-called Porous
Plasters are only fraudulent imitations of =ALLCOCK’S=. If you
want the genuine article, be certain not only to ask for

“=ALLCOCK’S=,”

but look well at the plaster and see that this

=Trade=

[Illustration]

=Mark=

is on every one. None are genuine without it.

ROYAL

[Illustration: FULL WEIGHT

ROYAL BAKING POWDER

ABSOLUTELY PURE

TRADE MARK

ROYAL

BAKING POWDER

ROYAL REGISTE]

BAKING

POWDER

Absolutely Pure.

This powder never varies. A marvel of purity, strength and
wholesomeness. More economical than the ordinary kinds, and cannot be
sold in competition with the multitude of low test, short weight, alum
or phosphate powders. _Sold only in cans._ ~Royal Baking Powder
Co.~, 106 Wall St., N.Y.

GOLD MEDAL, PARIS, 1878.

=BAKER’S=

Breakfast Cocoa.

[Illustration]

Warranted =_absolutely pure Cocoa_=, from which the excess of
Oil has been removed. It has _more than three times the strength_
of Cocoa mixed with Starch Arrowroot or Sugar, and is therefore far
more economical, _costing less than one cent a cup_. It is delicious,
nourishing, strengthening, easily digested, and admirably adapted for
invalids as well as for persons in health.

* * * * *

=Sold by Grocers everywhere.=

* * * * *

W. BAKER & CO., Dorchester, Mass.

GOLD MEDAL, PARIS, 1878.

=BAKER’S=

Vanilla Chocolate

[Illustration]

Like all our chocolates, is prepared with the greatest care, and
consists of a superior quality of cocoa and sugar, flavored with pure
vanilla bean. Served as a drink, or eaten dry as confectionery, it is a
delicious article, and is highly recommended by tourists.

* * * * *

=Sold by Grocers everywhere.=

W. BAKER & CO., Dorchester, Mass.

UNITED STATES

~Government~

AND OTHER DESIRABLE

~Securities~

FOR

INVESTORS

Harvey Fisk & Sons,

BANKERS,

28 Nassau Street, New York.

J. & W. TOLLEY’S “PARAGON”

HAMMERLESS GUN.

[Illustration]

=AFTER ELEVEN YEARS’ TRIAL= in every sporting country, now stands
unequalled for SAFETY, DURABILITY, EASE OF MANIPULATION and GENERAL
EFFICIENCY.

Prices, $79, $100, $125, $150, $175.

The Highest Possible
Excellence.
The Most Elegant
English Guns.

LONG RANGE WILDFOWL GUNS.

[Illustration]

Guaranteed performance of 10-bore at 100 yds.; 8-bore at 120 yds.;
4-bore at 150 yds.

Shooting certificate accompanies each gun. Full particulars in detailed
catalogue mailed free.

=AMERICANS= wishing a perfect gun should call to be accurately
measured, and we will build gun while they are in Europe.

1 CONDUIT STREET, REGENT STREET, LONDON.

LORENZ REICH,
IMPORTER OF THE CHOICEST AND PUREST
HUNGARIAN WINES,
Commended by the most Eminent Medical Men
of this Country.

[Illustration: UNGAR-WEIN. NULLUM VINUM NISI HUNGARICUM Tokayer
Ausbruch REGISTERED 1872]

THIS IS TO CERTIFY that I have examined Mr. Reich’s ~Tokayer Ausbruch~,
~Tokayer Maslas~, and ~Budai Imp.~ I take great pleasure in commending
these wines to the medical profession because of their _purity_.

R. OGDEN DOREMUS, M.D., LL.D.,

_Prof. of Chemistry and Toxicology, Bellevue Hospital Med. Coll., and
Prof. of Chemistry and Physics, Coll. City of N. Y._

Tokayer Ausbruch and Tokayer Maslas, Vintage of 1874.

=Somlayai Imp.= (White Wine), and =Budai Imp.= (Red Wine),
=Vintage of 1874.=

SLIVOVITZ (Prune Brandy), 1868.

Sherries from the Vineyards of J. J. V. VEGAS, Frontera, Spain.

RAYAS, PALO CORTADO, AMONTILLADO PASADO, SANTO TOMAS.

ALSO, SOLE AGENT U. S. A. AND CANADA, FOR THE FOLLOWING BRANDS
CHAMPAGNE:

MOIGNEAUX PERE ET FILS, DIZY, CUREE DE RESERVE, TRES SEC, PRES
EPERNAY.

LORENZ REICH, The Cambridge, 334 Fifth Avenue, New York.

Branch Office, 70 State St., Chicago, Ill. Telephone Call,
318--39th St.

_All orders promptly filled and shipped to any part of the United
States. Beware of Impositions, as unscrupulous dealers are buying up my
empty bottles._

The Kodak Camera

Anybody can use the ~Kodak~ without learning anything about
photography, further than the mere operation of pointing the
camera and ~PRESSING A BUTTON~. No dark rooms or chemicals
necessary. The camera is loaded for =100= pictures.

~The Kodak System~ is a ~DIVISION OF LABOR~ whereby
all the work of finishing the pictures is done at the factory,
where the camera is sent by mail to be reloaded, and is available
for those who have no time, inclination or facilities for learning
photography.

Any Amateur can, of course, finish his own pictures if desirable.

If you want to know more about the Kodak, send for a copy of the
Kodak Primer: a beautiful illustrated pamphlet containing Kodak
photograph, free, by mail.

The Eastman Dry Plate and Film Co.,

PRICE, $25.00. ~Rochester, N. Y.~

_For sale by all Photo. Stock Dealers._

--------------------------------------------------------------------

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Outing; Vol. XIII.; October, 1888 to March, 1889 - An Illustrated Monthly Magazine of Recreation." ***

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