Outing; Vol. XIII.; October, 1888 to March, 1889 / An Illustrated Monthly Magazine of Recreation.
Date: 2020-11-02T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Recreation -- Periodicals; Sports -- Periodicals; Outdoor recreation -- Periodicals

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Outing; Vol. XIII.; October, 1888 to March, 1889

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Title: Outing; Vol. XIII.; October, 1888 to March, 1889

Author: Various

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Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUTING; VOL. XIII.; OCTOBER, 1888 TO MARCH, 1889 ***

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.

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.

OUTING

AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

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.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

PRESS OF FLEMING, BREWSTER & ALLEY, NEW YORK.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XIII.

OCTOBER, 1888-MARCH, 1889.

| PAGE
AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY. |

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

A WOODLAND SHOT.

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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.

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.

OGDEN BOAT CLUB.

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LARGER IMAGE

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.

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. 453⁄4s., two miles with turn. At the National Association regatta, at Albany, N. Y., in the same year, he won the trial heat; time, 8m. 461⁄2s., 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.

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

THE BIG FOUR OF THE FARRAGUT CLUB.

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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.

CATLIN BOAT CLUB.

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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.

CLUB-HOUSE AT EVANSTON.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

THE FARRAGUT CLUB-HOUSE.

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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.

J. F. CORBET.

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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.

A SCAMPER ON THE BREEZY DOWNS OF SUSSEX.

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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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 651⁄2 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.”

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.

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.”

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. 571⁄4s., 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. 103⁄4s., making a new record of 15m. 473⁄4s. 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.

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.

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.

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 1⁄4 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.

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.

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.

[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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

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.

HOW TO TAKE A TRAMP TRIP.

BY LEE MERIWETHER.

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

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.”

COURSING IN IRELAND.

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.

YSLETA

BY E. HOUGH.

I.

’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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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 293⁄4 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 (11⁄2 miles paddle, 11⁄2 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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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.

HOW BASEBALL WILL PROBABLY BE PLAYED 100 YEARS HENCE.

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?

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. 31⁄4 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. 1⁄2 in.; P. J. Griffin, 41 ft. 91⁄2 in.

Standing long jump—John F. Hartnett, 13 ft. 6 in.; P. J. Griffin, 12 ft. 91⁄2 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. 41⁄2 in.; George Ross, 89 ft. 7 in.

Running long jump—Con. J. Sullivan, 20 ft. 9 in.; David Ader, 20 ft. 81⁄2 in.; Wm. Henderson, 20 ft. 4 in.

Members’ 150-yard dash—First, John Flynn, 171⁄2s.; 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. 1⁄2 in.; Philip Cummings, 21 ft.

Standing high jump—P. J. Griffin, 5 ft. 6 in.; John Hartnett, 5 ft. 53⁄4. in.; Archie Scott, 5 ft. 5 in.

Three standing jumps—P. J. Griffin 39 ft. 6 in.; John F. Hartnett, 38 ft. 91⁄2 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. 83⁄4 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. 83⁄4 in.

Standing hop, step and jump—John F. Hartnett, 35 ft. 7 in.; Archie Scott, 35 ft. 3 in.; P. J. Griffin, 34 ft. 11⁄2 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. 111⁄2 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. 101⁄4 in. in the running high jump. Pritchard won by a toss.

Weight throwing—C. A. J. Queckberner won, covering a distance of 26 ft. 43⁄4 in., beating his best previous record 11⁄2 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. 281⁄2s.

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 101⁄2s.; 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. 191⁄2s.

Single paddling—Won by Thomas Garrett, in 4m. 381⁄2s.; 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:

CLUBS.

New York.

Chicago.

Detroit.

Boston.

Philadelphia.

Pittsburgh.

Indianapolis.

Washington.

New York

—

4

8

12

14

7

13

11

Chicago

8

—

10

9

8

9

12

6

Detroit

5

10

—

5

7

9

11

10

Boston

8

7

6

—

6

5

10

15

Philadelphia

5

5

5

9

—

12

7

10

Pittsburgh

3

11

7

7

4

—

13

6

Indianapolis

4

5

8

8

4

6

—

10

Washington

4

5

5

5

9

7

4

—

Games Lost

37

47

49

51

52

55

68

70

Victories.

Possible
victories.

Played.

To play.

Per cent. of
victories.

New York

69

103

106

34

.651

Chicago

62

93

109

32

.569

Detroit

57

91

106

34

.538

Boston

57

89

108

32

.528

Philadelphia

53

88

105

35

.505

Pittsburgh

51

85

106

34

.481

Indianapolis

41

70

111

29

.369

Washington

39

72

107

33

.364

Games Lost

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.

CLUBS.

St. Louis.

Athletic.

Brooklyn.

Cincinnati.

Cleveland.

Baltimore.

Louisville.

Kansas City.

St. Louis

—

8

7

6

14

11

12

12

Athletic

6

—

7

10

8

11

13

12

Brooklyn

10

8

—

11

11

7

11

8

Cincinnati

7

6

5

—

8

12

11

11

Cleveland

3

6

4

6

—

7

9

9

Baltimore

4

4

7

5

7

—

8

9

Louisville

2

4

6

3

6

9

—

9

Kansas City

2

2

9

4

7

7

4

—

Games Lost

34

37

45

45

61

64

68

70

Games
won.

Per cent. of
victories.

Possible
victories.

Games
played.

Games
to play.

St. Louis

70

.673

106

104

36

Athletic

67

.644

103

104

36

Brooklyn

66

.595

95

111

29

Cincinnati

60

.571

95

105

35

Cleveland

43

.413

79

104

36

Baltimore

44

.405

76

108

32

Louisville

39

.364

72

107

33

Kansas City

35

.333

70

105

35

Games Lost

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.

CLUBS.

Staten
Island A. C.

Staten
Island C. C.

Brooklyn
A. C.

Orange
A. C.

Victories.

Games
played.

Per cent. of
victories.

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. 241⁄4s. The last quarter was made by Bowman in 421⁄4s.

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. 541⁄2s. 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. 391⁄2s.

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. 351⁄2s.

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. 1⁄4s. 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. 211⁄4s.; 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. 11⁄2s. Heat 3—Von Blumen first; Oakes, 0. Time, 1m. 523⁄4s.

Half-mile, junior club wheel championship—W. Loveland, 1m. 431⁄4s.; W. Schultz, second; F. Newing, 0; H. Nicholl, 0.

One mile, scratch—W. Windle, 2m. 521⁄4s.; 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. 571⁄4s.; J. F. Midgley, second; J. Cutler, third. Handicaps not reported.

One-mile safety race—J. B. McCune, 2m. 533⁄4s.; J. F. Midgley second.

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

One mile, consolation—C. J. Connolly, Rochester, 3m. 83⁄4s.

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. 291⁄4s. 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. 21⁄2s.; H. Quortrop, Q. C. W., second.

One mile, open—F. G. Brown, K. C. W., 4m. 31⁄2s.; H. B. Matthews, B. B. C., second.

One mile, Huntington Club championship—S. C. Ebbets, 3m. 211⁄2s.; 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. 371⁄2s.; 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 41⁄2 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. 121⁄2s.; 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 61⁄2 miles for first and second classes and 47⁄8 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.

Painting by J. Carter Beard. Engraved by W. H. F. Lyouns.

WASHINGTON AND HIS HOUNDS.

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LARGER IMAGE

OUTING.

VOL. XIII. NOVEMBER, 1888. NO. 2.

OUTDOOR LIFE OF THE PRESIDENTS.

BY JOHN P. FOLEY.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.”

THE TRINITY HALL CREW, CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

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.

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. 441⁄4s. (on a slow, wet ground) and for the two miles in 10m. 381⁄2s. 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.

Oxford and
Cambridge
Inter-
university,
1864.

Oxford and
Cambridge
Inter-
university,
1888.

London
Athletic
Club,
1886.

New York
Athletic
Champions’
Times.

Harvard
Champions’
Times.

Canbridge
Champions’
Times.

100 Yards Flat

10½s.

10 4-5s.

10s.

10s.

10s.

10s.

120 Yards, and 10 flights of hurdles

17½s.

17 1-5s.

16s.

16 1-5s.

—

16s.

Quarter Mile Flat

53s.

51 2-5s.

49 4-5s.

47¾s.

—

50 1-5s.

Half Mile

1m. 59s.

2m.

1m. 46 2-5s.

One Mile

4m. 56s.

4m. 29 2-5s.

4m. 25 2-5.

4m. 30s.

4m. 36 4-5s.

4m. 25 3-5s.

Two Miles

9m. 38s.

10m. 7s.

Three Miles

15m 28 1-5s.

14m. 50 3-5s.

15m 1 1-5s.

High Jump

5 ft. 5 in.

5 ft. 10¼ in.

5 ft. 11 in.

5 ft. 10½ in.

Broad Jump

18 ft. 0 in.

20 ft. 10¾ in.

21 ft. 7½ in.

22 ft. 10¾ in.

Putting the
Weight

37 ft.

44 ft. 9½ in.

39 ft. 1 in.

Throwing the
Hammer

93 ft. 10 in.

119 ft. 0 in.

138 ft. 3 in.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

THE VIEW FROM THE HOT SPRINGS, BANFF, LOOKING DOWN THE BOW.

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

“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.”

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.

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.

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.

Start.

Finish.

Elapsed
Time.

Corr’d.
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:

Start.

Finish.

Elapsed
Time.

Corr’d.
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.

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.

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.

Start.

Finish.

Actual
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.

ELECTRA, THE FLAGSHIP—OWNED BY COMMODORE E. T. GERRY.

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

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.

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.

Start.

Finish.

Elapsed
Time.

Corr’d.
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.

Start.

Finish.

Elapsed
Time.

Corr’d.
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.

Start.

Finish.

Elapsed
Time.

Corr’d.
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.

SACHEM—OWNERS, MESSRS. C. D. OWEN AND JESSE METCALF, PROVIDENCE, R. I.

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.

“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.

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.

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).

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

THE CHICAGO TEAM.

THE ALL-AMERICAN TEAM.

EDWARD HANLON, DETROIT. M. J. KELLY, BOSTON. JOHN HEALY, INDIANAPOLIS.
JAMES G. FOGARTY, PHILADELPHIA. H. H. SIMPSON, NEWARK. M. J. TIERNAN, NEW YORK.
J. A. DONNELLY, WASHINGTON. GEORGE A. WOOD, PHILADELPHIA. F. H. CARROLL, PITTSBURG.
JOHN M. WARD, NEW YORK, CAPTAIN (SEE PAGE 158).

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

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.”

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.

CHICAGO.

ALL-AMERICAN.

Light gray shirts and knee breeches, with black stockings, caps and belts; black letters across the breast, CHICAGO.

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.

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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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 101⁄4. 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 21⁄3 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 13⁄4 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.

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. | A Driving Race—Trotting.
Last—Cobblers. | The Rail—A scolding wife.
Wins—Four aces. | Left at the Post—The starter.
Loses—A bluff when called. | A Foul—A duck-er chicken.
The Field—Potter’s. | The judge’s Stand—On their feet.
Beaten—A drum. | Dead Heat—110 degrees in the shade.
They’re off—Lunatics. | A Tie—A four-in-hand.
A False Tart—A mud pie. | A Handy-“capper”—A bunco steerer.
The Home Stretch—The one to get your hat on the morning after an evening with “the boys.”

THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON.

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.

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.

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, 111⁄2 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. 43⁄4. in.; H. H. Petit, 2d, 15 in., 18 ft. 11 in.

Hop, step and jump—W. B. Dunlap, 8 in., 1st, 38 ft. 51⁄2 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. 91⁄2 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. 03⁄4 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. 63⁄4 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. 551⁄4 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, 73⁄4s., 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 61⁄4s. 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 (11⁄2 yds.), 1st; C. Giet (81⁄2 yds.), 2d; time, 10 3-5s. Two trial heats were run last Saturday.

Two-mile run against the record of 9m. 383⁄8s., 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 11⁄3 miles, 15⁄8 miles and 13⁄4 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. 101⁄2s.

Running broad jump—Z. A. Cooper (4 ft.), 1st, at 18 ft. 61⁄4 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, 101⁄4 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. 61⁄2 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 41⁄2 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. 121⁄2s.; 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 123⁄4s.

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 23⁄4 inches, beating Page’s record. J. S. Mitchell has a record in throwing the 16-pound hammer of 136 ft. 11⁄2 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. 41⁄2 in., and J. McCarthy, 32 ft. 51⁄2, 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. 231⁄2s. The high jump was won by T. M. O’Connor, who cleared 5 ft. 81⁄2 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. 71⁄2 in., J. Mooney coming second, with 19 ft. 91⁄2 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. 101⁄2 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. 101⁄2 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. 41⁄2 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, 231⁄2s. 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. 111⁄2 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, 511⁄2s.; 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. 111⁄2 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:

CLUBS.

St. Louis.

Athletic.

Brooklyn.

Cincinnati.

Baltimore.

Cleveland.

Louisville.

Kansas City.

Games won.

Per cent of
victories.

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:

CLUBS.

New York.

Chicago.

Detroit.

Philadelphia.

Boston.

Pittsburgh.

Washington.

Indianapolis.

Games won.

Per cent of
victories.

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 11⁄2 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. 11⁄2s.; 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. 571⁄4s.; 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 293⁄4s.; 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. 151⁄4s.; 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. 23⁄4s.; 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. 511⁄2s.; John Van Benschoten, Poughkeepsie, second; Theodore W. Roberts, Poughkeepsie, third.

Two miles, professional—William F. Knapp, Denver, Col., first, in 6m. 13⁄4s.; 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. 193⁄4s.; W. F. Knapp, Denver, second, Robert A. Neilson, Boston, third.

One mile, amateur, 3.00 class—John Van Benschoten, Poughkeepsie, first, in 3m. 171⁄4s.; H. Von der Linden, Poughkeepsie, second.

Five miles, amateur, 16.00 class—W. E. Crist, Washington, D. C., first, in 18m. 283⁄4s.; Ludwig Forster, Hartford, Conn., second.

Three miles, professional—W. F. Knapp, Denver, first, in 9m. 311⁄2s.; W. J. Morgan, New York, second.

Three miles, professional—William A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., first, in 9m. 311⁄2s.; 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. 1⁄2s.; William I. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., second.

One mile, consolation, amateur—E. Winans, Poughkeepsie, first, in 3m. 261⁄4s.; 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. 441⁄2s. 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. 21⁄2s.; 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. 503⁄4s.; 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. 111⁄4s.; 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. 553⁄4s.; 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. 91⁄2s.; Robert Davis, Rome, Italy, a Harvard student, second by three yards.

One mile, 3.00 class, amateur—Ludwig Forster, Hartford, first, in 2m. 521⁄2s.; 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. 341⁄4s.; 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. 451⁄4s.; 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. 321⁄4s.; H. C. Backus, New Haven, second, by two yards.

Five miles, amateur lap—P. S. Brown, Washington, first, in 15m. 271⁄2s.; W. E. Crist, Washington, second; W. J. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., third.

One mile, professional, consolation—R. A. Neilson, Boston (scratch), first, in 3m. 83⁄4s.; J. R. West, England, a one-legged rider, 150 yds. start, second.

One mile, amateur, consolation—G. I. Whitehead, Hartford, first, in 3m. 191⁄2s.; 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—21⁄2, 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

Forwards

A. Fyfe

Thompson

J. A. Gubian

Harvey

C. McClatchie

Murphy

T. A. Ouimet

McFarlane

D. Hamilton

Kinghorn

J. H. Gubian

H. Patterson

Wings

T. Scott

Warden

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
field

Whitelaw

Duggan

Watson

Ahern

Skea

Devine

Centre

Munn

Neville

Home
field

Pickering

Reilly

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, 1⁄2m.; 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.

Start.

Finish.

Elapsed
Time.

Corr’d.
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.

A PAIR OF POACHERS.

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

OUTING.

VOL. XIII. DECEMBER, 1888. NO. 3.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

THE RUNNERS OF THE DETROIT ATHLETIC CLUB.

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.

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.

IN THE BOWLING ALLEYS.

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.

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.

THE RECEPTION PARLOR.

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.

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. 43⁄4 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. 11⁄2 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

TYPES OF WESTERN STEAMBOATS.

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

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.’”

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.

AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

I.
HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

By J. MOTT HALLOWELL.

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.

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.

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.

THE HARVARD BASEBALL TEAM.

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

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 473⁄4s. 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. 565⁄8s. 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.

Brown, ’65.

Pos.

Outs.

Runs.

Banker,

H.

3

3

Witter,

P.

1

4

Wright,

P.

1

5

Finney,

H.

4

2

Flagg,

S.

5

2

Brown,

S.

2

1

Irons,

A.

2

4

Rees,

A.

4

1

Fisher,

B.

2

4

Spink,

B.

2

3

Greenleaf,

C.

4

2

Deming,

C.

4

1

Nelson,

L.

4

2

Brayton,

L.

2

3

Abercrombie,

M.

2

3

Judson,

M.

4

1

Tiffany,

R.

4

2

Field,

R.

4

1

27

27

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.

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.”

HARVARD INTERCOLLEGIATE ATHLETIC TEAM.

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

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.

[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.

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., 731⁄2°. 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.

THE LADIES’ EASTERN TRICYCLE TOUR.

FROM THE MERRIMAC TO NAUMKEAG.

By DAISIE.

“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.

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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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.

RONDEAU.

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.

FIRST BASEBALL PLAYER: Did you go to Shortstop’s wedding to-day?

SECOND BASEBALL PLAYER: Of course I did.

FIRST BASEBALL PLAYER: How did it come off?

SECOND BASEBALL 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.

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.

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. 71⁄2 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. 91⁄2 in.; Connery, second, 5 ft. 31⁄2 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 121⁄2s.; G. W. Stephens second.

Running long jump—G. A. Gahagan, first, 22 ft. 91⁄2 in.; G. P. Holden second.

220-yards run, boys—N. A. Ball, won in 281⁄2s.

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. 61⁄2s.

One mile walk—Frank Brown, first, in 7m. 521⁄2s.; 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 311⁄4s. 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., 51⁄2 yards, won, 10 2-5s.; Walt Farrant, Chicago, 61⁄2 yards, second, by six inches. Second heat—Ed. Sampson, M. A. A. C., 9 yards, won, 10 4-5s.; Ed. Smith, Chicago, 41⁄2 yards and set back one, second, by two feet. Third heat—A. C. Wignall, Chicago, 41⁄2 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. 51⁄2 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. 91⁄4 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. 111⁄2 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 73⁄4 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. 91⁄2 in.; M. W. Ford, Brooklyn, second, 5 ft. 81⁄2 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. 13⁄4 in.; A. F. Copeland, second, 22 ft. 1⁄2 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. 91⁄2 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. 91⁄2 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. 1⁄2 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, 231⁄2s.

Running high jump—H. M. Wilcox, allowance of four inches, first, 4 ft. 11 in.; F. R. Wells, second, 4 ft. 91⁄2 in.

Putting 16-pound shot—F. R. Wells, first, 33 ft. 51⁄2 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. 51⁄2 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. 7⁄8 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, 61⁄2 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. 111⁄2 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. 61⁄2, in.; W. M. Norris, Staten Island Athletic Club, second, 5 ft. 41⁄2 in.; R. K. Pritchard, Staten Island Athletic Club, third, 5 ft. 41⁄2 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. 101⁄2 in.; F. L. Lambrecht, Manhattan Athletic Club, second, 40 ft. 6 in.; W. L. Coudon, New York Athletic Club, third, 40 ft. 41⁄2 in.

Running long jump—W. Halpin, Olympic Athletic Club, first, 23 ft.; A. F. Copeland, Manhattan Athletic Club, second, 22 ft. 115⁄8 in.; A. A. Jordan, New York Athletic Club, third, 22 ft. 97⁄8 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:

CLUBS.

New York.

Chicago.

Philadelphia.

Boston.

Detroit.

Pittsburgh.

Indianapolis.

Washington.

Games won.

Per cent. of
victories.

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.

New York.

Chicago.

Philadelphia.

Boston.

Detroit.

Pittsburgh.

Indianapolis.

Washington.

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
CLUB.

VICTORIES.

DEFEATS.

Per cent. of
victories.

CLUB MANAGER.

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. 52⁄3s.

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. 581⁄2s. 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. 511⁄4s.; 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. 73⁄4.; E. J. Halstead, Y. M. C. A., second. Mile, 3m. class—Merrihew, 4m. 541⁄2s.; 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. 451⁄2s.; Halstead, second. Two-mile 6.20 class—Merrihew won in 8m. 41⁄2s., but was protested as being out of his class. The race will go to McDaniels—Mile novice—C. R. Guiding, Reading, Pa., 4m. 263⁄4s.; J. D. Kurtz, Jr., second. Half-mile, state championship—B. F. McDaniels, Wilmington, 1m. 341⁄2s. 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. 483⁄4s. 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
field

Watson

C. Brown

Wyman

Menard

Phillips

Smith

Centre

Gilmore

Stanley

Attack
field

Crocker

Barton

Rourke

A. Brown

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.

COPYRIGHTED.

ICE-YACHT “NORTHERN LIGHT,” FEBRUARY 14, 1887.

FROM AN INSTANTANEOUS PHOTOGRAPH BY C. E. SCHAFFER, OF POUGHKEEPSIE, N. Y.

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LARGER IMAGE

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

CALIFORNIAN LYRICS.

I.
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.

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.

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LARGER IMAGE

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.

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.

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.

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.

MASK AND FOIL FOR LADIES.

By CHARLES E. CLAY.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

POTOMAC SHOOTING—OLD STYLE.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

THE “GYPSIE,”
PHELPS & SON, BURLINGTON, VT.

THE “VIRGINIA”—PETER THUST,
ST. JOHNS, CANADA.

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

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.

THE “FLYAWAY”—DR. W. S. WEBB.

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.

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 85⁄16 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 23⁄4 hours. The first prize was $60, and the second $20.

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, 71⁄3 miles, to be covered in 23⁄4 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 513⁄16 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.

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 11⁄2 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. 141⁄2s.; 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 111⁄2s. over a 7-mile course, there being no time allowance. On November 1 another race over a course of 61⁄2 miles was won by the Dolphin by 321⁄2s. We may look for good time from both the Dolphin and the Nymph in the steam race of 1889.

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 97⁄8 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 61⁄2m. 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
Time.

Corrected
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!—

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.

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. 97⁄8 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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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, 101⁄2s. 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. 21⁄2 in.

One-mile walk—C. T. R. Bates, ’92 (30 sec.), first. Time, 8m. 11⁄2s. 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, 523⁄4s. 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. 271⁄2s.

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 (51⁄2 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, 121⁄2s.

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. 81⁄2 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. 91⁄2 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, 271⁄2s.

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. 41⁄2 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 (41⁄2 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.; 11⁄4 miles, 6m. 3 4-5s.; 11⁄2 miles, 7m. 19s., and 13⁄4 miles, 8m. 32 2-5s. His time at 11⁄4 miles supplants P. D. Skillman’s 6m. 5 4-5s. made at Brooklyn, July 4, 1887, and his time at 13⁄4 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. 41⁄2 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. 111⁄2 in. This is within three-quarters of an inch of the American record, and beats the English record 11⁄2 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, 171⁄2s. 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. 115⁄8 in., beating his own record 25⁄8 in., made October 2, 1886. Queckberner was second at 13 ft. 75⁄8 in. and Hackett at 13 ft. 55⁄8 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. 13⁄4 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. 63⁄4 in., which beats the world’s record 4 ft. 73⁄4 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. 91⁄2 in. Queckberner was second in the competition, with 31 ft. 3 in., and Sullivan third, with 27 ft. 31⁄2 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 1⁄4 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.

LEAGUE.

Vic-
tories.

De-
feats.

Vic-
tories.

De-
feats.

Brooklyn

5

0

New York

6

5

St. Louis

5

6

Pittsburgh

2

1

Baltimore

1

1

Philadelphia

2

1

Cincinnati

1

2

Indianapolis

1

3

Athletics

1

2

Washington

0

3

Totals

13

11

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.
Young America

Won with 10 wickets
to spare

88 to  86

May 30

Staten Island vs.
Manhattan

Lost by score of first
inning

70 to  83

July 13

Manhattan vs.
Pittsburgh

Won by score of first
inning

133 to  91

July 28

Staten Island vs.
Manhattan

Lost by score of first
inning

76 to 127

Aug. 15

Manhattan vs.
Seabright

Won by score of first
inning

78 to  62

Sept.  3

Manhattan vs.
Newark

Won with 10 wickets
to spare

125 to 123

Sept.  5

Manhattan vs.
Seabright

Won by score of first
inning

191 to  57

Sept. 12

Manhattan vs.
Newark

Won by score of first
inning

60 to  54

Sept. 29

Manhattan vs.
All New York

Won with 7 wickets
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 1151⁄2 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 73⁄4 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:

CLUBS.

Yale.

Princeton.

Harvard.

University
of Penn.

Wesleyan.

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. 433⁄4s.

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.

From a water-color painting by J. Carter Beard.

Engraved by H. Pflaum.

A MOONLIGHT ENCOUNTER WITH RUSSIAN WOLVES.

⇒
LARGER IMAGE

OUTING.

VOL. XIII. FEBRUARY, 1889. NO. 5.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

THE CREW—CHAMPIONS, 1888.

G. R. CARTER, ’88 S.
C. O. GILL, ’89. R. M. WILCOX, ’88 S. N. JAMES, ’90 (SUBS.). W. H. CORBIN, ’89. G. S. BREWSTER, ’91. J. A. HARTWELL, ’89 S.
S. M. CROSS, ’88 (STROKE). G. W. WOODRUFF, ’89 (SUBS.). F. A. STEVENSON, ’88 (CAPT.). R. THOMPSON, ’90 (COX.).

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WINNERS IN INTERCOLLEGIATE ATHLETIC GAMES, 1888.

G. W. WOODRUFF, ’89. T. G. SHEARMAN, ’89. H. L. WILLIAMS, ’91. 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.

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. 471⁄2s., 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.

FOOTBALL TEAM—CHAMPIONS, 1887.

F. C. PRATT, ’88 S. S. M. CROSS, ’88. G. W. WOODRUFF, ’89. W. H. CORBIN, ’89.
G. R. CARTER, ’88 S. C. O. GILL, ’89. F. W. WALLACE, ’89. W. T. BULL, ’88 S.

W. C. WURTENBERG, ’89 S. H. BEECHER, ’88 (CAPT.). W. P. GRAVES, ’91.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

THE NINE—CHAMPIONS, 1888.

N. S. DALZELL, ’91 (SUBS.). J. O. HEYWORTH, ’88 (SUBS.). S. J. WALKER, ’88, l. f.
J. C. DANN, ’88 S., c. S. Y. OSBORNE, ’88 S. (SUBS.) J. F. HUNT, L. S., c.f. C. B. McCONKEY, ’88, s. s.

H. McBRIDE, ’90 S., 1b. H. F. NOYES, ’89, 3b. A. A. STAGG, ’88, p. (CAPT.) A. G. McCLINTOCK, ’90, r. f.  G. CALHOUN, ’91, 2b.

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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 1751⁄2 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 213⁄4 years old, 1671⁄2 lbs. in weight, and 5 ft. 101⁄2 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. 91⁄2 in. in putting the shot; Ludington, ’87, who has hurdled in 163⁄4s.; Harmar, ’90, who has run a mile in 4m. 32 2-5s., and Shearman, ’89, who jumps 21 ft. 71⁄2 in. in the broad jump, 5 ft. 81⁄2 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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!”

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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*

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 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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 51⁄2 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. 171⁄2s.; 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. 231⁄2s.; E. Bunnell, ’91 (45 yards), second.

Putting 16-pound shot—J. Bouse, ’91 (scratch), first with 35 ft. 6 in.; De Winter, ’92, 21⁄2 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 121⁄2s.

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 531⁄2s.

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 861⁄2, 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

Forwards

E. Barlow

Lowe

J. Kinghorn

McNaughton

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.

Drawn by A. C. Corbould.

“ONE FAIR PURSUER GOES AT IT WHERE THE HUNTSMAN LEADS.”

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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.

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.

THE ROAD-RIDING DIVISION.

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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.

“IT IS THE HORSE IN AND THE MAN ON THE RIGHT SIDE.”

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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.

“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.

GROUP OF CONTESTANTS—TOURNAMENT OF THE COUNTRY CLUB OF MARYLAND.

A. W. TOMES.   A. H. S. POST.   TOM PETTITT.   F. MANSFIELD.   F. V. L. HOPPIN.
R. V. BEACH.   YATES PENNINGTON.   A. L. RIVES.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

YEAR.

HELD AT

SINGLES CHAMP’S

DOUBLES CHAMPIONS

1886.

Del. Field Club.

C. B. Davis.

Davis & Porter.

1887.

U. S. Mar. Barracks,
Wash., D. C.

Leigh Bonsal.

Bonsal & Lemoyne.

1888.

Balt. Cricket Club.

A. H. S. Post.

Bonsal & Lemoyne.

1888.

Highland C. C.,
Wash., D. C.

F. Mansfield

Mansfield & Hoppin.

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.

CLUB HOUSE AND GROUNDS, WILMINGTON FIELD CLUB.

THE CLUB HOUSE.

SNOWSHOEING IN CANUCKIA.

BY JAMES C. ALLAN.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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 81⁄2 × 61⁄2, 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 81⁄2 × 61⁄2 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 51⁄2-inch focus on the 81⁄2 × 61⁄2 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 51⁄2-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 81⁄2 × 61⁄2 inches and the other 8 × 5, we find that the diagonal line connecting two opposite corners is 11⁄4 inches longer in the former than in the latter. We also find that the former has a clear space 11⁄2 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 81⁄2 × 61⁄2 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.

[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.

STATE-COACH OF QUEEN ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND.

COACHING AND COACHING CLUBS.

BY CHARLES S. PELHAM-CLINTON.

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.

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.

COLONEL DELANCY KANE’S FOUR-IN-HAND.

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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.

THE FOUR-IN-HANDS IN CENTRAL PARK.

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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.

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.

“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.

“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.

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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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.

“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.

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?

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

Mark

is on every one. None are genuine without it.

ROYAL

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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 THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUTING; VOL. XIII.; OCTOBER, 1888 TO MARCH, 1889 ***

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Table of Contents

OUTING

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XIII.

OUTING; October, 1888

- THE BOAT CLUBS OF CHICAGO.

- A TALK ABOUT THE PIGSKIN.

- THE SOFT LIGHT BEAMED.

- MEMORIES OF YACHT CRUISES.

- A YACHTING SONG.

- CANADIAN FISHING SKETCHES.

- ONE MAN’S WORK FOR CYCLING.

- WILD DUCK SHOOTING.

- PADDLES AND PALETTES.

- “EELIN’ OFF GOOSE P’INT.”

- THE TRAINING OF A UNIVERSITY CREW.

- HOW TO TAKE A TRAMP TRIP.

- COURSING IN IRELAND.

- YSLETA

- I.

- II.

- A RAINY DAY.

- Editor’s Open Window.

- THE RICHMOND BICYCLE TOURNAMENT.

- BOWLING.

- YACHT RACING RESULTS.

- CANOEING.

- THE POLITICS OF CYCLING.

- BASEBALL.

- The Outing Club.

- THE OPEN GAME SEASON IN CANADA.

- PONY RACING.

- FROM KANSAS ON A WHEEL.

- MANHATTAN’S VICTORIOUS ATHLETES.

- THE TRIP OF THE CHICAGO BALL-PLAYERS.

- POLO.

- RETURNING THE BALL IN LAWN-TENNIS.

- THE AMERICA’S CUP ONCE MORE.

- AMATEUR OARSMEN AND THE NATIONAL ASSOCIATION.

- THE BUFFALO DOG SHOW.

- HOW CROWS EAT FISH.

- Among the Books

- AMENITIES

- Our Monthly Record

- AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY.

- ATHLETICS.

- BASEBALL.

- BOWLING.

- CANOEING.

- CRICKET.

- CYCLING.

- FOOTBALL.

- KENNEL.

- LACROSSE.

- LAWN TENNIS.

- POLO.

- ROD AND GUN.

- ROWING.

- SWIMMING.

- TRAP.

- YACHTING.

- ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

- PRINCETON HEARD FROM.

- OUR PREMIUM.

OUTING; November, 1888

- OUTDOOR LIFE OF THE PRESIDENTS.

- I. GEORGE WASHINGTON.

- THE PROGRESS OF ATHLETISM.

- AVTVMN

- A DAMP JOURNEY ON A DOWN GRADE.

- ON THE CONNECTICUT

- THE RIFLE IN THE SACRAMENTOS.

- THE HAUNTED WHEEL.

- TO THE PACIFIC THROUGH CANADA.

- PART I.

- THE NEW YORK YACHT CLUB CRUISE OF ’88.

- BASEBALL IN AUSTRALIA.

- LOVE AT FISHING.

- Editor’s Open Window.

- THE DISSENSIONS IN THE ATHLETIC WORLD.

- THE FOOTBALL SEASON.

- THE CLOSE OF THE YACHTING SEASON.

- THE EXPENSES OF THE KENNEL.

- FENCING.

- The Outing Club.

- REVIVAL OF A FINE OLD ENGLISH GAME.

- IS HE A 9 4-5 MAN?

- A PLEA FOR THE WHEELMEN.

- A MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS.

- A BELLED BUCK.

- A DRINK FOR CYCLISTS.

- HINTS TO NEW YORK SPORTSMEN.

- A WORD TO LAWN TENNIS PLAYERS.

- CYCLES IN THE RUSSIAN ARMY.

- THE HEROINE OF A YACHTING ACCIDENT.

- FISH LIVING IN HOT WATER.

- CARP FISHING.

- BOAT-RACING IN THE DARK.

- OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

- FAREWELL, WALLACK’S!

- MEMORIES OF HOME.

- A CHIP OF THE OLD BLOCK.

- NOT OF THE FIRST WATER.

- CAB, SIR?

- A SUCCESSFUL WRECK.

- JULES VERNE’S STORY IN TIGHTS.

- UP-HILL WORK.

- THE FASCINATION OF IMPROBABILITIES.

- Among the Books

- FUN FROM THE WHEEL.

- AMENITIES.

- Editor’s Scrap Book

- A BALLAD.

- Our Monthly Record

- ATHLETICS.

- BASEBALL.

- BOWLING.

- CANOEING.

- CURLING.

- CYCLING.

- FISHING.

- FOOTBALL.

- KENNEL.

- LACROSSE.

- LAWN TENNIS.

- QUOITS.

- ROWING.

- SHOOTING.

- YACHTING.

- ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

OUTING; December, 1888

- SPORT—PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE.

- PICKEREL SHOOTING ON THE MARSHES.

- THE DETROIT ATHLETIC CLUB.

- GRAY EVENING.

- TO THE PACIFIC THROUGH CANADA.

- PART II.

- A CRITICAL SITUATION.

- A VISIT TO DEATH LAKE, FLORIDA.

- AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

- I. HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

- A RIDE TO A RUSSIAN WEDDING.

- THE ACE OF HEARTS.

- OUTDOOR LIFE OF THE PRESIDENTS.

- No. II.

- MAN’S THREE FOLLIES.

- THE LADIES’ EASTERN TRICYCLE TOUR.

- A LOVE LETTER.

- Editor’s Open Window.

- THE PAST CRICKET SEASON.

- IN THE FOOTBALL FIELD.

- COLLEGE SPORTS.

- DOG CHAT.

- THE PAST BASEBALL SEASON.

- SKATING.

- The Outing Club.

- THE SCIENTIFIC VIEW OF THE CYCLE.

- A YACHT-TRIP ROUND THE GLOBE.

- FIGHT BETWEEN A VIPER AND A HEDGEHOG.

- GLASS-BALL SHOOTING EXTRAORDINARY.

- THE NOVELTY IN WHEEL MACHINES.

- OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

- THE FRENCH PLAYERS AT PALMER’S.

- RE-OPENING OF DALY’S THEATRE.

- “LORD CHUMLEY” SOTHERN.

- THE PROSPERITY OF “A LEGAL WRECK.”

- Among the Books

- AMENITIES

- RONDEAU.

- Editor’s Scrap Book

- Our Monthly Record

- ATHLETICS.

- BASEBALL.

- CANOE.

- CRICKET.

- CURLING.

- CYCLING.

- FOOTBALL.

- KENNEL.

- LACROSSE.

- LAWN TENNIS.

- POLO.

- ROWING.

- SHOOTING.

- TOBOGGAN.

- YACHTING.

- ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

OUTING; January, 1889

- AMONG THE TAURUS MOUNTAINS.

- CALIFORNIAN LYRICS.

- I. A MORNING TRYST.

- II. SNOW-WIND.

- III. A PINE-CONE FIRE.

- AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

- I.—HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

- THE FAUN DANCE.

- MASK AND FOIL FOR LADIES.

- SPORT—PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE.

- MR. PERKER’S BEAR; OR, MR. BEAR’S PERKER?

- FAST ICE-YACHTS.

- THE LAKE CHAMPLAIN YACHT CLUB.

- THE BREAKING OF WINTER.

- HINTS TO FOOTBALL CAPTAINS.

- Editor’s Open Window.

- THE NATIONAL HORSE SHOW.

- PLAIN TALK ABOUT STEEPLE-CHASING.

- THE GAME OF LACROSSE.

- RABBIT COURSING.

- The Outing Club.

- THE DISSENSION IN THE ATHLETIC WORLD.

- OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

- A MELODRAMATIC UNDER-CURRENT.

- THE ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE DRAMA.

- OUR MARY’S RETURN.

- ENGLISH BURLESQUE BY ENGLISH PLAYERS.

- Among the Books

- AMENITIES

- THE BRITISH FOX’S LAMENT.

- Editor’s Scrap Book

- AT THE RIDING SCHOOL.

- Pleasure Travel and Resorts

- Our Monthly Record

- AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY.

- ATHLETICS.

- BASEBALL.

- CANOEING.

- COURSING.

- CRICKET.

- CYCLING.

- FOOTBALL.

- ICE-YACHTING.

- KENNEL.

- LAWN TENNIS.

- ROD AND GUN.

- ROWING.

- SKATING.

- SNOW-SHOEING.

- SWIMMING.

- TOBOGGANING.

- YACHTING.

- ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

OUTING; February, 1889

- SLEIGHING

- ACROSS WYOMING ON HORSEBACK.

- WINTER SHOOTING IN SOUTH CAROLINA.

- THREE DAYS’ GRACE.

- AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

- II. YALE UNIVERSITY.

- FOOTBALL SINCE 1876.

- ROWING SINCE 1876.

- BASEBALL SINCE 1876.

- TRACK ATHLETICS.

- LAWN TENNIS.

- A RUSSIAN WOLF HUNT.

- HERNE THE HUNTER.

- AN OUTING.

- MEMORIES OF YACHT CRUISES.

- ON BLADES OF STEEL.

- OUTDOOR LIFE OF THE PRESIDENTS.

- III.—ANDREW JACKSON.

- THE JERSEY CITY ATHLETIC CLUB.

- MY BOAT.

- ON A CANADIAN FARM IN MIDWINTER.

- A NIGHT PADDLE.

- Editor’s Open Window.

- BASEBALL.

- BOWLING.

- THE CANOEING SEASON.

- FOILS AND FENCING.

- PEDESTRIAN CONTESTS.

- DOG CHAT.

- OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

- THE ENGLISH EXOTIC.

- THE AMERICAN EXOTIC.

- A DRAMATIC GEM.

- IRISH ROMANCE.

- ENGLISH REALITY.

- REAL GAIETY.

- Among the Books

- AMENITIES

- SHE ONLY SHOOK HER HEAD.

- Pleasure Travel and Resorts

- Glances at our Letter File

- Our Monthly Record

- ARCHERY.

- ATHLETICS.

- BASEBALL.

- BICYCLE.

- CRICKET.

- CURLING.

- FENCING.

- FISHING AND SHOOTING.

- FOOTBALL.

- HOCKEY.

- LACROSSE.

- PEDESTRIANISM.

- RACQUETS.

- RIFLE AND TRAP SHOOTING.

- ROWING.

- SKATING.

- SNOW-SHOEING.

- THE KENNEL.

- YACHTING.

OUTING; March, 1889

- FOX-HUNTING.

- SPANIEL TRAINING.

- LAWN TENNIS IN THE SOUTH.

- SNOWSHOEING IN CANUCKIA.

- HOW TO CYCLE IN EUROPE.

- AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY.

- EVOLUTION OF FORM IN COLLEGE ROWING.

- I.—THE HARVARD STROKE.

- COACHING AND COACHING CLUBS.

- SALMON FISHING ON LOCH TAY.

- SONNET.

- WINTER SHOOTING IN FLORIDA.

- THE CRUISE OF THE FROLIC.

- Editor’s Open Window.

- FOR VOLUME XIV.

- INTRODUCING OUR ENGLISH EDITOR.

- DOG CHAT.

- COLLEGE SPORTS.

- THE OUTING CLUB.

- WHAT YACHTING COSTS.

- HOW’S THIS FOR BASS?

- OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

- “THE PLAYERS.”

- OLD ENGLISH COMEDY.

- SHAKESPEARE AT PALMER’S.

- MACBETH.

- Among the Books

- AMENITIES

- I’M SINGLE NO LONGER, YOU KNOW.

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