Part II (part 2 of 2)

Part II (part 2 of 2)

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.~

* * * * *

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.~

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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~.

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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~.

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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

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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.

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~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.

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~The~ Manhattan Athletic Club games were held, December 15, in Madison Square Garden. About 2,000 people were present, rather a small gathering for so important an event. The treatment, according to the Sun, to which the reporters of the daily press were subjected by the managers of the affair deserved condemnation. It was announced that Mr. Myers, the runner, was ill, but he very kindly consented not to disappoint the public, so gave an exhibition, with Danny Tompkins as pace-maker, but fell behind his indoor record of 1885. The following is a summary of the events:

One-and-a-half-mile walk, handicap--Won by F. Tillistrand, W. S. A. C., 75 yards; E. D. Lange, M. A. C., second; F. A. Ware, M. A. C., third. Time, 12m. 8 3-5s.

Sixty-yards run, handicap--Final heat won by W. M. Mackdermot, M. A. C., 12 feet; H. L. Dadman, W. P. Ins., 12 feet, second; J. McCarty, G. A. A., 9 feet, third. Time, 6s.

Tug-of-war, handicap--Won by Manhattan Athletic team, scratch (D. T. Brokaw, J. Senning, D. S. Low, J. F. Johnson). The only other contending team was the Cables of Jersey City, with a handicap of 6 inches (John Filce, W. Cuff, M. Cuff, M. Hanne).

One-mile run, handicap--Won by Thos. Owens, W. S. A. C., 100 yards; A. S. Vosburg, C. C. A. A., 85 yards, second; W. T. Young, Spartan Harriers, London, 73 yards, third; time, 4m. 33 4-5s. Young led until the last half lap, when Owens and Vosburg closed and beat him out. Conneff ran gamely and finished fourth. Conneff’s time, 4m. 37 2-5s.

One-mile walk, novice--won by T. McIlvaine, C. C. A. A.; C. H. Nicholas, Brooklyn, second, and C. Lardiner, W. S. A. C., third. Time, 7m. 49 3-5s.

Running high jump--Won by Z. A. Cooper, M. A. C., 10 inches, 6 ft. 1 in.; W. M. Mackdermot, second; L. D. Wildman, Stevens Institute, third. Cooper’s actual jump, 5 ft. 3 in.

Half-mile run, handicap--Won by H. L. Dadman, M. C., 39 yards, in 2m. 1 2-5s., by four yards; A. B. George, Spartan Harriers, London, second; J. A. Forbell, Brighton, A. C., 31 yards, third. George, the Englishman, caught a Tartar in young Dadman, who is but a boy. The Englishman led 100 yards from home, but the boy had great speed and won easily.

Throwing 56-lb. weight for height to beat M. O’Sullivan’s record of 13 ft. 9 in.--Mitchell, as was expected, beat all previous records, reaching 15 feet.

Attempt by Lon Myers, the middle distance professional runner, to lower his own half-mile record in the Garden, time, 2m. 2s. Myers’s time, 33, 66, 1.40 3-5, 2:11, failing by nine seconds.

Putting the 24-lb. shot--Lambrecht and J. S. Mitchell, both of M. A. C., tied at 32 ft. 7 in. There has been no putting with this odd weight for a number of years, and both men beat the best previous record by over four feet.

250-yards novice race--Won by J. A. Smith, Crescent A. C.; J. M. Hewlett second, and J. A. Lanthorn, C. C. A. A., third. Time, 30 2-5s.

Two-mile bicycle race, handicap--Won by G. F. Brown, Kings Co. W., 15 yards; J. H. Ganson, M. A. C., 16 yards, second; H. A. Keller, Thirteenth Regiment, 150 yards, third. Time, 7m. 30s. In the final heat all four contestants fell and were piled in a heap. Fortunately no one was hurt, and all remounted and finished the race. Kingsland, the Southern rider, who started from scratch, was unplaced.

250-yards hurdle race, handicap--Won by C. F. Bostrick, Crescent A. C., 8 yards; H. S. Young, Jr., M. A. C., 5 yards, second. Herbert Mapes, C. C. A. C., 3 yards, third. Time, 32 2-5s.

440-yards run, handicap--Won by J. C. Devereaux, M. A. C., 10 yards; W. J. Carr, Brighton A. C., 25 yards, second; C. P. Ward, W. S. A. C., 15 yards, third. Time, 54 3-5s.

* * * * *

~The~ second cross-country race of the Athletic Club of the Schuylkill Navy took place December 14, over a course in Fairmount Park, extending from the Malta Boat House to and around Belmont Mansion and return. The distance was 5½ miles, over a rough course. The following members of the club took part in the run: Paul E. Huneker, W. P. Myrtelus, W. H. Rocap, J. C. Graham, P. J. Siddall, Abbott Collins, W. B. McManus, John Y. Parke, and E. F. Van Stavoren. Myrtelus finished first, time, 35m. 2 2-5s.; Rocap second, time, 35m. 17½s.; Graham third; Huneker fourth; Siddall fifth, and Parke sixth. Edward Flood acted as referee, and Fred Allen, T. H. Cameron, and R. M. Camanche were the judges and timers.

* * * * *

~The~ games given under the auspices of the Seventh Regiment Athletic Association were held in the regiment’s big armory in this city December 8. The gathering of ladies and gentlemen to witness the events was very large. The prizes were gold and silver trophies to the first and second in each event. The track was ten laps to the mile.

Officials--Referee, Lieut. Walter G. Schuyler, staff; judges, Capt. Daniel Appleton, Co. F, Capt. J. Thorne Harper, Co. I, Capt. Charles E. Lydecker, Co. H, Lieut. George W. Rand, staff, Lieut. Walter S. Wilson, Co. E; judge of walking, William Wood, N. Y. A. C.; handicapper, W. G. Hegeman; starter, Prof. George Goldie; timekeepers. Corporal F. W. Colwell, Co. F, Mr. John H. Abeel, Jr., Co. K; clerk of the course, Private George B. Barcalow, Co. B.

93-yards run, scratch--H. C. Jones, Co. C, 1; G. R. Martin, Co. H, 2; time, 10 3-5s.

130-yards run, scratch, for the regimental championship--C. L. Jacquelin, Co. G, 1; W. C. White, Co. B, 2; time, 15s.

Half-mile walk, scratch--Open only to those who had never won a prize at walking--William McKee, Co. E, 1; S. Frothingham, Co K, 2; time, 4m. 1s.

440-yards run, handicap--J. P. Thornton, Co. C, scratch, 1; F. H. Crary, Co. H, 12 yards, 2; time, 59s.

Tug-of-war--As Company H was the only one to enter a team no contest took place, but an exhibition pull was given, in which Company H beat a picked team by two inches.

One-mile bicycle race, scratch--Herbert Janes, Co. I, 1; S. V. Hoffman, Co. K, 2; time, 8m. 53 1-5s.

Running high jump, scratch--Alexander Stevens, Co. F; height, 5 ft. 4 in.

220-yards run, handicap--C. L. Jacquelin, Co. G, 5 yards, 1; E. L. Montgomery, Co. I, 11 yards, 2; time, 27s.

1000-yards run, handicap--G. Y. Gilbert, Co. B, scratch, 1; W. M. Moore, Co. I, 50 yards, 2; time, 2m. 26 2-5s.

Sack race, 50 yards--J. C. Westlake, Co. I, 1; C. L. Jacquelin, Co. G, 2; time, 8s.

220-yards hurdle race, handicap--C. F. Bostwick, Co. G, 6 yards, 1; C. S. Busse, Co. F, 15 yards, 2; time, 29s.

One-mile walk, handicap--F. A. Ware, Co. B, scratch, 1; Thomas McClelland, Co. E, 55 seconds, 2; time, 7m. 25s.

Half-mile run, scratch; for regimental cup--Alex. Stevens, Co. F, 1; Herbert Jones, Co. I, 2; time, 2m. 30s.

Wheelbarrow race, two laps, handicap--C. S. Busse, Co. F, 8 yards, 1; F. H. Crary, Co. H, 8 yards, 2; time, 51s.

One-mile run, handicap--P. R. Irving, Co. K, 100 yards, 1; F. Vores, Co. E, 100 yards, 2; time, 4m. 45s.

Three-legged race, one lap, handicap--C. L. Jacquelin and C. S. Busse, 6 yards; time, 25s.

Two-mile bicycle race, handicap--C. T. Burhans, scratch, 1; H. Janes, 75 yards, 2; time, 6m 52s.

Team race, four laps, scratch--Co. B, G. Y. Gilbert, F. A. Ware and W. C. White, 1, by 11 points; P. R. Irving, H. L. Bloomfield and H. W. Warner, Co. K, 2, with 16 points.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Manhattan Athletic Club was held December 10. The officers, with the exception of President Carr, the vice-presidents, and Treasurer Walton Storm, who hold over, were elected as follows: Secretary, Charles C. Hughes; first lieutenant, Charles M. King; second lieutenant, John Black; trustees, E. F. Hoyt, L. A. Stuart, J. M. Tate, James Magee, Warren Sage and George F. Linlay.

* * * * *

~A new~ Athletic Club has been formed in Minneapolis, which bids fair to be an influential organization. Recently it had a grand entertainment at the Opera House, and a programme arranged by Professor Charles Duplessis was carried out very effectively. The charter members of the club as it now stands number 100. With a few exceptions they are as follows:

A. W. Grismer, S. P. Jones, H. C. Chapin, R. R. Rand, H. J. Pyle, S. B. Hall, R. de Freville, C. M. Palmer, W. E. Haskell, J. W. Molyneux, James Gray, C. M. Shultz, W. Wettleson, B. J. Mullany, W. A. Edwards, M. R. Thurlow, L. D. McLain, C. A. Ostrow, E. A. Taylor, R. E. Park, P. H. Beall, J. O. Davis, H. C. Stebbins, H. T. Black, A. H. Bare, G. S. Dammond, R. H. Gallagher, S. Kelliher, A. R. Walker, W. T. Pauly, B. Bryan, J. L. Kearney, J. E. Luck, E. M. Christian, W. M. Wright, J. W. Field, W. B. Wheeler, J. H. Steele, S. Baker, F. D. Larabee, F. H. Boardman, O. Abbott, J. Rose, F. M. Rowley, F. J. Scudder, A. K. Skaro, J. G. Skaro, E. J. Morrison, J. Scanlon, J. C. Harper, A. Poehlin, G. Rallis, T. Gallagher, E. H. Crane, C. A. Brown, W. H. Curtiss, W. A. Schoenbaum, J. McNall, J. C. Black, C. G. Goodrich, E. W. Goddard, C. H. Babcock, A. Nagle, F. A. Parker, C. D. Parker, F. G. James, J. L. Amory, P. C. Most, E. E. Graham, A. P. Erickson, F. W. Eastman, A. J. Blethen, A. T. Rand, H. J. Neiler, L. Harrison, F. B. Drischel, C. W. Darling, J. Boyer, N. Whitney, W. B. MacLean, F. W. Maynard, G. A. Dusigneaud, W. C. Martin, George Caven, Sam Morton, H. Hock, H. Griffin, H. Libby, C. Libby, C. W. Dana, L. Watson, H. Watson, H. Saulspaugh, J. C. Callahan, C. L. Jacoby, E. M. Murphy, W. Hays, J. W. Burton, Theo. L. Hays, M. Breslauer, S. C. Lewis, Bert Goodhue, Ed Blomquist, W. W. Lewhead, G. A. Berwin, A. J. Berwin, P. A. Halther, Pat Gibbons, H. C. Hanford, and A. R. Taylor.

* * * * *

~An~ athletic tournament was held, December 15, at the First Regiment Armory in Chicago, under the auspices of Company C, First Infantry, I. N. G. There was a good attendance of athletes, and many ladies were present.

The event of the evening was the six-round sparring match for points between W. W. Wade and Thomas Morgan, the winner to carry off a handsome diamond medal. The contest was well fought, and both men showed evidence of being pretty well winded when the referee, amid much applause, declared. Wade the winner.

The fencing bout between the Misses Jennie Hepburn and Josephine Friel, pupils from Mrs. Roundtree’s Gymnasium, was won by Miss Jennie Hepburn, who was thereupon presented with a handsome pair of foils by Company G. The remainder of the programme was as follows:

Heavy-weight collar-and-elbow wrestling between James Curran and Albert Zimmerman; won by Curran in 1 minute and 30 seconds.

Light-weight sparring between Frank Gebbard and William Church.

Middle-weight catch-as-catch-can wrestling between Walter Moore and George K. Barrett; won by Barrett.

World’s champion Indian club swinger, A. H. Rueschau.

Feather-weight sparring, Messrs. Wood and Frazier.

Queen of clubs, Miss Hilda Rueschau.

Scientific sparring.

Græco-Roman light-weight wrestling, Messrs. Smythe and O’Day.

Middle-weight sparring, Messrs. Arthur and Toomey.

Fencing lesson and attack double.

* * * * *

~Considerable~ dissatisfaction is shown by Amherst students at the lack of interest in athletic sports. The football team met with little success, and general sports have but few followers. An effort will be made to arouse the students to a sense of their duty to support, with muscle or the welcome dollar, the various athletic games. A felt running track, canvas covered, has been put down in the gymnasium, and some good results may be looked for in the spring.

* * * * *

~The~ cross-country race for the championship of Yale University was held on Saturday, December 8, with only six entries. The course was laid starting from the south end of the Field due west to Lake Maltby, around it, and back to the Field by way of the Derby road, a distance of about six miles. Lloyd, ’91, was the first man in, time 35 minutes, followed by Holton, T. S., two minutes later. Reynolds, ’91, Ryder, ’91, and Hinckley, ’89, also finished in the order named. Sherill, ’89, acted as starter and judge. The winner received the cup emblematic of the cross-country championship, and the second and third men were also awarded prizes.

* * * * *

~Strenuous~ efforts are being made by the students and alumni of Phillips Andover Academy to raise a sufficient amount to warrant the erection of a new gymnasium building. The want of proper facilities for gymnasium work and the absence of a running track have hindered the students from achieving much in this branch of sport in late years.

* * * * *

~The~ Athletic Association of Trinity College held a hare-and-hounds December 8. The hares were given a start of eight minutes. Fourteen hounds followed. The course was between eight and nine miles, over a stiff country. The hares were in first, with the leading hound but three hundred yards behind. The first hound received a silver-plated vase, the second a silver medal.

* * * * *

~Hare-and-hounds~ and cross-country runs are very popular just now among college men.

* * * * *

~At~ the Manhattan Athletic Club games, December 15, Samuel Crook, Williams, ’90, gained the title of champion in three events--the standing high and broad jumps, and three standing broad jumps.

* * * * *

~The~ Brown University Athletic Association has a large number of men at work in the gymnasium under a competent trainer. Each man is training for the events he is best fitted to enter, and two tug-of-war teams have been put to work.

* * * * *

~The~ thirteenth field day of the Athletic Association of the University of California occurred December 5, and was one of the most successful and satisfactory ever held. The list of events is as follows:

100-yards run--T. McGee, ’91, first in 10 4-5s.; J. B. Garber, ’92, second.

220-yards run, handicap--F. W. McNear (scratch), first in 24 2-5s.; Wright, ’90 (5 yards), second.

Mile run, handicap--E. R. Rich, ’90 (scratch), first in 5m. 23½s.; E. Bunnell, ’91 (45 yards), second.

Putting 16-pound shot--J. Bouse, ’91 (scratch), first with 35 ft. 6 in.; De Winter, ’92, 2½ ft., second.

100-yards run--F. W. McNear (scratch), first in 10 3-5s.; E. Mayes (2 yards), second.

Half-mile run--E. C. Hill, ’90, first in 2m. 10 2-5s.

100-yards run, three-legged race--Lakenan, ’90, and Gates, ’91, first in 12½s.

120-yards hurdle race--H. C. Moffitt, ’89 (scratch), first in 19s.; J. Bouse (10 yards), second.

440-yards run--F. W. McNear, first in 53½s.

Throwing 12-pound hammer, handicap--Morrow, ’91, 8 ft., first with 102 ft. 6 in.

Running long jump, handicap--W. A. Wright, ’90, 1 ft., first with 19 ft. 5 in.; F. W. McNear, ’90 (scratch), second.

One-mile relay race--Won by ’91 in 3m. 47 2-5s, with the following team--Gallagher, Fisher, Gates, T. Magee, and Head.

Tug-of-war--’89 vs. ’91, won by ’91; ’91 vs. ’92, won by ’92.

In six of the above events--putting 16-pound shot, half-mile run, three-legged race, 440 yards, throwing 12-pound hammer, running long jump--the University records were broken.

* * * * *

~At~ the Lincoln College sports, Oxford, England, which took place December 4, F. J. K. Cross added yet another to his list of records. The day was almost perfect for running, the atmosphere being clear and mild, with almost a dead calm, while the track was in faultless order. In the open-quarter handicap, with a field of excellent sprinters, he had to yield starts ranging to 32 yards, and the general impression was that he would not be placed. The pace was forced from the first, and at the 100-yard post the men were all in a bunch. The finish was most exciting, but Cross, having undoubtedly the best position, on the outside, won by half a yard. The time was 49 2-5s., which is the fastest ever made by an Englishman over a level track.

In the other events, L. H. Stubbs and C. A. Pease displayed good form, the former winning the 100, the 120-yards handicap and the long jump, while Pease easily took the half-mile handicap and mile.

* * * * *

~The~ Inter-Varsity hare-and-hounds between Oxford and Cambridge was run, November 30, over an eight-mile course at Oxford in a pouring rain. There were two hares and five hounds for each university. Pollock-Hill, Oxford, took the lead at once and maintained it throughout, finishing with a lead of a hundred yards in 47m. 52s. The race resulted in favor of the Light Blue by 13 points, the scores being--Oxford 21 and Cambridge 34. Of the nine contests which have taken place, Cambridge has won seven to Oxford’s two.

* * * * *

~Measurements~ taken by Dr. Seaver, last fall, of the Freshman class at Yale show that the physical development of the 326 men, taken as a whole, is very good. These measurements are of young men from almost every State in the Union, and may be looked upon as fairly representative of the class of men who enter college, and will, with some few exceptions, be applicable to the other large colleges as well. Except in particular cases, there is a noticeable absence of over or under developed men in the class of ’92. The tallest man is 6 ft. 2 4-5 in., the shortest 4 ft. 9 5-8 in. The oldest is 26 years 2 months, the youngest 14 years 10 months (an exceptionally youthful age). The heaviest member of the class weighs 200 and the lightest 86½, pounds. Only 17 per cent. of the academic Freshmen use tobacco, and 25 per cent. of the students in the Scientific School.

BASEBALL.

~Keefe~, the great pitcher, will coach the Amherst nine during the season.

* * * * *

~Regarding~ the prospects of the Yale nine for the coming season, it is said that Stagg has absolutely refused to play. Dalzell, change pitcher of last year’s nine, is showing great promise, however. Dann has left college. With a new battery, it remains to be seen whether Yale can retain the championship which she has held for three successive years.

* * * * *

~The~ University of New York will attempt to put a first-class ball nine in the field in the spring.

* * * * *

~Baseball~ men at Princeton are somewhat handicapped in their practice by the loss of the cage which was blown down during the summer. The gymnasium is not suitably equipped for winter practice, and there is almost no opportunity for batting. King, ’89, the captain, will probably pitch; Brownlee, ’89, and Brokaw, ’92, are candidates for the position of catcher.

* * * * *

~The~ Athletic Committee of Harvard University has granted the two petitions presented by Captain Willard in behalf of the members of the nine. The first petition was for the employment of a professional coach, and named for approval Mr. Clarkson of the Boston nine. The second petition was for permission to play practice games with professional teams. On the first petition the committee voted, “That the management of the nine be authorized to employ J. G. Clarkson as coach for the season of 1888-9, to act in the gymnasium or on the athletic grounds of the university.”

* * * * *

~An~ effort is to be made to form a baseball league, which is to consist of Lafayette, Lehigh, Rutgers and Stevens.

* * * * *

~Madison~ University will attempt to join the New York State College League in the spring. To raise funds for the purpose, the students have resolved to give a series of concerts, the first of which was held Dec. 7, and netted $110.

BICYCLE.

~F. A. Elwell~, of Portland, Me., is arranging for a cyclists’ tour through Europe next summer. The pace will be an easy one, so that ample time will be given for sight-seeing. It is expected the party will reach home about the 1st of September, and the cost of the trip will be about $400 per capita. The party will be limited to twenty-five, and Ireland, England, France, Switzerland, Germany, Holland and Belgium will be visited.

* * * * *

~Last~ spring a bicycle was run into on Broad Street, Providence, R. I., by Patrick H. Collins, an expressman, who, according to the evidence, refused to pay any regard to the warning whistles of the rider. The wheelman’s hand was broken and his machine seriously damaged. Collins was convicted in the lower court of a violation of the law requiring him to drive reasonably to the right of the travelled centre of the highway, and took an appeal. A short time ago the Court of Appeals sustained the lower court, deciding that a bicycle is a vehicle, and entitled to all the protection afforded other vehicles.

* * * * *

~John S. Prince~ is to manage the bicycle department of the new Coliseum in Omaha, a building 300 by 170 feet, with a bicycle track 20 feet wide and 10 laps to the mile. The building will seat 10,000 people. A six-day race is being arranged. Inside of the cycle track is a horse track 17 feet wide.

* * * * *

~Chicago~ will have a six-day bicycle race next, and it will possibly take place in the Exposition building.

* * * * *

~Interest~ in wheeling matters has been on the increase in Cincinnati, and there is every prospect that the State meet will be held there in 1889.

* * * * *

~The~ Harvard-Technology road race was held Saturday, December 8, over a nine-mile course through the Newtons. The race was close and exciting, and resulted in a victory for Harvard. The start and finish were on Watertown street, Newton. Technology entered eight men and Harvard six, but only the first five men from each club were counted. The men finished in the following order:

1. Greenleaf, Harvard, 10 points. 2. Norton, Tech., 9 “ 3. Williston, Tech., 8 “ 4. Brown, Harvard, 7 “ 5. Barron, Harvard, 6 “ 6. Rogers, Harvard, 5 “ 7. Webster, Tech., 4 “ 8. Holmes, Harvard, 3 “ 9. Warner, Tech., 2 “ 10. Hutchins, Tech., 1 “

Total--Harvard, 31 points; Technology, 24 points. Officers of the race--Referee, R. H. Davis, of Harvard; judges, H. M. Waite and F. C. Jarecki, both of Technology.

Greenleaf’s time for the nine miles was 36 minutes 23 4-5 seconds, which is very fast considering the condition of the roads. Norton and Williston, of Technology, were very close to him at the finish. The others were some distance behind, owing to a delay at a railway crossing in West Newton. Bradly, of Technology, took a bad header near the finish and was unable to go on.

The banner subscribed by the clubs, jointly, now belongs to Harvard.

* * * * *

~At~ a meeting held December 13 by the Harvard Bicycle Club, the following motion was unanimously carried: “That the Harvard Bicycle Club challenge the Yale Bicycle Club to a road-race next June, immediately after the final examinations, leaving to Yale choice of distance and course; the number of competitors to be from five to ten. If Yale chooses a course at New Haven, they are to allow Harvard $8 per man towards the expenses; but if a course near Cambridge is chosen, Harvard shall allow Yale $8 per man.”

If this plan is carried out it will add another to the list of championship contests between the two colleges, and a race like the one proposed will tend to lift bicycling from the comparatively insignificant place it now holds as a college sport.

CRICKET.

~The~ following cricket team, organized by Major Warton, left England for the Cape per s. s. Garth Castle:--Major Warton, Messrs. C. A. Smith, captain, M. P. Bowden, E. J. McMaster, B. A. F. Griese, J. H. Roberts, A. C. Skinner, and Hon. C. J. Coventry; Abel, Read, Briggs, Fothergill, Wood, and F. Hearne. Sir Donald Currie has presented a Challenge Cup, which is to be presented to the Colony, and will go to the team representing Griqualand West, Natal, the Transvaal, for Orange Free State, which makes the best approximate show against the English team. After that it will remain the subject of annual contest.

* * * * *

~The~ games scheduled for the Philadelphia cricket team, which will visit England next season, are as follows: July 2, 3, Trinity College; July 4, 5, Gentlemen of Ireland; July 8, 9, Gentlemen of Scotland; July 11, 12, Gentlemen of Liverpool; July 15, 16, Gentlemen of Gloucester; July 18, 19, Surrey; July 22, 23, M. C. C.; July 25, 26, Kent; July 29, 30, Hampshire; August 1, 2, United Service; August 5, 6, Sussex; August 8, 9, Oxford or Cambridge University.

* * * * *

~The~ Belmont Cricket Club, of Philadelphia, has elected these officers for 1889: President, John P. Green; vice-president, William L. Longstreth; clerk, James F. Fahnestock; corresponding secretary, Milton C. Work; treasurer, Henry W. Cattell, M.D. Board of directors, William Nelson West, J. Allison Scott, Clarence North, Joseph H. Rastall, W. N. Brown, William L. Longstreth.

CURLING.

~The~ Montreal branch of the Royal Caledonia Curling Club recently elected the following officers for the ensuing year: Messrs. David Brown, president; Geo. Brush, vice-president; Rev. James Williamson, secretary; Rev. James Barclay, chaplain.

* * * * *

~At~ the annual meeting of the Montreal Curling Club, on December 15, the election of officers resulted as follows: President, F. Stancliffe; vice-president, W. I. Fenwick; representative members, A. T. Paterson, James Williamson; chaplain, Rev. J. Williamson; treasurer, R. W. Crompton; secretary, E. L. Pease; committee of management, C. E. Smyth, C. W. Dean, R. W. Shepherd, Jr., D. Williamson, A. F. Riddell; skips, A. T. Paterson, R. W. Tyre, W. I. Fenwick, F. Stancliffe, D. Williamson, C. W. Dean, R. W. Shepherd, Jr., A. F. Riddell.

FENCING.

~A fencing~ club was formed at Harvard, December 13; Sig. Castroni will be the fencing-master, and the club has guaranteed him a salary which will be raised by paying fixed prices per lesson. Thirty-five men signed as charter members. The officers are E. P. Rawson, ’90, president; L. M. Greer, ’91, vice-president; F. T. Goodwin, ’89, secretary; J. S. Beecher, ’90, treasurer.

* * * * *

~An~ effort is being made at Columbia to form a fencing club. Many recent graduates are experts in this branch of sport, and would doubtless aid the scheme in every way.

FISHING AND SHOOTING.

~The~ Niagara County Anglers’ Club, a flourishing organization, is making an effort to secure greater uniformity in the present State fish and game laws. At a recent meeting a committee was appointed which will enter into correspondence with the various sporting clubs throughout the State, in order to learn their views regarding the advisability of the move. The Secretary of the Niagara County Anglers’ Club, Mr. W. H. Cross, may be addressed at Lockport, N. Y.

* * * * *

~The~ Michigan Fishing and Hunting Association is the title of a new organization of gentlemen just formed in Detroit, with a capital of $20,000 in 200 shares. One half the shares have already been taken. The association has already selected a site, and will shortly erect thereon a handsome edifice 80 × 60 feet, containing forty rooms, including billiard-rooms, ladies’ parlors, a large dance hall, kitchen, etc. It will be finely finished, and in every respect a model club-house. The cost will be between $6,000 and $7,000. The construction has been placed in the hands of the contractors, and is to be rapidly pushed to be in readiness for opening early in the season.

* * * * *

~The~ first move ever made for a systematic protection of fish and game in and about Barnegat Bay “is the organization of a corporation known as the Bounat Gunning and Fishing Association,” by a number of famous New Jersey gunners and fishermen. It will stock its preserves with both game and fish. The members favor only legitimate sport. Under its charter the association has the right to prosecute all pot-hunters who violate the New Jersey game laws. The club-house will be situated on Lazy Point, about fourteen miles below Barnegat Bay Inlet. Among the stockholders are ex-Congressman Charles Haight, Sheriff Fields, County Clerk Patterson and Surrogate Crater, all of Monmouth County; Thomas A. Ward, ex-Judge Morris, Robert Drummond and Harold E. Willard.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Mak-saw-ba Club of Chicago was held recently at the Sherman House. The following officers were elected for the year: President, R. B. Organ; vice-president, W. P. Mussey; treasurer, Joel A. Kinney; secretary, C. S. Petrie; board of managers, R. B. Organ, W. P. Mussey, T. B. Leiter, C. S. Petrie and W. H. Haskell. Among other business transacted, rules were passed requiring that shooting must cease at sunset and not begin until after sunrise; also forbidding the use of two guns in one boat and the use of rifles on the marsh. The club has decided to follow the example of the Tollestone Club, and distribute feed for the ducks during the season. The club is in a flourishing condition.

* * * * *

~The~ woodcock shooting season ended in New Jersey December 1. Taken altogether it was a bad season. Birds were few. It is probable that the privilege of shooting woodcock in summer will be restored by the Legislature.

FOOTBALL.

~The~ convention of the Eastern Intercollegiate Football Association was held at Springfield, Mass., Friday, December 7. Delegates from Boston Technology, Dartmouth, Williams, Amherst, and Stevens Institute were present. The protest with regard to the Technology-Stevens game was considered, and the game was awarded to Technology. Inasmuch as Dartmouth and Technology tied for first place, no championship was awarded, but a resolution was passed that in case of a tie in the future, the winners of the previous year should retain the championship. The following officers were elected for the ensuing year: President, W. Merrill, of Technology; vice-president, M. H. Beecher, of Dartmouth; secretary, R. A. Hopkins, of Williams; treasurer, A. Smith, of Amherst.

* * * * *

~A recent~ alumnus, in a letter to the Princetonian, advocates the appointment of professional umpires in football as the only way of securing fair decisions. He suggests Mr. Edward Plummer and Mr. George Goldie as men who would acceptably fill the position.

* * * * *

~Students~ at the University of California, Berkeley, Cal., enjoy the good fortune of being able to play football during the winter. Chas. Thompson, ’89, has been chosen captain of the team, and close and interesting games may be looked for with neighboring clubs.

* * * * *

~William Odlin~, ’90, has been chosen captain of the Dartmouth Football Team for the next season. M. H. Beacham, ’90, was elected manager, and A. H. Baehr, ’90, president of the association.

* * * * *

~A game~ took place between the universities of Cambridge and Edinburgh, December 6, at Cambridge. The visitors won the match last year, but the same fortune did not attend them this time, as they were defeated by the Light Blue by one goal to two tries. The game was, however, a closely contested one, and in the first half Edinburgh had the advantage. Failure to kick goals from tries may be said to be the cause for defeat.

* * * * *

~Four~ Rugby football teams from Montreal played at Ottawa on Thanksgiving Day. The following is the result of the matches: McGill College Medicos defeated Ottawa College second fifteen by 16 to 1; Montreal second fifteen defeated Ottawa City second fifteen by 6 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ match on the Metropolitan grounds between the Britannias of Montreal and the Atlantic City team, resulted in a victory for the former by 11 points to 2.

* * * * *

~The~ match for the championship of the Dominion, November 29, between the Montreal first fifteen, champions of the Province of Quebec, and Ottawa College first fifteen, champions of Ontario, was a draw; neither side scored a point. The match was a series of scrimmages from beginning to end. The teams were as follows: Montreal--Backs, J. D. Campbell (captain), A. A. Hodgson; half, A. S. Browne, A. E. Abbott; quarter, H. Cleghorn; forwards, R. Campbell, P. Barton, F. W. Taylor, Edward Black, A. L. Drummond; F. Matthewson, A. G. Fry, A. D. Fry, J. Louson and G. Geo. Baird; field captain, J. J. Arnton. Ottawa College--Back, F. Devine; half-backs, M. Cormier and J. Murphy; quarters, M. Guillet and W. F. Kehoe; forwards, A. Hillman, O. Labrecque, P. O’Brien, M. McDonald, J. Curran, D. McDonald, C. Fitzpatrick, P. Chatlin, D. McDonald and W. McAullay; field captain, M. F. Fallon. Referee--J. Rankin, Queen’s College, Kingston.

HOCKEY.

~The~ annual meeting of the Canadian Amateur Hockey Association was held in the Victoria Rink, Montreal, on November 16. Representatives from most of the hockey clubs were present. The election for the ensuing year resulted as follows: President, Mr. J. Stewart; first vice-president, A. Shearer; second vice-president, D. B. Holden; secretary-treasurer A. Hodgson. Council--H. Kinghorn (McGill), S. Lee (Crystal), T. Arnton (Victoria), A. G. Higginson (Montreal).

* * * * *

~The~ first match of the season, for seven gold medals, was played in the Victoria Rink, Montreal, on December 15, between the Victorias and the Montreal Amateur Athletic Association team. The teams were as follows:

M. A. A. A. POSITION. VICTORIA.

Paton Goal J. Arnton Stuart Point T. Arnton Cameron Cover point J. Campbell Hodgson { } E. Barlow Lowe { } J. Kinghorn McNaughton { Forwards } A. Elliott Findlay { } B. Waud Umpires--Messrs. Wardlow and Black. Referee--Mr. Crathern.

Summary of the games:

First game, M.A.A.A. Lowe 5 mins. Second game, Victorias Kinghorn 2 mins. Third game, M.A.A.A. McNaughton 8 mins. Fourth game, M.A.A.A. Lowe 26 mins.

LACROSSE.

~For~ the first time in the history of Harvard lacrosse, the candidates for the teams have had regular practice in the fall. The prospects of the ’varsity and freshman teams are good. Seven men of last year’s ’varsity team will probably be on next year’s team. The other positions will have to be filled by men whose acquaintance with the lacrosse stick is limited.

* * * * *

~Students~ at Rutgers College, New Brunswick, N. J., are developing a liking for lacrosse, and the prospects of a representative team this season are good.

* * * * *

~It~ is stated on good authority that the Lacrosse Club of the University of the City of New York, which has been in existence for many years, will be allowed to die. Its place will probably be taken by the club at the New York College, which is somewhat better off regarding practice grounds and student support.

* * * * *

~The~ Detroit Lacrosse Club suggests that an International League be formed, taking in Detroit, Windsor, Chatham and some Michigan towns.

PEDESTRIANISM.

~The~ gross receipts of the last professional six-days’ walking match, which ended in Madison Square Garden December 1, netted $19,316.50. Of this the management received fifty per cent. and the balance went to the contestants, to be divided proportionately among them. The score at the finish was:

Miles. Yds.

Littlewood 623 1,320 Herty 609 ---- Moore 553 1,100 Cartwright 546 ---- Noremac 442 440 Hart 539 1,100 Howarth 536 440 Connor 536 ---- Golden 534 440 Mason 528 660 Taylor 450 880 Campana 450 220 Elson 421 1,540 Peach 262 880 C. Smith 201 1,540

RACQUETS.

~Several~ exciting contests at racquets took place at the New York Racquet Club courts last December, a feature of which was a match for the professional championship of America between Albert Wright, the leading marker of the New York Club, and the English player, Boaker, the principal marker of the Quebec Racquet Club. In some preliminary practice games, in which Boaker gave odds to Robert Moore--the other marker of the New York Club--the latter had the best of it; but in the games for the championship, Boaker bore off the honors, as will be seen by the appended score:

Boaker 15 15 12 13 10 15 15--Total aces 95 Wright 10 4 15 18 15 7 8--Total aces 77

Total aces by service, Boaker 13, Wright 17. Time of game, 1 hour 17 minutes.

Referee, Mr. Lawrence Perkins. Scorer, Mr. Stewart. Umpire for Boaker, Mr. E. W. Jewett. Umpire for Wright, Mr. Paul Dana. Marker, Robert Moore.

In the first two games Boaker showed marked superiority in play, but in the next three games Wright pluckily rallied and took the lead. The fourth game was the most closely contested of all, the score standing at 13 all at the end of the seventeenth innings. Then Boaker set the game at 5, and Moore won by 5 to 0, making a total of 18 aces to 13. In the sixth and seventh games Boaker showed his superiority in strategic play, and he finally came in victor in four out of the seven games played. It was the best exhibition of racquet playing seen at the court during the year. The match took place December 8.

RIFLE AND TRAP SHOOTING.

~Al. Bandle~, of Cincinnati, and Rollie O. Heikes, of Dayton, Ohio, shot a match at live pigeons at the Fair Grounds, Dayton, Nov. 29. The conditions of match were 100 live birds, 30 yards rise, Hurlingham rules, for a stake of $250 a side. There were over 2,000 people present. Promptly at two o’clock the match was called. Mr. George Wells, of Covington, Ky., was chosen as referee. Owing to darkness the match was not finished, eight birds being left over until the following day. The scores were:

Killed. Missed. Total.

A. Bandle, first day 84 8 92 “ “ second day 8 0 8 -- -- --- 92 8 100

R. O. Heikes, first day 82 10 92 “ “ second day 5 3 8 -- -- --- 87 13 100

The second day the attendance was small, the day being cold, raw and cloudy. Heikes’ friends immediately challenged Bandle to a match for $500 a side, to be shot in Cincinnati Christmas Day, same conditions.

* * * * *

~The~ Second Gatling Battery, National Guard, New York, held a prize shoot at Creedmoor Thanksgiving Day. The Overton Medal was won by A. L. Klein.

The champions’ match for a $300 medal was won by Driver G. R. Kelly, W. B. Lowe, second, and S. D. Coborn, third. In the honorary members’ match Capt. A. H. Baker won 1st prize, C. J. Doran 2d. E. C. Webb won the revolver match; S. D. Coborn 2d, H. J. Jordan 3d. Prizes were also won by Capts. Nutt and Limberger, Lieut. Castell, Sergt. Yugman and Corp. Lennon. A banquet was served by Capt. Limberger after the shoot.

* * * * *

~Thanksgiving~ Day at Elkwood Park, near Long Branch, Miss Annie Oakley and Phil. Daly, Jr., shot a match at 50 live birds for a handsome gold badge; Mr. Daly shooting at fifty-five and Miss Oakley at fifty birds. Mr. Daly won, missing but seven birds, Miss Oakley missing 8. There was a large crowd to witness the shooting.

* * * * *

~A new~ Gun Club has been formed at Topeka, Kansas. It had a shoot Thanksgiving Day, using Peoria blackbirds.

* * * * *

~At~ Arlington, Md., Nov. 29, Wm. Graham and H. Capron shot a match at 25 live birds for $50 a side. The conditions were: 25 birds each, Graham standing at 28 yards rise, and using a 12-gauge gun, with one hand only; Capron standing at 30 yards, using a 10-gauge, with both hands. Hurlingham rules. E. C. Hall, referee. The match resulted in a tie, as follows:

W. Graham 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 24 H. Capron 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 24

The tie was then shot off, and resulted as follows;

Graham 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 11 Capron 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 8

Graham won the match.

* * * * *

~At~ Troy, Kansas, November 27, Dr. Dinsmore, with a 32-40, 185 calibre rifle, did some fine shooting at 500 yards. The score in detail was: 5, 5, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5--48; 5, 5, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5--49; total, 97 out of a possible 100 points. This, with so small a calibre as a 32, is extraordinarily fine work. In fact it would be considered fine with any kind of a rifle. The Doctor also shot a fine score with the same rifle off-hand, at 200 yards, his scores being: 78, 85, 88, 82, 88--421--possible 500 points.

* * * * *

~W. W. Bennett~, on Thanksgiving Day, at Walnut Hill, made the following scores at 50 yards on the standard target with revolver: 92, 92, 89--273; and on December 1, made the following scores, same conditions: 94, 89, 89, 89, 89--450.

* * * * *

~At~ the Southern California Trap Tournament, held at Riverside, Cal., Mr. M. Chick, of San Diego, won the Selby champion medal for the third time against all comers in Southern California--killing 88 out of a possible 100; 50 single and 25 double rises. During the meeting Mr. Chick shot at 160 blue-rocks and broke 148.

* * * * *

~The~ Wichita, Kansas, Trap Tournament was held under very adverse circumstances, the weather being very disagreeable. Some fine shooting was done by Messrs. Stancer, Swiggett, Brown and Smyth. Mr. Stancer shot at 396 and killed 358, only missing 38, which is an exceptionally fine record.

* * * * *

~The~ contest for the Standard gold medal at Cleveland, Ohio, between the West End, Rockford and Locksley gun clubs, resulted in a victory for the West End Club, the total scores being: West End, 171; Rockford, 158; Locksley, 145. The medal has to be won three times before it becomes the property of either club, and until won, the highest score on the winning team wears it. The same day the West End Club held their badge shoot, which was won by Mr. W. Bell, who also wears the Standard badge for three months.

* * * * *

~There~ were about 200 present to witness the match at Starr’s Driving Park, Baltimore, Md., between Mr. Fred Kell, of Baltimore, and Mr. W. Graham, the Englishman. Graham held one hand behind him. The match was for $100 a side. It resulted as follows: Fred Kell, 20; Wm. Graham, 20. The conditions were twenty-five birds. The twenty-second bird of Graham’s was lost through his going to the trap with his gun unloaded, and calling pull, which cost him the match.

* * * * *

~The~ Rod and Gun Rifle Club of Springfield, Mass., paid a friendly visit, by invitation, to the Broad Brook, Ct., Rifle Club, recently. A very enjoyable day was spent at the targets and also at the dinner table. The Broad Brook Club will visit Springfield at an early date.

* * * * *

~The~ celebrated Zettler Rifle Club, of New York City, have a champion medal. Captain B. Walther won it the second time with 115 out of a possible 120.

* * * * *

~At~ Walnut Hill, Boston, Mass., a short time ago, Mr. J. B. Fellows, the well-known amateur rifle and pistol shot, made the following scores at 50 yards with a 22-calibre pistol: 93, 92, 90, 88, 93--456. Mr. W. W. Bennett holds the professional record for same distance with a total of 470 points.

* * * * *

~Major James P. Frost~, Brigade Inspector of Rifle Practice, M. V. M., has obtained permission to organize a rifle team from the Massachusetts State troops to go to Europe next summer to compete against teams across the ocean. It is proposed to leave about the middle of June, and to be gone a month or six weeks.

* * * * *

~The~ Schuetzen-Verein, of San Antonio, Texas, held their tournament in November. The prizes aggregated in value $642. In the off-hand team contest the winners were:

San Antonia S. V., score 350, $17; Cuero Rifle Club, 326, $10.20; San Antonio Rifle and Gun Club, 308, $6.80.

In the Individual contest the winners were:

Ed Steves, Jr., 93; S. V. Pfeuffer, 92; Alois Altmann, 87; Ern Seffel, 86; Earnest Steves, 86; G. Altmann, 84; W. J. Suter, 84; A. Steves, 84; A. Holeyapfel, 84; R. Krause, 84; L. Simon, 83; P. Nulm, 83; E. Gruene, 83; F. Scholl, 83; I. P. Samer, 82; O. Forcke, 82; Chas. Hummel, 82; A. Altmann, 81; W. Forcke, 81; H. Faust, 80; Ad. Wendler, 80; Dr. A. Herff, 79; H. Arnold, 78; J. Muschel, 78; A. Guenther, 78; Ed. Mittendorf, 78; T. Herff, 77; H. O. Journeay, 77; E. Dosch, 77; H. Vanseckel, 75; H. Clemens, 75; H. L. Fowler, 74.

There were 94 individual riflemen who took part in this contest. The conditions were, 5 shots at 150 yards, muzzle rest, and 5 shots at 250 yards, standard target.

* * * * *

~At~ the last meeting of the Houston, Texas, Schuetzen-Verein the following scores were made at 200 yards, three shots at rest, possible 30: W. Kamin, 27 points won at 117 yards, off-hand, two shots, possible 30; W. Keiler, 29; O. Erichson, 29.

* * * * *

~The~ American Field Championship Cup, won by L. S. Carter, is a magnificent piece of work. It was to have cost originally $200; but the artist elaborated his designs, so that $300 will be nearer the figure.

* * * * *

~A friendly~ rifle match was shot at Troy, Kansas, between Dr. R. S. Dinsmore, of Troy, and Dr. G. I. Royce, of Topeka. Both used Dr. Dinsmore’s rifle. The scores were: Dr. Dinsmore, 78, 78, 79, 77, 80--392; Dr. Royce, 72, 70, 76, 76, 74, 76--368.

* * * * *

~Company G.~, California National Guard, is considered the crack rifle company in the State. At the late State shoot 43 men made 1,488 points out of 2,150.

* * * * *

~Mr. J. A. Huggins~, of Pittsburgh, Penn., made in a rifle match at 200 yards, off-hand, with a 32-calibre rifle, within the rules of the N. R. A., the unprecedented score of 440 points out of a possible 500 in 50 shots. The same day he also made 436, same conditions. These scores beat all previous records, being the record for 50 and 100 shots. The American standard (Hinman) off-hand target was used.

* * * * *

~Officers~ of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals stopped a rabbit coursing meeting that was in progress at Hempstead, L. I. There were over 100 visitors present, among them Mr. and Mrs. S. D. Ripley, Mr. and Mrs. A. Belmont, Jr., Mrs. S. S. Sands, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, Mrs. Dodge, Miss Morgan and Miss Bird.

Mr. A. Belmont, Jr., had expended a great deal of time and money to make the meeting a success. The following gentlemen appeared before Squire Clowes: A. Belmont, Jr., Theo. Rutherford Beach, John Doty, William Reardon. They were charged with wilfully, unlawfully, wickedly and unjustifiably mutilating and killing an animal. The trial was set for the following Friday, when the court room was crowded. The jury returned a verdict of not guilty, and there was a great outburst of applause when the verdict was announced.

It is to be hoped that Mr. Bergh will see that to follow in the footprints of his late uncle in all things is not the proper thing. No one will assist him more than the true sportsman. But for him to array himself against the legions of true sportsmen is sheer folly, as he will do himself and the cause he represents more harm than good. If such sport can be stopped it is hard to say where it will stop.

* * * * *

~Pistol~ and revolver shooting is having quite a boom throughout the country. At St. Louis, recently, some fine shooting with a pistol has been done, Mr. L. V. D. Perrett making the following scores at 50 yards on a Standard American target: 87, 85, 87, 83, 86, 82, 91, 86, 80, 87--854.

* * * * *

~The~ Miller Rifle Club of Hoboken, N. J., and Our Own Rifle Club of Newark, had a match at the Miller’s quarters, Hoboken, recently. The target used was the Zettler ring. The scores were: Our Own Rifle Club, 2,380; Miller Rifle Club, 2,356.

* * * * *

~Mr. E. C. Mohrstadt~ won the handsome gold medal of the St. Louis Pistol Club, with the good average of 81-4--11; Fred A. Todde second, with 80-8--13; W. Bauer third. Mr. Bauer made the highest single score of 93 points out of possible 100. They will hold a tournament July 15-19, 1889, when $700 will be offered in prizes.

* * * * *

~At~ Dover, N. H., November 29, the following scores were made at 200 yards off-hand, with match rifles: H. M. Wiggan, 100 shots, 82, 89, 82, 80, 81, 87, 80, 88, 79, 73--821; J. B. Stevens, Jr., 90 shots, 73, 82, 73, 80, 78, 67, 77, 80, 78--697; G. H. Wentworth, 60 shots, 86, 91, 79, 88, 84, 92--520.

* * * * *

~The~ following were the best scores made by the Zettler Rifle Club, December 11, 10 shots each, gallery target and distance: G. Zimmerman, 115; L. Flach, 115; M. B. Engel, 115; F. Lindkloster, 114; J. H. Brown, 113; A. Bertrandt, 113.

* * * * *

~A team~ match was shot December 1, at Springfield, N. J., between teams captained by E. D. Miller and C. Johnson; teams of three men, 50 clay pigeons each. The scores were: Miller’s team--E. Miller, 43; A. Sickly, 43; W. Sopher, 38--123. Johnson’s team--C. Johnson, 39; I. M. Roll, 40; D. Conover, 34--112.

* * * * *

~The~ Williamsburgh Schuetzen Gesellschaft elected these officers at their annual meeting: Captain, Charles Horney; first lieutenant, Geb. Krauss; second lieutenant, A. Hoffman; secretary, J. Richards; treasurer, K. Sohleich; first shooting-master, G. Kleinbut; second shooting-master, W. Horney.

ROWING.

~The~ first intercolonial university eight-oared race was rowed October 6, on the Lower Yarra course, from Humbug Beach to the Gasworks, a course of about two miles and a half in length. The universities represented were Sidney, Adelaide, and Melbourne. Sidney struck the water first, but Melbourne and Adelaide dashed off with the lead, the former at 38, and Adelaide rowing at 39. The latter’s coxswain steered badly at first. Melbourne gradually went to the front, reaching the winning post first in 13m 5s., Adelaide four lengths to the bad, and Sidney about six lengths further behind.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Fairmount Rowing Club of Philadelphia was held last month. The election resulted as follows: President, E. B. Pyfer; vice-president, J. W. Harrison; corresponding secretary, J. Watermeyer; financial secretary, L. C. Moore; treasurer, C. Pressendanz; captain, G. W. Mitchell; Coxswain, C. Tierney; directors, W. Brownell, E. F. Brownell, C. Pressendanz, N. C. Upton.

* * * * *

~The~ Vesper Boat Club of Philadelphia at its annual election selected the following officers: President, A. R. Parsons; vice-president, H. Thomas; treasurer, C. F. Grim; recording secretary, B. Hooley; corresponding secretary, G. King; Captain, G. S. James; first lieutenant, G. Hooley; second lieutenant, J. Hutchinson; third lieutenant, H. W. Mende; house committee, J. Leibert, T. Park; inquiry committee, F. Munson, G. Hooley, H. Thomas; naval delegate board, A. R. Parsons; financial committee, A. F. Cottingham, J. Hutchison and G. Hooley. The club is flourishing.

* * * * *

~The~ Mystic Boat Club of Newark, N. J., elected the following officers for the year: President, H. M. Darcy; secretary, F. W. Mercer; captain, F. H. Glaze; lieutenant, A. J. Barclie; trustees, E. H. Osborne, C. L. Winters, F. Barclie, S. Depue and S. Durand.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Manayunk, Penn., Rowing Association resulted in the election of the following officers: President, J. A. Maguire; vice-president, G. Martin; secretary, F. Wall; treasurer, F. Milon; steward, M. McLaughlin; captain, J. W. Caffrey; lieutenant, P. W. Maxwell; directors, G. Martin, G. Cassidy, F. Milon, J. Wall and M. McLaughlin.

* * * * *

~All~ previous individual mileage records of the Minnesota Boat Club have been beaten by Mr. Herbert W. Brown, who rowed 1,135 miles during the season of 1888 just closed.

* * * * *

~The~ Dauntless Rowing Club elected the following board of officers for the present year: President, J. H. Redfield; first vice-president, T. H. Froehlich; second vice-president, Chas. M. Hall, Jr.; secretary, E. H. Anderson; treasurer, L. M. Edgar; captain, M. F. Connell; first lieutenant, F. S. Polo; second lieutenant, C. A. McIntyre; trustees, W. F. Bacon, J. J. Duff and F. F. Burke.

* * * * *

~At~ the annual meeting of the Catlin Boat Club of Chicago the following officers were elected: President, Charles Catlin; vice-president, Harry A. Cronin; secretary and treasurer, T. P. Hallinan; lieutenant, James McCormick; captain and trainer, Charles Goff. The president and vice-president were elected as delegates to the Mississippi Valley Rowing Association, and Messrs. Harris, Huehl and T. W. Reading were chosen as delegates to the Chicago Navy. The Catlin Boat Club is in a prosperous condition, having a membership of forty.

* * * * *

~The~ Yale Freshmen have challenged the Harvard Freshmen to an eight-oared two-mile straightaway race, to be rowed at New London next June. For several years the Yale Freshmen crews have challenged the Harvard Freshmen, but the latter have persistently declined, fearing that it would develop material for the Yale University boat. There is little prospect that Harvard will change her policy toward Yale.

* * * * *

~Both~ the Yale and Harvard crews have begun systematic training, which will increase in severity as the season advances. Much is expected by Harvard men of the tank, which has lately been completed, and which will put them on an equal footing with Yale in the matter of preliminary training.

* * * * *

~Much~ interest has been aroused among college men by reports that a race had been arranged between Cambridge, Eng., and Yale, to be rowed April 14. At Yale it is said that no negotiations had been begun with Cambridge, but something would undoubtedly be done to bring about a race. The date announced, April 17, is out of the question, inasmuch as the severe winter prevents all outdoor practice. The time best suited to the rowing men here would be during the long vacation. But that might not suit the Englishmen. Altogether it will be a hard matter to arrange a race which will be fair to both contestants.

* * * * *

~Intercollegiate~ boating has received an added impetus by the decision of Cornell, Columbia, and the University of Pennsylvania, to row an annual race at New London about the same time as the other ’Varsity races. The plan was originated by Columbia, and on December 12, E. Klapp, representing Columbia, met T. G. Hunter, of the University of Pennsylvania, and C. G. Psotta, of Cornell, at Philadelphia, and an agreement was drawn up and signed by the three representatives, stipulating for an annual three-mile race between eight-oared crews with coxswains, to be held between June 10 and 25, on the Thames at New London, the exact date to be named on or before April 1. Columbia has also been invited to contest for the “Childs’ Cup” with Cornell and the University of Pennsylvania, but will probably decline, because great extra expense would be involved. The Harvard-Columbia race will be rowed this year as usual, as it was only set aside last year by the consent of both colleges.

SKATING.

~The~ National Amateur Skating Association of the United States held its annual meeting last December, and elected the following officers for 1889: President, G. L. M. Sacks, M. A. C.; vice-president, Gus C. Walton, N. Y. A. C.; secretary, S. J. Montgomery; treasurer, J. B. Story; captain, W. B. Curtis; first lieutenant, G. D. Phillips; second lieutenant, H. M. Banks, Jr.

The association announced its determination to hold its fourth annual amateur championship meeting in the vicinity of New York City, Jan. 17, and following days. The programme was as follows:

Jan. 17.--220-yards and 5-mile races.

Jan. 18.--1-mile and 10-mile races.

Jan. 19.--Figure skating.

This is what is now arranged and intended, but as the association has no control over wind and weather, it cannot guarantee a strict execution of its programme. The committee can only say they will endeavor to give the contests as above announced. If on either of the announced days no good ice can be found, the whole programme will be postponed from day to day until there is good ice.

The events open to the amateur skaters of the world are: Figure skating, 220-yards, 1-mile, 5-mile and 10-mile races. Gold medal to first, silver medal to second, and bronze medal to third in each contest. Entrance-fee, $1 for each man for each event. Skaters unknown to the committee must submit satisfactory proof of their amateur standing. Entries closed Monday, Jan. 14, to S. J. Montgomery, Secretary National Amateur Skating Association, P. O. Box 938, New York City.

It is also probable that there will be special races at quarter-mile and half-mile for prizes offered by president and vice-president.

The following is the programme of the association for figure skating contest. The object of this programme is to set forth the movements of figure-skating so as best to test the proficiency of skaters, and in an order that will economize the strength of the contestants. The movements are arranged under comprehensive, fundamental heads, designed to include everything appertaining to the art. It is to be understood that whenever practicable all movements are to be executed both forward and backward, on right foot and on left. It should be continually borne in mind that grace is the most desirable attribute of artistic skating.

1. Plain forward and backward skating.

2. “Lap foot”--as field step and in cutting circle.

3. Outside edge roll, forward.

4. Outside edge roll, backward.

5. Inside edge roll, forward.

6. Inside edge roll, backward.

7. Figure eight on one foot, forward.

8. Figure eight on one foot, backward.

9. Cross roll, forward.

10. Cross roll, backward.

11. Change of edge roll, forward--commencing either on outside or inside edge.

12. Change of edge roll, backward--beginning either on outside or inside edge.

13. (a) “On to Richmond;” (b) reverse “On to Richmond.”

14. (a) “Locomotives,” forward, backward, side-ways--single and double; (b) waltz step (not to be done on the point of the skate).

15. Spread eagles, inside and outside edges.

16. Curvilinear angles; (a) single, double, chain, and flying threes, beginning on inside or outside edge; (b) turns from outside edge to outside edge, or from inside edge to inside edge, forward and backward.

17. Grapevines, including “Philadelphia twist,” etc.

18. Toe and heel movements, embracing pivot circling, toe spins (pirouettes), and movements on both toes, etc.

19. Single flat-foot spins and double-foot whirls.

20. (a) Serpentines on one foot and on both feet; (b) change of edge, single and double.

21. Loops and ringlets on inside and outside edges, simple and in combination.

22. Display of complex movements, at the option of the contestant.

23. Specialties, embracing original and peculiar movements.

* * * * *

~The~ Canadian Amateur Skating Association held their second annual meeting in the Victoria Rink, Montreal, on Nov. 21st, and elected the following officers for the ensuing season: President, Lieut.-Col. Fred Henshaw; first vice-president, Mr. G. Geddes, Toronto; second vice-president, Mr. H. V. Meredith; third vice-president, Mr. L. Pereira, Ottawa; secretary-treasurer, Mr. A. E. Stevenson; council, H. M. Allan, W. G. Ross, J. A. Taylor, J. A. Findlay, F. M. Larmouth, W. D. Aird, L. Rubenstein, R. A. Elliott, F. W. Barlow.

* * * * *

~A race~ for the half-mile skating championship of the world took place at Amsterdam, Holland, on January 8, between Joseph F. Donoghue, of Newburgh, N. Y., and Alexander Von Panschin, of St. Petersburg, Russia. Donoghue fell during the race and Von Panschin won; time, 1 min. 25 3-5 sec. Donoghue afterwards skated over the course against time and covered the half-mile in 1 min. 27 2-5 sec. The next day, January 9, Von Panschin won the one-mile race also. His time was 2 min. 59 sec. The American champion, Donoghue, was second, his time for the mile being exactly three minutes. G. Smart, of England, won the one-mile international professional handicap in 3 min. 9 sec.

SNOW-SHOEING.

~Le Canadian~ Snow-shoe Club, of Montreal, have elected the following officers: President, J. A. St. Julien; first vice-president, E. J. Bedard; second vice-president, Alf. Lussier; secretary, C. O. Lapierre; assistant secretary, W. Pilotte; treasurer, J. E. Clement; committee, L. N. Moreau, A. W. Beauclaire, N. Malette and H. Blanchard. The club decided to hold weekly tramps to Cote des Neiges.

THE KENNEL.

~New York~ (the Westminster Kennel Club) is out with its premium list for its February show. The prizes offered for the dogs in the large dog classes are $20 to first, $10 to second, $5 to third and the club’s medal to fourth. The next grade of classes get $10 to first, $5 to second and medal to third. The specials are valuable, and include the mastiff club cups, valued at $600; the St. Bernard club cups, valued at $140; the kennel prizes of $25 each for the best kennel of four of each of the following breeds: Pointers, mastiffs, St. Bernards, bloodhounds, deer-hounds, greyhounds, foxhounds, hunting-spaniels, beagles and English setters, Irish setters, black-and-tan setters and collies. The inducements are great to exhibitors, and the show bids fair to be as well attended and as successful as heretofore.

* * * * *

~The~ committee of the American Kennel Club held a meeting December 28, 1888, and decided upon the following matters, which are herewith printed for the benefit of the readers of ~Outing~:

1. The American Kennel Club Stud Book, after the completion of the present volume, will be issued annually, will contain a full index, and will be published bound in cloth.

2. Numbers will be assigned upon the receipt of each entry, and will be published monthly in the American Kennel Gazette.

3. Registry in the stud book can be made only upon the following conditions:

1. Where sire and dam are already registered or are directly descended from dogs already registered in said book.

2. Where dogs possess an authenticated pedigree, extended back three generations.

3. Where dogs (not eligible under the provisions as above required) have won not less than two first prizes in the regular classes at any show recognized by the American Kennel Club.

4. All entries for the stud book will be published in the issue of the American Kennel Gazette following the receipt of said entry to enable the correction of any errors that may appear.

5. The fee for entry in the stud book will remain as heretofore. Fifty cents for each dog entered.

6. All dogs shown at any show held by a member of the American Kennel Club, and not already registered in the stud book, must be registered in the American Kennel Gazette, the fee for such entry will be twenty-five cents.

7. The American Kennel Gazette will be published on the last Thursday of each and every month.

Yours truly, ~A. P. Vredenburgh~, Sec’y.

* * * * *

~The~ following is a list of the dog-show fixtures for February:

The first annual dog show of the Columbus Fancier’s Club, at Columbus, O., will be held at Columbus from February 5 to 8; Thomas R. Sparrow, secretary.

From February 7 to 12, the first annual show of the Hudson River Poultry, Dog and Pet Stock Association, will be held at Newburgh, N. Y. J. H. Drevenstedt, of Washington, N. J., is the secretary.

* * * * *

~The~ Detroit Kennel Club recently lost fifteen valuable dogs that had been raised for stock purposes by a strange epidemic, resembling pneumonia. Examination of the lungs of a number of the dogs was made soon after death, and they all bore evidence of the same disease that characterizes the lungs of human beings who have died from pneumonia. It seems from information received from different parts of the country that the mysterious malady is quite general, and not confined to any given section.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the New England Kennel Club was held recently at its rooms, Hamilton Place, Boston. In token of his long services to the club as treasurer, that pleasant gentleman and enthusiastic spaniel-man, W. O. Partridge, of Boston, was tendered a suitably engrossed testimonial by the club. The following officers were elected for 1889: President, F. B. Fay; vice-president, E. H. Moore; secretary, J. W. Newman; treasurer, Geo. A. Fletcher. Executive committee, the officers and J. E. Thayer, Jean Grosvenor, Frank M. Curtis, J. H. Long, Dr. J. G. W. Werner.

YACHTING.

~The~ Toronto Yacht Club and the Royal Canadian Yacht Club have decided to consolidate, and after May 15 next will be known only as the Royal Canadian Yacht Club.

The fusion of these two organizations will make the Royal Canadian one of the strongest yacht clubs in the world, with a membership of 650.

* * * * *

~Mr. C. D. Mosher~, of Amesbury, Mass., who built the phenomenal launch Buzz last season, whose mile record is 2 min. 8 sec., is now designing a steam yacht twice the size of the Buzz, but on the same lines.

* * * * *

~Mr. S. Austin~, Jr., of Philadelphia, has purchased of Mr. Jacob Lorillard his yacht Anita. Mr. Austin paid $22,500 for the Anita, and Mr. Lorillard is now having designs made for his fiftieth yacht.

~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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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 8½ × 6½, or, better, 10 × 8 inches.

Now, since the first thing to be considered in the selection of a photographic outfit is the size of picture desired, and the next the character of work to be done, let us here say that the difficulties of obtaining clean, good results increase with the increase of size to a certain extent, and the expense of making the picture increases very materially. Nevertheless, in spite of the various processes for making large prints from small negatives--enlarging processes, as they are technically termed--we repeat that we should not advise the purchase of very small cameras, unless mere amusement is the only thing to be considered. Plenty of fun can undoubtedly be had out of the little “detective” cameras now so commonly used, but more satisfaction will be felt in a nice collection of views or portraits on plates measuring, say, five inches by eight or ten inches by eight, the camera for which would be too large to be conveniently concealed as the smaller sizes are:

Since the introduction of the gelatine dry plate, and the consequent simplifying of the chemical part of the work, large-sized photographs may be made with far greater ease than formerly, and to those of our readers who have devoted any attention to art matters we will suggest one of the larger-sized cameras for plates, say fourteen inches by eleven, as offering more scope for the artistic treatment of fine subjects, particularly landscapes.

The size of plate and camera being settled upon, the next thing is to get a suitable lens, and this is often no easy matter. In most of the detective cameras the lens is supplied as a part of the outfit, but one intending to provide himself with a regular photographic apparatus ought to have some knowledge of lenses before purchasing. Without going into too great detail in the matter, we may say that some general distinctions between the different varieties of lenses should be borne in mind, as follows: (1) Lenses including an ordinary angle or amount of subject, say forty to fifty-five degrees on the base-line of the picture, and of tolerably long focus; and (2) wide-angle lenses including eighty degrees, or even more, and of very short focus. It would be natural for the purchaser to imagine that that lens which included most subject would be best, but as a general rule the contrary is true, namely, that the longer-focus lenses are the more practically useful and give the more pleasing pictures. There is another distinguishing characteristic between lenses that are “single” or “doublet.” The former are cheaper, but quite good enough for average landscape work, while the latter are indispensably necessary for architectural subjects and the accurate copying of anything like maps, plans, engravings, etc. To those who are disposed to be very economical, we may say that the front lens of an opera-glass will make excellent photographs. It should be unscrewed from the barrel, and set in a short tube with its flat side facing the view; or, in other words, it should have its position just reversed from what it was in the opera-glass. A stop of suitable size is then set in front of it at a distance equaling one-fifth of its burning focus.

It should be remembered that the perspective of the photograph is made by the lens, and cannot be altered by the operator, except in so far as he provides himself with a number of lenses of different focus and angle, so as to be able to treat different subjects with lenses suitable to their peculiarities, using each lens pro re rata, as the doctors would say.

It may not be generally known that experienced outdoor operators are pretty well agreed upon certain proportions between the focus of the lens and the size of plate, as affording the most pleasing pictures, and being most useful in the long run. We should thus choose an 11-inch focus lens for the 8½ × 6½ plate, a 9-inch for the 8 × 5, etc., or, in other words, one whose equivalent focus was about equal to the diagonal of the plate.[5] But let us take this occasion to say that we cannot too strongly insist upon the desirability of the photographer’s having more than one lens irrespective of the size or style of his pictures. We ourselves have worked with lenses of 11-inch, 7-inch, and 5½-inch focus on the 8½ × 6½ plate, and succeeded in a great variety of subjects. The 11-inch was probably used five or six times where the 7-inch was once, while the 5½-inch was only resorted to on rare occasions where the peculiarities of the subject required a very wide angle.

We enter into this matter at some length because the artistic qualities in landscape photographs will be found to depend in great measure upon the ability of the operator to include just the desired amount of subject on his plate from any given point of view; for the latter cannot always be changed so as to favor the lens. Then, also, it must not be forgotten that every change in the position of the camera will change something in the view; the whole character of the picture may be altered by shifting the apparatus a little in one direction or the other. A speaking proof of this is seen when examining the results obtained by the members of photographic clubs and societies after having been out for a field-day; here we often see two photographs of the same subject, where the men have stood side by side, one being complete as a picture, while the other fails in its effect simply because the lens has been a few inches or a few feet farther to the right or left, and has omitted or included some object which has been the making or marring of the picture.

Another prominent defect in photographs, taken as a whole, is that they are usually made in fixed sizes in spite of varieties or peculiarities of subject. How unpleasant it is in the case of a fine panoramic view, where the interest lies in the extended horizontal sweep rather than in the sky or foreground, to see things forced into a nearly square plate, say 10 × 8 inches, which gives entirely too much space above and below, with insufficient length! On the other hand, how empty the ends of a long, narrow 8 × 5-inch plate appear if some isolated and rather square object, such as a villa or group of trees, occupies the centre! Many a picturesque subject, dealing in high and narrow lines, will be utterly ruined if crowded on a square-shaped plate--street views in cities, for example, made near to churches with high steeples. Here we must either have a long, narrow plate, or use a lens of short enough focus to reduce the whole scale of the picture so that it can be afterwards trimmed to suit the subject. Here we see an additional reason why the plate should be of a good generous size to start with, and the outfit of lenses complete. If we had only a small plate on which to make the view, the trimming might make the finished print too small to be worth anything.

Let us now consider the shape of the picture, or plate, together with the proportions existing between its boundaries or sides, premising that while here and there a print may be trimmed square, circular or oval, to suit some particular subject, the oblong shape will be by far the most generally useful.

If we compare two plates, one measuring 8½ × 6½ inches and the other 8 × 5, we find that the diagonal line connecting two opposite corners is 1¼ inches longer in the former than in the latter. We also find that the former has a clear space 1½ inches wider than the other, extending over the whole of the long dimensions of the plate, together with another space half an inch wide at the narrow end. To put it in other words, the 8½ × 6½ plate differs from the 8 × 5 both in shape and in size, but offers considerably more surface with but a slightly longer diagonal. This latter has an important relationship to the covering or defining powers of the lens, for, supposing we wanted a lens to just cover the plate, we should have to select one the diameter of whose field or circle of light was equal to the diagonal of the plate--not to its base line, for in that case the plate would not be covered. Again, if we desired a lens to give perfect sharpness up to the corners of a given size of plate, we should reckon by the diagonal, and not by the base line.

A little study of perspective is most highly to be recommended to those who desire their pictures to be truthful and pleasing. Now, by this we do not at all mean that our readers should wade through ponderous volumes filled with mathematical problems and long equations, but that they should, for instance, set themselves to consider such facts as the following: If an empty box be set on the end of a long table with its hollow facing the student, it will be observed that the bottom and the sides are in a certain proportion to each other, and that the lines of junction between them appear to recede at a certain angle. If the box now be moved up to within twelve inches of the face, these lines of junction will be seen to stand at much more obtuse angles, besides which the sides will appear broader in proportion to their height than when the box was at a distance. Let him now consider that the principles here involved would hold true in the photographing of street views, and many other subjects where both near and distant objects were included. For if a wide-angle lens be employed, all the receding lines in the picture, such as cornices of buildings, railroads, curbstones, etc., etc., will stand at much more obtuse angles than when a narrow-angle lens is used; the terms “wide-angle” or “short-focus,” on the one hand, and “narrow-angle” or “long-focus,” on the other, being indiscriminately used by the photographer.

This great obtuseness of angle in the perspective of pictures made with wide-angle lenses, is sometimes the cause of most unsightly and ridiculous pictorial failures. It will be seen at once that the objection to using very wide-angle lenses is that, owing to this great obtuseness of angle of the perspective lines, distant objects will appear unnaturally dwarfed in size, while those near at hand will come out immensely larger than they ought to. A few trials on street views with a lens including, say, eighty degrees of angle, with prominent objects close in the foreground, will soon prove the truth of what we have been saying, and sometimes well-known localities will be so changed in the photograph that no one would recognize them. We are thus met by the paradox that the perspective of the photograph, while mathematically correct, is false to the eye.

These ideas of perspective will be found very useful in photographing architectural subjects, wide-angle lenses often being indispensable here. Caution must be observed in using them on these subjects, however, for if the buildings stand in confined positions, where there is no room to move the camera backward, the picture will have an unnatural effect, and might be compared to the eye of an observer trying to see something that was too close for convenience.

In portraiture, the perspective will suffer very much if the distance between the sitter and the lens be too small, and the lens of too wide an angle. In this case, the cheeks will look too narrow in proportion to the length of the face, while the hands and feet will be absurdly larger than they ought to be if at all obtruded. The head, and indeed the whole figure, will look more rotund and more life-like if a fair distance--say twice the sitter’s height--is kept between the lens and the sitter. If this should give too small a picture, a lens of longer focus will have to be used. Objects look broader when taken near at hand with wide-angle lenses. Interior views of buildings, halls, etc., where there is plenty of room to keep the camera well back, will not be found difficult, but the interiors of small private houses and rooms will often be very unsatisfactory subjects because there is not room for the camera to be set well back and give a life-like, natural effect.

Photographs of long, narrow objects will be great failures in the pictorial point of view if the camera be brought too close, and so that the nearer portions are unduly magnified while the more distant become dwarfed in size. Here we see one of the principal reasons why the photographer should have lenses of different focus, so that if he is compelled to take an unfavorable point of view he may not be confined to one focus and angle.

To be continued.

[5] The equivalent focus of a compound lens is taken as equal to the focus of a single lens which would form an image of the same size.

EVOLUTION OF FORM IN COLLEGE ROWING.

BY E. M. GARNETT.

I.--~The Harvard Stroke.~

~Scientific~ rowing may be properly called a modern luxury. It may be said, with a moderate degree of certainty, that neither the Greeks, the Romans, nor yet the early English, were in the habit of pulling themselves about in ten-inch shells provided with anti-crab swivel rowlocks and ball-bearing slides. Had any one of them been caught in such an act he would have been condemned, in all probability, to drink the hemlock, or worshipped as a wizard. Of course, from time immemorial there have been certain vague principles regulating the application of the weight of the body to the oar. But up to the time when that eccentric genius lubricated the seat of his boat and the seat of his trousers with some fatty substance, and slid his greasy way to victory, rowing was much more a matter of brute strength than of exquisite skill. And with the evolution of the sliding seat from the crude but effective idea, possibilities were offered for great improvements in the art of pulling an oar. During the last twenty years new inventions and radical changes in the rigging of boats have necessitated a departure, not only from former methods of rowing, but also from its recognized tenets. The principles are not immutable--as some would have us believe. For example, it is a physical impossibility, with some styles of rigging, to apply much power at the end of the stroke. Still, different systems have their ardent supporters, and the superiority of one over another is apparently a mooted question.

According to some aquatic enthusiasts, it is the best plan to let the men get into a boat and pull: time and a little intelligence will remedy their faults. Others urge that it is only necessary to master “the few essential principles,” and, as Mr. Julian Hawthorne says, “the refinements will take care of themselves.” Still others, who treat with withering scorn the opponents of “form,” lay great stress upon the absolute importance of sedulous attention to the minutest details.

In support of this first view, numerous instances have been cited of rough, awkward professional crews “yanking” and “yawing” their way in ahead of the best trained and disciplined amateur oarsmen, and, as one writer upon rowing aptly says, “casting despite upon the traditions of the art.” Indeed, until recent years it has been the current belief that a good amateur crew was no match for a set of skilled professionals. And the apparent truth of this opinion was never better illustrated than by an impromptu race rowed on the Charles River in ’78 or ’79--I forget the exact date--between the famous Bancroft crew and eight of the best oarsmen that could be gathered together from the purlieus of Boston. It is true the professional crew was made up of such celebrities as Ross, Plaisted, Gorkin, Faulkner, etc., but before that morning they had never sat together in a boat. Their boat, by the way, differed utterly in rigging from those they had been accustomed to, and, in fact, was the worst and most dilapidated the Harvard Boat-house could afford. After a preliminary “paddle” down to the starting-point--the Brookline Bridge--the race was rowed over the regular two-mile course. Well, it is related--and I have it from one of the victors--that by the time the celebrated Harvard crew reached the Union Boat-house their untutored rivals had carried their boat into the house and were nonchalantly wiping her off.

Now, why did this crew, composed as it was of the heaviest and strongest men that had ever sat in a Harvard boat, who moreover, by their irreproachable “form,” had crowned themselves with glory at New London, allow themselves to be so lamentably defeated by a set of men who labored under almost every possible disadvantage? Evidently there was some potent influence at work. Although the hardy and callus-fisted members of the professional crew gained a precarious livelihood in arts which did not sap their physical vigor, yet the superior endurance of the crew as a whole can hardly be urged as an excuse for such an overwhelming defeat in a two-mile race. We are left the bitter alternative, then, of shocking the æsthetic sensibilities of our amateurs by the inevitable conclusion that the professionals possessed superior skill.

Now, intelligent amateur, before turning away in disgust, reflect a moment. What is skill? What is form? Are they synonymous?

Skill is that which in almost every sport--in sparring, in fencing, in wrestling, in baseball, in tennis, etc., etc., other things being equal--enables one to win. Like elegance in writing, it is “the exquisite adaptation of means to ends.” In rowing it is that management of the body and oar--other things being equal, of course--which is conducive to the greatest speed of the boat.

“Form” in rowing is not so easily defined--for what would satisfy the most rigid exactitude in one system would be found defective in another. In general terms, however, it may be called, in crew rowing, “the graceful and nice management of the body and oar which contributes most to the appearance of similarity and uniformity throughout the crew.”

Now, it is true the professionals did not row with backs as straight, nor with a swing as even as the canons of good “form” call for, but they possessed the all-important secret of economizing all their strength and time. They not only knew how and when to apply their weight to the oar, but were fully alive to the necessity of holding the oar in the water no longer than it could do good, and in the air as short a time as possible. These and other less perceptible virtues, which such a constellation of aquatic lights will always possess, are generally obscured by the rugged and uncouth appearance of their body work.

But this body work, as far as the effect is concerned, though by no means all that can be desired, is not so very bad after all, for the swing of one man across the boat is counteracted by the swing of another. This fact, coupled with the firm, strong, simultaneous finish of the stroke, will effectually prevent the rolling of the boat.

On the other hand, the Harvard crew, whose “form” would have sent an æsthete into rhapsodies of praise, were skillful enough in their own peculiar way, but their rowing itself was unskillful because radically wrong in principle. But didn’t it enable them to win at New London? Yes, to be sure; but always against the same system or an inferior one.

The defeat of a well-trained amateur crew by a set of professionals does not, then, necessarily bring the traditions of the art of rowing into disrepute. “Form” without skill must always succumb to skill without “form.” The combination of the two should be the goal of the aquatic ambition. And the one need not be detrimental to the other. It is all very well to scoff at “form” and rest placidly content to let the refinements take care of themselves. They won’t, and the result will be a lot of irremediable faults.

In sparring, or, still better, in fencing, what is called direction, i. e., the precision of one’s aim, will be greatly affected by the slightest deviation of the hand from its proper position. The man who adheres to this principle through all the complications of attack and defense will be indeed a formidable antagonist. A master must pay the strictest attention to the details of his art. Then why not in rowing, where the object is to get in ahead of your adversary, and where the lightest touch of the flat of the blade to the water will add its mite to diminish the speed of the boat? Besides, the acquirement of the details will always add zest to one’s pleasure in the sport. Few sensations, indeed, are more pleasing than that of shooting through the water in a frail shell with a clean, strong sweep of the oars, especially when that sensation is flavored by a consciousness of a complete mastery over the situation.

To become an adept in the art of rowing does not demand the patience of a Palissy, nor yet the sagacity of a Socrates. True, a certain class of men of rare physical and intellectual torpidity will never master the correct methods, but to a man moderately well endowed as to mind and body, they are quite accessible.

Perhaps those practical gentlemen who scout the idea of “form,” and seem to believe that by some secret process sufficient excellence will be attained if the men get into a boat and pull, are like some of George Eliot’s good people of Raveloe, who supposed “there was nothing behind a barn door because they couldn’t see through it.”

Now, the essential thing is to first get hold of the correct principles of rowing, and then apply the refinements to them. The result will be a winning crew every time. And this happy combination and its inevitable consequences were brought about for the first time in the history of college boat-racing at Harvard in ’85. That is to say, the principles involved in the stroke of that year are the best that have yet been discovered. They, the principles, mind you, are identical with those believed in by Hanlan, the father of them--Teemer, Gaudaur, O’Connor, and all the crack scullers of the present day. And these principles, the fruits of years of experience and unremitting toil in the acquirement of a method that would enable men to win races and their daily bread, it is natural to suppose, should be pretty nearly correct.

It is a great mistake to believe these men so deficient intellectually that they are forced to rely principally upon brute strength to put their boats through the water at the highest possible rate of speed. Rowing is not such a subtle and complex thing as all that. Is it not, to say the least, a bit of conceit on the part of amateurs to presume that with all their transcendent intellect they can, by a few years of intermittent devotion to a sport, acquire a more rational knowledge of it than men like Hanlan, who give their lives to it?

It is the same with professionals in any sport--in sparring, in fencing, in baseball, etc.--what amateurs can compete successfully with them?

But let us see what prodigy was warmed into being by the genial light of correct principle.

Until 1885, college boating-men had failed--inexplicable it almost seems--to keep pace with the modern improvements in rigging and consequent advance in the science of rowing, which professionals had been for some years familiar with. They were under the able tuition of Mr. Faulkner, the veteran but progressive coach and bow-oar of both the champion “four” of America and of the champion “pair-oar” of the world, and adopted “in toto” the rigging and system which had won him such marked distinction. The result surpassed their most sanguine expectations.

After the new stroke had been pretty well mastered, a series of impromptu races with the best crew of professionals that could be scraped from the Charles was gotten up. This crew was composed of Hosmer, Faulkner, Gorkin, Casey, and others, including the burly Jake Kilrain, an oarsman as well as pugilist, and now at the summit of his fame. As they were given the best shell in the boat-house, and one week in which to rig it and “get together,” they were really superior to the crew which so mercilessly defeated the Harvards in ’78. Well, the Harvard crew not only forced them to take their back-wash for two miles, but in a number of half-mile spurts cleared them each and every time a full boat-length in the first quarter mile. Pretty conclusive evidence, is it not, taken in connection with the unusually light weight of the ’85 crew, and the comparatively short time they had rowed together under the new regime, that the new system was superior to the old?

It proves abundantly, also, that “form” and skill will triumph, even in a spurt, over skill alone. Some one--that is, some one who did not see these races--will say, perhaps, “Oh, the professionals allowed themselves to be beaten!” For the benefit of the more skeptical, I will say, that on one occasion, when the struggle of the professionals was more than usually hopeless, I had the distinguished honor of occupying a vicarious position in the bow of their boat. The genial Jake Kilrain, who, by the way, oftentimes, in a spirit of jocose repartee, has beaten me cruelly about the head, was, besides myself, the only amateur (oarsman) in the boat. Spurred on by our frantic stroke’s disgusted and unorthoepical plaint, “Aw, yoose amatoors don’t back me up!” we leaped madly against the stretcher at the rate--it seemed to me--of about fifty-five strokes to the minute. No! there was no lack of sincerity in that boat.

Moreover, the pride of a professional is wounded to the quick when an amateur happens to subvert the natural order of things by defeating him. Indeed this particular set, in an ebullition of amazement, admitted that the “amatoors” could show their rudder to the best professional crew that ever sat in a boat. But so long as the professionals, no matter what principles of rowing they may build their faith upon, persist in sacrificing “form” to skill, so long must they suffer defeat at the hands of a crew who preserve both these elements.

As the two leading universities, Harvard and Yale, have experimented in the last five years with every recognizable system of rowing, from the slow, stately and intensely amateurish English stroke to a hideous exaggeration of the professional style, the history of college boat-racing during this period will afford the best means of illustrating and demonstrating the superiority of one method over another. Let us gird on our polemical armor, then, and enter the lists.

There is probably no athletic event in America which excites such universal interest and enthusiasm, among amateurs at least, as the annual boat-race between Harvard and Yale, on the Thames.

Weeks before the “eventful day,” windy interviews with the Nestors of the rowing world appear in the daily papers, rooms are engaged at the hotels in and about New London, the enviable owners of yachts prepare for the sail, and every one is speculating upon the chances of his favorite college adding to its list of victories. “Straight tips” and wiseacres are equally plentiful, and equally inefficient in increasing one’s store of knowledge.

At the race the river is dotted with gayly bedecked steamboats, yachts, and small craft of every description, the banks are lined with people, and the observation train, which from a distance looks like a huge colored snake, is a blue and crimson mass of bunting-waving, horn-tooting, yelling, frenzied collegians. It is not an exaggeration to say that fully fifteen thousand people annually witness the race.

Is it not strange that among all this crowd of intensely interested, over-excited spectators it would be extremely difficult to find a single person sufficiently informed to give one an adequate explanation of the causes leading to the defeat of one crew by another? For, especially when there is a great discrepancy in the times made by the two crews, there is always a reason beyond the overstrained condition of No.----, the slowness of the boat, or the eel-grass course, why one crew should cross the finish line a quarter of a mile in the lead.

But no! the spectators, though their native fancy for mystification is tickled by the triumph of skill and “form,” are quite impermeable to their constituent elements. They seem to follow the principle laid down in Hudibras, that

“Still the less they understand, The more they admire the sleight of hand,”

for they certainly seem more delirious than their more experienced fellow-men.

It is not remarkable that men who acquired their knowledge of rowing when the art was in its infancy, and quite innocent of the time and labor saving contrivances now in vogue, should allow their ideas to grow rusty or fail to keep abreast of the times. It is rather extraordinary, though, that many college boating-men of to-day, who have had ample opportunity to study the principles involved in the various strokes, should be unable to elucidate the reasons for their particular styles of rowing. And this sad fact has been the indirect cause of some of the most disheartening defeats at New London.

There has always been at college a sort of Bœotian haziness of ideas regarding the merits of this or that way of pulling an oar. And while the last few years--thanks to Mr. Storrow--have seen a certain development in the inquisitive instincts of college boating-men, indecision and uncertainty as to the virtues of the different systems of rowing seem still to prevail at Harvard.

The mooted question of superiority is confined practically to the English style of rowing; that introduced in ’85 by Mr. Storrow, and the so-called Bob Cook stroke.

In the following brief sketch of what the last five years of college boating can show, let it be borne in mind by those who see their long-cherished convictions ruthlessly attacked, that all excuses for the defeat of one crew by another must be considered as necessary adjuncts to the attempted demonstration.

In 1883, Yale, under the tutelage of that aquatic Archimedes, Mike Davis, made a radical departure from the stroke which had been brought over from England some years previously by Mr. Cook, and introduced, with slight modifications, at both Yale and Harvard.

Although this stroke, which had failed to bring victory to Yale in ’82, was almost the same in principle as that which defeated her, and, therefore, could not be held responsible for the defeat, yet she saw fit to discard it for the unique ideas of Mr. Davis.

The boat was made unusually long, to provide for a novel method of seating the men in pairs, all of Mr. Davis’s latest inventions were introduced, and phenomenal results were expected. Whatever good there may have been in these inventions, the fact remains that in the race Yale rowed a short, rapid, jerky stroke, while Harvard adhered to the long, slow, English style, and won with comparative ease.

The experiment having failed, the next year Yale returned to her former method of rowing. But, aided by her experience of the past, as well as by a few valuable hints, it is said, from one of the famous Ward crew, she had the rare good sense to improve upon her previous conception of the English or Bob Cook stroke--for the sake of convenience, I shall call it English at present. As to the exact share Mr. Ward had in the amendment I do not speak with authority, but regarding the character of the difference between the strokes rowed that year by Yale and Harvard I speak whereof I know.

After the first two miles it was patent that Yale had the race well in hand. Her oars were in the water longer and in the air a shorter time than Harvard’s. Every man in her boat threw his weight more directly against the stretcher, and instead of holding his slide on the recover until his arms were straightened and the body was swung forward from the waist, he diminished materially the time the oar would otherwise have been in the air by starting his seat and shoulders immediately after extending his arms. He used his legs more, and “hung” less at both ends of the stroke. The slow, stately sweep of the Harvard crew succeeded in bringing them in about fifteen lengths behind their happy rivals.

It is true, the speed of the Harvard boat was affected by a number of important changes which she was compelled to make, prior to the race, in the composition and seating of the crew. But despite this fact, which could not alone account for such an overwhelming defeat--especially as the substitutes were good oars--she had the strongest and heaviest crew that ever represented a college.

In 1885, as we have seen, there was a revolution in rowing at Harvard. It was not until the early part of winter that Mr. Storrow, in the face of a certain amount of passive opposition, took the rather daring step, by engaging Mr. Faulkner as coach, of throwing overboard all those principles which, it is supposed, had won Harvard many a splendid victory. An entirely new system of rowing was inaugurated, and there was much grumbling and dubious head-shaking at the issue. Yale, on the contrary, was highly elated at Harvard’s adoption of the “professional” stroke. Her crew, be it said, was deemed so strong as to earn the appellation of the “Yale giants,” while Harvard’s was not only unusually light, but, with two exceptions, was composed of men who had never before sat in a ’Varsity boat. Save with the brave but meagre minority who believed in the new régime, up to a week before the race Yale’s success was a foregone conclusion. Well, the race, as one disappointed wearer of the blue expressed it, was a “procession.” Yale, vulgarly speaking, carried the bucket. Harvard jumped into the lead the moment her oars struck the water, and though averaging about thirty-four strokes to the minute after the first spurt, to her opponent’s thirty-seven, increased her lead at every stroke. On the last mile there were twenty-five boat lengths between the two crews. Harvard’s rowing was remarked upon, though little understood, by all who saw the race. So little effort was apparent in her style, that the uninitiated were at a loss to account for the speed of her boat. While it was manifest that the “Yale giants” were not as well trained as the Harvard men, it was palpable to the merest tyro that the immense distance between the two crews was due to causes other than the physical condition of the rowers. Although, be it remembered, Yale had improved somewhat upon the English stroke, yet the laborious wastefulness of her style was in sharp contrast to the ease and dash of the Harvard stroke.

The moment Harvard’s blades gripped the water every man in the boat, with a spring from the stretcher and simultaneous heave of the shoulders, threw his whole weight into the oar, and kept it there until the stroke was finished. The blades were covered throughout the stroke, and remained in the air as short a time as was consistent with the avoidance of “rushing” the slides. There was hardly the slightest perceptible “hang” of shoulders or hands at either end of the stroke. Although the body work was not all that could be desired, the “watermanship” or action of the blades was as smooth as the stroke of a piston-rod.

On the other hand, after making all due allowance for the air of general wretchedness which always surrounds a defeated crew, and for the halo of perfection about the victors, Yale’s rowing was really bad. Before the last mile was reached the desperate tugging of her men, the not infrequent splashing of her oars, and other symptoms of fatigue, showed plainly that the pace was too hot for her labored style of rowing. But her reputation for pluck and doggedness was never better sustained. In spite of the conscious hopelessness of the struggle, her efforts throughout the race were titanic.

After the race the usual exculpatory rumors developed the intelligence that the stroke of the Yale crew had been lifted from a sick-bed, and supported, tottering and nerveless, to his seat in the boat. Either this was a laudable attempt to apotheosize Mr. Flanders, or else his powers of recuperation must have been miraculous, for no man ever pulled a pluckier and more apparently powerful oar.

The next year, 1886, Harvard went down to New London with her crew of ’85, with a single exception, presumably strengthened by an additional year’s experience. Yale, on the other hand, had a comparatively new set of men. The race was the closest for several years, but ended in the defeat of Harvard by about five lengths. This may seem incomprehensible at first sight, but Harvard labored under a combination of untoward circumstances, which alone were enough to account for a defeat of five lengths. She was compelled by an accident which happened to her shell prior to the Columbia race, to row in an old class tub, which possessed the additional defect of shorter slides and outriggers than her style of rowing called for. The shorter stroke, which this change necessitated, was visible to all who saw the race. Add to this the fact that, through Yale’s aversion to rough water, the race was postponed and rowed up the river in the evening; that Yale, who had the east side, where the swift current which with the incoming tide flows up the course for a mile and a half, was permitted to jump ahead at the start; that Harvard had the dead water on the west side; that in spite of her rough water and ill-rigged tub, after Yale had left her lively current, Harvard gained four or five lengths upon her, and we have sufficient reasons to account for a defeat of five lengths. Nor is this all. The hopes of the advocates of the English or Bob Cook stroke, so-called, must fall to the ground like wilted rose-leaves when it is considered that Yale rowed as nearly the same stroke as Harvard as close attention and the exercise of some intelligence during a limited time could make it. If the diligent reader of newspaper interviews doubts this truth he should have been at the Thames during the race weeks of ’85 and ’86.

In noticeable contrast to her “watermanship” of previous years, and in a laudable attempt to improve upon it, Yale exaggerated the rather flat feather of the Harvard oars. But she had almost mastered the idea, so conspicuously absent in the English stroke, of throwing the whole weight of the body, the moment the oar gripped the water, directly against the stretcher. Had the race been rowed in the rough water and wind of the morning, the exaggerated feather, the noticeably longer “hang” at both ends of the Yale stroke, and the weaker “finish”--which last fault must always fail, against a strong wind, to keep the boat jumping between the strokes--would have conspired to defeat her.

In 1887, Harvard, after winning an exciting victory from the fastest crew Columbia ever sent out, and lowering the intercollegiate record, was again defeated by Yale, this time by about seven lengths. Her twice happy rivals deserved all the approbation showered upon them by their overjoyed supporters, for their rowing was magnificent. They had almost the same crew as in the previous year, and had still further modified their style in conformity with the stroke rowed by Harvard in ’85. Indeed, to connoisseurs the only perceptible differences between these two strokes were the longer “hang” of the Yale oars before entering the water, the slightly stronger “catch,” the slower start of the shoulders on the “recover,” and the weaker finish. As the wind blew down the course, these defects did not tell against her. As for her time, it would have delighted the rhythmic sensibilities of a Wagnerian.

Harvard, on the contrary, through her inability throughout the year to secure the regular services of a coach, and on account of her comparatively raw crew, did not adhere as closely in practice as in theory to the standards of ’85. After the first two miles, the punishing work her rather young crew[6] had undergone three days previously in the Columbia race began to tell upon her. They began to “clip” still more off their already short stroke, and their rowing became slightly ragged.

These reasons will answer the question, “Why was Harvard defeated by seven lengths?” and, taken in connection with the fact that Yale rowed in a boat as similarly rigged as Harvard’s as a foot-rule and the faculty of imitation could make it, will deal a death-blow at any marked individuality which the Yale or Bob Cook system of rowing may now be said to possess. Waters, of Troy, is the boat builder to both colleges. The innuendo, I hope, is quite fathomable.

It is not my intention to cast any slur upon Yale. Indeed, her whole progressive course under the skillful guidance of Mr. Cook, who knows a good thing when he sees it, but is not the aquatic god some would make him, has been marked by rare good judgment. I am merely marshaling my evidence for a final onslaught upon the system of rowing in vogue before ’85.

In 1888, a committee of four graduates, only one of whom had rowed in recent years, was appointed to take charge of boating matters. Naturally enough they strove to inculcate in the crew those principles with which they were most familiar, viz., those which pertained to the English or Bancroft system of rowing. Despite the fact that the method introduced by Storrow had brought about the overwhelming defeat of the Yale giants in ’85, despite the manifest adoption by Yale of the essential features of this method, and her consequent successes, and despite the marked improvement in the speed of the boat since ’85, the crew of ’88, we are told, endeavored to “unlearn the radically wrong principles” of the three previous years. The endeavor was pre-eminently successful, and what was the result? A crushing defeat, such as had never been seen upon the Thames. At one time in the race there was almost half a mile between the two crews. Yale, naturally enough, retained the principles, the efficacy of which she had tested, and gave even a better exhibition of rowing than the Harvard crew of ’85.

My standpoint is well illustrated by a letter to the New York Spirit of the Times of September 29th, upon “Why Yale beats Harvard.” The letter is written by a man “who has done for Harvard good work with the oar.” Among other good things he says (the italics are my own): “The Yale and Columbia crews of 1886 beat Harvard after close races because they adopted to a considerable extent the same system and ideas that Storrow had taught Harvard the year before. Yale beat Harvard again last year because she still believed in and practiced the same system, while Harvard seemed to have endeavored to forget as much of it as possible. The contrast between the styles of rowing of the Harvard and Yale crews in the race was most striking. The Yale crew carefully covered their oars at the beginning of the stroke, and kept them covered to the end, maintaining a firm pressure throughout, the appearance of their oars in the water reminding the observer of the Harvard crew of ’85, but otherwise their work was far superior to the Storrow crew. The Harvard crew seemed to have forgotten the accepted principles that govern the management of the oar in the water; their blades made a complete circle, and but a small arc of its circumference entered the water, the oar being fully covered but an instant of time. In their body work they followed the principles taught by Bancroft, but did not attain the smoothness which Bancroft himself, and his more skillful pupils acquired. In this respect they tried to follow the English system, and seemed to have adopted the English style of rigging, for their slides were noticeably shorter than those of the Yale crew. The whole course of the committee clearly showed their incompetency to direct the crew.” And again: “It is reported that before coming to New London they rowed a series of races with a scratch crew, composed of substitutes and old rowing-men about Boston, and were beaten again and again, although the men in the scratch crew had never before sat together in a boat.”

Rather a striking coincidence with the feat of the ’78 crew who rowed the same stroke, is it not?

So much for what the history of college boating during the past five years can show. The supporters of the English system of rowing are welcome to any solace they may derive from a perusal of it.

It seems incredible that any doubt as to the superiority of one system of rowing over the other should still linger in the minds of Harvard men.

But the result of last year’s race leaves them, no doubt, “more troubled than the Egyptians in a fog.”

To be continued.

[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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

* * * * *

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.

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~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.

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~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.

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~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.

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“~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.

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~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.

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~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.

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~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.

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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.

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