Outing; Vol. XIII.; October, 1888 to March, 1889 by Various

OUTING

AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

RECREATION

VOL. XIII.

OCTOBER, 1888—MARCH, 1889


THE OUTING COMPANY, LIMITED

NEW YORK: No. 239 FIFTH AVENUE.

LONDON: No. 61 STRAND, W. C.

COPYRIGHT, 1888–1889

BY THE OUTING COMPANY, LIMITED.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

PRESS OF FLEMING, BREWSTER & ALLEY, NEW YORK.

OUTING.
VOL. XIII. OCTOBER, 1888. NO. 1.

THE BOAT CLUBS OF CHICAGO.
BY MRS. EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER.

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 4]

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

FARRAGUT CLUB.

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

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

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

OGDEN BOAT CLUB.

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This rather startling proposition speedily gained favor, and the result is shown in the superb club-house which stands on a lofty elevation on Lake Park Avenue, overlooking the vast expanse of the blue lake which stretches before it. It is a model of correct and elegant architecture. From its balconies and observatory one commands a view of the entire city as well as the lake. Indoors it is most conveniently arranged for the comfort and pleasure of its habitués, the hall and staircase being especially beautiful. It is finished throughout in hard wood, and its fireplaces are handsomely tiled, with the initials of the club inserted. There are two spacious[Pg 5]
[Pg 6] parlors, directors’ room, card-room and billiard-room on the first floor. On the second is a large gymnasium and dancing-hall, which is also equipped with a good-sized stage for dramatic purposes. In the basement there is a bowling alley, two pool tables, and various other attractions. From top to bottom it is complete and perfect in every respect. The club-house seems to have been a veritable mascotte. The limit of membership has been raised from time to time, until now it rests at two hundred and fifty. Socially the club is an important factor, being made up of prominent business and professional men.

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

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

In 1886, at the Northwestern Rowing Association regatta, at Grand Rapids, he won the senior single; time, 13m. 453⁄4s., two miles with turn. At the National Association regatta, at Albany, N. Y., in the same year, he won the trial heat; time, 8m. 461⁄2s., one and a half miles straightaway. In the final, he beat all but Mr. Monahan, of Albany, but was shut out at the finish by rowboats closing in upon him.

Man in a Sailing Boat

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

THE BIG FOUR OF THE FARRAGUT CLUB.


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In 1887 he won the senior single in the Chicago Navy, M. V. R. A. and N. W. R. A. regattas, and at the National regatta, on Chautauqua Lake, won not only the senior single on one day, but on the following the[Pg 9] final heat and the Amateur Championship of America, beating all the scullers of the United States and Canada. To complete this record of two years, which has never been surpassed by any amateur sculler, he won the senior single at Lake Minnetonka regatta; time 10m. 40s., one and a half miles with turn.

CATLIN BOAT CLUB.

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SOME OF THE TIPPY-CANOE CLUB FLEET.
Among other prominent men in boating circles who have been members of the Farragut Club, may be mentioned W. B. Curtis, of the Spirit of the Times; John Ostrom, the famous Cornell stroke and captain; and Frank E. Yates, who was twice the national champion.

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

CATLIN CLUB.

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

OGDEN CLUB.

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

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

CLUB-HOUSE AT EVANSTON.

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E. D. Neff, captain of the club, who is also secretary of the Chicago Navy, won the single sculling race in the Navy regatta last year, defeating a competitor who was considered invincible. He has competed in the single sculling races this year,[Pg 11] in the regattas of the Chicago Navy, Mississippi Valley, and Northwestern Associations.

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

J. F. CORBET, FARRAGUT BOAT CLUB.
TIPPY-CANOE CLUB.

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

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

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

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

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

IROQUOIS CLUB.

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

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

They own a fleet of twelve boats, one, a four-oared shell, being the finest in the[Pg 12] West. Their uniform is very handsome, and they have patriotically selected red, white and blue for their colors.

A RACE OF THE TIPPY-CANOE CLUB.
One of their single shells won two victories at Pullman last season. They are workers, and propose to make themselves felt in the future.

EVANSTON CLUB.

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

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

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

HYDE PARK CLUB.

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

UNDER WEIGH.
QUINTARD CLUB.

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

DELAWARE CLUB.

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

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

THE FARRAGUT CLUB-HOUSE.

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By a decision of the referee, they were disqualified after winning the latter race by forty seconds, and being dissatisfied with this result, they are anxious to meet any amateur double sculling team in the United States or Canada. Indeed, they challenged the famous Metropolitan double to a race on Lake Calumet, offering to put up an appropriate prize, and pay all the expenses of their competitors, but the offer was declined. Few teams, it is apparent, care to meet these all-conquering oarsmen. They[Pg 15] will no longer be allowed to row in the races of the M. V. R. A. and the N. W. R. A., as they, of course, prevent competition.

J. F. CORBET.

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

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

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

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

PULLMAN CLUB.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rowing Eight

A SCAMPER ON THE BREEZY DOWNS OF SUSSEX.

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[Pg 17]

A TALK ABOUT THE PIGSKIN.
BY A SPORTING TRAMP.

“This gallant
Had witchcraft in’t—he grew unto his seat;
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorpsed, and demi-natured
With the brave beast.”—Hamlet.
T
O deliberately sit down and write on the subject of riding is a task which is attended with no slight difficulty. Such themes are invariably hard to handle, but riding has special difficulties. Much that is apropos and correct has been written on this most engaging subject from the day of Xenophon onward, but it is nevertheless an impossibility—nay, more, it is an absurdity, to suppose that rules can be shaped by which all can regulate their particular styles of riding. It is as futile to try to frame a code for the direction of both the fashionable crowd of a metropolis and the ranchmen of the West as to compare the Indian squaw, crouched on the pony that drags the “tepee” poles, with the blithe damsels enjoying a scamper on the breezy downs of Sussex.

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

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

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

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

One thing is very apparent to English visitors to New York, and it is that the English seat is now the thing. By the English seat we mean what is called, “across the herring pond,” the park seat, though we see occasionally symptoms of the adoption of the hunting seat. But before going farther, it would be well to say a few words as to the differences between the two. The park seat is the dandified style mostly taught in riding-schools. It is, however, an indispensable qualification of any man who wishes to “show” his horse. The general appearance is rather similar to that one may notice among the horsemen of the Southern States. Though a difference exists, it is hard to define, but may be summed up thus: while every Southerner[Pg 18] seems part and parcel of the animal he bestrides, whence comes the common dictum that all Southerners are born cavalrymen, the possessor of a park seat, however perfect, lacks the appearance of being perfectly at home on his horse. The reason is obvious, viz., that the park seat is artificial, and the rider’s attention is chiefly given to producing good action on his hack’s part. He carries his hands high, often very high, and as he rides he “lifts” his horse, and is answered by correspondingly high action. The bit is often severe to further this. The rider’s feet are carried rather wide, and all the while the calf of the leg is never quite at rest, for while the grip of the knee is neglected, the calf is kept continuously but gently in motion. The spur never touches the flank, but the horse feels the necessary reminder at his ribs, and frets and moves with vigorous action as his rider wishes. In such a seat the foot is thrust but a short way through the stirrup, and rests on the iron at or about the ball of the great toe. The rider has, of course, to sit well down in his saddle, and stick to his horse mostly by balance, as the seat-preserving grip of the knee is so slightly maintained.

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

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

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

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

In no costume is there such a happy[Pg 19] blending of the dandified and workmanlike as in a well-appointed hunting man. Nowhere is the scorn showered on the luckless dude who has missed the workmanlike part of his equipment so great as in the hunting-field. The top-boots glittering in the gleam of sunshine in spite of their perfection of fit are stout enough to keep the wearer’s feet dry, should he do such an unlikely thing as take a walk in them on a rainy day. The spotless leathers are warm and comfortable—the smart “pink” is a roomy and serviceable garment. The resplendent silk hat will perhaps save the wearer a broken neck or fractured skull ere the day’s work is done. That milk-white scarf so neatly and dexterously tied that it also takes the place of collar, protects the throat and chest and relieves its wearer from the galling confinement of a collar. And the horse’s saddle and bridle, how simple and yet how handsome! not a buckle too much, but yet a man could rely on such work if he rode for his life.

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

Another fashion which has a bad side to it, is the recent introduction of very long-necked hunting spurs. They look very tidy and trim, with the long, straight piece of highly-polished metal finishing off the heel of the smart boot. Few men, however, find themselves capable of wearing such a spur with rowels left in. The danger of cutting the horse, most probably in the shoulder, is too great; hence has arisen the foolish custom of making spurs without rowels, or with plain round rowels, merely for appearances’ sake. In truth the short spurs, with curved necks, of our fathers may not have been so effective in appearance, but when punishment was to be given to a refractory horse, they had the pull. With the introduction of the English method of riding has come the adoption of the English riding-breeches for men, and the short, safe, plain skirt for ladies. In regard to the latter the Tramp has but little experience, and feels but slightly qualified to speak, though in the English sporting papers he has read vast columns of correspondence on the question from the pens of such authorities as Mrs. O’Donoghue Power. But to any practical horseman it must be a patent fact that the modern style is in every respect superior to the old-fashioned. To see a lady following hounds in one of the once fashionable flowing habits was a sight[Pg 20] to make any one capable of reflection shudder. Without entire knowledge of all the intricacies of elastic loops, shot-weighted skirts, etc., one could not but feel how impossible it was that in an accident those flowing lengths should fall clear of a pommel, or fail in some way to entangle the fair wearer. Even with the modern style of skirt, accidents are rife enough. Some few years ago, while hunting in a southern county of England, the Tramp saw a young lady, married only a few months, dragged by her habit. Over a stone-wall flew the horse, and a battered, life-scarred visage took the place of the bright, pretty face of five minutes previous. One such sight is enough for a lifetime.

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

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

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

Well does she press her claim. To see[Pg 21] the score or so of young ladies that follow an English pack must prove an eye-opener to those of an older generation when riding to hounds was thought unladylike, and a gentle palfrey of easy paces considered the right mount for the sweeter half of humanity. Now, whether it be in Central Park or Rotten Row, the hunting field or the road, the lady assumes the place that is her right, if her ability equal her ambition. All lackadaisical ideas are thrown overboard, and the best one is she who rides best.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much depends on the way in which a youngster is taught. It is very possible to make a child imbibe a hatred of the saddle which will last him into later life. The idea, then, to be kept in mind is that lessons should be made a pleasure, and not a torture. Begin with easily-learnt instruction and short lessons, and the child will[Pg 22] enjoy it. But begin with lessons lasting till the poor little legs are aching, and the head is muddled with complicated commands, and the youngster will regard his teacher as his torturer. As the aptitude and capacity grows, the lessons can be made harder and longer, till almost before the teacher or the pupil can recognize the fact, a fair, if not a good, rider has been turned out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 23]

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

End of Article
THE SOFT LIGHT BEAMED.
THE soft light beamed, with glow benign,
O’er purpling hill-tops fringed with pine,
As seated snugly, side by side,
We drifted with the glist’ning tide,
Adown the classic Brandywine.
We heard the lowing of the kine—
We saw the trees their boughs entwine,
And o’er the meadows newly mown
The soft light beamed.
I held her dimpled hand in mine,
And from each dainty, curving line
I read her fate—till, bolder grown,
I dared to join it with my own;
While from those eyes, so deep, divine,
The soft light beamed.
Howell Stroud England.
[Pg 24]

MEMORIES OF YACHT CRUISES.
BY THE LATE CAPTAIN R. F. COFFIN.

Continued from page 517.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SLOOP FANNY, NOW THE PROPERTY OF JOS. P. EARLE, ESQ.
The Atlantic Yacht Club, I think, made its first visit to Black Rock in 1879. After[Pg 25] a rendezvous at Whitestone as usual on a Saturday afternoon, the fleet sailed thence to Glen Cove. Next day, for a wonder, not one of the twelve chaplains of the club was available, and the usual divine service had to be omitted. What then were the yachtsmen to do? Glen Cove was dreary enough, and there was a fine breeze blowing from the southwest. At that time Mr. Fish was the commodore, and after consultation with the owners he found that a majority of them were in favor of disregarding the traditions of the club as to Sunday sailing, and at noon he hoisted the signal for the fleet to get under way. Whether or not this was its first visit to Black Rock, I know not, but matters were found so pleasant there that I believe it has been the rendezvous of this club ever since. The George Hotel there is a splendid hostelry, in the season always full of guests; the harbor, though small, is good, and the anchorage close to the shore and handy for the embarkation of ladies. So since this year the club leaves Whitestone on the afternoon of some Saturday and sails to Black Rock, where on Sunday there is divine service on board of one of the schooners, which is attended by a great majority of the hotel guests. This service on board a flush-decked yacht enclosed with awnings is peculiarly impressive. The Rev. Dr. Thomas has usually been the officiating clergyman, but the club has many other chaplains that can be called upon in an emergency. Its list of chaplains comprise the following well-known divines: Revs. A. A. Willets,[Pg 26] of Philadelphia, whose club connection dates back to 1866; J. T. Duryea, D.D., of Boston (1868); H. M. Gallaher, of Brooklyn (1868); C. H. Hall, D.D., Brooklyn (1869); G. F. Pentacost, Brooklyn (1870); W. H. Thomas, Cambridge, Mass., and E. Murphy, Brooklyn (1871); E. Van Slyke, Syracuse, N. Y. (1873); H. M. Scudder, D.D., Brooklyn (1874); G. H. Hepworth, New York (1875). For eleven years after this the club did not add to the list, but in 1886 it elected R. Heber Newton, D.D., of New York, and its latest addition to its chaplains was Joshua Reynolds, Jr., of Brooklyn, elected May, 1888.

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

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

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

[Pg 27]

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

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

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

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

SLOOP GRACIE, NOW THE PROPERTY OF MESSRS. FISKE BROS.
[Pg 28]

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

End of Article
A YACHTING SONG.
KEEN is the clear, free air,
Sharp with a salty tang,
Far o’er the waters blown—
Blown on the winds that fly.
Up with the topsail, there!
Gray have the shore-lines grown,
Dim where the mountains sprang
Bold, as we turned toward Skye.
Never a flaw in the breeze,
A fair and favoring gale,
Never a guy-rope wrong,
Never a sheet awry!
Over the summer seas,
Gay as a lover’s song,
Merrily on we sail
Up to the Straits of Skye.
Let them prate of their joy,
Footing firm on the earth;
Oh, they may prate who will,
Ours is the joy, say I!
Bliss of the buoyant boy,
Tremble and throb and thrill—
Sound of the wild sea’s mirth,
Loud on the Strand of Skye!
Clinton Scollard.
[Pg 29]

CANADIAN FISHING SKETCHES.
BY HIRAM B. STEPHENS.

II. SPEARING FISH AT THE LACHINE RAPIDS.

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

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

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

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

The fish which can be secured here are sturgeon, bass, dory, carp, and mullet of different kinds, and the eel. There are also bream, shad, and a fish known as the loche, and at times whitefish and small perch. The Indians of Caughnawaga devote much of their time to fishing. These Indians, by the way, have intermarried with the surrounding French Canadians to such an extent that the blood is far from pure, if there be even one pure-blooded Indian remaining, except an old squaw 107 years old, who still smokes her pipe and is somewhat active. But theirs is a commercial pursuit and not[Pg 30] for any love of sport. They use nets principally, and in the spring spear the carp and eels in large numbers. Apart from their fishing pursuits, their chief means of livelihood lies in running timber rafts down the rapids. The majority of them speak French, and some of them English. Their squaws are engaged in the making of Indian “curiosities” for sale to tourists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The best plan is to have one made out of No. 4 wire, or buy one of the light steel spears; and with a light ash handle about one inch in diameter and ten feet in length, an exciting time can be had, especially if one has never been out before. One misjudges the distance so as the boat floats on, and is fortunate if no upset occurs. A waving weed is mistaken for a huge eel, and a frantic dart ends only in disappoint[Pg 31]ment, or an eel is thought to be a useless weed, and annoyances ensue at the mistake. But the art or knack is soon learnt, and then the enjoyment is keen. Round about, on the same purpose bent, are other boats, each with their blaze of light, like some huge red Cyclops.

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

Then a large sturgeon that appears to weigh thirty pounds is seen lazily moving his tail and merely maintaining himself against the current. C’est un gros—“He’s a big fellow,” and every one is stilled into expectancy. The spear is held in the water till the time for striking is come—down goes the spear, and as you press on it you feel the points are crushing through bone and flesh and are firmly fixed. There is a cruel joy or satisfaction as you thus fix the spear in him; he turns, and you hold on like grim death; the boat swings end on in the struggle; you have to go with the current and the fish, resisting as firmly as you can. And so the struggle continues; your boatman has been gradually poling nearer and nearer to the shore. The water is only two feet deep here, and shouting to you to look out, the boatman is in the water and has the sturgeon by the gills, and with a few steps is on terra firma. You follow, regardless of wet feet, and find you have speared the largest one of the season, so far. Your spear has to be cut out, so firmly are the points imbedded, and the sturgeon’s sufferings are over. He is weighed, and tips the scales at 651⁄2 pounds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One ponders over this mighty St. Lawrence, one of the grandest highways of the globe.[Pg 32] “Its history, its antecedents are unparalleled. The great lakes are its camping-grounds; here its hosts repose under the sun and stars in areas like that of states and kingdoms, and it is its waters that shake the earth at Niagara. It is a chain of Homeric sublimities from beginning to end. The great cataract is a fit sequel to the great lakes; the spirit that is born in vast and tempestuous Superior takes its full glut of power in that fearful chasm.”

MAIN BUILDING OF THE BUFFALO INTERNATIONAL FAIR ASSOCIATION.
ONE MAN’S WORK FOR CYCLING.
BY HOWARD P. MERRILL.

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Ducker’s prominence as a cycler[Pg 33] dates from the organization of the Springfield club, which he, together with several other gentlemen, called into life.

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

W. M. WOODSIDE.
The following year Mr. Ducker was inspired with the idea of giving a tournament, or race meeting, similar to the trotting fixtures. He was elected president of the Springfield Bicycle Club, and after mapping out a program, boldly announced that a one day’s tournament[Pg 34] would be given, at which $1,200 in prizes would be distributed. The tournament was advertised far and wide, and wheelmen came from all over the United States to attend this innovation in racing events. The tournament was a grand success, and the Springfield club cleared over $800. Record-breaking, which has always been the characteristic of the Springfield or Ducker tournaments, dates from this event. Frank Moore, of England, who was under the care of JOHN S. PRINCE, astonished everybody by putting the mile at 2m. 571⁄4s., and made what was then considered wonderfully fast time for five miles. He gave all the starters (among them GEORGE M. HENDEE, in his first year of racing) a start of thirty seconds, and broke the record of 16m. 103⁄4s., making a new record of 15m. 473⁄4s. Moore was the lion of the town, and perhaps the proudest moment of Mr. Ducker’s life was when he distributed the prizes at the rink, and announced that two records had been made. The racing was done on the mile track.

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

When the three days’ camp and tournament of 1883 were announced, everybody was on the qui vive. This was the year in which “Doodle” Robinson posed as England’s fastest amateur rider. He was, however, pitted against Geo. M. Hendee and ignominiously defeated. Mr. Ducker had now raised the Springfield people to such a pitch of enthusiasm that, on the second day of the tournament, all the banks and principal manufactories, many of the stores, and even the public schools, were closed. Nearly every one of Springfield’s 33,000 inhabitants caught the infection. The days of 1883 and 1884 seem almost like a dream. It appears incredible that[Pg 35] one man should have so completely dominated a whole city. In those days Ducker was a king in all but the name; he had but to express a wish and it was instantly executed.

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

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

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

W. A. ROWE.
Mr. Ducker attributes his success in promoting tournaments to the cordial and unqualified support of the Springfield Bicycle Club. Whatever he suggested was cheerfully carried out, and whatever work he laid out was taken up with a will and faithfully performed. An indefatigable worker himself, he influenced others to perform herculean tasks. Without the Springfield Bicycle Club Mr. Ducker’s fame would probably not be as widespread as it is, and without Ducker the Springfield Bicycle Club would not to-day rank as the[Pg 36] leading cycle club of the country. The one was the indispensable complement of the other.

R. JAMES.

F. WOOD.

E. P. BURNHAM.

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

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

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

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

Until within a few months, Mr. Ducker has worked regularly at his business, consequently his cycling work has been done after business hours. He is of medium height and inclined to stoutness. He is of light complexion, with sandy, curly hair and heavy imperial and mustache. Nature[Pg 37] has not endowed Mr. Ducker with a very good voice, having oversupplied him with tones of the upper, entirely to the neglect of those of the lower register. But his voice is no handicap to his ability to talk. He is an enthusiastic conversationalist, and can convert the most skeptical to his optimistic way of thinking.

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

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

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

In the year 1886, W. A. Rowe defeated George M. Hendee and Fred Wood, of England, for the world’s championship. Rowe is, of course, very well known to the cycling world by his wonderful record, holding as he does all from a 1⁄4 mile to 22 miles. These have been, however, made at record trials, i. e., against time and not in races. Recently Rowe visited England, but he has twice been unsuccessful in holding the title of the world’s champion as against Richard Howell.

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

G. M. HENDEE.
George Weber was America’s champion Star rider, but he died in ’85. He was a plucky rider, and though he did not secure[Pg 38] many first places in track riding, he was unconquerable in road racing and hill climbing. He won the great 100-mile road race in the spring of ’85.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, numerous other prominent riders have taken part in the Springfield tournaments. Lewis B. Hamilton was a very popular amateur, and was known as the Yale College rider. Robert James,[Pg 39] professional, and Reuben Chambers, amateur, are Englishmen who have appeared several times. In ’85, R. H. English performed as an amateur, but is now a professional, while at the same time W. A. and G. H. Illston, both amateurs, were in America for the Springfield tournament. Space fails us to mention all the prominent riders whose names have been on the programs of the Springfield tournaments, but the few we have mentioned will convince the unprejudiced reader of the omnipotence in the bicycling world of Henry E. Ducker.

End of Article
[1]An article on this club appeared in OUTING, Vol. II., page 337. Another is now in preparation.–ED.

WILD DUCK SHOOTING.
BY W. G. BEERS.

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

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

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

I do not think I shall ever forget the first wild duck I shot. It was impressed upon me in a manner too striking. During the school holidays a few of us undertook to dispose of our superfluous energy by a pedestrian pilgrimage around the Island of Montreal, and as a dose for the game we might encounter, we managed, by coaxing a big brother, to muster a single-barreled gun and liberal supply of ammunition.[Pg 40] There was a strong suspicion of rust down the barrel, and a disabled look about the hammer, but the owner declared it was good enough for boys, with that sublime faith manifested by watermen who let boats to inexperienced lads, that Providence takes special care of people who cannot take care of themselves. A well-worn inscription on the butt was ominously deciphered as “Memento mori.” I’ve seen more defective guns since—but they had burst.

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

The third day we reached the upper end of Ste. Anne’s, near the old French fort. At that time the village was even a quieter spot than now, where never a speculator[Pg 41] had looked with greed upon the soil; its greatest stir made by the visits and voices of the boisterous voyageurs; its rapids sacred to the memory of the poet Moore, and the soft refrain of his “Canadian Boat Song.” Moreover, its surroundings made it a perfect paradise for wild duck.

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

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

“Had not that alacrity of spirit
And cheer of mind that I was wont to have.”
After having carried that gun round the island for three days, sparing no pains to keep it dry, to oil its rusty barrel and wash its musty stock, I felt it had been an ungrateful companion, undeserving of the personality with which we had almost invested it, and, to use a modern metaphor, that it “had gone back on me.” It evoked on my part an et tu, Brute! sort of feeling. As I looked at it in silent woe, lock, stock and barrel lying in bits, I felt sore enough at its conduct to have given it a retributive kick, and sent it into the river, but the kicking capacity of my legs had been too materially weakened by the last kick of the gun.

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

You won’t find wild duck at Ste. Anne’s to-day, except some stray ones of over-curious trait, who refuse to be advised by their experienced friends. You’ll be lucky if you hit upon a spot within thirty miles of Montreal where you do not find[Pg 42] “pothunters” by the dozen—that New World species of the genus homo who should have lived in Arcadia, where they would certainly have utilized their propensity to good purpose by driving away the birds which haunted Lake Stymphalus, without the brazen clappers of Vulcan or the arrows of Hercules.

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

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

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

For many years, a few Canadians of French descent, the inheritors of the old voyageur-sportsman spirit of the ancien régime, who dread legitimate labor with all their hearts, but love harder work that smacks of adventure, have camped in the vicinity of the Bay, trapping musk-rats, catching fish or shooting duck and snipe. The veritable chief of the clan bears the martial name of “Victor,” and is a character in his way. I first saw him with his breeches rolled above his knees, loading his gun in the marsh. Nature evidently made him in haste, for there is an unfinished look about his face, and enough indentations around his head to give a phrenologist the blues. His nose is mostly nostril, and fiery enough to make the nose of Bardolph look pale, while his eyes are black as a sloe and piercing as a falcon’s. Though he can neither read nor rhyme, he has a taste in common with Byron—he hates pork and loves gin. When he swears—and then he best pronounces English—spiders feign death, and his dog turns his tail between his legs and moans. He is said, like sheep, to undress only once a year. When he[Pg 43] changes his clothes the very pores of his skin open themselves in mute astonishment. If you can hire him by the day as your “Man Friday,” it will add very much to your sport, for he is a walking map of the haunts of duck, and has a perfect genius for waking them up. He will steal with his canoe through the marsh wherever they can go, quietly as a snake in the grass, until he is within gunshot of his game. To crown all, he is the presiding genius of bouillon; and I canonize him for this, if for nothing more.

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

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

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

If you have done much duck-hunting you will have discovered that within rifle-range of civilization the instinct of duck is surpassingly keener than outside the pale. In spite of the “blue unclouded weather,” soft calm on the water, and stillness in the air, you cannot catch them asleep any more than a weasel. If you would get within range of them at their feeding-ground you must slip slyly and softly. They sniff gunpowder in the air, and know it from the smell of burning bush. Victor vows they know an empty cartridge-case or gun-wad a mile away. You cannot make them believe your canoe is a musk-rat house, however you try. You cannot put an empty calabash on your head as they do in China, and wade among them, so as to pull them under the water and secure them by a strap. You may fool a Chinese or a Hindoo duck in that way, but not a Canadian. They will play in the water twenty[Pg 44] yards away when you have not a gun; but they know the difference between the barrels of one peeping from a marsh and the grass stalks or lilies, better than many people know the difference between a duck and a crow.

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

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

To complete the delight of your senses, you will be sure to add to your knowledge of entomology the penetrating fact that, though the black flies have absconded, the marsh in autumn is “the last ditch” of the mosquito. Here it conjugates the verb “to bite,” in all its moods and tenses, until the frost-king subdues its ardor, or the dragonfly saves the frost the trouble. It does not interest you to know that its wings vibrate three thousand times a minute, and that with these and the rapid vibrations of the muscles of its chest it produces its soothing sound. Its sting is certainly very complex and attractive under the microscope—[Pg 45]not so under your skin. You may be ever so gallant, and yet be unable to pardon the fact that only the female mosquitoes bite. You may be reduced to believe with Gay’s fable of the man and the flea, “that men were made for fleas (or mosquitoes) to eat.” The mosquito is far too insinuating in its manner. It depresses one’s mind, but it elevates one’s body. When you’re sitting in your canoe on the qui vive for a shot, its familiar evening hymn is heard in a halo of buzzing around your head. Sting first, like a sapper with his heel on his spade in the trenches in the face of the enemy, it digs into you with a perseverance worthy of a nobler aim. A summer’s sucking has not satiated the thirst of the seniors, while the junior cannibals are eager to try their stings; but the weather has curbed their power if not their desire, and you may slap them into eternity with comparative ease. If there is no food for powder in the air, You can live in hope and wish there was, or you can meditate on your sins, or, what is more popular and pleasant, the sins of your friends and enemies; but it somewhat disturbs the equanimity of your thought and humiliates your dignity to find a corduroy road of mosquito bites on the back of your neck, and suddenly to realize that the last of the Mohicans is determined to “play tag” with the tip of your nose, or to say its vespers vigorously in the hollow warmth of your ear.

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

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

End of Article
[Pg 46]

PADDLES AND PALETTES.
BY EDWARD L. CHICHESTER.

Concluded from page 510.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Acres of water-lilies spread before us, small flowers of a waxy whiteness gleamed among patches of sagittaria, and the interminable walls of reeds were weighted down with a plant resembling the hop-vine, and[Pg 47] bearing clusters of pink blossoms, that added their perfume to the heaviness of the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

On rounding a point I caught sight of Simpson, running toward the water with the Sybaris clasped in his arms. She would weigh fully ninety pounds with her tent and bedding, and I was astonished to see him lug her along in that reckless manner; but[Pg 48] in a moment a bull tore through a hedge and bore down upon him. The canoeist had a good start, and in another moment had run into the river, plunged head-first into the boat, leaving his heels sticking out from under a torn tent-flap as he floated away, while the bull stopped short on the shore, pawing and bellowing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It composed well.

Some buttonwood grew near us on a side hill. A strip of swampy shore stretched away to the south, and above us some bars, opening through a rickety fence[Pg 49] overhung with bushes, led into a pasture beyond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 50]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simpson, in his efforts to guide her, broke his paddle, and was obliged[Pg 51] to jump overboard in order to keep her off the rocks. He came back dripping to help me with the Rena, and told me exactly how to steer when I was cast adrift; but in rapids a little experience is certainly worth more than a good many directions; and once started I found it useless to try to recall a word he had said. The sensation of being carried through a rift is certainly peculiar. With the attention so closely exerted to avoid danger, the boatman has no opportunity to watch the shores, and, as the Irishman expressed it, “see himself go by.” On the contrary, he must fix his gaze forward, and soon has the feeling of standing quite still, while the rocks bob up in front of him and rush at his boat. As I whirled along, a formidable line of boulders rose at my left and swung steadily around to embrace me. Work as I would, they came nearer and nearer, then there was an ominous grating, a rattle of iron (I carried the pots and kettles), and the Rena stuck fast, with the water surging and boiling round her. I expected she would roll over, but she lay wedged just where she struck, and observing there was no change, I pulled off my shoes, and, taking hold of the combing, raised myself out, and sat down astride the deck just back of the cockpit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

As her keel struck the apron she turned on one side, and the same instant the rudder bearings caught some obstruction and whirled her bottom up. A dark hull and a weather-stained felt hat bobbed about, making two blots in the white foam that swirled and tossed under the fall; then the hat moved toward the boat, and in less than a minute Simpson’s broad shoulders emerged, hauling the Sybaris toward the bank. Two fishermen, catching caddice-worms for bait a short distance below, hastened to the rescue, and came up in time to help in bailing out; and before I was ready to follow with the Rena the canoe was again afloat, uninjured, but with a slightly damaged cargo. I considered[Pg 52] the situation very carefully, and in view of the fact that it was late in the afternoon and the only spare dry suit of clothes between us was stowed in my boat, decided, for Simpson’s sake (who, I remembered, had a slight cold), to go round through the canal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End of Article
[Pg 53]

“EELIN’ OFF GOOSE P’INT.”
BY SCOTT CAMPBELL.

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

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

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

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

At length the impressive silence was broken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye, it wear, Seth.”

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

After a few moments—

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

[Pg 54]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the eyes of the child opened wider.

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

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

“Wear he home night afore last?”

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

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

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

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

“Youngster, light the torch.”

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

“Here, change seats with me.”

Mutely the child did as he was bidden,[Pg 55] and took his place upon the seat which the oarsman had occupied.

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

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

A weird scene to those wondering blue eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the child heard, but he did not understand.

“Ye do not think he harmed her?”

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 56]

“’Fore God! what is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My life! my Hetty!”

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

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

And the boy heard, but he did not understand.

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

End of Article
[Pg 57]

Rowing Regatta
THE TRAINING OF A UNIVERSITY CREW.
BY FREDERIC A. STEVENSON,

Captain of the Yale Crew, ’88.

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

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

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

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

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

The class crews are the main feeders of the university crew, and it is all-important that they should get as much practice as possible, so that they be taught the regular university crew stroke. The members of the past year’s crew act as coaches. This is doubly advantageous, for it both instills the right principles into the crew, and teaches the coach not only to think about the stroke and to see faults, but also to[Pg 58] learn how they may be corrected, which is of immense advantage to him when his own work begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 59]

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

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

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

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

End of Article
[Pg 60]

HOW TO TAKE A TRAMP TRIP.
BY LEE MERIWETHER.

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

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

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

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

Many people have an idea that French is the most essential language for the traveler in Europe. It is for all except the tramp traveler. In Spain, Italy, Germany, Russia, Turkey—in short, in any part of Europe, French is spoken in your five-dollar-a-day hotels, but in workingmen’s inns it is of little use outside France and French Switzerland. The most important languages for the tramp traveler are Italian and German. German, of course, is all that is needed in Germany, Austria and German Switzerland; in addition it will often be found serviceable in Belgium, Western Russia,[Pg 61] Sweden, and in the southeastern European States, as Hungary, Servia, Bulgaria and Roumania. Italian is of use, not only in Italy, but all along the Mediterranean, from Gibraltar to the Bosporus, and even in the Black Sea ports of Russia, where Italian commerce has made the people familiar with Italian sailors for centuries past. My guide and interpreter in Constantinople was a young scamp of a Turk, who had picked up a colloquial knowledge of the language from Italian sailors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Vienna I stepped into a money-[Pg 62]changer’s to buy Turkish money. “Wait a few minutes,” said the manager, “I must send to the Börse to see what the exchange is to-day.” I took a seat. In ten minutes the money-changer came to me with the Turkish gold, and I rose to go. But in passing out the door a man stopped me and demanded a gulden. “For what?” “I went to the Börse to find out the exchange.” His going to the Börse was none of my affair; I refused to pay him forty cents for running the money-changer’s errand. Then followed a curious scene. The man threatened to invoke the power of the entire Empire unless he received his gulden. I told him to invoke. An excited crowd began to gather and block the narrow street.

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

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

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

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

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

The reason this question is so often asked is because the writers have never been to Europe, and have never traveled as tramps. They are thinking of their occasional trips to New York or Philadelphia, when, with a heavy valise in their hands, they are compelled to go straightway to an hotel. Different is it with the tramp tourist abroad. He has nothing but a cane in his hand; his knapsack now fits like another garment, and is unnoted. So accoutred, he arrives in town, walks about, sees the sights, and when he sees also the legend “casa locanda” over a door, he stops to investigate. If prices do not suit, off he goes again, looking until he finds one that does suit. When that is done he will do well, in stipulating a price, to say over and over again, “Tutti compresso”—everything included—else will he be obliged to pay not, indeed, more than the five soldi agreed on for the room, but twenty, thirty, one knows not how many soldi more for the candle, or the furniture, or the soap, or the water and towels, or something that was not agreed on. In Verona, home of Juliet, I had a pitched battle (of words) with a landlord who wanted to charge two lire (forty cents) extra for the candle, when I had bargained for the room “tutti compresso” for una mezza lira (ten cents). But for that magic phrase he might possibly have suc[Pg 63]ceeded in his demands—possibly only, for I had then been in Italy some months, and was not so easily “squeezed” as the day when first I stepped on her historic soil at Genoa.

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

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

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

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

End of Article
[Pg 64]

COURSING IN IRELAND.
BY ROBERT F. WALSH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A “go-by,” that is, where the second dog passes the first by one clear length after the first turn, counts two, and the death counts one point off the other dog’s turn, or two off the turn of the dog that kills. In this way, a clever dog may often beat a much faster one, as was the case[Pg 65] when Snowflight won the Waterloo Cup—“the blue ribbon of the leash.” The “Cups,” “Plates,” or “Purses” are all run off in ties. The names of all the dogs entered for each stake are placed in a hat the evening before the meeting, and are drawn out one by one. The first and second drawn run the first course, and so on until the entire number are drawn. Then, as is the case in most games or sports where matches are contested for in ties, the winner of the first course runs against the winner of the second, the winner of the third against that of the fourth, etc., until only two dogs remain. And then is run the final tie, on the result of which, in an important meeting, many thousands of pounds are bet.

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

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

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

End of Article
[Pg 66]

YSLETA
BY E. HOUGH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ein sanfter Wind vom blauen Himmel weht;”
and the refrain,

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

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

[Pg 67]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quero comar,” said I, briefly and to the point—which is to say, “I want to eat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 68]

“Yo vamos,” said my Mexican, smiling and showing a good set of teeth.

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

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

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

The Greaser brightened up, smiled, and said that though there was not Señor Trujillo, there were plenty of stones in the placita, which, por Dios! I might buy. Stones through which one could barely see; as well as some of blue. Oh, Si. I might vamos tambien.

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

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

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

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

“O toros, sons of infants of sin, name of the devil and twelve saints, bowels of St. Iago, can ye not vamos, then? It is late. Vamos, refuse of the earth, vamos!”

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

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

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

II.
I AWOKE in Palestine.

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

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

At the well the girl rested the big jar on the curb, and stood looking toward the east, falling into poses of pure grace and beauty as naturally as a shifting scene of statuary—the poses of a noble, grand and normal physical life, ripe and untrammeled for centuries. That they were not poses for effect, or at least for the spectator under the wagon, was very plain, for when I crawled out and appeared,[Pg 69] the girl screamed, left her water-jar, and ran into the house near by. “So, this is Palestine,” thought I. “I wonder where is Jacob?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ysleta! el Americano.”

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 70]

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

“Muchachito!” she murmured; “muchachito mio! Ah, carissimo mio! Americano mio!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 71]

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

But ’Pache shook his head.

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

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

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

A RAINY DAY.
THE clouds have darkened down again,
And all the world is sad with rain,
As if the dead of many years
Were all awake and shedding tears.
Before the window-pane I stand
And gaze upon the reeking land,
Till I am cold and damply blue,
Dejected quite, and shivering too.
Roll up, thou blesséd luxury,
Thou ample arm-chair made for me!
Roll up before the open fire,
Whose merry flames leap high and higher.
I’d rather watch these devils play,
Than see the angels weep all day!
Bring me my pipe, whose ample bowl
Is filled with that which cheers the soul;
Soft comfort’s very essence lies
In the weed which only fools despise!
Bring, too, a glass with taper waist,
Broad, shallow, and demurely chaste;
Meet vessel for the quickening wine
That knoweth not chill sorrow’s brine!
The clinging smoke curls lovingly
About, as if caressing me;
And with a most entrancing pop,
The wine flows forth with gems atop,
Which, sparkling, burst in tiny spray
As if small sprites were there at play.
The dreary drip I cannot see—
I sip my “Clicquot” cozily,
And need no further joy than this,
Together with my meerchaum’s kiss.
The weather’s just as bright for me,
As if the sun were high and free!
So what care I for all the rain?
I’m happy till it shines again!
H. J. Livermore.
[Pg 72]

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

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

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

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

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

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

To those who knew personally, as the writer did, the strong, rugged, gray-headed and grizly-bearded man,[Pg 73] whose appearance seemed to indicate a longer life of usefulness, the announcement came like a shock. But it had been known to others for some months that the grand old “Father of Fishes,” as he was sometimes called, was lying hopelessly ill, and that his precious charges at Caledonia Springs—the little fishes—would know him no more. Mr. Green had from his early youth the tastes of the sportsman, and, with the proper education, would have made a great naturalist. He had great powers of observation; even in ascertaining such minutiæ as whether fishes can hear.

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

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

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

F. ENDICOTT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J. C. SUMMERS.

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

CANOE building is becoming quite as much a science as yacht building. The boat that won nearly all the sailing races and made the highest record ever attained at an A. C. A. meet was built by the same man who turned out Dr. Rice’s paddling canoe, which won the paddling championship—Ruggles, of Rochester. M. V. Brokaw, of Brooklyn, who sailed the Eclipse, did excellent work, but no better than Paul Butler, who sailed canoe Fly beautifully. Never before has so fine a lot of canoes been at the meet and sailed in the races. A large proportion of the canoes that entered the races were well built, perfectly finished, smooth, clear and clean, and very lightly, yet strongly, rigged. The influence of Mr. Barney’s success in canoe Pecowsic in 1886 and 1887 was very clearly seen in the rigs at the meet this year. It will be[Pg 74] remembered that the Pecowsic had five sails, all of different sizes, laced to the masts, incapable of being reefed, only two of which were used at one time, or in one race. The power of the wind at the start governed the selection of the two most fitting for the particular day. Once started in the race, no changes could be made. Many canoes this year carried the standing rig, notably Eclipse. The standing rig is a bad thing, more especially if the sail cannot be folded up easily and stowed, as was the case with many. Butler and the Lowell men had by far the best sails in camp—reefing sails, well cut, neatly bent, all of one piece of cloth, with no bites in them, so the muslin spread a perfectly smooth surface to the wind when flattened down by the sheets for work, on trim and scientifically shaped spars.

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

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

The racing this year in some ways, was a marked advance over that of last year—the boats of the fleet sailed better. No one has yet equaled R. W. Gibson’s sailing at any A. C. A. meet—that was true science. Butler did the best sailing this year, and showed a knowledge of the finer points in making and rounding buoys without loss of time, headway or a foot. Brokaw sailed wonderfully well and showed pluck in the heavy weather. Where there was luck he had it—as in the cup race, when Butler led, and the wind fell to a breeze best suited for the sails Brokaw had; and again, in the Barney cup race, when he caught up to and passed the Jabber in If by a lucky fluke, If lying becalmed all the time, or nearly so. Brokaw is one of the very few strong men and good paddlers who does any sailing. This fact gave him a chance to accomplish what has never been done before—win the highest possible number of points on the record. He first won the unlimited sailing race (3 miles) in a fleet of thirty-three canoes, twenty-one of which completed the course. He scored ten points for this. Next he won his class paddling race (Class IV.), beating four others. His luck helped him here also. His boat in beam was 293⁄4 inches, the very lowest limit in the class; but, more than this, both Dr. Rice and Johnson (the best paddlers in the A. C. A.) raced in Class III., so he did not have to meet them. In the combined race (11⁄2 miles paddle, 11⁄2 miles sail) there were six men against him, and he won by strong paddling, quick work in hoisting and stowing sail, and fast sailing with no luck or flukes. Three races, ten points each, thirty points. The second man on the record was E. Knappe (Springfield, Mass.), three races, 16.95 points. The third, fourth and fifth men, all prize winners, got, respectively, 15.50 (Leys, Toronto), 14.60 (Patton, Yonkers), and 13.70 (Quick, Yonkers) for two races each.

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

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

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

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

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

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

C. BOWYER VAUX.

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THE POLITICS OF CYCLING.
OUTING’S mission is to entertain and instruct, to elevate and encourage legitimate outdoor sport and recreation, to the end that the manhood and womanhood of its clientèle may benefit thereby in mind and body.

Occupying this high place, and having selected this noble part as our particular field of enterprise[Pg 75] in the world, we have always deemed it best to take little active, and positively no partisan, interest in the politics of the League of American Wheelmen. We are content to leave the exclusively cycling press in undisputed possession of that field which treats of League offices and the doings of League officials.

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

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

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

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

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

THOMAS STEVENS.

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

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

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

HENRY CHADWICK.

[Pg 76]

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

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

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

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

THE TRIP OF THE CHICAGO BALL-PLAYERS.
THE Australian tour of the Chicago Baseball Team, which is now in everyone’s mouth, is a novel scheme, the credit of which is due to Mr. Leigh S. Lynch, the well-known theatrical manager. During his[Pg 77] travels in Australia Mr. Lynch perceived how great was the love of outdoor sports displayed by the Anglo-Saxons of that rising young continent. He also noted the complete ignorance of baseball which prevailed. The outcome of his observations was the undertaking of the Australian tour by Mr. A. G. Spalding. Mr. Lynch was dispatched to make arrangements, and on his return in the spring the work of organizing two teams was undertaken. Not content with instructing the people of Australia in the art of baseball, Mr. Spalding has determined to take with him men capable of playing cricket and football also. The work of selection has resulted in the choice of the following teams: A. C. Anson, (captain), E. Williamson, F. Pfeffer, T. Burns, J. Ryan, F. Flint, M. Sullivan, R. Pettit, M. Baldwin and T. Daly, and this team is to be known as “The Chicagoes.” The second bears the name of “The Picked Club,” and comprises: John M. Ward (captain), M. Kelly, Boston; F. Carroll, Pittsburgh; M. Tiernan, New York; Wood, Philadelphia; E. Hanlon, Detroit; Fogarty, Philadelphia; Comiskey, St. Louis; while it is hoped that the services of Caruthers, of Brooklyn, and McPhee, of Cincinnati, will also be secured. John A. Rogers, of the Peninsular Cricket Club of Detroit, has been made captain of the cricket team. All players are bound by strict contracts as if they were playing in a league or association club.

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

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

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

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

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

RETURNING THE BALL IN LAWN-TENNIS.
A CORRESPONDENCE which has been going on in the columns of the English sporting paper, Land and Water, has elicited the following remarks from the editor, which seem to contain such an important point that they are well worth reproduction:

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

THE AMERICA’S CUP ONCE MORE.
THE prospects are that next season will see another comer from across the ocean in American waters to offer battle for the America’s Cup. The new visitor will probably be Mr. Paul A. Ralli’s new cutter Yarana, a vessel designed by G. L. Watson, the designer of the famous Thistle and the almost equally well-known Irex. The Thistle we know from her performances in American waters last season; the Irex we only know from her honorable record in[Pg 78] British contests. The Yarana is a cutter 66.08 feet long on the load water line, and has a 14.08 feet beam. Her draft is not given. This craft has been in all the principal British regattas since her début, May 22d, in the Thames Yacht Club event, and her performances have all come up to her designer’s expectations. In fifteen matches with the Irex—and the Irex is one of the crack yachts of old England—the Yarana won nine and the Irex four. Two of the races must not be taken into account, as the Irex ran aground. Last year the Thistle had nine to her account against the Irex, but when it is remembered that the small boat is not put on an equal footing with the large sloop by any rule of time allowance now in use, the record of the Yarana may be fairly said to prove that Mr. Watson has improved on his previous creations. If the Yarana comes here she will be welcome as a visitor, and equally welcome as a challenger for a trophy which has a reputation the world over. The advent of a smaller boat competing for this much-valued prize will prove beneficial. It will create more interest among yachtsmen generally, as it will give a chance for the smaller boats to enter the lists. The owners of the Shamrock, Titania and Katrina have great faith in their craft. Possibly they might have a chance next season to measure speed with the new Britisher. Let us hope so; and may the best boat win, be she American or English!

AMATEUR OARSMEN AND THE NATIONAL ASSOCIATION.
HENRY W. GARFIELD, President of the National Association of Amateur Oarsmen, in the annual communication to the organization, thus discourses on rowing matters in general and what constitutes an amateur:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 79]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 80]

Amenities

HOW BASEBALL WILL PROBABLY BE PLAYED 100 YEARS HENCE.

CABBY (who has been paid his bare fare before hiring): Bring yer box in? What, I leave my young ’oss a-standin’ ’ere of hisself!—(with determination)—No, I can’t leave my cab! Spozin’ he runs away, ’oos to pay for the damage, I should like to know?
[Pg 81]

Our Monthly Record
THIS department of OUTING is specially devoted to paragraphs of the doings of members of organized clubs engaged in the reputable sports of the period, and also to the recording of the occurrence of the most prominent events of the current season. On the ball-fields it will embrace Cricket, Baseball, Lacrosse and Football. On the bays and rivers, Yachting, Rowing and Canoeing. In the woods and streams, Hunting, Shooting and Fishing. On the lawns, Archery, Lawn Tennis and Croquet. Together with Ice-Boating, Skating, Tobogganing, Snowshoeing, Coasting, and winter sports generally.

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

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 82]

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

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

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

WILLIAM J. M. BARRY, of the Queen’s College Athletic Club, Cork, Ireland, holds the world’s championship in throwing the 16-lb. hammer. August 11 he succeeded in putting the hammer, on his fifth throw, the unprecedented distance of 129 ft. 31⁄4 in. G. M. L. Sachs, C. C. Hughes, and L. E. Myers were the judges of the performance.

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

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

Putting the 16-pound stone—George Ross, 44 ft.; J. A. MacDougall, 43 ft. 1⁄2 in.; P. J. Griffin, 41 ft. 91⁄2 in.

Standing long jump—John F. Hartnett, 13 ft. 6 in.; P. J. Griffin, 12 ft. 91⁄2 in.; Con. J. Sullivan, 12 ft. 6 in.

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

Throwing 16-pound hammer—J. A. MacDougall, 100 ft. 2 in.; Philip Cummings, 99 ft. 41⁄2 in.; George Ross, 89 ft. 7 in.

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

Members’ 150-yard dash—First, John Flynn, 171⁄2s.; second, Philip Cummings; third, Patrick Lyons.

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

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

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

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

Putting 63-pound weight—George Ross, 22 ft.; Patrick Lyons, 21 ft. 1⁄2 in.; Philip Cummings, 21 ft.

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

Three standing jumps—P. J. Griffin 39 ft. 6 in.; John F. Hartnett, 38 ft. 91⁄2 in.; Archie Scott 36 ft. 9 in.

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

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

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

Throwing 56-pound weight, for height—Philip Cummings, 13 ft. 9 in.; J. A. MacDougall, 13 ft. 83⁄4 in.; third, George Ross, 13 ft. 6 in.

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

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

Putting 16-pound shot, amateurs—James Kane, Jr., Schuylkill Navy Athletic Club, 35 ft. 1 in.; J. K. Shell, same club, 34 ft. 83⁄4 in.

Standing hop, step and jump—John F. Hartnett, 35 ft. 7 in.; Archie Scott, 35 ft. 3 in.; P. J. Griffin, 34 ft. 11⁄2 in.

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

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

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

Three standing jumps, members—Lawrence O’Day, 35 ft. 111⁄2 in.; P. Lyons, 34 ft. 5 in.; Philip Cummings, 34 ft. 2 in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lawn tennis, archery, croquet and other games and sports are to be indulged in during the summer, while later on lacrosse, football, and later still tobogganing will be introduced. The club-house is now crowded with working paraphernalia, and it is the[Pg 83] intention of those in charge to increase the initiation fee to $10.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Running high jump—R. K. Pritchard and M. W. Ford, each cleared the bar at 5 ft. 101⁄4 in. in the running high jump. Pritchard won by a toss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eight-oared shell race—Six boats competed in this race. The course was one mile straightaway, and resulted in a dead heat between the Passaic and the Schuylkill Navy Crews. Time, 5m. 281⁄2s.

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

One hundred yards run (handicap)—Forty starters and seven trial heats, winner in each heat and winner in second men’s second trial running the final. Won by Charles Hagemeyer, P. A. C.; in 101⁄2s.; H. Luersen second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Senior four-oared shell race (one mile with turn)—Newark Bay course of N. J. A. C.—Won by[Pg 84] Varuna B. C., Brooklyn, in 4m. 15s.; New Jersey A. C. second.

Tandem paddling—Won by F. A. Beardsley and Alexander Oliver, in 4m. 191⁄2s.

Single paddling—Won by Thomas Garrett, in 4m. 381⁄2s.; F. A. Beardsley second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CLUBS.
New York.
Chicago.
Detroit.
Boston.
Philadelphia.
Pittsburgh.
Indianapolis.
Washington.
New York
 4
 8
12
14
 7
13
11
Chicago
 8
10
 9
 8
 9
12
 6
Detroit
 5
10
 5
 7
 9
11
10
Boston
 8
 7
 6
 6
 5
10
15
Philadelphia
 5
 5
 5
 9
12
 7
10
Pittsburgh
 3
11
 7
 7
 4
13
 6
Indianapolis
 4
 5
 8
 8
 4
 6
10
Washington
 4
 5
 5
 5
 9
 7
 4
Games Lost
37
47
49
51
52
55
68
70
 
Victories.
Possible
victories.
Played.
To play.
Per cent. of
victories.
New York
 69
103
106
34
.651
Chicago
 62
 93
109
32
.569
Detroit
 57
 91
106
34
.538
Boston
 57
 89
108
32
.528
Philadelphia
 53
 88
105
35
.505
Pittsburgh
 51
 85
106
34
.481
Indianapolis
 41
 70
111
29
.369
Washington
 39
 72
107
33
.364
Games Lost
429
 
 
 
 

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

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

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

CLUBS.
St. Louis.
Athletic.
Brooklyn.
Cincinnati.
Cleveland.
Baltimore.
Louisville.
Kansas City.
St. Louis
 8
 7
 6
14
11
12
12
Athletic
 6
 7
10
 8
11
13
12
Brooklyn
10
 8
11
11
 7
11
 8
Cincinnati
 7
 6
 5
 8
12
11
11
Cleveland
 3
 6
 4
 6
 7
 9
 9
Baltimore
 4
 4
 7
 5
 7
 8
 9
Louisville
 2
 4
 6
 3
 6
 9
 9
Kansas City
 2
 2
 9
 4
 7
 7
 4
Games Lost
34
37
45
45
61
64
68
70
 
Games
won.
Per cent. of
victories.
Possible
victories.
Games
played.
Games
to play.
St. Louis
 70
.673
106
104
36
Athletic
 67
.644
103
104
36
Brooklyn
 66
.595
 95
111
29
Cincinnati
 60
.571
 95
105
35
Cleveland
 43
.413
 79
104
36
Baltimore
 44
.405
 76
108
32
Louisville
 39
.364
 72
107
33
Kansas City
 35
.333
 70
105
35
Games Lost
424
 
 
 
 

[Pg 85]

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

CLUBS.
Staten
Island A. C.
Staten
Island C. C.
Brooklyn
A. C.
Orange
A. C.
Victories.
Games
played.
Per cent. of
victories.
Staten Island A. C.
3
 7
3
13
17
.813
Staten Island C. C.
2
 4
2
 8
14
.571
Brooklyn A. C.
0
2
3
 5
16
.312
Orange A. C.
2
1
 0
 3
11
.272
Defeats
4
6
11
8
29
 
 

NOTE.—For report of the A. C. A. Meet see Editor’s Open Window.

BOWLING.

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

CANOEING.

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

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

CRICKET.

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

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

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

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

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

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

LONGWOODS.
Caton, b. Asling
39
G. Wright, c. and b. Asling
120
Bixby, c. and b. Asling
6
Chambers, c. Vine, b. Asling
12
S. Wright, b. Guy
1
L. Mansfield, c. R. Beastall, b. Guy
24
H. C. Tyler, b. R. Beastall
34
Mudie, b. Dove
47
[Pg 86]F. Mansfield, c. North, b. Asling
30
Burton, not out
31
Hubbard, run out
32
Byes, 19; leg byes, 11; wides, 4; no balls, 2
  36
Total
412
THORNTONS.
Oborne, b. Chambers
4
Guy, b. Chambers
2
Dove, c. G. Wright, b. Chambers
2
North, b. G. Wright
0
Asling, b. Chambers
1
Collett, c. L. Mansfield, b. Chambers
6
Burton, b. Chambers
0
C. Beastall, c. G. Wright, b. Chambers
1
R. Beastall, not out
0
Vine, did not bat
0
Davidson, did not bat
0
Byes
 2
Total
18

BOWLING ANALYSIS.

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

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

THORNTONS.
George Wright
 24
1
1
 9
Chambers
 24
0
7
 7

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

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

CYCLING.

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

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

ON the quarter-mile cinder track of the New Jersey Athletic Club at Bergen Point a series of prize bicycle races, open to all amateurs, and to be contested four successive Saturdays, were begun August 18. W. H. Caldwell, New Jersey Athletic Club; S. B. Bowman, New Jersey Athletic Club, and Hudson County Wheelmen, and J. E. Day, Hudson County Wheelmen, all started from the scratch in the first event, distance one mile. Caldwell led throughout, and won by nearly one-eighth of a mile. Time, 3m. 6s. Day never challenged Bowman for second place. In a two-mile race, S. B. Bowman and Capt. E. P. Baggott, of the Hudson County Wheelmen, started from the scratch. Baggott set the pace for the first mile, making the distance in 3m. 19s. Bowman then went to the front and won by five yards. Time, 6m. 2414s. The last quarter was made by Bowman in 4214s.

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

One-mile race (for amateurs who have never won a prize)—H. Davis, 1st; L. E. Barusdin, 2d; M. W. Nowomlinsky, 3d. Time, 3m. 5412s. The track was soft, and through this slow times were made.

One-mile tricycle race—N. P. Oboldnew, 1st; S. W. Dokutschaew, 2d. Time, 5m. 3912s.

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

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

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

One-mile tricycle race (ladies only)—E. L. Zemlicka, 1st; A. A. Skworzowa, 2d; A. S. Sosnina, 3d. Time, 8m. 3512s.

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

A BICYCLE TOURNAMENT was held at Riverside Park, Binghamton, August 2, which resulted as follows:

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

One mile, novice—C. J. Iven, Rochester, 3m. 14s. Chas. Perley, Deposit, second; L. E. Edgcomb, Cortland, third.

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

Two miles, 6.45 class—C. J. Iven, Rochester, 6m. 2114s.; W. E. McCune, Worcester, second; E. L. Shefter, Williamsport, 0; E. Budd, Elmira, 0.

Half-mile heats between Mesdames Von Blumen and Oakes.—Heat 1—Von Blumen first, after a desperate struggle. Time, 1m. 51s. Heat 2—Von[Pg 87] Blumen first; Oakes nowhere. Time, 2m. 112s. Heat 3—Von Blumen first; Oakes, 0. Time, 1m. 5234s.

Half-mile, junior club wheel championship—W. Loveland, 1m. 4314s.; W. Schultz, second; F. Newing, 0; H. Nicholl, 0.

One mile, scratch—W. Windle, 2m. 5214s.; W. S. Campbell, second; J. F. Midgley, third. Won easily.

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

Three miles, handicap—W. Windle, scratch, 8m. 5714s.; J. F. Midgley, second; J. Cutler, third. Handicaps not reported.

One-mile safety race—J. B. McCune, 2m. 5334s.; J. F. Midgley second.

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

One mile, consolation—C. J. Connolly, Rochester, 3m. 834s.

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

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

FIRST DAY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SECOND DAY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Half-mile dash—F. G. Brown, K. C. W., 1m. 2914s. W. T. Murphy, K. C. W., second.

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

Two miles, 6.45 class—H. P. Matthews, B. B. C., 7m. 212s.; H. Quortrop, Q. C. W., second.

One mile, open—F. G. Brown, K. C. W., 4m. 312s.; H. B. Matthews, B. B. C., second.

One mile, Huntington Club championship—S. C. Ebbets, 3m. 2112s.; Chas. B. Scudder, second.

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

One mile, consolation—J. G. Ebbets, Huntington B. C., 3m. 3712s.; J. Magee, Q. C. W., second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One mile, 3.20 class—W. H. Brown, W. B. C., 3m. 15 2-5s.; W. M. Carman, Norwich, second, by two lengths; W. A. Lingham, Belleville, third, by half a wheel; C. R. Fitch, Brantford, fourth.

Five miles—W. Windle, 15m. 52 2-5s.; W. S. Campbell quit at 412 miles; C. R. Fitch quit at half a mile.

Quarter-mile combination race—The competitors drew their bicycles 110 yards, rode with one foot 110 yards, lifted them over a hurdle, pushed on one wheel and then on two wheels to the finish. C. W. Hurndall, 1m. 1212s.; A. G. Peacey, second; C. J. Lowe, third; G. C. Willmott, fourth; R. T. Blackford, fifth; A. Bryant, sixth.

Three-mile roadster race—F. Midgley, Worcester, Mass., 9m. 58 2-5s.; J. H. Gerrie, W. B. C., second, by 200 yards; W. A. Lingham, Belleville, third, by twenty yards; J. A. Knight, St. Louis, fourth; L. B. Cooper, Belleville, did not finish.

[Pg 88]

One mile, Safety machines—M. F. Johnston, T. B. C., 3m. 11 2-5s.; T. Fane, W. B. C., second, by fifty yards; R. S. Peniston, W. B. C., 0; W. J. Moody, W. B. C., 0. F. Midgley wished to ride a Springfield roadster, and, though ruled off by the referee, started and finished first.

THE widespread influence of cycling is well shown by the publication La Révue du Sport Vélocipédique, the official cycling organ of France. It is a brightly conducted paper, and will do much to advance the cause of wheeling among our French brethren.

THE tournament at the Buffalo Exposition proved very successful. It commenced September 4th, extended over several days, and closed on the 10th. H. E. Ducker officiated as general director; Howard P. Merrill, referee; T. J. Kirkpatrick, George R. Sidwell, W. S. Bull, Charles H. Potter, Harry H. Hodgson, C. H. Luscaub and Charles A. Payne, judges; George M. Hendee, starter; J. H. Isham, C. H. Kimball, W. N. Watson and H. D. Corey, timekeepers. The following is a record of the races:

One mile, tandem, professional—F. W. Allard and Jack Lee, England, first, in 3m. 16 3-5s.; Jules Dubois, Paris, France, and W. F. Knapp, Denver, Col., second, by twenty yards.

One mile, amateur, novice—Kenneth Brown, Cambridge, Mass., first, in 3m. 3 3-5s.; Robert W. Jameson, Rochester, second, by two lengths; W. B. Milley, Buffalo, third; F. N. C. Jerauld, Niagara Falls, fourth.

Ten miles, L. A. W. championship—Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., first, in 31m. 37 1-5s.; H. R. Winship, Chicago, second, by fifty yards.

One mile, professional—H. G. Crocker, Newton, Mass., 10 yds. start, first, in 2m. 43 2-5s.; W. F. Knapp, Denver, Col., 20 yds., second, by thirty yards; Sidney Eastwood, Denver, 100 yds., third.

One mile, amateur, 3.10 class—Bert Myers, Peoria, Ill., first, in 2m. 54 4-5s.; A. C. Barker, Pittsburgh, second, by thirty yards; E. O. Rasicoe, Woodstock, Ont., third.

Two miles, amateur, N. Y. State championship—W. S. Campbell, Niagara Falls, first, in 6m. 22 2-5s.; H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, N. Y., second, by five yards; C. J. Iven, Rochester, third.

Three miles, amateur, tandem—W. E. Crist and P. S. Brown, Washington, D. C., first, in 9m. 48 2-5s.; A. C. and W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., second, by fifty yards; C. P. Adams, Springfield, and H. E. Ducker, Jr., Buffalo, third.

Two miles, professional (rovers), handicap—F. W. Allard, Coventry, Eng., 10 yds. start, first, in 6m. 20s.; Jack Lee, Nottingham, Eng., scratch, second, by three feet; George Seymour, 150 yds., third.

Three miles, team race—This was between teams representing Buffalo and Rochester. In the first mile, Charles P. Forbush, of Buffalo, took a header and broke his wrist, in consequence of which the race went to Rochester by default.

One mile, tandem—A. C. and W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., first, in 3m. 1-5s.; H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, and R. H. Davis, Cambridge, Mass., second, by twenty yards; P. M. Harris and Val. H. Muller, New York, third.

SECOND DAY, SEPT. 5.

Two miles, novice—Kenneth Brown, Cambridge, Mass., first, in 6m. 25 2-5s.; F. M. Brinker, Buffalo, second, by a yard; W. B. Milley, Buffalo, third; Robert W. Jameson, Rochester, fourth.

Half-mile, special unicycle—W. H. Barber, Rochester, first, in 2m. 22s.; Marshall, second.

Half-mile, professional—W. F. Knapp, Denver, first, in 1m. 23 4-5s.; William A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., second, by six inches; Ralph Temple, Chicago, third; H. G. Crocker, Newton, Mass., fourth.

Five miles, N. Y. State championship—W. S. Campbell, Niagara Falls, first, in 18m. 26s.; H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, second, by thirty yards; Theodore W. Roberts, Poughkeepsie, third, three yards away.

Three miles, professional—William J. Morgan, Chicago, 400 yds. start, first, in 9m. 5s.; H. G. Crocker, Newbury, Mass., scratch, second, by twenty yards; Ralph Temple, Chicago, 60 yds., third; William A. Rowe, Lynn, scratch, fourth.

Three miles, amateur (rovers), roadster—R. H. Davis, Cambridge, Mass., 150 yds., first, in 9m. 57 4-5s.; P. J. Berlo, South Boston, 160 yds., second; W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., 150 yds., third.

One mile, team race—Chicago Club won, with 20 points; Washington Club, second, 10; Rochester Club, third, 6. W. H. Van Sicklen, Chicago, was first home, in 2m. 58s.; H. K. Winship, Chicago, second, by three feet; W. E. Crist, Washington, third.

Five miles, tandem, professional—H. G. Crocker and Robert Neilson, 120 yds. start, first, in 16m. 20 1-5s.; J. Dubois and W. F. Knapp, 300 yds., second, by ten yards.

Five miles, tricycle, L. A. W. championship—W. E. Crist, Washington, D. C., first, in 21m. 47s.; Fred Foster, Wanderers’ Club, Toronto, Ont., second.

Two miles, tandem, open—A. C. and W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., first, in 6m. 51s.; R. H. Davis, Cambridge, Mass., and H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, N. Y., second, by thirty yards; P. M. Harris and Val. H. Muller, New York, third.

One mile (rovers), professional—F. W. Allard, England, scratch, first, in 3m. 4 3-5s.; Jack Lee, Nottingham, Eng., scratch, second, by three feet; Jules Dubois, Paris, France, 40 yds. start, third.

One mile, amateur, handicap—H. L. Kingsland, Baltimore, Md., 70 yds. start, first, in 2m. 47 2-5s.; Bert Myers, Peoria, Ill., 100 yds., second, by three yards; H. R. Winship, Chicago, Ill., 100 yds., third; N. H. Van Sicklen, Chicago, Ill., 90 yds., fourth; Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., scratch, fifth.

THIRD DAY, SEPT. 6.

Three miles, L. A. W. championship—Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., first, in 9m. 27s.; A. E. Lumsden, Chicago, Ill., second, by thirty yards; H. R. Winship, Chicago, third.

Two miles, amateur (rover), open, road wheels—H. R. Davis, Cambridge, Mass., first, in 6m. 59 3-5s.; P. J. Berlo, South Boston, Mass., second, by twenty yards; W. E. Crist, Washington, D. C., third.

Five miles, amateur, 16.00 class—A. C. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., first, in 17m. 50s.; W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, second, by half a length, the latter having three broken spokes in his wheel; S. W. Merrihew, Wilmington, Del., third.

One mile, tandem, professional—H. G. Crocker and Robert Neilson, scratch, first, in 2m. 58 3-5s.; Jules Dubois, Paris, and W. F. Knapp, Denver, 50 yds. start, second, by ten yards; F. W. Allard and Jack Lee, England, scratch, third, thirty yards away.

Half mile, amateur, tandem—A. C. and W. D.[Pg 89] Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., first, in 1m. 26 2-5s.; R. H. Davis and H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, N. Y., second, by thirty yards; W. E. Grist and Phil S. Brown, Washington, D. C., third.

One mile, amateur—Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., first, in 3m. 5s.; Fred Midgley, Worcester, Mass., second; William J. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., third.

Five miles (rovers), professional—F. W. Allard, Coventry, Eng., scratch, first, in 17m. 51 1-5s.; Jack Lee, Nottingham, Eng., scratch, second, by a foot; H. G. Crocker, Boston, Mass., 40 yds., third, by over two hundred yards.

Two miles, amateur—H. R. Winship, Chicago, Ill., 250 yds. start, first, in 6m. 9 3-5s.; A. E. Lumsden, Chicago, 175 yds., second, by thirty yards; A. C. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., 250 yds., third.

Three miles, tricycle, professional—Jack Lee, Nottingham, Eng., first, in 12m. 7 3-5s.; F. W. Allard, Coventry, Eng., second, by twelve feet; H. G. Crocker, Newbury, Mass., third, ten feet behind.

One mile, championship of Buffalo—W. B. Milley, Buffalo, first, in 3m. 22 1-5s.; F. M. Brinker, Buffalo, second, by thirty yards; J. B. Milley, Buffalo, third.

On the fourth day, September 7, there was a run from Buffalo to Niagara Falls. On the fifth day, the track races were postponed on account of the weather, but the road race took place as follows:

One hundred miles, on the road, Erie to Buffalo—Frank M. Dampman, Honeybrook, Pa., first, in 9h. 52m. 29 3-5s.; Frank McDaniels, Wilmington, Del., second, in 9h. 55m. 23 4-5s.; Frank G. Lenz, Pittsburgh, Pa., third, in 10h. 4m. 44 4-5s.; G. A. Tivy, St. Louis, Mo., fourth, in 10h. 8m. 21 3-5s.; S. W. Merrihew, Wilmington, Del., fifth, in 10h. 10m. 52 4-5s.; Roy S. Blowers, Westfield, N. Y., sixth, in 10h. 25m. 45s. The start was made in the midst of a severe rain-storm, the roads were bad all the distance, and the contestants suffered greatly from the weather.

On Monday, Sept. 10, the races were ridden on the one-mile trotting track, which, though heavy, was not as soft as the cycling track.

One mile, tandem, open, road wheels only—W. E. Crist and P. S. Brown, Washington, D. C., first, in 3m. 46s.; A. C. and W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, Pa., second, by thirty yards; R. H. Davis, Cambridge, Mass., and H. J. Hall, Jr., Brooklyn, third, a length away.

Half-mile, amateur—Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., first, in 1m. 22 3-5s.; W. S. Campbell, Niagara Falls, second, by thirty yards; A. E. Lumsden, Chicago, Ill., third, two yards away.

Two miles, professional—W. A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., scratch, first, in 5m. 54 3-5s.; Ralph Temple, Chicago, Ill., scratch, second, by a yard; H. G. Crocker, Newton, Mass., scratch, third, by five yards; W. J. Morgan, Chicago, 250 yards start, fourth, a length behind.

Ten miles, amateur—A. E. Lumsden, Chicago, Ill., 400 yards start, in 32m. 15s.; H. R. Winship, Chicago, 600 yards, second, by twenty yards; W. J. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., 600 yards, third, beaten off.

One mile, tandem, amateur—A. C. and W. D. Banker, Pittsburgh, 120 yards start, first, in 2m. 47s.; P. M. Harris and Val H. Muller, New York, 300 yards, second.

One mile, amateur—E. O. Rasicoe, Woodstock, Ont., first, in 3m. 2s.; Bert Myers, Peoria, Ill., second, by a yard; C. J. Iven, Rochester, N. Y., third, by the same distance.

One mile, tandem, professional—H. G. Crocker, Newton, and R. Neilson, Boston, Mass., scratch, first, in 2m. 56 1-5s.; J. Dubois, Paris, and W. F. Knapp, Denver, 30 yards start, second, by five yards; F. W. Allard, Coventry, and J. Lee, Nottingham, Eng., third.

One mile, amateur, open—Will Windle, Millbury, Mass., first, in 2m. 58 4-5s.; W. J. Wilhelm, Reading, Pa., second by five yards; W. E. Crist, Washington, ten yards off.

One mile, professional (rovers)—Jules Dubois, Paris, France, 40 yards, first, in 2m. 51 3-5s.; F. W. Allard, Coventry, Eng., scratch, second, by two yards; Jack Lee, Nottingham, Eng., scratch, third, ten yards behind.

One mile, amateur, consolation—E. P. Cochran, Leroy, N. Y., first, in 3m. 9s.; C. J. Connelly, Rochester, second, by five yards; R. T. M. McLaren, Adams, third, one hundred yards away.

Professional races for the world’s championship—First heat, three miles: H. G. Crocker, Newton, Mass., first, in 11m. 7 2-5s.; W. A. Rowe, Lynn, Mass., second, by three yards; W. F. Knapp, Denver, Col., third, close up. Second heat, five miles: W. A. Rowe first, in 18m. 43 1-5s.; H. G. Crocker second; Robert Neilson, Boston, third; W. F. Knapp fourth. Ralph Temple finished first, but was disqualified for fouling Rowe. Final heat, one mile: Rowe first, in 2m. 52 3-5s.; Crocker second, by five yards; Knapp third, twenty yards behind; Neilson fourth.

FOOTBALL.

THE last of the football games was played August 18, between the St. Paul and Thistle clubs of Minneapolis, and resulted in a victory for the latter by eight goals to one. This finished the series and gave the pennant or Shaw cup to the Thistles. The teams were as follows: St. Paul.—Goal, J. A. Jenkins; backs, L. Owen and A. McCulloch, “captain;” half backs, J. Wilson, J. Brown and S. L. Titus; forwards, L. A. Shirley, W. Pollock, G. Douglas, C. Murphy and J. B. Darling. Thistle.—Goal, J. Henry; backs, K. Henry and Wm. Pringle, “captain;” half backs, Andrew Gray, D. McMillian and A. Richmond; forwards, G. Anderson, J. H. Barry, J. McKendrick, J. Emslie and R. H. Teeple. Below is given the summary of the four clubs belonging to the “Twin City Hall Association”:

 
Played.
Won.
Lost.
Thistle
5
4
1
St. Paul
5
3
2
Tam O’Shanters
2
0
2
North Star
2
0
2
 
Goals scored.
Lost.
Thistle
23
 4
St. Paul
11
 8
Tam O’Shanters
 1
 7
North Stars
 0
16

THE football season in New England opened at Fall River, Mass., with an exhibition game between the Rovers, who hold the championship of the American Association, and the Olympics, who hold the local Bristol County championship. The match was finely played, and the Rovers won, 1 to 0.

THE announcement comes from London that the Canadian football team, September 1, defeated the County Antrim Irish team in a match by six goals to two.

KENNEL.

PRESIDENT BELMONT, of the American Kennel Club, at a meeting of the club recently, appointed a committee, consisting of C. J. Peshall and A. P.[Pg 90] Vredenburg, to draft a circular to be sent to all breeders of the country. The object of this document is to set forth the history of the A. K. C., its aims and also its ineffectual attempt to consolidate all existing registers into one stud-book, and to explain and thoroughly set forth the meaning and animus of its enemies who are working against it.

THE third annual bench show of the American Fox Terrier Club was held at Saratoga, August 22, 23 and 24, and in point of quality excelled its predecessors, though the number of entries was not as great as that of the preceding years. The following is a list of the awards:

Champion Dogs—1st, the Blemton Kennel’s Lucifer (as in præsenti, by Splinter, out of Kohinoor); 2d, the Blemton Kennel’s Bacchanal (by the Belgravian, out of Bedlamite).

Champion Bitches—1st, the Blemton Kennel’s Rachel (by Result, out of Heather Bell); 2d, the Blemton Kennel’s Diadem (by Dugdale Joe, out of Diamond Dust); V H C, the Blemton Kennel’s Marguerite (by Brokenhurst Spice, out of Daisy).

Open Class—Dogs—1st, the Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Rubicon (by Regent, out of Rachel); 2d, the Blemton Kennel’s Dusky Trap (by Dusky Splinter, out of Spider); 3d, Mr. Jno. E. Thayer’s Raby Mixer (by Raby Mixture, out of Richmond Olive Bud); 4th, Mr. Jno. E. Thayer’s Reckoner (by Regent, out of Nita); V H C, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Volunteer and Blemton Coronet, Mr. Jno. E. Thayer’s Luke; H C, T. L. Drayton’s Blemton Sentinel; C, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Volunteer, H. P. Frothingham’s Mugwump and Clarence Rathbone’s Beverwyck Tippler.

Open Bitch Class—1st, the Blemton Kennel’s New Forest Ethel (by New Forest, out of Auburn); 2d, Jno. E. Thayer’s Richmond Dazzle (by Raby Mixture, out of Richmond Puzzle); 3d, the Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Consequence (by Result, out of Diadem); 4th, Jno. E. Thayer’s Princess (by Venetian, out of Lurette); V H C, Jno. E. Thayer’s Fraulein Mixture; H C, the Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Dahabiah; C, Mr. C. Rathbone’s Blemton Arrow.

Dog Puppies—1st, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Rubicon (by Regent—Rachel); 2d, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Coronet; 3d, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Volunteer; V H C, reserve, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Grumbler; V H C, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Calculus; V H C, Mr. F. Hoey’s—— by Lucifer, out of Regent Virtue; C, Jno. E. Thayer’s Hillside Monk.

Bitch Puppies—1st, Blemton Consequence (by Result, out of Diadem); 2d, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Rainbow (by Regent, out of Rachel); 3d, H. P. Frothingham’s Fidget (by Faust, out of Blemton Lottery).

Novice Class—1st, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Rubicon (by Regent, out of Rachel); 2d, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Coronet (by Result, out of Diadem); V H C, reserve, Jno. E. Thayer’s Princess, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Calculus and Blemton Rainbow; H C, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Dahabiah; C, H. P. Frothingham’s Mugwump and Blemton Lottery, Jno. E. Thayer’s Raby Chance, R. S. Ryan’s Linden Splint and Fred Hoey’s—— (by New Forest, out of Regent Virtue).

Selling Class—1st, Blemton Kennel’s Blemton Grumbler (by Lucifer, out of Garuma); 2d, Jno. E. Thayer’s Sly Mixture (by Mixture, out of Shame); V H C, Blemton Pepper.

Wire-haired Champion Class—1st, Mr. Samuel Insull’s Bristles (by Pincher, out of Squish).

Open Dogs—1st, Jno. E. Thayer’s Dare Devil (by Surprise, out of Vixen); 2d, Jno. E. Thayer’s Rat Trap (by Surprise, out of Vixen); V H C, Samuel Insull’s Pinwire.

Puppies—1st, Charles W. Cornwell’s Miss Bristle (by Broxton Tantrum, out of Champion Bristles); other prize withheld.

Welsh Terriers—1st, Mr. Prescott Lawrence’s Which; 2d, Mr. Prescott Lawrence’s T’other.

Irish Terriers—Dogs and Bitches—1st, Mr. Thomas Wise, Jr.’s, Badger Boy; 2d, Mr. Thomas Wise, Jr.’s, Gypsy Maid (by Dushing, out of Gypsy Girl); 3d, Mr. Thomas Wise, Jr.’s, Gypsy Girl; H C, Mr. Thomas Wise, Jr.’s, Dan.

English Terriers—Mr. O. H. P. Belmont’s Diamond Spark (by Diamond, out of Juno); 2d, Mr. O. H. P. Belmont’s Lonely (by Spring, out of Lady Florence).

Bedlington Terriers—Dogs and Bitches—1st, Mr. E. D. Morgan’s Tees Rock.

Hard-haired Scotch Terriers—1st, Mr. E. D. Morgan’s Highland Laddie (by Charlie, out of Flossie).

Dandie Dinmonts—1st, John H. Naylor’s Cromwell (by Shern, out of Queen of the Border).

Bull Terriers—1st, W. F. Hobbie’s Cairo (by Champion Max Marx, out of Champion Mistress of the Robes); 2d, W. F. Hobbie’s Bonnie Princess (by Silver King, out of Kettering’s Maggie); V H C, George House’s Duchess of York and Grabbler; C, Frank F. Dole’s My Queen.

Bull Terriers under 30 lbs.—1st, Frank F. Dole’s Nell Bright (by Bendigo, out of Daisy); 2d, Frank F. Dole’s Sensation (by Bulrush, out of Fancy); V H C, Marion Randolph’s Peggy; H C, Fannie W. Ogden’s Gypsy.

Puppy Class—1st, Fannie W. Ogden’s She (by Grabbler, out of Gypsy).

Rough-coated Toy Terriers—1st, withheld; 2d, Frank F. Dole’s Napper (by Little Wonder, out of Bella).

Selling Class, any variety except fox terriers—1st, F. F. Dole’s Nell Bright; 2d, John H. Naylor’s Cromwell.

JOHN S. WISE, President of the Richmond, Va., Bench Show, writes that the entries for the October fixtures will be large. The entries of fox hounds will be particularly large.

The Virginia A. M. & T. Exposition offers the following special prizes for the best kennel, to consist of not less than four, and at least two kennels to compete, each kennel to be owned by one exhibitor.

Class A—For best kennel English setters, $25.

Class B—For best kennel of pointers, $25.

Class C—For best kennel of collies, $25.

Class D—For best kennel of fox hounds, not less than six, $25.

They also offer the following specials:

Class E—For the best setter dog or bitch of any breed in the show that has run in a field trial, $20.

Class F—For the best pointer dog or bitch in the show that has run in a field trial, $20.

Class G—For the best blue-mottled fox hound dog or bitch exhibited, $20.

The American Fox Terrier Club offers:

Class H—For the best exhibit of fox terriers, $20.

A Friend of Beagles offers:

Class I—For the best brace of beagle bitches, owned by one exhibitor, $25.

The American Gordon Setter Club offers:

Class K—A special prize of a solid piece of silver, valued at $25, for the best Gordon setter dog or bitch in the show, $25.

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The Collie Club of America offers:

Class L—Its club medal, or $10 in cash, for the best collie bred and owned by a resident of any Southern State, Maryland included, $10.

LACROSSE.

THE deciding game in the series for the championship of the National Amateur Lacrosse Association of Canada was played in Montreal, August 18, by the teams of the Shamrock and Brockville clubs, the former winning by a score of three goals to one.

THE Brooklyn Lacrosse Team played the Jersey City Club at Oakland Park, Jersey City, August 25. Each side made two goals in a contest lasting over an hour.

LAWN TENNIS.

THE Lawn Tennis Tournament at Narragansett Pier, August 4th, resulted as follows: Preliminary Round, singles—W. R. Weeden beat Elliott, 6-3, 8-6; F. Hill beat H. C. Phillips, 6-1, 6-2; F. Warren beat S. Smith, 6-3, 6-2; R. B. Hale beat F. Keene by default; E. T. Lynch beat J. Weeden by default; H. W. Slocum, Jr., beat S. M. Colgote, 6-0, 6-1; M. Graham beat A. O. Taylor by default. First round, Weeden beat Hill, 6-3, 6-2; Hale beat Warren, 6-2, 3-6, 6-1; Slocum beat Lynch, 6-0, 6-0; J. A. Ryerson beat Graham, 6-1, 6-1; C. A. Chase beat T. S. Tailer, 6-2, 6-0; O. S. Campbell beat L. Saltus, 6-2, 9-7; H. Post beat E. Wilbur, 6-0, 6-0; Q. A. Shaw, Jr., beat J. Bryant, 6-0, 6-2; C. E. Smith beat W. Billings, 6-0, 6-1; D. G. Snow beat J. S. Brown by default; P. V. Lansdale beat W. Smith, 6-0, 2-6, 6-0; L. H. Dulles beat S. P. Griffin, 6-3, 6-4; A. E. Wright beat W. R. Graham, 6-0, 6-3; H. W. Cozzens beat G. H. Gilman, 6-1, 9-7; H. A. Taylor beat J. Colgate, 6-0, 6-4; S. Hodge beat T. J. Stead, 11-9, 6-3. Second round, Slocum beat Ryerson, 6-2, 3-6, 6-3; Shaw beat Post, 7-5, 4-6, 6-0; Smith beat Dulles, 6-2, 6-1; Wright beat Cozzens, 6-1, 6-1; Snow beat Lansdale, 4-6, 7-5, 6-1; Hale beat Weeden, 5-7, 6-4, 6-4; Chase beat Campbell, 4-6, 6-1, 6-3; Taylor beat Hodge, 7-5, 6-3. Third round, Slocum beat Hale, 6-1, 6-3; Smith beat Snow, 7-5, 7-5; Taylor beat Wright, 4-6, 6-1, 6-3; Shaw beat Chase, 6-2, 6-4. Fourth round, Slocum beat Shaw by default; Taylor beat Smith, 6-1, 6-1. Final round, H. A. Taylor beat H. W. Slocum, Jr., 6-4, 8-6, 7-5. Second prize: H. W. Slocum, Jr., beat S. Colgate, 9-7, 6-1. Preliminary round, mixed doubles, Miss A. Robinson and Mr. H. Taylor beat Miss M. Colby and Mr. S. Colgate, 6-3, 6-4; Miss E. C. Roosevelt and Mr. O. Campbell beat Miss Satrope and Mr. Post, 7-5, 7-5; Miss G. W. Roosevelt and Mr. Wright beat Miss Lynch and Mr. Garrett, 4-6, 6-2, 6-2. First round, Miss Roosevelt and Mr. Campbell beat Miss Roosevelt and Mr. Wright, 6-3, 6-3; Miss Robinson and Mr. Taylor beat Miss Stoughton and Mr. Slocum, 6-3, 6-4. Final round, Miss Roosevelt and Mr. Campbell beat Miss Robinson and Mr. Taylor, 6-2, 6-2, 4-6, 6-3. In the final, for second prize, Miss Robinson and Mr. Taylor beat Miss Roosevelt and Mr. Wright, 6-4, 8-6.

The ladies’ singles were won by Miss A. Robinson defeating Miss E. C. Roosevelt in the final round with the greatest of ease, 6-0, 6-1, 6-0. The second prize was won by Miss E. C. Roosevelt over Miss Colby, 6-2, 6-1, 6-0.

COOPERSTOWN, N. Y., August 15.—The third annual Lawn Tennis tournament was given on the courts directly back of the Cooper House. None of the “cracks” were entered, as in previous years. In the final round of the gentlemen’s singles, Mr. R. M. Wright defeated R. R. Perkins, 7-5, 8-6, 6-3. In the gentlemen’s doubles, H. C. Bowers and H. G. Trevor were victorious over their opponents, C. Metcalf and J. McKim, defeating them easily in three straight sets, 6-3, 6-1, 6-1.

GREENWICH, CONN., August 16.—The tennis courts at Greenwich were crowded on the above date by spectators who had come to witness the second annual lawn tennis tournament of the Greenwich club. The fair sex never played better, and fairly outdid themselves. Miss Rathborne and Miss Mason won the ladies’ doubles, receiving two very handsome lace pins. In the singles Miss Moore easily defeated all her opponents and received first prize, a handsome silver bangle.

BAR HARBOR, ME., August 16.—In the final round of the gentlemen’s singles, Morton S. Paton, of New York, defeated L. Bonsai, 6-3, 6-2, 6-4, and challenged R. L. Beeckman, winner of the cup last season. On the following day the match was played, resulting in a victory for Mr. Beeckman. The score stood 6-1, 6-2, 6-4. This makes Mr. Beeckman the holder twice in succession, and if he succeeds in winning it a third time next season the cup will become his own property. The gentlemen’s doubles, which were handicap, were won by Paton and Robbins over the Cushman Brothers by the following score: 5-7, 6-2, 6-3, 6-4.

THE tournament to decide the Lawn Tennis championship of the United States for singles, at Newport, R. I., August 20, resulted as follows: Preliminary round, singles—H. W. Slocum, Jr., beat C. A. Chase, 4-6, 6-2, 1-6, 6-2, 6-3. First round, J. S. Clark beat F. L. V. Hoppin, 6-3, 3-6, 6-1, 6-2; J. Dwight beat F. W. Taylor, 6-3, 6-1, 6-2; E. Tuttle beat C. E. Stickney by default; C. P. Wilbur beat C. Beatty, 6-3, 6-3, 9-7; O. S. Campbell beat W. Waller, 7-5, 6-3, 6-2; M. Fielding beat Fiske Warren, 6-1, 6-2, 6-3; A. E. Wright beat G. F. Brown, Jr., 6-2, 6-3, 6-3; G. W. Lee beat A. R. Weeden, 6-4, 7-5, 6-2; P. S. Sears beat W. L. Jennings, 6-2, 6-3, 6-2; B. B. Lamb beat A. L. Rives, 6-1, 6-2, 6-1; H. A. Taylor beat F. Kellogg by default; R. B. Hale beat G. M. Brinley by default; A. L. Williston beat V. G. Hall, 6-4, 6-8, 7-5, 3-6, 6-2; J. A. Ryerson beat A. Hubbard, 8-6, 6-3, 3-6, 6-0; P. S. Presbrey beat T. S. Tailer, 19-21, 8-6, 1-6, 6-3, 6-4. Second round, Dwight beat Tuttle, 6-1, 6-0, 6-1; Campbell beat Wilbur, 6-2, 6-1, 6-3; Wright beat Fielding, 6-2, 1-6, 6-1, 6-1; Sears beat Lee, 6-2, 6-0, 6-1; Ryerson beat Lamb, 6-2, 6-0, 3-6, 11-9; Taylor beat Hale, 6-1, 6-1, 6-1; Williston beat Presbrey, 4-6, 6-4, 6-4, 6-4; Slocum beat Clark, 6-3, 6-2, 6-2. Third round, Campbell beat Wright, 4-6, 6-3, 1-6, 8-6, 6-2; Sears beat Ryerson, 5-7, 6-3, 6-2, 6-2; Taylor beat Williston, 6-2, 6-3, 7-5; Slocum beat Dwight, 4-6, 6-2, 6-0, 6-3. Fourth round, Slocum beat Campbell, 6-2, 6-3, 6-4; Taylor beat Sears, 5-7, 6-4, 6-2, 6-2. Final round, H. W. Slocum, Jr., beat H. A. Taylor, 6-4, 6-1, 6-0. By defeating Mr. Taylor, this makes Mr. Slocum the champion of America, since Mr. Sears was prevented by sickness from defending his title. In the consolation prize, F. L. V. Hoppin won over W. L. Jennings in the final, 6-2, 4-6, 6-2. And this ended one of the best tournaments ever held on the Casino grounds.

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THE Rochester Lawn Tennis Club held its annual open tournament Tuesday, September 18, and the following days. The prizes offered were as follows: First prize, singles, value, $100; second prize, singles, value, $40; first prizes, doubles, value, $60; second prizes, doubles, value, $30; first prize, singles, veterans’ class, value, $30. Entrance fees for singles, $3; for doubles, $4 for the two players. The veterans’ class was open to players forty years of age and over. A bisque was given for every two years over forty-five. The rules of the U. S. National Association governed the games. Wright & Ditson’s balls were used. Except in the finals, matches were the best two in three sets. In the finals, the best three in five. All sets were deuce and advantage. David Hoyt was chairman of the tournament committee.

LENOX, MASS., September 4.—The Annual Lawn Tennis tournament of the Lenox Club was won by L. A. Shaw, Jr., defeating W. E. Glyn, the English player. In the finals the score stood: 5-7, 6-0, 8-6, 6-2. Mr. Glyn before his defeat was looked upon as a sure winner, since on the previous day he had defeated with such ease P. S. Sears (younger brother of the champion), who is considered a better player than Mr. Shaw. In the final doubles, P. S. Sears and L. A. Shaw, Jr. won over their opponents, Fowler, a lad of only sixteen, and his partner, Mr. Worthington, by the score of 6-1, 6-3, 7-9, 6-1. The second prize in the singles was captured by Mr. Glyn, who defeated Mr. Trevor, 2-6, 6-1, 6-2. Both the courts of Miss Furniss and the one at the Lenox Club-house were used. Among the numerous spectators who applauded were Prince Henri d’Orleans, Count Artchot, Count Sala, and other distinguished guests of the cottagers, including Admiral Temple. The tournament was, without doubt, the best ever given.

ALL the blue blood of Newport collected at the Casino, September 1, to witness a court tennis match between Mr. Foxhall Keene and O. M. Pettitt, and Boakes, the Canadian champion, and Hickey. There was a splendid contest and some good play. The winners gave half thirty. Keene and Pettitt won, 3-6, 6-2, 6-3, 6-4.

POLO.

THE Polo grounds at Newport, R. I., were filled with carriages, September 1, to witness the last match for the Handicap Cup. The blues were S. S. Sands, Jr., J. L. Kernochan, Thomas Hitchcock, Jr., and W. K. Thorne, Jr. The yellows were H. Keene, A. Belmont, Jr., S. Mortimer and E. C. Potter. Three innings were played. Keene and Belmont for the yellows and Hitchcock and Kernochan for the blues scored one each in the first. In the second innings Kernochan and Hitchcock each scored for the blues and Mortimer for the yellows. In the third innings Mortimer scored after a well-contested game. The yellows won the match.

ROD AND GUN.

THE recently elected officers of the St. Lawrence River Anglers’ Association, are W. W. Byington, president; H. S. Chandler and Garanca M. Skinner, vice-presidents; W. H. Thompson, secretary, and R. P. Grant, treasurer. An executive committee of twenty-one members was also named. The object of the association is the prevention of illegal net-fishing so threatening to the permanence of the St. Lawrence River as a fishing resort.

THE last copy of the London Field received tells of great but lawful slaughter of game throughout Great Britain during the second week of August. At Hunthill, Forfarshire, 279 brace of grouse were killed by six guns, and at the same place on the next day 265 brace were killed by five guns. An average of a half of 106 birds to a man for a day’s shooting would be considered remarkable good luck in any of the older parts of the United States.

The next largest bag reported was at Retreats, in Forfarshire, when, on August 13, 207 brace were killed by five guns.

The subject of limiting by law the number of grouse which a man may kill in the course of a season or in the course of a day, and also of limiting the shipments of grouse by express companies in some such way as deer are now controlled, has been freely discussed in many associations of sportsmen, but nothing has come of it. If some one should bring in a few bags such as those reported in England, there would be a renewal of the discussion that might lead to a change of the present law.

THE Cumberland Valley Game and Fish Association, of Mechanicsville, Pa., recently elected the following officers for the year: President, A. G. Hade; secretary, Robert Wilson Short; treasurer, Jess D. Muller; executive committee, A. B. Rupp, F. S. Mumma and John S. Weaver. The association has in course of construction a club-house, which, when finished, will excel any building of a similar organization for completeness, etc. The members of the association have, during the past three months, placed 50,000 brook trout fry in the trout streams of Southern Pennsylvania.

ROWING.

MATCH between four-oared crews, representing the Bradford and Riverside Boat Clubs, the latter being the champions of the New England Amateur Rowing Association, was decided on the three-mile course on the Charles River, August 11. Weather pleasant, water rough. Time, 21m. The opposing crews were made up: Riverside—William Kivlin (bow), William Balmer, Thomas Riley, Eugene Sullivan (stroke). Bradford—John Cumming (stroke), J. D. Ryan, D. H. McPhee, Joseph Skelton (bow). The Bradford won easily with fifteen lengths to spare. Time, 21m.

A SINGLE-SCULL race, open to members of the New York Athletic Club, for the Osborne Trophy, was rowed over the new course near Travers Island, August 25. The contest resulted in a victory for F. McDougall, with F. Rodewald second and R. W. Rathborne third.

THE third annual regatta of the Long Island Amateur Rowing Association came off at Bowery Bay, L. I. Course, a not guaranteed mile and a half straightaway. Weather lowering, wind fresh, water lumpy. The following is the record:

Single-scull gigs—G. Freeth, Varuna B. C., 10m. 54s.; A. P. Walker second.

Junior single-scull shells—J. M. Douglas, V. B. C., 10m. 29s.; R. Hillman, Nautilus B. C., second; G. S. Muhling, V. B. C., and M. D. Hettrick, U. B. C., quit at a half-mile.

Senior four-oared shells—Seawanhaka B. C., A. Rave (bow), J. J. Fogarty, R. H. Pelton, C. G. Ross (stroke), 8m. 24s.; Varuna B. C. second.

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Four-oared gigs, with coxswains—Nautilus B. C., S. Manly (bow), C. Sutton, L. M. Mullaney, D. Voorhees (stroke), J. Schallenberg (coxswain), 8m. 43s.; Varuna B. C. second; Seawanhaka B. C. third; Ariel B. C. fourth.

Junior four-oared shells—Nautilus B. C., A. S. Oswald (bow), A. Petersen, H. S. Ayers, A. Hillman (stroke), 8m. 37s.; Pioneer B. C. second, and Varuna crew third.

Double-scull shells—Varuna B. C., G. E. Laing (bow), T. Heild (stroke), first; Nautilus B. C., A. H. Beckwith (bow), B. J. Johnson (stroke) second.

Senior single-scull shells—A. Rave, S. B. C., first; J. F. Hettrick, N. B. C., finished first, but was disqualified for fouling Rave; G. Freeth, V. B. C., did not go the correct course.

Eight-oared shells, with coxswains—Passaic B. C., H. P. Cashion (bow), A. J. Stephens, J. Chambury, B. Van Clief, Jr., C. A. Lunjack, F. Freeman, J. Weldon, M. Quigley (stroke), E. L. Rodrigo (coxswain), first; Union B. C., P. Schile (bow), J. W. Bell, R. Haubold, G. W. Kuchier, E. Weinacht, M. B. Kaesche, G. W. Eliz, R. Schile (stroke), H. Roche (coxswain), second, by half a length; Nonpariel R. C., G. Bates (bow), J. Hannon, J. M. Miller, W. Talbett, T. F. Wade, H. C. Boedecker, J. Canavan, I. Maas (stroke), H. W. Nelson (coxswain), third, by half a length; Pioneer B. C., A. Kuhn (bow), M. Muldener, R. Whitney, W. A. Boger, J. F. Caldwell, W. Tucker, T. Sanderson, W. Zaiss (stroke), G. L. Thatcher (coxswain), fourth, by a length; Atalanta B. C., A. Davenport (bow), O. Fuchs, M. Lau, W. H. Van Milligen, J. Mullen, W. Lau, E. H. Patterson, B. Jackson (stroke), E. P. K. Coffin (coxswain) fifth.

THE second annual regatta of the Duluth Boat Club took place at Duluth, August 18, with the following results:

First race, pleasure boats, for Bement cup, between B. F. Myers, John Chisholm, Duncan McLeod, W. E. Perry and Tom Moore; Myers and Chisholm won by a length and a half; Perry and Moore second.

Second race, single-scull—H. Pearson and W. B. Silvey; won by Pearson by one length.

Third race, four-oared—first crew, F. D. Banning (stroke); W. B. Silvey, third; H. W. Pearson, second; H. L. Mahon (bow).

Second crew—Dean Burke (stroke), F. A. Lewis third, McLeod second, W. B. McLean (bow). Won by first crew with 15 seconds handicap.

Fourth race, single-scull, for novices, between J. L. Hopkins, Raymond Moore, W. B. McLean. Won by Moore, with Hopkins second.

Fifth race, double-sculls—J. L. Hopkins and H. S. Mahon; H. D. Pearson and Raymond Moore. Won by Pearson and Moore.

THE Chicago Navy held its second annual regatta on Lake Calumet, at Pullman, Ill., August 11. Course, one and a half miles and return, except for the canoe races, which were one mile straightaway. The day was cool and the water rough. The following is the summary of the events:

Junior four-oared shells—Pullman Athletic Club Crew No. 1, Wm. Fleeman (bow), L. Haas, A. Banderob, Wm. Henderson (stroke) defeated Crew No. 2, same club, who swamped.

Tandem canoes, one mile—Tippy Canoe Club, A. W. Kitchen and W. M. Dunham, first; Pappoose Canoe Club, R. P. McCune and W. B. Lavinia, second; Social Athletic Club, A. Gundelach and F. J. Essig, third.

Double-scull training boats—Delaware Boat Club, John F. Korf and William Weinand, first, in 11m. 10s.; Pullman Athletic Club, Harvey Madden and Ed. Fraser second, in 11m. 41s.

Class B canoes, one mile—Wm. M. Dunham, Tippy Canoe Club, first; R. P. McCune, Tippy Canoe Club, second.

Single-scull training boats—Wm. D. Hills, Ogden Boat Club, first, in 12m. 52s.; Elmer E. Beach, Delaware Boat Club, second; T. W. Reading, Catlin Boat Club, third; Edwin D. Neff, Ogden Boat Club, fourth.

Senior four-oared shells—Farragut Boat Club, G. B. Jennison (bow), H. C. Avery, Ed. Hunter, Chas. G. Plummer (stroke), first, in 10m. 18s.; Pullman Athletic Club, J. M. Price (bow), J. Henderson, Ed. Fraser, Harry Madden (stroke), second, in 10m. 26s.

Senior double sculls—Delaware Boat Club, E. C. Goff, William Weinand (stroke) rowed over alone.

Junior single sculls—E. C. Brown, Farragut Boat Club, first, in 12m. 9s.; W. S. McDowell, Iroquois Boat Club, second, in 12m. 10s.; Ed. Fraser, Pullman Athletic Club, third; Harry Madden, Pullman Athletic Club, fourth; L. M. F. Whitehead, Iroquois Boat Club, fifth.

Class A canoes, one mile—A. W. Kitchen, Tippy Canoe Club, first; A. Gundelach, Social Athletic Club, second; Will Lavinia, Pappoose Canoe Club, third; F. J. Essig, Social Athletic Club, fourth.

Senior single sculls—John F. Corbett, Farragut Boat Club, scratch, first, in 13m. 5s.; W. S. McDowell, Iroquois Boat Club, 15s. start, second, in 13m. 20s., actual time.

Upset canoes, 150 yards—P. M. Cune defeated A. Gundelach.

Four-oared gigs—Union Boat Club, S. P. Avery (bow), F. C. Avery, G. A. Wheeler, Wm. Avery (stroke), F. Avery (coxswain), first, in 10m. 43s.; Catlin Boat Club, H. C. Michaels (bow), C. T. Goff, H. A. Cronin, T. W. Reading (stroke), H. P. Hallinan (coxswain), second, in 10m. 53s.; Delaware Boat Club, J. J. Cummiskey (bow), J. F. Reedy, L. Zimmerman, M. Hartnett (stroke), A. J. Pedersen (coxswain), third; Pullman Athletic Club, J. Dunner (bow), J. Allen, J. W. Walpole, T. Chadwick (stroke), W. McDonald (coxswain), fourth.

Tub race—G. B. Jennison, first; A. T. Fake, second; Guy McLean not finishing.

Referee, E. M. Schenck; timekeepers, W. F. Fowler, E. D. Neff and T. P. Hallinan; judges, L. B. Glover, G. A. McClellan and George Lunt; at turn, Fred Wild and C. B. Beach.

THE Institute Boat Club, of Newark, held its tenth annual regatta on the Passaic River, September 1. The distance in all the races was a mile straightaway.

The single-scull race was won in 8m. 59s. by F. Colburn.

Three crews were entered for the double-scull gig race, which was won in 10m. 50s. by the crew composed of James T. Smith, T. Crane and P. O’Toole.

The six-oared gig race had two entries. It was won in 7m. 22s. by J. Monahan, J. J. Kelly, J. Behan, H. Hoey, W. Dempsey, O. F. Conlon and J. H. Knowles.

J. J. Kenny and E. J. Carney won the double-scull shell race in 7m. 32s.

There were five entries in the swimming race, which was won by P. J. O’Toole. The officers of the day were F. R. Fortemeyer, referee, and F. P. Crane, judge at the finish.

[Pg 94]

SWIMMING.

THE annual contests for the amateur swimming championship of the United States took place August 25, on Long Island sound, under the auspices of the New York Athletic Club, in front of that organization’s new home on Travers Island. The weather and water conditions were favorable. The result of the contests were as follows:

100 yards—Herman Braun, Pastime Athletic Club, first, in 1m. 16 1-5s, thus beating the American record for the distance; H. E. Touissaint, New York Athletic Club, second, close up, the finish being the same as it was last year.

One mile—Herman Braun, Pastime Athletic Club, first, in 26m. 57s.; William Brice, West Side Athletic Club, second, in 28m. 11s.; F. T. Wells, New York Athletic Club, third, in 28m. 16s. Braun led from the start.

JACK WILLIAMS, the Canadian natator, August 12, swam down the Mississippi River from Alton, Ill., to St. Louis—twenty-five miles—with his hands strapped to his sides and his legs bound together. The current was running at the rate of three miles an hour, and he accomplished the journey in a little over eight hours, propelling himself by working his legs, and swimming the entire distance on his back.

THE first swimming tournament of the Young Men’s Christian Association took place on the Harlem River, September 1. Captain Connell, of the Dauntless Boat Club, acted as referee.

The first was the half-mile race for members, and brought out the following: W. Kennell, N. Johnson, C. Curtiss and F. C. Schwartz. Kennell won easily in 14m. 41s.; Johnson second.

For the mile race only three competitors put in an appearance: Chas. Holdeman, a one-legged man; C. Bell, Pastime Athletic Club, and R. Ruhl. The race was virtually a walk-over for Bell, who made the mile in 27m. 14s.; Holdeman second in 28m. 21s.

Nine men competed in the 100-yard swimming race. At the word “Go” all dived simultaneously. Al Cammacho cut out the work, with W. C. Johnson second, and the rest strung out in a straggling line. Cammacho won, after a hard struggle with Johnson, in 1m. 17 2-5s.

TRAP.

THE New York Suburban Shooting Grounds Association is a corporation recently organized under the laws of the State of New Jersey. At a recent meeting it elected the following officers: Charles Richards, president; August Schmitt, vice-president; Charles M. Hathaway, treasurer; O. E. Morton, secretary. Board of directors: Charles Richards, August Schmitt, Charles M. Hathaway, O. E. Morton, Charles Tatham, Hugh O’Neill, Charles B. Reynolds, J. P. Dannefelser and David Ellis. The grounds of the club are located at Claremont, N. J., on the Central Railroad of N. J., close by the depot. It takes but eighteen minutes to reach them from the foot of Liberty Street.

This association is not a club in the ordinary sense of the word, but a business enterprise, which the originators believe is certain of success from the start, as it is a well-known fact that there are thousands of gun owners in this city alone who have no convenient place to shoot, and who for many reasons do not care to join an ordinary gun club, where, in most cases, a few ruling spirits monopolize all the prizes, and make their expenses in shooting sweepstakes at the cost of the majority who are less proficient. It is believed that these grounds offer special inducements to the beginner and to those who wish to improve themselves in marksmanship. It is the object of this association to elevate the standard of this sport, and make trap-shooting one of the popular amusements of the day.

YACHTING.

THE Larchmont Yacht Club gave its annual oyster-boat regatta August 18. It came off with its usual success. The following is the official summary:

CLASS 1—CABIN SLOOPS OVER 35 FEET.
 
Start.
Finish.
Elapsed.
Corr’d.
 
H.
M.
S.
H.
M.
S.
H.
M.
S.
H.
M.
S.
Watson
12
30
33
5
44
20
5
13
47
5
12
17
Lizzie D. Bell
12
28
34
5
47
11
5
18
37
5
13
22
C. D. Smith
12
34
34
6
11
02
5
36
28
5
36
28
CLASS 2—CABIN SLOOPS UNDER 35 FEET.
Jennie Baker
12
29
44
5
55
00
5
25
16
5
19
16
Allie Ray
12
30
31
5
57
12
5
26
41
5
24
26
Bertha
12
28
39
5
59
52
5
31
13
5
31
13
Lucy Neal
12
30
47
6
14
10
5
43
22
5
40
16
Alice B.
12
29
40
6
18
29
5
48
49
5
42
57
Maggie Holly
12
28
45
6
22
26
5
53
41
5
43
56

Annie K., 12 33 38, Puritan, 12 29 33, and Eliza Bird, 12 29 57, did not finish.

CLASS 3—OPEN SLOOPS OVER 30 FEET.
Loon
12
32
20
6
19
28
5
47
08
5
47
08
CLASS 4—OPEN SLOOPS UNDER 30 FEET.
Jennie A. Willis
12
36
33
5
59
25
5
22
52
5
19
15
Addie B.
12
36
44
6
03
10
5
26
26
5
21
11
Delphine
12
31
53
6
02
33
5
30
40
5
26
10
Minnie S.
12
31
42
6
02
00
5
31
18
5
27
18
Emma C.
12
30
15
6
02
50
5
32
35
5
27
50
Florence May
12
28
52
6
02
40
5
33
48
5
33
48

Georgie B., 12 29 44, Curlew, 12 32 11, and Frou-Frou, 12 36 05, did not finish.

CLASS 5—CATRIGGED BOATS.
Joke
12
32
05
6
27
48
5
55
43
5
43
58
Fannie M.
12
32
24
6
50
28
6
18
04
5
57
19
Barthenia
12
28
27
6
49
09
6
20
42
6
20
42

THE Cape Cod Yacht Club sailed the sixth race of the club off Orleans, August 11, in a light southeast wind. The courses were triangular 612 miles for first and second classes and 478 miles for third class. There were fifteen entries, and the winners were Madge in the first class, Mischief in the third class. The second class is to sail over again August 18. Summary:

FIRST CLASS.
 
Actual.
Corr’d.
 
H.
M.
S.
H.
M.
S.
Madge, Cummings & Howes
1
43
23
1
21
21
Percy Allen, F. S. Allen
1
46
20
1
22
27
No Name, A. Lake
1
57
54
1
32
07
Fawn, J. Smith
2
08
01
1
46
55
SECOND CLASS.
Mystery, George Dinnell
1
56
23
1
27
20
Leola, L. E. Nickerson
1
58
00
1
29
20
Pemigewassett, W. M. Crosby
2
11
17
1
30
34
Carrie L., George Clark
2
08
15
1
36
46
THIRD CLASS.
Sachem, A. A. Hurd
1
41
42
1
18
55
Mischief, E. Snow
1
46
17
1
29
00
Prince, P. Doane
1
54
38
1
33
59
Susan, J. Ryder
2
15
53
1
42
59
Rob Roy, H. Hewins
2
09
49
1
43
20
Tempest, E. Smith
2
11
39
1
46
40

Una, George Paxton, withdrew.

THE annual regatta of the Jersey City Yacht Club was sailed, August 18, in a light southerly breeze. The course was from a line between the judge’s boat and Bedloe’s Island; for class A to and around buoys 11 and 16 and return, keeping buoys on the port hand; for classes B, C and D, to and around buoy 15 and return, finishing at the club-house; for class E, to and around Ellis’ Island, twice over the course, and class F, to and around Robbins’ Reef[Pg 95] bell buoy and return. The time allowance was one minute to the foot. The chief interest centred about the Naushon and Gertrude, but they were not able to finish. The following table gives the result:

CLASS A.

Gertrude, 1 53 50, and Naushon, 1 55 00, did not finish.

CLASS B.
 
Start.
Finish.
Elapsed.
Corr’d.
 
H.
M.
S.
H.
M.
S.
H.
M.
S.
H.
M.
S.
Eleanor
12
41
00
5
26
20
4
45
00
4
42
50
Mary
12
44
00
5
35
00
4
51
00
4
51
00
CLASS C.
Knight Templar
12
45
06
4
02
00
3
17
54
3
17
54
Psyche
12
52
35
5
37
00
4
45
25
4
41
25
CLASS D.
Bessie
12
43
00
4
03
10
3
20
10
3
20
10
Jessie G.
12
41
05
Did not finish.
CLASS E.
Emma
12
17
00
1
53
00
1
36
00
1
36
00
May E.
12
16
00
1
55
00
1
39
00
1
37
00
CLASS F.
Alanta
 2
25
30
3
30
00
1
04
30
1
04
30
Fannie
 2
25
00
Did not finish.

THE Newark Bay Yacht Club had an interesting race August 13. The course was a triangular one, twice round, making ten miles in all. There was a strong northwest wind blowing and a chop sea on. The following is the official record of the race:

CLASS 4.
 
Start.
Finish.
Elapsed.
Corr’d.
 
H.
M.
S. 
H.
M.
S.
H.
M.
S.
H.
M.
S.
Lizzie V.
3
19
04 
4
57
30
1
38
26
1
37
31
Ada B.
3
16
30 
4
56
00
1
39
30
1
37
50
Smuggler
3
15
00½
Disabled.
CLASS 5.
Annie C.
3
18
00 
5
03
20
1
45
20
1
45
20
Daisy
3
17
18 
5
07
48
1
50
40
1
48
36
Gala-Water
3
17
00 
5
08
02
1
51
02
1
51
27
Juliette
3
15
00 
Withdrew.

The Smuggler led round the course first round, when she was disabled, and had to give up.

SIXTYFOUR boats started in the third open regatta of the Beverly (Mass.) Yacht Club, sailed off Marblehead, Mass., on August 25. At the start the wind was light and unsteady from the south. The performances of the yachts were but ordinary. The winners were: Second class, J. Bryant’s Shadow; third class centreboards, C. C. Hanley’s Mucilage; third class keels, H. Babson’s Mignon; fourth class centreboards, C. L. Joy’s Sea Bird; fourth class keels, Hall and Johnson’s Thelga: fifth class centreboards, F. L. Dunne’s Mabel; fifth class keels, C. H. W. Foster’s Mosca; sixth class, H. M. Faxon’s Rocket; jib and mainsail class, G. Hutchins’ Eureka.

THE Canarsie Yacht Club held a race from off their club-house, in Jamaica Bay, to Rockaway Inlet buoy and return, August 25. The weather was fine, with a fairly good west wind, and the half dozen boats participating made excellent time over the course. They turned the outer mark in the following order: Birdie W.KateLizzie R.BelleAmericus and Klam. They retained these positions all the way home, the Birdie W. taking the prize of $50 and 25 per cent. of the sweepstakes.

THE annual regatta of the Corinthian Yacht Club, of Boston, took place August 18, off Marblehead. The winners were: special class, E. C. Neal’s Magic; first class keels, W. P. Fowle’s Saracen; first class centreboards, C. C. Hanley’s Mucilage; second class keels, Everett Paine’s Brenda; second class centreboards, Aaron Brown’s Black Cloud; third class centreboards, W. Abbott’s Coyote; fourth class keels, Rufus Benner’s Vesper; fifth class centreboards, W. P. Tave’s Alpine.

THE American Yacht Club, of Newburyport, Mass., held a second open regatta on August 14, the courses being respectively fifteen, twelve and eight miles. Results: First class, Mignon first, in 2h. 44m. 12s.; Hazard, second, 2h. 49m. 2s., corrected time. Second class, White Cloud first, 2h. 29m. 58s., corrected time; Climax second, 2h. 31m. 26s. Third class, Alpine first, in 1h. 36m., corrected time; Pert second, 1h. 40m. 6s.

THE annual fall regatta of the Larchmont Yacht Club took place September 1. A light wind prevailed at the time of starting, but dark clouds in the southeast looked as though they held more wind than water. The breeze continued to freshen, and before eleven it looked as if it would remain. The wind, however, disappointed all expectations, and after enticing the fleet over the starting-line left the yachts to finish in the “doldrums.” The following is the award of the regatta committee, announcing the winners. In class E, the schooner Agnes won; in class 4, the Mischief or Anaconda, subject to remeasurement; in class 7, the Baboon first and Nymph second; in class 8, Iseul beat her competitors; class 9, Amazon captured the prize; class 11, Lackshmi won; class 12, Sirene was a victor, and in class 16, Ione.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

[This department of OUTING is devoted to answers to correspondents seeking information on subjects appertaining to all sports.]

Fox-terrier, Brooklyn.—There is no great difficulty in removing warts from a dog’s eyelids. Take a forceps and a sharp penknife; then raise the wart with the forceps and cut out the wart, afterwards touching the wound with nitrate of silver. The other question is more difficult to answer, for, without seeing the dog, it is hard to say whether he is suffering from distemper or not. Your safest course is to consult a good veterinary surgeon.

Transatlantic, Washington, D. C.—All kinds of cures have been suggested for sea-sickness, and in cocaine the doctors seemed to think they had found the long-sought relief. Nothing, however, to the best of our experience, can equal good champagne and cracked ice as a preventive. The Perrier-Jouet of Messrs. Du Vivier & Co., 49 Broad Street, New York, and the Great Western Champagne, sold by H. B. Kirk & Co. (see page xv.), are wines we can heartily recommend.

Druid, Cleveland, O.—There is to be an International University boat-race next year between England and America. The details are, we believe, not yet settled; but it is much to be hoped that the winner of the Yale-Harvard race will meet the winner of the Oxford-Cambridge race.

Amphibious, Long Branch.—You will find that the unpleasant condition of your skin and head, which you describe, is undoubtedly the result of too much salt-water bathing. This is best remedied by taking fresh-water baths, and using a soap of good hygienic properties, such as Packer’s Tar Soap. You can obtain this at most druggists’, or if not, from the Packer Mfg. Co.

Sportsman, Baltimore, Md.—We think you will find that the prejudice against machine-loaded car[Pg 96]tridges has entirely vanished from the public mind. This has been in a great measure brought about by the excellence of the Peters cartridge. It is agreed now that for pattern, penetration, and absence of recoil this cartridge is unexcelled, while, whatever may be the chemical constituents of the Peters wad, no cartridge loaded with black powder leaves the barrel so clean and unfouled. In every respect it compares more than favorably with the hand-loaded crimped shell.

Sprinter, Detroit, Mich.—C. H. Sherrill, New Haven, Conn., on June 15, 1888, made a record of 15s. for 150 yards, and on the same day, 25 4-5s. for 250 yards. These are, we believe, the latest amateur records for those distances. The Secretary of the Chicago Amateur Athletic Association is George L. Wilson, 241 Lake Street.

Horse-master, Charleston, S. C.—The breast-strap is seldom used in England in place of the collar. It is in some measure no doubt due to the fact that English people use much heavier vehicles than are in vogue in America. With at all a heavy weight, the breast-strap confines the shoulders.

Tennis Enthusiast, Boston, Mass.—(1) H. W. Slocum and Howard A. Taylor are graduates of the rival Universities. Mr. Slocum graduated from Yale in the class of ’83, and Mr. Taylor from Harvard in ’85. (2) Mr. Taylor is the junior by some three years. (3) Mr. Taylor plays with his left hand.

G. B. T., Fellowcraft Club.—Fishes Eddy is on the New York, Ontario & western Railway, 154 miles from New York, with two trains each way daily. It has one small hotel. It is located on the East Branch of the Delaware. The country is wild, mountainous, and abounds in game both large and small—deer, black bear, partridge and woodcock. The trout fishing in the small streams and lakes is excellent. Guides can be had for about $3.00 per day.

A. L. M., Boston, Mass.—The recent high commendations given to Californian brandy by the medical journals would seem to point to its decided superiority to French products. The brand which we should specially recommend to your notice is the Royal Grape Brandy, furnished by the California Vintage Company, 21 Park Place, N. Y.

Bird Hunter, Washington, D. C.—Audubon explains the “drumming” of the cock pheasant as follows. After telling how the bird struts and plumes itself on some decayed trunk, he continues: “The bird draws the whole of its feathers close to its body and, stretching itself out, beats its sides with its wings in the manner of the domestic cock, but more loudly, and with such rapidity of motion, after a few of the first strokes, as to cause a tremor in the air, not unlike the rumbling of thunder.” Indeed, this seems to be the only method vouchsafed by nature for the cock to summon his mate in the early spring, during the period of incubation.

Amateur Photographer, Albany, N. Y.—You can procure the outfit you require from the Rochester Optical Company, who are perfectly reliable dealers.

PRINCETON HEARD FROM.

THE following communication from W. L. Hodge, of Princeton, is given a place in OUTING with a view to making as perfect as possible the data of college baseball. No intention to do Princeton an injustice was intended by Mr. Chadwick, whose interest in the progress of the game with which his name is so honorably associated is now as great as it was in years gone by when the game and the veteran were younger. OUTING is ever ready to correct an error as well as to vindicate the truth.

To the Editor of OUTING:

DEAR SIR,—I have just this moment finished reading an article in the August number of OUTING entitled “Baseball in the Colleges,” by Henry Chadwick, and beg leave to correct several mistakes which he makes, and by which he does Princeton gross injustice. At the close of the article he gives a summary of the championship matches played between 1880–88, inclusive, and says Harvard won the championship in 1882. Now, if he will refer to his tabulated summary, he will find that instead of Harvard winning the championship in that year, she was third in the race, winning five and losing five games, while, if I remember rightly, Princeton and Yale tied for the championship, and Yale won the tie game played in New Haven. Yale has never lost the championship but once, and that was in 1885. Again, he says that Princeton was third on the list during the whole period from 1880 to 1888, inclusive. Now, if Mr. Chadwick will refer to his summary once more, he will see that Harvard has held that honorable position quite as often as Princeton, for in 1888 Princeton was a close second, tried for second place in 1881, and won the second place in 1882 and 1883, Harvard being a bad third. In 1885 Princeton and Yale tried for second place, and Princeton won the “play-off” game at New Haven by the score of 15 to 13. I simply mention these facts to do Princeton justice.

Yours,
W. L. HODGE, Princeton, ’88.

AS we go to press we hear with great pleasure of the victory of our lawn tennis correspondent, Mr. V. G. Hall with his partner Mr. O. S. Campbell in the double championship tournament at Staten Island.

OUR PREMIUM.

OUTING readers, not regular subscribers to the magazine, will find it to their advantage to consult the advertising pages xx. and xxiv. Subscribers to other publications should consult our Clubbing Rates on p. xx.

During the approaching Australian Baseball Tour (see advertisement page), Mr. Harry Palmer, the noted baseball writer, will act as the special correspondent of OUTING. Mr. Palmer will accompany the party throughout the trip, from October 15, the date of the start, and will regularly send full and interesting accounts, to appear in the different issues of OUTING. We feel sure that our readers will take a keen interest in these articles. In OUTING for November will appear an article by him giving the intended program of the teams as they proceed on their long westward journey, besides many interesting details of the personnel of the party.