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Papa says his comfort this Spring 
and Summer de pends on 



Collars, CurFS and Shirts 



W /HEN a collar presses against the neck it feels uncomfortable* quickly wilts in warm 
V V weather, and does not look as its designer intended* The only remedy is to have ft 
properly fitted to the shirt . LION BRAND collars and shirts are made to fit each other* 
with cuffs to match, and insure cool, comfortable, stylish ease. They are made of the 
finest fabrics in the market, by the best workmen in the world, offering every variety of 
design in both form and color.. 

Two collars or two cuffs cost 25 cents* It doesn't pay to pay more* Shirts cost %l, 
$£•50, or $2, according to the kind you want, Ask your (umisher. If he doesn't carry 
them in stock we will send the name of one who wilf supply you. Do not send us money* 


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APRIL. 1901 

No. 1 



By Charles F. W. Mielatz 


r HAT do I think of tarpon fish- 
ing ?" asked Bagley, explosive- 
ly. " Tarpon fishing is a string 
with a hunk of mullet at one end and a 
fool at the other." 

Bagley had not been having the best 
of success tarpon fishing and was taking 
pessimistic views of life. If Dr. van 
Dyke had happened by to hail him with 
the cheerful query of "What luck?" 
the answer, most likely, would have been 
a snarl. Bagley was one of those roving 
Englishmen who have done most things 
and want to do all. He had killed tigers 
in India, Big Horn in the Rockies, and 
salmon in Scotland. Finally, as he said, 
he was "pigging it" on the west coast of 
Florida to do battle with the Silver King. 
He would not admit that tarpon fishing 
was better than salmon fishing, for he main- 
tained that salmon are educated fish. But 
for one reason or another, though he had 
been fast to a numl>er of tarpon, he had 
not yet been able to count the capture of 
one to his rod. He had tried all manner of 
bait and lures: mullet, silver mullet, angel 
fish, king fish, phantom minnows, white rag, 
and, finally, crabs — great, juicy, green crabs 
— and thereby hangs this tale. 

Tarpon, he soon found, have a way of 
doing things that is ail their own. They 
would strike at his lure; he would play 
them for fifteen or twenty minutes, perhaps 
half an hour, only to have the fish come to 
the surface at last and cast his bait to 
the winds. 

A tarpon, you understand, will rush at 
your bait, get it too, and if he succeeds in 
closing his mouth on the bait before you 
strike it is simply impossible to hook him, 
as he holds it like a vise. Unless the hook 
pricks him it is a long time before he makes 
up his mind to let go. He will rush about 
wildly, running this way and that, and 
making marvellous leaps. Of course, the 
strain on the line prevents him from swallow- 
ing the bait, but he does not realize that he 
cannot swallow until his jaws get tired. 
Meantime, you have no way of knowing 
that he is not hooked, and you are making 
every effort to bring him to terms which 
will admit of gaffing. This takes not only 
skill but muscle as well. It must be con- 
fessed, that it is not a pleasant thing, after 
fighting for half an hour, with your arms 
aching and your fingers so numb you can 
hardly take a turn on the reel, to see the fish 
come to the surface of the water and send 
your bait flying at you. It is a sight that 
makes you think things, yes, and even say 
them to relieve your feelings. The tarpon 
has no teeth. His mouth is a bony cavern, 
built very much on the principle of a stone 
crusher. Why he attacks a lure with open 
mouth, it is hard to say. When feeding 
he will dart into a school of mullet and lay 
about him with his tail at a terrific rate. 
After he has stunned, or killed, all the 
mullet within reach, he will leisurely turn 
about and pick up the pieces. 

But to go back to Bagley. When he 
made his revision of the famous definition of 

Copyright, 1901, by the Outino Publishing Company. All rights reserved. 

Bagley *s Crab-Eating Tarpon 

fishing, we were sitting in Van Dorn's social 
tent on the north end of Captiva Key, talk- 
ing over the successes and disasters of the 
day. There had been a lot of hard work 
done, but the fish had not taken hold well, 
though they were plentiful in the Pass. 
They seemed to play with the lures. In 
several instances fish had been on for 
periods ranging from five minutes to an 
hour, only to be lost at last. Most of the 
party, however, had one fish each to their 
credit; Bagley and Ramsey excepted. 
Bagley felt that he had fared rather worse 
than the rest. Tackle had been smashed, 
hands cut; there had been a broiling sun and 
an exasperating wind; the mosquitoes bit 
fiercely and the sandflies were enough to 
drive a man to drink. It was by reason of 
this last consideration that we had gathered 
in Van's tent. Every one called him Van 
affectionately. He is a keen sportsman and 
a jolly host, and he had an ice cavern under 
his tent, with plenty of Scotch and soda at 
the proper temperature. Even these failed 
to cheer up Bagley. He had begun the day 
by getting fast to a jewfish weighing nearly 
two hundred pounds, and it had taken him 
two hours to get the beast ashore. His next 
capture was a mackerel shark which kept 
him guessing for the better part of another 
hour. Then he did get fast to a tarpon — 
one of the kind that simply starts in and rips 
up everything. Bagley, having it in mind 
that he had lost a fine fish the day before by 
playing him too hard, began by playing this 
one easy, and let him run. The fish did run. 
He ran out almost all of the line before 
Bagley had succeeded in making up his 
mind what he intended to do, and when he 
had gone nearly the two hundred yards, he 
turned, and with the speed of an express 
train, came at the boat; stopping directly 
under it. 

By the time Bagley had reeled in all his 
line, his arms and fingers were tired and 
beginning to get stiff. The fish, on the 
contrary, having made the most of a chance 
to recover his wind, was ready for a new 
fray. So that, when Bagley put a strain on 
him again he hung to the bottom as if he had 
been anchored there. Bagley pulled and 
hauled, said some things and thought others, 
until he was almost out of breath. Then 
the fish came to the surface with a rush; 
breaking water not more than ten feet from 
the boat, with every appearance of intending 
to come in. Bagley shifted his rod, prepared 

to jump at a moment's notice. Even the 
guide made ready to get out, but the tarpon 
went clear over the boat, turned, and with 
the line running under the boat, headed for 
the open sea like one possessed. As the oars 
were unshipped in the excitement it took a 
little time to get things straightened out 
again. When all was clear to go after the 
fish most of the line was out once more; the 
tarpon was still heading for the open, and, as 
the tide was running flood, it was a struggle 
of no mean order to get any of the line back. 

But Bagley was game. He stuck to it. 
He put on all the strain he could and got 
in his line as the guide pushed the boat out 
toward the bar. As they approached it, 
Bagley found that his arms and fingers 
had become so lame he could do very little 
in the way of holding the fish, and the 
guide started back for the Pass. The 
moment he turned, and the fish felt the 
strain of the line, he simply bucked out to 
sea, right into the surf which was running 
high. The guide followed, pushing the boat 
out as far as he dared, while Bagley, unable 
to take another turn on the reel, had to sit 
there and see his line go out. 

All at once, however, the line stopped and 
Bagley began, cramped as he was, to reel 
in, thinking the fish had broken away. 
Then the fish broke water, coming toward the 
boat in leaps — no sooner back into the 
water than out again. He passed in a 
magnificent jump, breaking water alongside 
and within arm's length of the boat. Bagley 
was all alive now, and reeled in with might 
and main, intent on getting all the line 
possible. In fact, so intent was he that when 
the strain did come, it was with such a sudden 
jerk that the crank was knocked from between 
his thumb and forefinger, and spun around in 
the wrong direction with a scream that was 
really agonizing to the much enduring 
Bagley. He looked appealingly to Peter, 
the guide, as though to say : 

"Let him go. I'm done for!" 

But he soon braced up again, vowing he 
wouldn't throw the rod overboard, but if it 
had to go he would go with it. The tarpon 
stopped, after a run of fifty or sixty yards, 
and Bagley began to get back some of his 
line, recovering quite half of it before the 
fish moved again. Then the fish started 
off with a run once more — this time not 
straight away but circling about the boat. 
Peter remarked at this point that it had 
been a long time ^e^^ 

Bagley's Crab-Eating Tarpon 

so wild. He was in and out of the water as 
often as five times a minute. Just here the 
cause of the tarpon's activity was made 
plain — the huge dorsal fin of a leopard shark 
lifted in his wake. Bagley seeing it, knew 
that his part of the battle was over. He 

took off the brake and let the line run loose, 
as any strain he could have put on the 
tarpon from that moment would only help 
the shark. The fish made a great fight, 
while Bagley looked on with a commendable 
degree of resignation, hoping that the tarpon 

'the shark shot up into the air with his chase in his ugly mouth. 

Digitized by 



Bagley's Crab-Eating Tarpon 

might cast the hook and so be relieved of 
the necessity of towing about a hundred or 
more yards of line. For, after all, it is the 
friction on the line that does the real work 
in killing the Silver King. The fish did 
not take out much more as the battle 
circled about the boat. Gradually the 
tarpon's leaps became shorter, his move- 
ments slower. With one more effort he 
gave up the fight. He made a last tre- 
mendous jump. A moment after he had 
fallen back into the water, the shark shot 
up into the air with his chase in his ugly 
mouth. He made two bites of the tarpon 
and, in swallowing the head, virtually 
hooked himself on Bagiey's line. And as 
Bagley hadn't the strength to fight a fifteen- 
foot leopard shark, the only thing to do in 
the circumstances was to cut loose. 

Bagley came ashore about half alive, and, 
after the manner of some perverse in- 
dividuals, he didn't blame the shark, or the 
tide, or even say it was just his luck. It 
was the tarpon that was to blame for his 
discomfiture. The experiences he had un- 
dergone, the magnificent battle between the 
shark and the tarpon went for naught. He 
was venting his spleen entirely on the tarpon. 

"O, never mind," said Van, banteringly, 
"you'll learn to do better after you have 
killed a fish or two." 

"You must be patient," said Ramsey, a 
prominent member of the Myopia Hunt. 
Surely Ramsey was an example of patience, 
for he had been down three successive 
seasons and had killed nothing more than a 
grouper or two. 

" Well, they aren't game in the sense that 
salmon are," Bagley persisted. "Why, 
tarpon are mere crab eaters. Nothing but 
crab eaters, sir!" 

"Have you ever killed one with a crab?" 
Van inquired, quizzically. 

No, he had not; but he had seen one of 
Morton's fish cut open a few days before, 
and he was full of crabs. And crab eaters, 
to his mind, were not game. 

" In fact," Bagley continued, " I'll bet five 
pounds that I can go out there in the morn- 
ing," waving his hand in the direction of 
the Pass, " put a crab on my hook, and get 
fast to a tarpon in an hour." 
* "I'll take that bet," said Van, "and 
furnish the crabs." 

Bagley seemed taken back for a single 
instant, but Jie was not the man to give in. 

" Done!" he said, decisively. 

"Joe," said Van to his bait man, "you 
and Toni go over to the Bayou and get a 
bushel of crabs for Mr. Bagley to fish with in 
the morning. Have them ready by seven 
o'clock. The tide will be about right then." 

"Well, boys," said Van, turning to the 
assembly. " Let's have a night-cap. We'll 
have some fun to-morrow." 

None of us suspected at the moment how 
fully Van's prophecy was to be realized. 

Everybody turned out early the next 
morning. The weather was peculiar. We 
had not been through a rainy season in 
Florida, but it was near at hand. And as it 
sometimes happens in the north we get a real 
spring day in March, or a touch of Winter at 
the end of October, so, there, we were 
going to have a foretaste of what the 
rainy season really means in Florida. The 
sky was magnificent with great cumulous 
clouds at the beginning, turning gradu- 
ally to a hazy condition as the morning wore 
on, and then into the clear sky with those 
little floating cotton balls that the southwest 
wind brings. Finally in the distance to 
windward a purplish blue spot appeared, 
and in five minutes it was as black as pitch 
on every side, and raining in torrents. In 
another five minutes the sun was shining as 
brightly as ever and with more power than 
before the rain. After a short interval, a 
second shower passed over the south end 
of Acosta Key, to the north of the 

As we started for the Pass to fish we all 
stopped on the way to see Bagley take 
aboard his crabs, and then went on to 
what luck might have in store for us. I 
made up my mind to keep as near to Bagley 
as possible. We were all anxious to see 
what was going to happen. But for artistic 
reasons I really chose a rather indifferent 
anchorage as far as fishing was concerned. 
I had a very fine lure. It was a leather 
fish which, by the way, gives you double 
sport, as he is a fine, clean-cut silver-sided 
fellow, with lemon-colored fins and tail. 
He takes the fly and averages from a half 
pound to one pound in weight, and affords 
fine sport on a four-ounce rod. In fact, 
leather fish make an astonishing fight; I 
have seen them go fully twenty feet through 
the air from the point where they broke 
water. They travel close to the shore, com- 
ing in on the first hours of the flood and 
going out on the first hours of the ebb, and 
can be taken by casting off the beach. I 

Digitized by 


Bagley's Crab-Eating Tarpon 

have taken as many as seven out of a 
school by following them along shore. 

I waited until Bagley had cast his crab and 
then let go my leather fish. Just as my lure 
struck the water I felt the raindrops on the 
back of my neck. A hasty look over the 
shoulder showed me as wicked-looking a 
torrent coming over the water as it has ever 
been my lot to see. In a moment all was 
black again. It is more than likely that 
that glance cost me a fine fish, for one 
struck my lure with fury and I attempted a 
belated strike, just in time to see the fish 
break water, casting my leather fish in one 
direction and my hook in another. I was 
saying to myself, "Well, they're here this 
morning," when I heard a yell sounding 
through the rain, evidently from ' Bagley. 
Then the shower drowned everything. I 
was reeling in as best I could in the down- 
pour, a fair share of which was working its 
way under my collar, when Bagley's boat 
bumped against mine. 

"Hello," I called. "What's up?" 

" I've got him on," shouted Bagley. 

" Are you sure," I yelled. 

"Saw him break water," called Bagley, 
as he disappeared in the darkness. 

Well, this shower lasted fully ten minutes, 
then it eased up, but did not clear. A mist 
seemed to follow the shower, and, for a few 
minutes all was a smoky haze. Then it shut 
in black again, and the rain seemed to come 
down harder than ever. There was some 
shouting in the distance but I was very 
much occupied with my own affairs. Philip 
was bailing the water out of the boat as 
fast as possible, and my tackle was all afloat. 
But after about fifteen minutes it cleared 
away and we began to steam again in the 
heat of the sun. I stood up and made out 
Bagley pretty well over at the other side of 
the Pass. He had a fish on, I could see, 
but the fish did not show himself during 
my observation. Noting the positron of the 
other boats, I wondered how he had got to 
that place without tangling up the whole 
fleet. At this time two more boats were fast 
to fish, and I had a strike, so that for the 
next half hour I had all I could attend to, 
but in the end the fish cast my bait. 

Then I looked about again for Bagley. 
He was some distance out in the Pass, on 
the edge of another shower, which soon shut 
him, and the rest of us, completely in. I 
lost him again for twenty minutes. In the 
meantime, Van's fish had broken water 

right under the stern of my boat and tangled 
up* the lines, so that we were in a pretty 
pickle. This chap seemed to have a grudge 
against me, and showed an overmastering 
desire to get into my boat,breaking water 
all around and splashing it into her by pail- 
fuls. When this shower cleared away, Bag- 
ley was close at hand. I watched him for 
awhile, keeping a lookout at the same time 
on my line and Van's fish. Suddenly there 
was a tremendous pull on my line. A fish 
had taken my lure entangled with Van's line. 
He shot up into the air and then everything 
fell slack. I glanced over at Van, who was 
reeling in, and I knew that the strain of the 
second fish had cut both lines. 

Van headed for camp. Most of the others 
were already there. Morton was the only 
one who had a fish. Bagley was out of sight, 
in another shower, on the far side of the Pass. 

The one question all hands were trying to 
solve was: What did Bagley have on his 
hook ? No one seemed to have been near 
enough to him to find out; but Van had a 
twinkle in his eye. About this time we saw 
Bagley's boat heading slowly in our direc- 
tion. He disappeared in one more shower, 
and when that had passed he was close 
aboard, as the sailors say — close enough to 
hail. Ramsey asked what he had. Bagley 
answered that he had seen the fellow, but he 
was a beastly sulker. Bagley had at that 
time arrived at the deepest part of the Pass, 
and it did not seem possible that he could 
budge the fish from there. He strained his 
tackle almost to the breaking point, but 
the fish hung like a rock. 

Human endurance will tell in the long run, 
however, and finally the boat began to move 
in toward the point where we all aimed 
to land our fish, and slowly but steadily ap- 
proached shore. Bagley still had a lot of 1 ine 
out when his boat touched gravel. We 
stood about and offered such advice as helps 
the fisherman to keep his temper. The fish 
was coming in, though he still hung to the 
bottom. Bagley left his boat and backed 
up the beach, a manceuver that, to some 
extent, does away with the necessity of reel- 
ing, wtyile Peter went into the water with 
the gaff. And it was not until Peter got the 
gaff well into him that we saw the brownish 
yellow fins of a jewfishl 

Van grinned. Bagley collapsed. The fish 
weighed two hundred and sixty pounds, and 
it had taken Bagley four hours and a half to 
land it — a pretty good test of endurance. 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 



By Ernest Harold Baynes 

IF one knows what to look for, and where 
to look for it, the fields and woods 
are every bit as interesting in the 
winter as at any other season. Of course 
there are fewer birds than there will be 
when spring comes round, but those which 
are here are less wild, and have more time 
to become acquainted with us. Other 
animals too, are less nervous, and are 
inclined to be more friendly. They have 
no children to feel anxious about, and 
consequently they have more time to 
take an interest in our affairs than they 
will have when they are absorbed in par- 
ental duties. Hunger, too, doubtless plays 
its little part, and when an animal is hungry 
food will generally go a long way towards 
winning its affections. This fact is par- 
ticularly noticeable in the case of squirrels, 
who are sociable little fellows at almost 
any time, and only require to have their 
rights protected to induce them to come 
even into the streets of a city, with all 
the assurance of dogs or cats. In Fall 
River, Massachusetts, for instance, where 
they are kindly treated, I have picked 
them up on some of the principal streets. 
If we go out into the woods on a mild 
day at this season, we shall probably see 
two kinds of squirrels, the red and the 
gray; but if the day is very cold, we shall 
see the red one only. No weather seems 
too cold or too dismal for him, and his 
footprints might have been seen in the 
snow ♦ at any time through the winter. 
If we enter a wood which he owns, or 
thinks he owns, * which is ail the same to 
him, he will probably give us to under- 
stand that he doesn't in the least approve 
of trespassers. As likely as not he will 
be perched upon a butternut tree, squeak- 
ing and sputtering and throwing his little 
body forward in spasmodic jerks, his 
bushy tail quivering with excitement, as 
he beats a lively tattoo on the bark with 
his paws. He is not half as brave as he 

looks, however, and if we take a sudden 
step towards him, he will dodge behind 
a branch with a horrified squeal, or whisk 
into a hole in the trunk, whence he will 
presently poke his saucy, quivering little 
face, as much as to say, "Did you really 
mean it?" 

If we sit down on a log or old stump, he 
will soon get over his fright and excitement, 
and thinking, perhaps, that after all we are 
not as dangerous as we look, he will come 
down the tree in search of food. With his- 
tail straight out behind him, he will scamper 
across to a patch of ground from which the 
snow has melted, and there he will dart 
about, scratching and nosing amongst the 
dead leaves until he finds a nut. Seizing it 
in his teeth, he will scurry back up the tree, 
and take a position on a branch with his 
back to the trunk. With one eye on us, he 
will sit up on his hind legs and curve his tail 
gracefully over his back. Then he will take 
the nut in his little front paws, and soon 
we may hear a rapid chip-chip, chip- 
chip, chip-chip, as his chisel teeth cut 
through the hard shell. It will take 
him about ten minutes to eat the nut, 
and, after washing himself carefully with his 
paws, he will probably run off to play. Then 
he will remind us of a kitten as he rolls on his 
back, throws his feet into the air, chases his 
bushy tail round and round, and acts as 
though he had gone suddenly mad. Re- 
membering, no doubt, that someone is watch- 
ing him, he will presently become rational 
again, and dart away in search of another 

We cannot walk far among the big trees 
without seeing, in the top of some tall oak or 
chestnut, a mass of sticks and leaves, gener- 
ally of a light brown color. That is a gray 
squirrel's nest, and if we could climb up there 
and examine it, we should find a pair of gray 
squirrels fast asleep. On mild, sunny days, 
they wake up and come out for food and 
exercise ; and we may see them racing through 

Digitized by 


The Awakening of the Little Wood Folks 

the tree tops and taking tremendous leaps 
from one bending branch to another. Or we 
may see them hunting for nuts on the ground, 
or trying to reach the odd ones still hanging 
to the leafless trees. Many of these squirrels 
prefer to make a nest in a hollow in the tree 
itself, rather than in the upper branches, 
but in either case, they retire to it in the fall, 
and sleep away the greater part of the winter. 

In smaller holes, those made by downy 
woodpeckers by preference, the little flying 
squirrels have been sleeping since November. 
They are now beginning to wake up, and soon 
they will begin to prepare for housekeeping. 
Then, at dusk, we may see them come out of 
their holes, run up to the top of the tree, 
and, leaping into the air, sail away to an- 
other, and from that to the next, until they 
are lost in the gathering darkness. Of course 
they have no true wings; only membranes, 
which, when their legs are spread out wide, 
stretch like the covering of an umbrella 
from the wrists of the fore-legs to the wrists 
of the hind legs, as shown in the photo- 
graphic illustration. 

Under that stone-heap yonder a family of 
pretty, little striped chipmunks have been 
sleeping, but, unlike their flying cousins, 
they awoke every now ancl then, and went 
into the pantry which adjoins their bedroom, 
to make a good meal of wheat, beech nuts, 
or grass seeds, which they had stored away 
in the autumn. They have a number of 
galleries in their underground home, where, 
although we cannot see them, they doubt- 
less take a run occasionally to stretch their 
limbs after a long nap. They have two 
pouches, one on each side of the mouth, into 
which they can cram quite a quantity of 
food when they are out in the autumn doing 
their marketing for the winter. 

Their chief enemy at this time of the year 
is the white weasel or ermine, for with his 
long, narrow body, he can easily steal into 
the burrow of the sleepy little chipmunks, and 
kill them all before they have time to wake 
up. He usually pierces their skulls very 
skilfully with his sharp teeth, sucks the 
blood of one or two, and then lies down to 
take a nap after his exertions. Murder is 
a favorite pastime with him, for he often kills 
more victims than he has any use for. Some- 
times we may see him loping through the 
snow, following the tracks of a rabbit. No 
matter how far the rabbit may be ahead, 
there is only one sequel to that story, and 
the principal characters are a dead rabbit 

Photo by the Author. 


Digitized by" 




The Awakening of the Little Wood Folks 

Pboto by W. L. BrownoU. 

and a gorged weasel. The white weasel is 
white in the w jitter only ; just now he is shed- 
ding his snowy garment, and a fine new 
brown one will soon grow out in its place. He 
does not confine his attention to the murder 
of wild animals by any means, as the farmers 
often find to their sorrow; for to kill forty or 
fifty chickens is but an evenjng's amuse- 
ment for him. But, destructive as he is, the 
farmer will do "well to think twice before 
killing a weasel, for if there is any one occu- 
pation more delightful than another to this 

Pboto by tbe author. 


little creature, it is the destruction of rats. 
We may easily imagine that he is the ogre 
which rat mothers tell their disobedient 
children about; and the whole rat tribe has 
every reason to fear him. They shriek in- 
abject terror. at sight of him. He knows no 
mercy. He kills and gives no quarter. If 
he takes up his abode on a farm, there will, at 
any rate, be no more trouble from rats. 

If near the top of some big tree we see a 
large hole, the bark of which has been re- 
cently scraped by strong claws, we may be 
reasonably sure that the hole is a raccoon's 
front door. If we rap on the tree with a stick 
we may see a comical little gray face, strongly 
marked with black, poked out to take a look 
at us. A most mischievous fellow is the 
'coon, as may be readily learned if you ever 
keep one as a pet; but you really can't be 
angry with him, even when he steals the jam 
and cake, upsets a milk pitcher, or breaks a 
sugar bowl. He does it all so good-naturedly 
and without a trace of malice. Besides, he 
is so very willing to be forgiven, that you 
generally put the punishment off until next 
time. In the wild state he is just as mis- 
chievous. In the autumn he is strongly 
disapproved of by the farmers, for, at that 
season, he destroys a great deal of corn. He 
is fond of poultry too, and if on a mild winter 
night the idea of a chicken supper happens 
to occur to him, off he will trot over the 
snow for the necessary chicken. But he 
eats less in winter than at other times, 
for he sleeps a good deal during 
the cold weather. 

Another little animal that is 
fond of poultry is the skunk. 
One may often see his foot- 
prints, with their big claw-marks 
in the snow, and we may some- 
times see the skunk himself, 
with his long, conspicuous black 
and white fur, walking out in 
the dusk with his bushy tail in 
the air. Be very careful not to 
mistake him for a cat in the 
uncertain light, for he nearly 
always resents mistakes of that 
kind, and if he should do so in 
your case it would be — well, to 
put it mildly, "unfortunate" 
for you. Though skunks have 
been tamed, and are said to be 
of a very affectionate disposi- 
tion, I could not recommend 
one as a pet. 

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The Awakening of the Little Wood Folks 


Whilst walking near a stone wall, or 
on the slope of a hill, we are apt at any 
moment to come upon a little mound of 
loose earth and stones, perhaps two feet 
in height, and behind it, under the wall, 
or in the hillside, we shall see a hole in the 
ground. This is the entrance to a wood- 
chuck's burrow, and if, in midwinter, we 
could have crawled inside, and followed 
the winding passage around big stones 
and the roots of trees, we should have 
found a snug chamber at the end of it, 
and there, in a warm bed of leaves and 
dried grass, we should have seen two little 
brown balls of hair — the woodchucks 
curled up fast asleep. In the autumn they 
retired to this burrow, blocked up the 
entrance with soil and leaves, to keep out 
the frost and other enemies, and then 
laid down to sleep until the spring. Now 
they have opened the door and will come 
out to feed upon the young grass and 
clover, and later if they get the chance 
they will eat off the tops of the vegetables 
in the garden. 

The woodchuck has a set of teeth which 
he is very proud of, and many a small 
dog, bent on "woodchuckicide" has been 
taught a severe lesson in field natural 
history by having those big chisel teeth 
sunk into his flesh. 

A much smaller but very interesting 
wild neighbor to become acquainted with 
in winter is the white-footed mouse. He 
is a pretty little fellow, yellowish brown 
above and white beneath. His paws are 
also white. Sometimes he may be found 
in holes in decayed logs, but I think his 
favorite home is a last year's bird's nest. 
When he finds one that suits him, he lines 
it and roofs it over with thistle down, 
plant fibers and other fine, soft materials, 
and leaves a little round hole .at the side 
for a doorway. If we touched the nest 
with a finger, we should see a little whisk- 
ered head poked out, and presently the 
mouse would either dart up amongst the 
branches or gallop away through the bushes. 
Then, if we examined the nest, we should 
probably find a few cherry pits, acorns 
or beech nuts, which the thrifty little 
beastie had stored away for himself. 
Probably his greatest enemies are the owls, 
and in winter, an irregular depression in the 
snow, with a red stain in the middle of it, 
often tells its own story of a midnight 

If we pass along the edge of the wood, we 
may see a red fox just setting out on mischief 
bent. Perhaps he knows where some rabbits 
or squirrels are apt to be found about dusk, 
or perhaps he is going to pay his respects to a 
fat rooster which has the bad habit of sleep- 
ing in a tree just outside the barnyard. 

As we come back by the river, or along the 
margin of some shallow pond, or swamp, we 
are likely to come across a dark mass of sticks 
and leaves, rising perhaps three feet above 
the surface of the water. This is a musk- 
rat's house. In the summer musk-rats 
usually live in burrows, which they dig in the 
banks, but in autumn many of them build 
these more pretentious homes for winter use. 
The walls are very thick, and inside there is 



t / its 


A, ' 1 


Pboto by the author. 


a little chamber where the rats can go to 
sleep on a shelf of leaves against the wall, or 
sometimes on a bed of grass resting on a log 
or stone, over which the nest has been built. 
The doorways are under the water, and the 
musk-rats have to dive when they want to 
go out. They are splendid swimmers, and 
when the water is frozen, they can travel for 
a considerable distance under the ice until 
they reach an opening. They are fond of 
fresh-water mussels and other shellfish, but 
they live chiefly on vegetables. They eat 
the roots and stems of aquatic plants, and 
when pressed by hunger, they will come up 
into the barnyards, and even into the barns 
themselves, for apples, turnips, carrots, corn, 
or in fact anything they can steal. Their 
fur is thick and warm. 

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By A. J. Kenealy 


FOR more than fifty years the first 
home of the New York Yacht 
Club was a landmark of rare his- 
toric interest to yachtsmen. It occupied, 
when first built in 1845, a conspicuous 
place on the New Jersey shore of the Hudson, 
with the lovely Elysian Fields of Hoboken 
at its back, and it was the cradle of a 
sturdy infant sport destined to grow to 
gigantic dimensions. Hoboken was rural 
and sylvan in those days. Picturesque 
farmhouses of Dutch and German types 
dotted the green meadows, watered by 
purling brooks, and no prettier spot could 
have been chosen for a yacht club. 

The devotees, of the sport were then 
few, racing was confined to matches for 
a modest stake or wager and these were 
rare. The few pleasure craft in existence 
hailed from New York and Boston. One 
of these, the schooner Gimcrack, was owned 
by John C. Stevens, the father of American 
yachting, and the first commodore of the 
Club. This gentleman had boated from 
his boyhood. The first craft he owned 
was built by himself in 1802, and was 

christened Diver. She was nine feet long, 
three feet deep and three feet wide. The 
Maria, his last and most famous craft, 
for many years flagship of the Club, flew 
her pennant one hundred and fifty feetr 
above sea level. 

Mr. Stevens was the first to realize that 
the sport of yachting needed organization. 
He consulted with his friends and won 
them over to his opinion that the time 
was ripe for an American yacht club. The 
failure of the Boston (so called) Yacht 
Club, which had been founded in 1835, 
with Captain R. B. Forbes as commodore, 
but had only lasted two years, did not 
appear to be a case in point, for the Boston 
club had for flagship and fleet the schooner 
Bream, of twenty-eight tons custom house 
measurement, and its chief pleasure was 
fishing. It exercised no influence on yacht 
building, cruising or racing. It was only a 

OF N. Y. Y. C, JULY 17. 1845. 

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The Story of the New York Yacht Club 


yacht club in name, composed of members 
who loved to sail in pleasant weather and 
indulge in old-fashioned chowder and 
card parties. The club went quietly out 
of existence in 1837, a year of commercial 
Mr. Stevens on July 30, 1844, called a 

pointed: John C. Stevens, George L. Schuyler, 
John C. Jay, Hamilton Wilkes, Captain Rogers. 
On motion it was resolved that tne club make 
a cruize to Newport, Rhode Island, under 
command of the Commodore. The following 
yachts were represented at this meeting : Gim- 
crack, John C. Stevens ; Spray, Hamilton 
Wilkes; Cygnet, William Edgar; La Coquitte, 
John C. Jay; Dream, George L. Schuyler; 


meeting of yachtsmen, which assembled 
aboard his schooner Gimcrack, anchored 
off the Battery, New York. Nine yacht 
owners responded. What happened on 
that occasion I transcribe from a treasured 
document in the archives of the Club. 

" Minutes of the New York Yacht Club on 
board of the Gimcrack off the Batten- July 30, 
1844, 5 p. m. According to previous notice 
the following gentlemen assembled for the 

Purpose of organizing a yacht club, viz. : John 
. Stevens, Hamilton Wilkes, William Edgar, 
John C. Jay, George L. Schuyler,* Louis A. 
Depaw, George B. Rollins, James M. Water- 
bury, James Rogers. 

" On motion it was resolved to form a yacht 
club. On motion it was resolved that the 
title of the club be the New York Yacht Club. 
On motion it was resolved that the gentlemen 
present be the original members of the club. 
On motion it was resolved that John C. 
Stevens be the Commodore of the club. On 
motion it was resolved that a committee of 
five be appointed by the Commodore to report 
rules and regulations for the government of 
the club. The following gentlemen were ap- 

Mist, Louis A. Depaw ; Minna, James M. 
Waterbury; Petrel, George B. Rollins; Ida, 
Captain Rogers. After appointing Friday, 
August 2, at 9 a. m., the time for sailing on 
the cruize the meeting adjourned." 

In this business-like manner the keel 
of the Club was laid. Next day the little 
fleet started on the first squadron cruise 
ever sailed in the United States, touching 
at Huntington,. New Haven, Gardiner's Bay 
and Oyster Pond, known now as Orient 
Point, and reaching Newport on August 
5th, where they were joined by ex-com- 
modore Forbes, of the defunct Boston 
Club, Col. W. P. Winchester, of the schooner 
Northern Light, and David J. Sears, all 
of Boston. These were the first Bostonians 
that were elected to membership. This 
cruise was the forerunner of many others. 
Newport, at that time a mere fishing 
village, from its splendid harbor was 
naturally appreciated by seafaring men, 
but that it would in time , 
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The Story of the New York Yacht Club 


yachting center of the country, probably 
never occurred to the owners of the little 
fleet that anchored there in 1844. 

In the light of subsequent events it is 
interesting to note that the flagship Gim~ 
crack was a tubby craft of twenty-f}ve 
tons custom house measurement, and that 
the united tonnage of the whole fleet was 
less than two hundred and fifty. Gimcrack 
in spite of her apple bows and her cockle- 

shell dimensions will always be famous as- 
the prototype of the modern fin keel, for 
she was fitted with a fixed fin of heavy- 
plate iron, four feet deep and fifteen feet 
long — lacking only the bulb of lead at the 
base to make it a twentieth century device. 
The first election of officers took place 
at Windhorst's, New York, on March 17 \ 
1845. John C. Stevens was chosen Com- 
modore; Hamilton Wilkes, Vice-Commo- 


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The Story of the New York Yacht Club 


dore; John C. Jay, Recording Secretary; 
George B. Rollins, Corresponding Secre- 
tary; and William Edgar, Treasurer. 

The first club-house was built by the 
brink of the Hudson, on ground the use 
of which was given by Commodore Stevens, 
who also paid the builder's bill. Modest 
and unpretentious, it was opened in 1845, 
and from the anchorage off the club-house 
the first regatta was started on July 17 
of that year. So far as I can discover 
after a good deal of research it was the 
first yacht race worthy of the name held in 
the United States. It was an event so 
unique that according to the newspapers 
of that time a crowd of many thousands 

Schooners also set a single headsail, a gaff- 
foresail and mainsail and a small main gaff- 
topsail. Foretopmasts were rare at that 
date. Sometimes when the wind was dead 
aft or on the quarter, a squaresail of modest 
expanse was bent to a yard and set flying. 
Spinnakers and club-topsails were of a later 
growth. But the nine boats made the best 
of the brisk sou'wester and the strong young 
ebb. They sailed a gallant race, rounded the 
Southwest Spit and homeward ran, the 
schooner Cygnet, owned by William Edgar, 
winning the cup and gaining the plaudits 
of the people who had lingered in the Elysian 
Fields to see the victorious yacht sail home. 
In this unpretentious manner the sport of 


flocked to the Elysian Fields to see the 
start. There were nine competitors, the 
prize being a silver cup, which cost $45, 
the amount being made up from the en- 
trance fees of $5 per boat. 

At a signal from the club-house anchors 
were hove up aboard the contesting craft, 
sails were hoisted and amid cheers from 
the populace, the yachts started for the 
Southwest Spit, the outward boundary 
of their course. 

In those primitive days no "ballooners" 
bothered the crews, and the era of profes- 
sional jockeying was happily unknown. 
Sloops carried one headsail only — a jib with 
a bonnet in it. The after canvas consisted 
of a mainsail of moderate dimensions, and a 
jib-headed gaff-topsail set on a stumpy spar. 

yacht racing was introduced to the inhabi- 
tants of the island of Manhattan and their 
neighbors in New Jersey. The growth of the 
glorious pastime has since been concurrent 
with the progress and prosperity of the Club. 
Its founders and early members loved the 
sport for the enjoyment and pleasure it 
yielded. There was no society end to 
yachting in the youthful times I write of. 
People of fashion took no interest in either 
racing or cruising. Commodore Stevens and 
his clubmates generally were seamen and 
navigators. They handled their own craft 
in sailorly style. As a proof of this I cite a 
regatta held by the club on October 6, 1846, 
in which the competing yachts were manned 
by club members solely, the regular crews 
being left ashore. This was the first Corinth- 
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The Story of the New York Yacht Club 

ian yacht race sailed in America, and the 
prize was a cup subscribed for by the club. 
The starters were the sloops Maria, J. C. 
Stevens, and Lancet, G. B. Rollins; the 
schooners Siren, W. E. Miller; Cygnet, D. L. 
Suydam; Spray, H. Wilkes, and La Coquille, 
John C. Jay. The course was from the flag- 
ship Gimcrack, anchored off the club-house, 
thence to a stake-boat off Fort Washington 
Point, thence to another stake-boat in the 


Narrows, and back to the starting point, the 
whole distance being forty miles. The time 
allowance was twenty-five seconds per custom 
house ton. The wind was strong from south- 
west. Maria won with ease, beating the 
schooner Siren (the second boat) by fifty- 
eight minutes and fifteen seconds actual 

The sloop Maria is famous among yachts- 
men all over the world. As the second flag- 

ship of the club she is part of its history. 
She had as much influence on yachting in 
this country as the schooner America exerted 
on the yacht builders and sailmakers of Great 
Britain, which was vast. She came into 
existence in the following manner : The crack 
North River sloop in 1844 was Eliza Ann, 
whose skipper's veins were full of sporting 
blood. When he learned that the fleet of 
the newly formed club was going on a pleas- 
ure jaunt to Newport he decided 
to go also, and show them how 
fast a North River sloop could 
sail. Without going into partic- 
ulars, it is sufficient to say that 
the Eliza Ann beat every yacht 
with much ease in each daily 
run from port to port. Commo- 
dore Stevens was impressed by 
her speed. At his request the 
Commodore's brother, Mr. Robert 
Livingstone Stevens, took off the 
lines of Eliza Ann and improv- 
ing upon them, designed Maria, 
which was built in the same 
year by Mr. William Capes, of 
Hoboken. On her maiden sail 
she nearly capsized in a squall 
off the Stevens Castle. A ferry- 
boat steamed to her rescue and 
towed her to her dock, where her 
redundant rig was reduced and 
her monstrous wings were clip- 
ped. After that she beat every 
craft she sailed against, includ- 
ing steam vessels. 

Maria will ever be remem- 
bered as the yacht whose owner 
originated many devices which at 
the present time masquerade as 
modern. Even as Gimcrack pos- 
sessed the germ of the fin keel, so 
was Maria the mother of outside 
lead, the weighted centerboard 
and hollow spars. When Com- 
modore Stevens formed the syn- 
dicate which built the schooner- 
yacht America, as an exhibit from this 
country to the World's Fair held in Eng- 
land in 1851, Mr. Robert Steers, her de- 
signer and builder, agreed to charge nothing 
for her if she did not defeat Maria. The 
reverse happened. Maria actually sailed 
round the America many times. The syndi- 
cate absolved Steers from his compact and 
paid him in full. But so disappointed were 
the members with the performance of Amer- 
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The Story of the New York Yacht Club 


tea that they almost decided to send Maria 
to England in her stead. A certain notable 
experience of the big sloop in a nasty sea and 
a northeast gale, when she met with her only 
defeat in a race against the schooner Coquette, 
a much smaller vessel, demonstrated that 
she was not adapted for 
blue water work. So Amer- 
ica crossed the Atlantic, 
being the first American 
yacht to sail over the west- 
ern ocean. She won the cup 
which has made her name 
renowned among all mari- 
time racers. 

It is not generally known 
that the first international 
race between America and 
England was sailed in 1849. 
Particulars are lacking. Only 
the bare record remains that 
the Yankee keel schooner 
Brenda, flying the burgee of 
the New York Yacht Club, 
sailed against the Marquis 
of Anglesey's famous cutter 
Pearl, beating her by fifty- 
five seconds. The length of 
the course is not given. 
Pearl was the first yacht 
with the distinctive cutter 
rig. She was built at Wiv- 
enhoe in 1820, and was for 
a long time the fastest yacht 
in Great Britain. 

The Club in its second 
year had 122 members, but 
only ten yachts in its squad- 
ron. The building of a pleas- 
ure craft in those days was 
quite a serious undertaking, 
not because of the cost, 
which was far less then than 
now, but for some other 
reasons which cannot easily 
be explained. Perhaps be- 
cause yachts were consid- 
ered too luxurious for the 
simple tastes of our fore- 
fathers. It may be con- 
cluded that the victorious 
visit to England of America had not been 
without a certain amount of fruition, 
for we find that in 1853 the membership 
had increased to 153 and the fleet to 
fourteen. Commodore Stevens remained 
in command of the Club until 1855, when 

failing health compelled him to retire. An 
enthusiastic yachtsman, a generous gentle- 
man, liberal, opulent and popular, he estab- 
lished the sport on an enduring basis. He 
suggested the visit of America to England, 
defraying the lion's share of the expenses. 


While there he tried to induce British yachts- 
men to engage in other races with his schooner 
but the way the Yankee terror flew away 
from their fleetest yachts in the ever mem- 
orable race for the Royal Yacht Squadron 
•Cup, scared off the faint-hearted English. 
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The Story of the New York Yacht Club 

Commodore Stevens spent at least $100,000 
— a vast sum in those days — in building 
Maria and in subsequent alterations. In 
every possible manner he showed his devotion 
to the sport. Yachtsmen mourned sincerely 
when he died at the age of seventy-two at 
his home in Hoboken in June, 1857. 

The third international yacht race between 
America and England was held in 1852. Mr. 
Robert M. Grinnell, of the New York Yacht 
Club, commissioned Bob Fish to build him 


the twenty-one-foot centerboard sloop 
Truant. The craft proved fast. She was 
taken to England on the deck of the New 
World. She raced against yachts double 
her size, winning handily seven races out 
of eight — four times on the Mersey, once 
at Kingstown, and twice on the Thames. 
Her only defeat was on Lake Winder- 
mere, when she lost by six seconds. In 
the following year the English made a 
rule that centerboard vachts should sail by 

themselves. As Truant was the only yacht 
of that type in Great Britain, her racing 
career was thus brought to a sudden close. 
The war on centerboard yachts was waged 
with great bitterness in England until 1893, 
when Lieutenant Henn induced the Yacht 
Racing Association to abolish all restrictions 
on centerboards, thus making possible the 
racing in British waters of Mr. Royal Phelps 
Carroll's Navahoe and Mr. George Gould's 

For many years the house 
in the Elysian Fields was the 
headquarters of the Club. 
From its porch many excit- 
ing finishes were seen. In 
the model room the members 
met, and smoked, and spun 
rare yarns. There was no 
club 4 uniform, no pipe clay 
and no red tape. There was 
however, a sturdy and admir- 
able simplicity, an exact sense 
of honor among the old salts 
in every way commendable. 
When the war broke out in 
1861, the Club had 488 mem- 
bers, and a fleet of 75 
schooners and 22 sloops. In 
that year the annual regatta 
and cruise were omitted. The 
Club met with its first revers- 
es during the years of the 
war. Its membership dwin- 
dled and its fleet decreased. 
In 1865 the Club was incor- 
porated. Hoboken began to 
hum with industry. Its nat- 
ural attractions were marred 
by the encroachments of com- 
merce. In 1868 the Club 
abandoned its home in New 
Jersey and leased a villa on 
Staten Island, near Fort 
Wadsworth. Its fleet then 
numbered 42 boats and the 
members were 278. The old house was oc- 
cupied later by the New Jersey Yacht Club. 
Subsequently the New York Yacht Club 
occupied another house at Stapleton, Staten 
Island. In 1871 city quarters were taken 
at the corner of Twenty-seventh street and 
Madison avenue, the Club having on its 
roll 452 members, 37 schooners, 14 sloops 
and 8 steamers. 

It is violating no confidence to mention 

that the Club had its share of adversity 

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The Story of the New York Yacht Club 


and in fact that its very existence was 
imperilled in 1877, for lack of money. 
Things were so bad that the Club resolved 
to give up its New York quarters and its 
Staten Island home, meanwhile storing 
its models and other property until times 
improved. Happily this course was not 
necessary. Some rich men stepped into 
the breach and saved the day. Ever 
since then prosperity has attended the 
organization. In 1884 the Club moved 
into No. 67 Madison ave- 
nue, with 309 members 
and a fleet of 108 yachts. 
This was its home until 
1901. Here its triumphs 
over Sir Richard Sutton, 
Lieut. William Henn, 
Vice Commodore Bell 
and Lord Dunraven were 
celebrated. On the oc- 
casion of its semi-centen- 
nial, in 1894, it dawned 
upon the Club that its 
quarters were too cramp- 
ed for comfort. At every 
meeting new members 
were elected and when 
special functions were 
held the house was 
crowded so that there 
was standing room only. 
At'that time there were 
1,038 members and its 
squadron consisted of 85 
schooners, 84 single stick- 
ers and yawls, 122 steam 
yachts and 12 steam 
launches. A larger house 
was imperative, but the 
Club is conservative and 
deliberates before it acts. 
The present magnifi- 
cent house in which the 
Club begins its second 
1 century is on West Four- 
ty-fourth street, between 
Fifth and Sixth avenues. It is in startling 
contrast to the first club house, which was 
demolished last year. The land on which 
the present building stands was a gift to the 
Club from ex-Commodore J. Pierpont Mor- 
gan. The members subscribed liberally to the 
building fund and the result is a mansion 
in every way worthy of the Club. In 
the style of the modern Renaissance of 
the French school it is simple, substantial 

and handsome. The employment of Indi- 
ana limestone with artistic carving gives 
a massive appearance to the exterior. The 
three windows in the second story modelled 
after the sterns of Spanish galleons, afford 
the requisite nautical flavor. 

The interior is superb in every way, 
combining all the luxuries and conven- 
iences of » this sybarite age. Two apart- 
ments are striking, the model room and 
the grill room. The first is a lofty room 


of noble space on the second floor, finished 
in carved oak, elaborated with represen- 
tations of sea monsters. The grand marble 
fireplace is a work of art. The mantel 
weighs forty-five tons. A fine gallery runs 
round the north, east and west sides. And 
on the walls of this room is displayed the 
most notable collection of yacht models 
in the world. Some of the whole models, 
fully rigged, of yachts that have added 
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The Story of the New York Yacht Club 

luster to the Club, are in glass cases and 
stand in alcoves. The display shows the 
progressive growth of the American and 
the British yacht. The arrangement so 
far as possible is chronological in order 
that an intelligent study of yacht evolu- 
tion, may be easy. The models of Maria 
and America have a commanding place 
as well as those of Julia, Rebecca and other 
famous old craft. 

Historic ocean races conducted under 
the flag of the Club are recalled by models 
of the schooner Dauntless, which when 
owned by James Gordon Bennett was 
beaten by Mr. James Ashbury's schooner 

yacht-naval architecture. The models of 
the modern school, beginning with that 
epoch-making yacht Minerva and the 
equally remarkable Puritan, supplemented 
by Gloriana, Vigilant, Defender and Colum- 
bia complete the story. 

With regard to steam yachts the col- 
lection is not so rich. The first steamer 
that flew the Club's burgee was the paddle 
wheel steamer North Star, owned by Cor- 
nelius Vanderbilt; a yacht only by courtesy. 
It is only within the last twenty years 
that steam yachts have been popular in 
this country, although as a matter of 
historv the first steam vacht races held 


Cambria in a race from Ireland to New 
York,' by one hour and seventeen minutes; 
by models of the three schooners Henrietta, 
Vesta and Fleetwing which faced the bois- 
terous Atlantic in midwinter, in 1866, 
for a purse of $90,000, which Henrietta 
won. Another great ocean contest is re- 
called by a model of the schooner Coronet, 
owned by Mr. Bush, which beat Dauntless, 
owned by Commodore Colt, in a race 
across the Atlantic, sailed in March, 1887. 
The model room is impressive when it 
deals with the glorious past. It is a never- 
ending source of joy to the student of 

in this country were managed by the Club 
in 1875. On the roll of the Club to-day 
are the largest and most magnificent 
steam yachts in existence. The cruising 
schooner on which the Club once prided 
itself has given way. to steam. Sails 
are too slow for the rapid life of the 
twentieth century. A wise provision of 
the Club which makes it compulsory for 
a person entering a yacht in a Club race 
to furnish a model of the craft insures the 
growth of the model collection. 

' The grill room is built after the fashion 
of an old wooden ship, with beams and 

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knees. It is plainly furnished in oak and 
is of the sea salty. 

The library, though not large, is rich 
in the literature of the sport. It is added 
to continually. Rare old prints, engrav- 
ings, lithographs, portraits in oil and yacht- 
ing scenes in water colors, as well as modern 
photographs adorn the walls in artistic 

The most precious treasure owned by the 
Club is the cup won by America sailing 
against a fleet of fifteen in the regatta of the 
Royal Yacht Squadron round the Isle of 
Wight on August 22, 1851. The trophy was 
presented to the Club by Messrs. J. C. Stevens, 
George L. Schuyler and Hamilton Wilkes on 
July 20, 1857, to be held as a perpetual 
challenge cup for friendly competition be- 
tween foreign countries. The principal 
proviso was that the cup should always 
remain in the custody of the Club winning it, 
and not l>ecome the property of the members 
or yacht owners. 

The Club accepted the trust, and subse- 
quently assumed the control of the races 
sailed for it by Mr. James Ashbury's schoon- 
ers, Cambria and Livonia in 1870 and 1871, 
and also in the Canadian challenge by Major 
Charles Gifford's schooner Countess of 
Dufferin in 1876, and Captain Cuthbert's 
challenge with the sloop Atalanta in 1881. 

The Atalanta was a very inferior craft. 
She was signally defeated. In spite of this 

drubbing, Captain Cuthbert threatened to 
challenge again with her the following year. 

The Club on December 15, 1882, resolved 
to return America's Cup to Mr. George L. 
Schuyler, the only survivor of the winners of 
the trophy. Mr. Schuyler embodied some 
new conditions in another deed of gift, the 
principal one being a clause forbidding a 
defeated vessel to compete agaiti for the cup 
until two years have elapsed. Thus Captain 
Cuthbert was headed off, and the real object 
of the new deed of gift was attained. 

The New York Yacht Club up to 1885 had 
assumed the duty of defending America's 
Cup against all comers. In that year, Sir 
Richard Sutton challenged with the cutter 
Gencsta, and the Eastern Yacht Club inter- 
ested itself in the contest. Mr. Edward 
Burgess, of Boston, was a young ambitious 
naval architect with original ideas. His 
yachts, all of moderate size, had proved highly 
successful. The Eastern Yacht Club deter- 
mined to be represented in the trial races. 
Accordingly, Mr. J. Malcolm Forbes and 
some of his friends, commissioned Mr. 
Burgess to design Puritan, and this he did 
with rare skill and judgment. To the gen- 
erous beam and centerboard of the American 




The Story of the New York Yacht Club 

type he added the outside lead of the British 
and also the cutter rig. So artfully did he 
combine these powerful factors that Puritan 
proved vastly superior to the New York 
boats in the trial races, and was chosen to 
defend the Cup, which she did quite handily 
defeating Gcnesla. 

When Lieutenant Henn challenged in 
1886 with Galatea, General Charles J. Paine, 
of Boston, commissioned Mr. Burgess to 
design Mayflower to beat Puritan. The 
result was that Mayflower did beat Puritan, 
and also Galatea. In 1887, Vice-Commodore 
Bell challenged with Thistle, and was beaten 

ler, the sole surviving owner of the Cup, 
and he once more transferred it to the Club. 
Divested of legal verbiage, the deed of 
trust conveys America's Cup from George 
L. Schuyler to the New York Yacht Club in 
trust as a perpetual international challenge 
cup to be sailed for by yacht clubs having an 
ocean course. Competing yachts, if of one 
mast, shall be not less than 65 feet nor more 
than 90 feet load water line ; if of more than 
one mast, not less than 80 feet nor more than 
115 feet load water line. Ten months' 
notice must be given by the challenging club, 
as well as the name, rig and following dimen- 


by General Paine's Volunteer, another Bur- 
gess center board. 

Owing to the water line length of Thistle 
being found to be several inches in excess of 
the figures given by Mr. Watson, her designer, 
the New York Yacht Club decided that still 
another deed of trust was necessary to guard 
against a similar error in the future. Mr. 
John H. Bird, who was at that time secre- 
tary of the Club, accordingly drew up a 
legal document known as the " Deed of 
Trust, 1887." By this the Club again re- 
turned the trophy to Mr. George L. Schuy- 

sions: length on load water line, extreme 
beam and draught of water, which dimen- 
sions shall not be exceeded. Challengers 
must cross the ocean under sail on their own 
bottoms. Xo restriction on sliding keels or 
center boards. 

As soon as the provisions of the new deed 
were published, a storm of hostile criticism 
burst from the British press. Complaints 
of " sea-la wycrism" and "sharp practise" 
were plentiful. The reason for the wrath 
evoked was the dimension clause, which 
was supposed to give too much advantage to 

The Story of the New York Yacht Club 




the club defending the 
trophy. Lord Dun- 
raven was especially 
bitter in his denuncia- 
tions. So much so 
that his first challenge 
in 1889 was recalled. 
The New York Yacht 
Club pointed out the 
following clause in the 
deed of trust: "The 
club challenging for 
the Cup and the club 
holding the same, may 
by mutual consent 
make any arrange- 
ment satisfactory to 
both as to the dates, 
courses, number of 
trials, rules, and sail- 
ing regulations, and 
any and all other con- 
ditions of the match 
in which case also, the 
ten months' notice may be waived." 

This provision seems to be broad and fair 
to an unprejudiced person. Lord Dunravcn 
was induced to alter his views. The Club 
agreed to accept the length on the load 
water line, as the only dimension required 
and on that basis Lord Dunraven chal- 
lenged again and yet again, and was beaten 
twice. Under the mutual agreement clause, 
Sir Thomas Lipton's challenges were ar- 



ranged, and yachts- 
men generally admit 
that under the deed of 
trust, in spite of its 
reading like a mort- 
gage, a perfectly fair 
and sportsmanlike 
match can be made. 

It is certain that the 
keen international riv- 
alry for the possession 
of the Cup has been of 
boundless benefit to 
yachting. The schoon- 
er A merica opened the 
eyes of the English, 
and wrought a . revo- 
lution in the hulls and 
the canvas of their 
racing yachts. Ene- 
mies of the great nine- 
ty-foot sloops decry 
them because of their 
immense cost and their 
utter worthlessness after their racing careers 
are finished. One might as well run down a 
race horse for not being able to haul a coal 
wagon, or draw a plough, after the turf has 
seen his finish. Or a racing automobile for 
its uselessness for business purposes. 

Modern competitors for America's Cup 
are racing machines, if you will, but they are 
the most graceful fabrics that human art has 
devised. The glorious memories of their 


The Story of the New York Yacht Club 

achievements will live in history though their 
hulls are sold to the junkman after their 
deeds are done. The stimulus afforded to 
the cleanest and healthiest of all sports by 
the Cup races is worth more to the nation 

marine — in a word, of our salt water su- 

The growth of the sport has been phenom- 
enal in the last decade. Society has taken 
up the pastime. The girls love it. The 





than the money and effort expended. It 
induces in young men a love for the ocean. 
It keeps alive the glorious traditions of our 
navy and of our once magnificent merchant 

squadron cruise of the New York Yacht Club 
is one of the great events of the season. Few 
fashionable people care to miss the race for 
the Astor cups. Fewer the international 

The Story of the New York Yacht Club 


contests; yet on the roster of the Club, figure 
the names of men who do not know one end 
of a yacht from the other. The most 
exalted foreign personage in the honorary 
list is King Edward VII. The admission of 
women as flag members was a popular 
step. The receptions to ladies are always 
well attended. The yachting girl is very 
much in evidence, and has come to stay. 

The Club prides itself on its stations 
established at points along the coast from 
Atlantic Highlands to Martha's Vineyard. 
Each has a fine float and landing stage 
which does away with the old unpleasant 
practice of shinning up a slimy wharf when 
desiring to go ashore. The yachtsman finds 
a long distance telephone at all the stations, 
a comfortable room to read and lounge in, a 
mail box and other conveniences. The sta- 
tion at Newport is the largest, but all are well 
adapted for the purposes for which they were 
devised. The cost of establishing these 
stations was about $18,000, and the expense 
of keeping them up is about $7,000 a year. 
The Club permits other yacht clubs to enjoy 
the accommodations of these stations. This 
privilege is highly appreciated by foreigners, 
and also by members of American clubs, who 
enjoy it every day during the yachting 

The members of the Club are more bene- 
fited by these stations than they would be 
if there was only one large club-house near 
the water front. Though it seemed wise to 
have a town house in the very heart of 
clubdom, whence a start may be made for 
any place on earth, and stations at White- 
stone, New London, Newport, and other 
places frequented by members. 

The Club will begin its fifty-seventh yacht- 
ing season under the happiest auspices. 
With a handsome club-house, a magnificent 
squadron of 424 vessels, a membership of 
1,619, and a large balance at the bank, and, 
above all, with a history of which it has 
reason to be proud, it may thus look forward 

with confidence to maintaining its praise- 
worthy prestige of being the premier yacht- 
ing organization of the United States, if not 
of the world. 

The coming summer will be a busy one, 
and an anxious one for members of the 
Club, for there can be no doubt that Sir 
Thomas Lipton, and his designers and 
advisers, have benefited by the past ex- 
perience in our waters, and that in his 
present challenge for that time-honored 
trophy of the Club, the America's Cup, 
he will be represented by the best designed, 
and built, and equipped, and handled boat 
that has yet crossed the Atlantic in quest 
of this much-coveted symbol of yachting 
supremacy. All the ability that money 
can command will be backed by the deter- 
mination of a very persistent opponent. 

The preparations being made on this 
side, too, are marked by an equal spirit. 
Two boats are being built to determine 
which is the better to meet Shamrock II. 
One of them, for a New York syndicate 
headed by Mr. August Belmont, is being 
designed and built by the Herreshoffs; and 
the other for Mr. Thomas W. Law$on, of 
Boston, is from designs by Crowninshield, 
and is being built by Lawley. Nothing has 
been spared which money can procure or 
ingenuity invent to assure that either of 
these boats shall be capable of successfully 
defending the Cup. They will, in a short 
time, be ready for preliminary spins, and in 
the early summer they will contest in a series 
of races for the supreme honor of becoming 
the chosen one to meet the challenger. 

Natural interest will be accentuated by 
the local pride of the two great yachting 
centers of the Atlantic seaboard, and yachts- 
men are assured of a summer of unusual, 
indeed of intense, interest. 

What the result will be never admits of 
a doubt within the walls of the New York 
Club, where the spirit and confidence which 
animated its founders still runs strong. 

Digitized by 


By James H. Tuckerman 

TO the Northerner in one of the south- 
western counties of Virginia, on his 
annual quest of quail, there was 
nothing either in the man's expression 
or in his apparel to arouse the least 
suspicion that he had ever been, at any time 
in his career, remotely conversant with better 
days. Neither was there any evidence that 
he ever intended to be. He was leaning — 
with his back as limp and unstarched as his 
flannel shirt — against a persimmon tree on 
the edge of an oak grove that enclosed a 
big oval-shaped field, knee deep in broom 
grass and rank thickly-woven patches of 
weeds. An old double-barrelled shotgun, 
with the stock resting on the ground between 
his feet, and the muzzle imbedded in the folds 
of his chin, served as an additional prop. 
Both hammers of the gun were cocked, and 
the triggers were prettily interlaced with 
twigs and dewberry vines; but if the figure 
against the tree was conscious of how 
depressingly fragile at that precise moment 
was the thread which bound him to this 
earth, he betrayed no sign of it. He seemed 
equally oblivious to the presence of the 

A pair of blue jeans — which might have 
been blue at some earlier period in their his- 
tory, but which had become a wan, haggard 
green — drooped feebly against his thin legs, 
striving vainly to co-operate with a pair of 
gray woollen socks which, evidently discour- 
aged in their efforts at self-support, had fallen 
over his shoe tops. Beside the blue jeans, he 
wore a long-tailed cutaway coat, bound with 
braid and fastened close around the neck by 
the only button time had left unharvested. 
A brown plush fur cap was pulled well 
over his face to shade his eyes. 

In a distant corner of the field a white 
pointer dog was working up the wind upon a 
covey of quail. That the birds were only a 
few feet ahead of the dog, and were huddling 
together in the first consciousness of some im- 
pending danger, could be seen by the ever- 
shortening beats of the straight nerve-throb- 
bing tail, and in the infinite caution with 
which each uplifted advancing paw groped 
through the tangled weeds, avoiding, with an 
Indian's cunning, every treacherous twig and 

vine and leaf that might betray his presence 
to the enemy. The eyes of the man against 
the tree followed the dog's movements with a 
complacent interest. From any outward dis- 
play of emotion, he might have been gazing 
at a glazed and staring chromo with pink 
trees and a purple pointer, labelled " A Dog 
and a Bird." His chin still rested in the 
muzzle of his gun, and his back described 
the same indolent curve against the tree. 

Suddenly the pointer stopped; a final shud- 
der raced down his spine and quivered off the 
end of his tail ; his neck twisted half around in 
a curve of agony and a paw was drawn 
sharply up, as though pierced by some sting- 
ing pain. Standing there, motionless and 
white, boldly outlined as a cameo against a 
cloud shadow drifting over the field, and 
framed in a golden band of broom grass, 
sparkling in the winter light, he made a 
picture too spirited for the Northerner to 
contemplate in silence. " How long do* you 
fellows down here keep a bird waiting before 
you shoot?" he inquired sharply; "seems to 
me it's a bit rough on that dog over there." 

The man against the tree came out from 
between his props without haste, glanced at 
the stranger and laughed. His laugh was 
curiously like his face — lazy and gentle and 
colorless — it had quavers in it and cracks 
that corresponded with the lines and wrinkles 
around his faded blue eyes and weak, good- 
natured mouth. " Pore ole Joel," he said, 
softly, turning his eyes once more upon the 
dog. " I reckon it is mighty tough on Joel. 
I reckon most every second seems like a sure 
'nough eternity to Joel just now, and most 
likely not in th' place whar he'd planned to 
spend his eternity. I was a-thinkin', sah, 
when you spoke, that I could a' most heah 
what Joel's savin" to hisse'f: 'How long, O 
Lo'd,' he's a whisperin', with his ole heart 
most a-chokin' him, 'how long have I got to 
stand heah a-freezin' to death one minute 
and a-thawin' out th' next, a-waitin' for that 
ole fool to come and shoot these heah pa'- 
tridges.' " The man chuckled, in a half- 
diffident, half-apologetic way, and looked 
from the dog to the Northerner, and back 
to the dog again. " We of th' Souf, sah," he 
went on in a more formal explanatory tone, 
Digitized by V^OOvlC 

Joel — of Virginia 


"have th' reputation of bein' a shifless 
people, bo'h'n too tiahed to work and a' most 
too tiahed to hunt. Di-rec'ly, sah, ole Joel's 
goin' to show we-all just how tiahed we can 
really get when we sure 'nough exert our- 
se'ves. If you will follow his movements 
car'fully, sah, you will see why I'm a-standin' 
heah so shifless like, it must seem right 
criminal to you-all. If you have no objec- 
tions, sah, we will step yondah behind that 
pine stump, whar we can observe without 
bein' observed. Look at yondah Joel now." 

The nervous strain was beginning to tell 
upon the pointer. Already the stiffened 
form had lost some of its rigidity, the ears 
hung almost limp and the straight tail 
drooped wearily. Gradually the dog twisted 
his head backward, inch by inch, as though 
fearful that its creaking might in a moment 
undo all his work. Every foot of the field 
thus brought within his vision was scanned 
with eager, despairing eyes, and when the 
search met with no reward the same pains- 
taking performance was gone through on 
the other side. " Pore ole Joel," the man 
repeated gently, "you'ah a-feelin' most like 
you cup o' misery was a-gettin' too full 
to tote without spillin', ain't you, Joel? I 
know, 'cause I've sat too many times undah 
a possum tree waitin' for some no 'count 
niggah to bring me a axe. Seemed like as 
if my ole heart would bust clar through my 

" I reckon if dogs evah pray, sah, ole Joel's 
sendin' up a most powahful prayah right 
now. He must be a-prayin', or else a-cussin', 
'cause people in his fix have just got to trust 
to prayah or profanity. He's a-comin, sah, 
sure's you bo'h'n Joel's a-comin!" 

All at once the man seemed to become 
alive to the tense little tableau before him. 
All his listlessness disappeared, he stood erect 
and anxious, a flush on his thin face, and 
pointed toward the pointer with a finger that 
trembled visibly. "I just knowed ole Joel 
would come di-rec'ly," he sighed. Step by 
step, with the same infinite caution he had 
shown in his approach, Joel was beating a 
masterly retreat. At times his progress was 
scarcely perceptible. Frequently he would 
stop for seconds at a time, and the flutter of a 
cedar bird's wing in a nearby bramble would 
cause his ears to drop in sudden anguish. As 
he drew gradually away from the covey his 
tail resumed its nervous beating against the 
broom grass. "Did you evah stop to con- 
gidah, sah," the man whispered, nodding 

toward the quivering blades, "the Lo'd's 
real pu'pose in tiein' a tail onto th' end of a 
dog. No, sah, I reckon you nevah did. The 
Lo'd he just knew when he was a-studyin' on 
th' dog question, that he'd got to allow room 
for some safety pipe for th' heap of emotions 
he'd scattahed through th' dog, so he just 
fixed up an arrangement like a govahnor on 
an engine that would swing easy and quiet, 
and told th' dog to use it when he got whar 
he just couldn't hold on no mo' ah. I know 
that's all that's kep' Joel from goin' clar* 
crazy at times like this heah. I nevah could 
satisfy myself entiahly why the Lo'd put 
tails on othah kinds of dogs, 'cause I nevah 
could quite see whar His Infinite wisdom 
come in in designin' othah kinds of dogs." 

Joel, by this time, had made his way out of 
the zone of danger, and with his back turned 
upon the birds, was leaping in great upward 
bounds, scanning the field eagerly at each leap 
for some trace of his master. It was at least 
three minutes before he finally located him, 
and in all this time the man made no effort to 
help him. Despite his very obvious efforts, 
however, he could not entirely hide from his 
voice the note that comes with a long and 
intimate fellowship. "Joel, whar you bin?" 
he demanded, as the pointer came to him 
and licked his hand. "Thar ain't no need 
for you sayin' nothin', 'cause I know whar 
you bin; you just done gone and got up a 
gang of birds without sayin' a word to you' 
ole mastah. Joel, whar you find those 
birds, sah?" 

Ears were not needed to hear Joel's de- 
fense. It shone out from the depths of his 
dark eyes, that were turned upward to his 
master's face. There was both entreaty 
and reproach in them, and every sidelong 
bound of his strong lithe body, as he vainly 
tried to impress upon his master the neces- 
sity of haste, was an eloquent gesture in his 
answer to the accusation. As they stood 
there together, master and dog, the North- 
erner could not help but note the contrast 
between them. Not one hint of a worn-out 
strain was revealed in Joel's clean outline. 
The long straight back and loins, beautifully 
muscled — the gleaming white coat, flecked 
with delicate blue points and stretched al- 
most taut over the well-sprung ribs — the 
graceful curve of the stifles and the muzzle 
with the wide open nostrils, and the long, 
slightly upward curve ending at the stop — 
the deep red-rimmed eyes that asked ques- 
tions in one wink, and responded to them in 
Digitized by VjOOQLC 


Joel — of Virginia 

the next — all these details of the perfect 
modern hunting machine the Northern 
man took in, and all at once became aware 
that he was coveting his neighbor's dog. 
" Whar you lef those pa'tridges?" the neigh- 
bor was repeating. " Don't you think you 
kin fool you ole mastah frolickin' around like 
you was a puppy. No, sah, you take me to 
those partridges this heah minute," There 
was almost a twinkle in Joel's eyes as he list- 
ened; he leaped away from his master in long 
joyous bounds, only to return the next mo- 
ment to assure himself that his message had 
not been misunderstood. "That dog, Joel, 
he knows I know he's got a gang of birds sum- 
whar for we all," the man remarked, as he 
picked up his gun and started after the 
pointer. " I reckon now, sah, you would be 
right pleased with an explanation of my con- 
duct against that persimmon tree. It was 
not o'thodox, or strictly courteous to th' dog 
or th' pa'tridges, as you hinted, sah, earlier 
in the evenin', but it saves a heap o' worry 
and wear for th' man who does th' shootin'. 
I reckon if you have hunted in this country, 
you undahstan' how a man feels when he's 
lost his dog and knows he's on a point, but 
don't know whar, and goes thrashin' through 
th' bushes lookin' for him, and a-gettin' 
worrieder and madder every minute, and 
further away from the dog. Seems like as 
.if every grape vine and bramble fo' miles 
around was a-reachin' out to trip you up 
or ketch you by the eah. Our dogs have 
to hunt wide heah, an' to obviate that dis- 
tressin' feature o' gettin' lost, I have bin 
instructin' Joel on th' necessity o ? findin' his 
birds first an' his mastah aftah. We were 
a-holdin' a little practice this evenin' when 
you met up with we-all. It is rough on Joel, 
sah, but not as rough as it wuz when he was 
learnin'. He used to flush th' birds then, 
aftah waitin' a respectable time. He don't 
flush no moah birds 'cause he don't know 
whether I'm a-hidin' behind a tree watchin* 
him, or whether I am sure 'nough lost, 
and he ain't goin' to take no moah chances 

'bout my not bein' behind th' tree. When 
th' covey sets close he will come back for me 
most every time now. Heah we are, sah, 
which side do you prefer. Th' birds, I 
reckon, will get up di-rec'ly to you left." 

After the pointer had brought back the fat 
cock, that somehow seemed .to tumble by 
accident directly in front of the long-bar- 
relled, old-fashioned gun, and had found 
five single birds out of the covey in almost as 
many minutes, the man from the North de- 
cided he would put into effect his plan for 
possessing Joel. He had seen the dog work, 
and he likewise had made note of his owner's 
visible assets; and he arrived logically at the 
conclusion that Joel was to be one of those 
rare bargains he had so often heard of — a 
treasure picked up for a mere song. Al- 
ready he had visions of complacently refus- 
ing five times the amount he had cost him. 
He glanced furtively at the thin, shabbily 
dressed man beside him, and quickly made 
up his mind. He would dazzle him, over- 
whelm him, by the magnificence of his offer. 
"That's a likely dog you have there," he be- 
gan, indifferently, " I would not mind having 
him in my kennel, providing, of course, you 
know his breeding. " He's a Monk of Fur- 
ness dog, sah," the man said proudly. 
" An excellent strain. Now, if sixty dollars 
is any consideration, I'll just put him on 
this leash and take him along with me." 

The man had been smoothing the feathers 
of a bird he still held in his hand, and for a 
moment he did not speak. When he raised 
his thin face all the glow and pride of a mo- 
ment before had left it. "Sixty dollars," he 
repeated slowly, " sixty dollars fo' de' Joel." 

For a moment his eyes followed in a 
dull, fascinated way the dangling of the 
strap the other man had pulled from the 
pocket of his shooting coat. Suddenly he 
drew himself erect and turned to the dog. 
" Heah you, Joel," he called, pointing a long, 
trembling finger through the pines, " Heah 
you, sah, go on home, go on, sah, this heah 
gen'man's laughin' at we-uns, JoeL" 

Digitized by 



By Sumner W. Matteson 

(Photographs by the Author) 

NEVER before have the people of 
Colorado been aroused to anything 
like a fair appreciation of the 
State's wealth in wild game, and the loss 
that its extermination would entail. As 
early as January 11, 1867, it was found 
necessary to prohibit the killing and waste 
of large game from January 15 to August 
15, each year, during which season the 
hides are thin, the meat strong, and the 
young in need of protection. Ten years 
later the close season was extended to 
September 1: in 1883 to September 15: 
and in 1885 until October 15; no account, 
however, being made as to numbers or 
sex allowed to be killed. That year moun- 
tain sheep were placed on the prohibited 
list, and in 1887 bison and Rocky Mountain 
goats were added thereto, while the open 
season on elk was extended from October 
1 to January 1, and on deer and antelope 

from September 1 to December 1. During 
the years between 1889 and 1893 the open 
season was further extended from July 1 
to December 1, and coursing with dogs 
prohibited. Then for the first time came 
a legal restriction as to numbers, the limit 
being five deer and five antelope and two 
elk to each hunter, all to be killed for food 
purposes only, and no meat to be wasted. 
From 1893 to 1897 the open season held 
from August 1 to November 1, and the 
number permitted to be killed was limited 
to "a reasonable quantity," viz.: one elk 
or one deer, or one antelope with horns, 
at one time, for each hunter. It was not 
until 1897 that the people suddenly awak- 
ened to the fact that all of the large herds ^ 
of elk had disappeared; whereupon the scat- 
tering survivors were added to the pro- 
hibited list, and steps taken to save the re- 
maining deer and the antelope by cutting 


Digitized by V^OOQLC 


Red Man and White Man in Colorado's Game Fields 

their open season down to six weeks, from 
September 1 to October 15, and by re- 
ducing the killing to one at one time to 
each hunter. Yet many flagrant vio- 
lators who killed for the market remained 
unmolested, for at this most critical pe- 
riod the Commissioner found it necessary 
to suspend operations and send word to 
his wardens — "Funds exhausted, and this 
office not responsible for expenses incurred 
from this date." In 1899 an entirely new 
law was enacted, allowing two of either 
deer, or antelope with horns, or one of 
each species, to be killed by every hunter 
during open season from August 15 to No- 

meat at a time suitable for its preservation. 
This law has utterly failed to check the 
slaughter, principally because most hunt- 
ers seem to think it necessary to secure all 
the game allowed them by law, or else to 
apologize to all comers. 

The question confronting the Legisla- 
ture to-day is a grave one. It is its duty 
to deal with game protection in such a way 
as will effectually preserve, regardless of 
the special desires and conflicting interests 
of tourists, sportsmen, ranchmen or In- 
dians, and to save the game there must 
either be no open season at all, or but a 
short one, and that at a time when heads, 


vember 5, and one elk between the dates 
October 25 and November 5. The fram- 
ers of this law were evidently more interested 
in tourist travel than in game protection. 
There could be no excuse for opening the 
season on elk except to attract hunters 
from other States; and there was reason to 
expect their incursion, for a law exacting 
a hunting license of $40 from non-residents 
had just been enacted in Wyoming. The 
main reason for opening the season on deer 
and antelope in August was doubtless to 
influence the tourist travel to tarry in the 
game fields, while the November extension 
was ostensibly to give the ranchmen a 
chance to lawfully secure their winter's 

hides, and meat are at their best and the 
deer are not easily found. 

For instance, if killing is permitted in 
August, it is impossible to get the meat out 
of the mountains, or to save it in camp, 
while from October 10 to November 5 large 
bands of deer are passing to winter quar- 
ters over well-beaten trails and are easily 
ambushed. The ranchmen and pot-hunt- 
ers have no difficulty during that period in 
slaughtering large numbers in a single day, 
and if questioned, they credit two each to 
every member of the family or party, regard- 
less of who may actually have done the 
killing. It has been estimated that during 
the past six years the large game of Colorado 
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Red Man and White Man in Colorado's Game Fields 31 

has been decreased fifty per cent, each year, 
leaving us to-day but one, where we had 
fifty in 1895. Certain it is that some sec- 
tions in which game was abundant fifteen 
years ago, show to-day no signs of animal 
life, while in the most favored districts, 
one now has to hunt for the animals that 
not long ago were easily found. Ranch- 
men observing that game trails familiar to 
them are no longer used, have thought 
that other trails were used in their stead, 
but similar conditions have been observed 
along all of the main trails, and there is 
no alternative but to recognize the fact 

To increase the fund available for en- 
forcing observance of the laws, it was recom- 
mended that a $5 game license be necessary 
for residents of the State hunting outside 
of their home counties, and a $25 license 
for non-residents; that all guides should be 
licensed and sworn in as deputy wardens; 
that the Commissioner be empowered to 
call into service the sheriffs of counties in- 
terested, whenever their assistance might 
be needed to repel the Indians; and, finally, 
that everything possible should be done 
to encourage the photographing of game and 
the saving of heads and hides as trophies. 


that the black tail and elk are fast being 

It was this realization that, in December 
last, brought representative sportsmen from 
all parts of the State to frame and recom- 
mend to the Legislature such laws as would 
put a stop to wanton slaughter, and afford 
necessary protection to the game. The 
sentiment of the Sportsmen's Convention 
was for shorter open seasons and closer 
limits on numbers, with only one antelope 
or deer, either buck or barren doe, to each 
hunter for the season from" September 1 
to October 1, and no open season on elk, 
.sheep, goats or bison. 

I believe that the present Commissioner 
and his wardens have acted faithfully, but 
they have been handicapped by too liberal 
laws and limited resources. There are 
those who claim that our game would be 
safe if only the Ute Indians could be kept in 
their reservations. It is true that they 
have killed large quantities of game, yet 
when it comes to needless waste of hides 
and meat, cruel neglect of wounded animals, 
and wilful violation of game laws, civil and 
moral, the Indian has a clean record as 
compared with the white man. As for 
rights to the deer, the Indians claim that 
until the white man has them all branded 

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Red Man and White Man in Colorado's Game Fields 


"Ute will hunt 'em all same maverick." 
By the treaty of March, 1868, the Ouray 
and Unitah tribes were allowed all of the 
Bear River and White River District, gen- 
erally conceded to be the best game coun- 
try in the Union. Shortly thereafter, hop- 
ing to check the white man's advance, they 
precipitated the Meeker and Thornburg 
massacres, and in consequence were re- 
moved to Utah, but they were privileged 
by written agreement to hunt on the old 
grounds as long as the game lasted. True, 
this was in territorial days, and since then 
the Supreme Court has decided that all 
treaties and contracts made by a Territory 
are nullified upon her entering statehood. 
Colorado became a State twenty-five years 
ago, and no objections were made to the 
Indians' game raids until within the last 
few years. Now the white man, guilty to 
the last degree, and realizing the enormity 
of his crime, tries to shift the burden of 
blame to the few survivors of a once nu- 
merous tribe, who, before the white man 
came, lived and thrived on the results of the 
chase without in the least diminishing the 
game supply. 

The Utes have long since killed off the few 
game animals that ever found a home on 
their new reservation in Utah, and it is not 
to be wondered that they anxiously wait for 
the storms of early winter that drive the deer 
from their summer retreats in the mountains 
in Colorado; or that, in their anxiety to meet 
them on the way, they cross the reservation 
line and pitch their tepees within the limits 
of the State, where most of them were born 

and where their people lived 
and hunted for centuries. 
The annual hunt of the 
Utes usually occurs between 
the 20th of October and 
such date as the Indian 
Agent, through the Ute 
police, sees fit to order them 
back to the reservation; and 
though these orders are 
issued before the Indians 
have secured half the meat 
desired for winter use, they 
are respected, and the hunt 
is immediately at an end. 

About ten days later when 
all the Indians are comfort- 
ably settled on the reserva- 
tion, the Denver papers are 
flooded with sensational re- 
ports regarding the Indians slaughtering 
for hides and exterminating the deer; while 
fears are expressed for the safety of the 
settlers themselves. The Governor appeals 
to the authorities at Washington, but to 
no purpose, and then he orders the Game 
Commissioner, with his wardens and special 
police, to sally forth and exterminate the 
Utes, rescue the ranchers, and to lock up 
the animals. Inasmuch as the wardens 
have never caught up with, or even caught 
sight of, the Indians, the whole affair has 
each year proven such a farce, that the set- 
tlers who have no fears of, or objections to, 
the Indians, now regard the authors of these 
annual scares as political parasites and un- 
necessary evils, and the game law itself in 
very much the same light. They claim that 
the laws were enacted by and for the city 
sportsmen, who slaughter and waste great 
quantities of game during open season. 
Though the settlers are bitterly opposed ta 
" hunting for the market," yet they declare 
that they and the Indians are entitled to their 
winter's meat, whenever the season is right 
for its preservation, regardless of the limita- 
tions imposed by law on sportsmen from 
outside; and being violators of the letter of 
the game law, they decline to appear for 
the prosecution of others when called to 
the witness stand. 

The present law is contradictory and faulty 
in many respects; practically it enforces the 
waste of hides, and otherwise incurs the dis- 
pleasure of the settlers, without whose sym- 
pathy and support no game law can ever 
prove a success. To prevent all traffic in 

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Red Man and White Man in Colorado's Game Fields 


"edible parts" is creditable and necessary 
in order to guard against hunting for the 
market, but since the law as to " edible parts 
only" would have all the force that it could 
have were heads and hides included, why not 
simplify the whole and encourage the saving 
of heads and hides by removing the numer- 
ous red tape restrictions. The accepted in- 
terpretation of the present law enforces a 
waste of all hides of deer, antelope and elk, 
and leaves the ranchman to decide which is 
the greater crime — whether to throw away 
the skins, which he knows to be valuable, or 
to dispose of them to some peddler who 
usually makes his rounds under cover of 
night, with much unnecessary expense, and 
with a full conviction that he is a violator of 
the laws of the State. The settlers are a 
frugal, hard-working class, opposed to the 
waste of any good thing, and interested in 
the protection of the game, but weary of 
the ever-changing laws, which, as they say, 
afford no protection to the game, and prove 
only a source of expense to them, on account 
of the failures to convict in local courts. 
Furthermore, they claim that any law 
which compels waste, and breeds criminals 
rather than corrects crime, is no fit law. 
The question naturally arises : " How can the 
evil be remedied?" and to this end I wish to 

offer the following suggestion for the con- 
sideration of lawmakers, not only in Colorado 
but in many other States as well, where 
thousands of deer hides are annually wasted, 
and to no purpose. Have the State, claiming 
to own all the deer at large, retain its owner- 
ship in the hides of those killed, and insist 
that each be properly cared for, tagged and 
delivered to the game wardens at designated 
points, either by express, "collect charges," 
or in such other manner as may be most con- 
venient; the State paying the best market 
price of from ten to forty cents per pound for 
such delivery, whenever a claim is made, and 
carefully filing all tags with full particulars 
as to the animal itself and the killing thereof. 
This would not work a hardship on any one, 
and would each year furnish much valuable 
information to sportsmen and to scientists. 
The State handling several thousand hides, 
could have them tanned at a price as low as 
23 cents each, selling the large buckskins at 
from $4 to $10 each to the Indian traders. 
This would incidentally remove the necessity 
for the Indians leaving the reservation to 
secure their own buckskins because none 
are to be had on the market. The remain- 
ing skins could be specially tanned and sold 
to the glove, whiplash and pocketbook manu- 
facturers at such a price as would replenish 


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Red Man and White Man in Colorado's Game Fields 

the game fund for the enforcement of the 
laws where most needed. It would save a 
few thousand dollars each year to the people 
of the State, and prove a source of profit to 
the express companies and other common 
carriers as well as to our tanners and taxider- 
mists. It would do away with all smuggling 
and enlist the support of the ranchmen, who 
would recognize an added value to the game, 
and be in keeping with their principles of 
economy. By requiring all hides delivered 
within thirty days f com close of the open sea- 
son possession beyond that time, without 
special permit from the Commissioner, would 
be evidence of killing out of season. With 
the support of the ranchmen, convictions in 

ing to reach and exceed the limit, should 
interest himself in providing more rational 
laws for those who must needs be restrained. 
He should cultivate for himself a better ap- 
preciation of the spirit of sport. It is aston- 
ishing how reckless the hunter too often is, 
especially if he is curious to know the ca- 
pacity of new guns. He thoughtlessly 
targets them on does, fawns, bucks and other 
living things, as far as they can be seen, and 
is too ready to take it for granted that he has 
missed, whereas an investigation often re- 
veals a crimson trail leading to some secluded 
retreat, wherein wolves, bear, or mountain 
lions will surely feast that night. In two 
hours walk along one of a dozen trails on 


local courts would be possible, and the hide 
hunters and market hunters from the Mor- 
mon settlements in Utah, the most destruc- 
tive violators of the law to-day, would vanish 
from the land. 

As the Indians each year note the herds to 
be smaller and wilder, they naturally charge 
the cause to the white man, from whose 
realms the deer should reach them. Nor 
are they altogether in error in this, for 
many a reckless hunter takes innumerable 
rounds of ammunition into the field, and con- 
siders it a disgrace to leave the woods with 
less than the legal limit of two bucks for each 
member of the party, women and babies in- 
cluded. The true sportsman, instead of try- 

Piceance Creek, I found and photographed 
thirteen carcasses of does and fawns unlaw- 
fully killed, and of bucks wounded but not 
pursued to the end; not one of them having 
at that time been preyed upon by the overfed 
scavengers of the forest- Besides this need- 
less slaughter and waste, many deer are lost 
through not being properly bled, dressed and 
aired; while loads of deer are sometimes 
hauled out of the mountains in warm weather 
and allowed to spoil from careless handling or 
ignorance of things necessary. In the white's 
camp only the choice cuts are considered, 
while the hides and much of the meat are 
absolutely wasted. 

Not so with the Ute. Unless frightened 

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Red Man and White Man in Colorado's Game Fields 


from his killing by rumors 
of soldiers in pursuit, he 
bleeds his deer as soon as 
killed, and saves even the 
blood. The ribs and other 
flat bones are then cut out, 
often before the animal is 
skinned, and the horns 
broken off, these being the 
only parts thrown away. 
The hollow bones are then 
removed and saved for their 
marrow; while even the 
gristle of the ears finds its 
place in the stew. The face, 
legs, tail and all are skinned 
out and tanned, while the 
glossy black toes and hoofs 
are saved for rattles and 
ornaments. The head is roasted under the 
coals, and the brains, eyes and all eaten. 
Even the entrails are broiled or fried, and 
very much relished by the whole camp. 
The boneless hams and other parts have 
been so sliced up that they quickly sear 
over and do not sour, and as many as 
four deer are often thus packed on a 
single pony, with the hunter on top of the 
heap. No sooner is the hunter in camp 
than his squaw drags the meat over the sage 
brush, drying it in the sun and smoking it 
when possible; then she starts to graining and 
fleshing the hides — the tanning proper being 
done later by the bucks at the reservation 
home. To say that the Utes slaughter for 
hides, or are in the leastwise wasteful, is to do 
them a great injustice. 
True, they do not re- 
spect our laws, for to- 
diay, as in times past, 
they kill without regard 
to age, sex or season, 
and unless restrained, 
without limit as to 
numbers. There is no 
time limit to the last- 
ing qualities of their 
"jerked venison," and 
fearing that each hunt 
may be their last, they 
very naturally secure 
everything possible 
while in the field. 
Could they be deprived 
of arms and restricted 
to the use of bow and 
arrow and their stone 


implements as in times past, their actions 
in the game district might be left unre- 
strained for all time, but since they insist 
on using our firearms they should, when 
permitted to hunt off from the reserva- 
tion, be made to respect our laws. As 
all hope of their ever raising a crop and 
being made self-supporting has long since 
been abandoned, they should be amply 
supplied with rations so as to remove 
all necessity of their killing game to keep 
from starving to death, as they claim. It 
being a disputed point as to whether or not 
the Utes are entitled to a hunt in Colorado; 
if they are to be given a hunt, let it be early 
in the . season before the large bands 
come down, and when the number of deer 


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Primal Instincts 

slaughtered must necessarily be limited, 
and give them to understand that no tres- 
passing will be allowed at other tunes. 
Should they then be restricted only from 
killing fawns, their killing of does would per- 

As for himself, he knows that his doom is 
sealed, for his people are diseased and short 
of progeny. The deer, too, are fast going, 
and it almost seems to be the plan of the 
Creator that these two children of nature 


haps compensate for the killing of "bucks 
only" by other hunters. It never occurs 
to a Ute that a fawn this year will be a full 
grown deer the next, and that a doe will bear 
two fawns each year that her life is spared. 

should have lived and should die together, 
and pass along the same trails to the happy 
hunting grounds beyond, where the buffalo 
awaits them, and where the pale face laws 
do not run. 

By Frank C. Haddock 

I hear the sullen booming of the sea, 

I hear the wind as lordly deeds it vaunts; 

I thread the trackless forest, where to me, 
Child of vast worlds, is given its ministry 

And lavish life bestows its gift of health. 

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By Walter Winans 

(Author of "The Art of Revolver Shooting") 

ANYONE not conversant with revolver 
shooting under its different aspects 
will wonder why I put the word 
" practical " in my heading. He will imagine 
that the mere fact of being able to shoot a 
revolver well makes a man a practical re- 
volver shot. Unfortunately this is not the 
case. There are two distinct styles of shoot- 
ing a revolver very antagonistic to each 
other. There is the style of shooting neces- 
sary to win prizes, and the style appropriate 
for war or self-defense. A good shot in the 
latter style may also be good at the targets; 
but a target shot is almost always useless in 
quick shooting. The National Rifle As- 
sociation of England has done me the honor 
to elect me as one of its vice-presidents; and 
at Bisley we try to combine the two styles of 
shooting, but not very successfully, for the 
Association is supported entirely by sub- 
scriptions and entrance fees, and therefore it 
has to make a compromise in its prize list 
between competitions which encourage prac- 
tical shooting and those which draw entries. 

What I call practical revolver shooting 
consists in being able to draw a revolver 
and instantly hit a tolerably small mark at 
a reasonable distance, however fast either it, 
or you, are moving. The target style of 
shooting consists in being able to hit a small 
object with a very slow and deliberate aim, 
and only if both it and the shooter are per- 
fectly stationary. If you will examine any 
revolver prize list in the States, you will 
notice that the shooting is deliberate firing 
at a small black bull's eye on a stationary 
white target. This sort of shooting, instead 
of making a man a good practical shot, 
teaches him to "poke" and "dwell" on his 
aim, and is the very worst possible style to 
get into. I have, at Bisley, seen a man who 
could put six shots into a two-inch bull's eye, 
at twenty yards, if the target were station- 
ary and he was allowed unlimited time to aim 
in, actually miss the whole target (a foot 
square) with every shot, when asked to fire 
the six shots in twelve seconds. This latter 
style of shooting — which I introduced at 
Bisley, and which I consider the most 

practical competition — is very unpopular 
amongst target shots, who, perhaps natu- 
rally, do not like to expose their lack of 
skill in rapid firing, and I fear it will have 
to be withdrawn owing to want of sup- 

My object in writing these few notes is to 
try to induce prize donors to stipulate that 
their prizes should be shot for, not under the 
usual unpractical conventional conditions, 
but on lines so that those who take part in 
it will feel that the competition has im- 
proved their shooting and given them en- 
couragement to persevere on practical lines. 
At present a man says : " What is the use of 
my practising difficult shooting at moving 
objects; it is no use for prize winning?" and 
he gets " poking" at stationary targets till he 
becomes so slow that he can never shoot 
properly again. It is as if all shotgun clay 
pigeon clubs made their members compete at 
stationary marks. What would a shotgun 
shooter be worth when game shooting, if he 
only practised thus? 

My suggestions for competitions (besides 
the various forms of competition I have 
described in my book, .but which are too 
lengthy to repeat here) are: 

1. Six shots at an india rubber ball swing- 
ing from a string, at twelve paces distance; hits 
to count so many points; every half-second 
saved from twelve seconds for the six shots to 
count two points additional. For every half- 
second over twelve seconds, three points to be 

2. Six gray targets, six inches in diameter, 
without any bull's eye, placed in a semi-circle 
at twenty yards distance ; these to lie flat on 
the ground and be elevated by strings as traps 
are pulled for clay pigeon shooting. Traps to 
come up and remain up for one second at a 
time in unknown order. 

3. A target at twenty yards distance; a 
minute allowed for the competitor to load and 
fire as many rounds as heican during the time. 

4. A target twelve yards distant from a 
table on which the loaded revolver is placed. 
The shooter is to stand 150 yards from this 
table; a time limit of forty-five seconds allowed ; 
at the word the shooter to run to the table, 
pick up the revolver and fire the six shots. 

5. The shooter to stand 200 yards from the 
target; time limit twenty-five seconds. At the 

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Practical Revolver Shooting 

word he can get as near as he likes to the 
target before beginning firing, and can run 
forward between each shot. 

These are only a few ideas which suggest 
themselves to me; but the reader, with 
these hints can, no doubt increase them 

There are certain points which have to 
be remembered, however. Unless the shoot- 
ers are very practised revolver shots, it 
is best not to make them draw and fire, 
for fear of accidental explosions; the trigger 
pull also, would have to be limited to 
not less than three pounds, and a few 
other precautions, which will readily sug- 

number of shooters is increasing; and with 
the impetus given to shooters by the war in 
South Africa, it will increase still more 
rapidly. What I mean, however, is that 
the quality of the shooting is steadily 
declining. When we first — in the early 
eighties — began revolver shooting at Wimble- 
don and at South London Rifle Club, the 
number of good revolver shots could be 
counted on the fingers of one hand. Now 
the number of men who can make a highest 
possible score on a two-inch bull's eye 
at twenty yards on a stationary target is 
so great that the making of such a score 
passes quite or almost unnoticed. But 



gest themselves. From a spectacular point 
of view such competitions as I have sug- 
gested would draw many more people 
to witness them than ordinary revolver 
shooting. Half a dozen of us had a very 
good day's sport at Bisley, one year, after 
the meeting was over, shooting at the 
"Running Deer" at fifty yards range with 

I am afraid revolver shooting is deterior- 
ating in England. I do not mean there 
are fewer shooters. On the contrary, the 

it must be borne in mind that these scores 
are made in deliberate aiming at a stationary 
target. These men cannot shoot fast or 
hit anything moving. At rapid firing and 
moving targets, the scores which now win 
first prizes are very bad; in fact would hardly 
have won even a low down prize in the 
olden days. Everything is sacrificed to 
deliberate shooting, and men will not try 
to improve themselves in any other form. 
This evil will steadily increase unless very 
drastic measures are taken; and revolver 
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Practical Revolver Shooting 


shooting will gradually drift into what 
long-range rifle shooting has already be- 
come — a mere game of no practical value 
— and like it, will slowly die out. 

Conventionalism is another cause of bad 
shooting. In all arts there are certain 
conventionalisms — some are, perhaps, nec- 
essary, owing to the limits of the art, 
but others originated with laziness, and in 
an easy way to avoid difficulties. These 
conventionalisms, from the innate con- 
servatism of human nature, and its imitat- 
iveness, have now got to be considered 
the right thing, and any departure from 
them wrong, or not good form. Revolver 
shooting is full of conventionality; and 
the worst of it is that these conventions 
are a great hindrance to good shooting 
or any improvement in snooting, even 


when they are not dangerous. A beginner 
in revolver shooting naturally stands in 
the position, and holds his revolver in the 
way he has always seen in pictures, or 
from observing others trying to shoot with 
a revolver. (I am not, of course, alluding 
to experts and professional shots). He 
finds it very difficult to shoot in such 
cramped positions, but never suspects why 
he finds it so difficult. If he is of a per- 
severing nature he, finally, after twice as 
much labor as necessary, manages to shoot 
thus, fairly well, and remains for the rest 
of his life a second-rate shot; whereas, 
if he had been properly grounded in shoot- 

ing he would have become a first-class 

I remember a young man, whom the 
late Chevalier Ira Paine and I were watch- 
ing revolver shooting at Wimbledon in 
the early days. Paine said : " If that man 
would only stand properly he w r ould beat 
the lot of you." But he never did stand 
properly! And to this day he has never 
made a first-class score, or been more 
than an average second-rate shot. Never- 
theless, his form is, according to the con- 
ventional idea, perfect; and artists would 
select him as a model for a revolver shot. 

When you see a volunteer rest his rifle 
against a brick wall, with the front sight 
against the bricks you can wager what 
you like he is not a marksman. It was 

I V 


interesting to watch the soldiers at the 
late military tournament in London, in 
the sham battle. As the men advanced 
firing blank ammunition, I could pick 
out the marksmen instantly by the way 
they handled their rifles; those who were 
not shots just "loosed off." some not even 
troubling to look along their sights. 

I have seldom seen an actor shoot a 
revolver properly. An exception is Hayden 
Coffin. By the way he loaded in "Doro- 
thy" I could see he understood pistols; 
and he afterwards told me he had done 
a good deal of pistol shooting. 

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By Fitzherbert Leather 

KOOSWAPS blanket had finally wor- 
ried out of its shoulder hitching; 
gradually had slid to the Indian's 
hips; in the hours forgot it struggled under 
his moccasins, and now its pretty mack- 
inaw yellows and reds were rudely rubbed 
in the dust and in the juices of the moist- 
mouthed mob pressing and reaching at the 
board below the wheel — which tossed its 
cynical little ivory ball to test the nerve 
and quality of the play, while itunblush- 
ingly demonstrated the perfect safety of 
the bank's percentage of the winnings. 

Kooswap forgot he was then in rough 
Shando (to-day just bones of a town, 
and the only noise the cracking of 
the sun-scorched pines), that had 
accommodated all the south 
Bitter Root's gold-seeking 
fraternity by a tale of 
quartz, and was the growth 
of seven days. The Indian 
forgot the itching of his 
primitive mind for the toys 
of the white folk that had 
brought him a day's horse- 
walk from the reservation 
line. Kooswap was not now 
a Nez Perce with copper for 
his color, blanket wraps for 
his pants, a brain-tanned 
doeskin, beaded by his best 
girl, for a shirt, and his black 
hair braided from his bare 
head down his back. His 
mind was blank except 
to spot his chips, lift 
his liquor, and light 
his cigarette, which 
turned cold with 
each trip of 
the wheel 

Sensations shot on his nerves, as every play 
played a loss, like the feelings he had when 
once after a border scrape, nearer his pa- 
poose days, the Blackfeet women put him 
on exhibition in their torture ground: The 
player had lost down to his last cent and 
last cayuse, and his blood and the whisky 
in it pressed on his gentleness as some- 
times steam presses at its agitated little 
gauge points. 

Kooswap curved his toes into his blan- 
ket and never moved his lips but for his 
smoke and his drink; which an industrious, 
well-meaning tray carrier pushed to the 
players, and particularly to the reds, 
at encouraging intervals. Others, 
clad in the brightnesses and the 
dulls in dress colors that 
branded their red and their 
white civilizations, drank 
and gambled with more or 
less voice, as luck ran; but 
that sort of mild devilment 
was not in Kooswap's class. 
Whisky effects on different 
colors of men had been the 
main study of the sheriff's 
troubled head; the while all 
sorts sinned on Shando's 
streets unarrested, as the 
county's . officer passively 
and patiently waited for 
the town to delegate its 
own marshal to keep things 
quiet. The ways of whisky 
as affecting the red side 
of his cares the sheriff 
had finally summed 
up in the text: 
V "An Indian in 

%"Ov x whisky is the 

■*V^ * devilinhell!" 


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This descriptive ax- 
iom the sheriff muttered 
to himself at every 
stride. Before the awk- 
ward matter of law and 
order in coltish Shando 
his mind eagerly imbibed 
the text as both a true 
philosopher's excuse for 
his inertia, and a sooth- 
ing opiate for his duty- 
distracted nerves. The 
tension of the hard- 
geared way of the red 
and white civilizations 
of the Bitter Roots was 
as keen on the street as 
in the parlor of the rou- 
lette and the faro board, 
and its noise and its 
other infernal manners 
teased the sheriff as 
effectively as the echoes 
of it all disturbed the 
haze-dressed, primeval 
peace of the mountains. 
Before the officer's danc- 
ing eyes the realities of 
Shando's troubles were 
kaleidoscopic. The 
stubborn, moody mob of 
Nez Perce, full of alco- 
hol, and alcohol's un- 
ruly, illogical way; the 
whiskered whites, o f 
serious and difficult 
notions of dignity, both 
in liquor and off; and worse, there were 
the mix-ups of reds and whites when 
hatreds of race or questions of dignity and 
preference on the street or at the gaming 
table turned up for collision. These quar- 
rels of red and white the sheriff left to the 
excellent genius of an educated half-breed 
the reservation agent had sent to watch 
his men through their frolic at interfering 
Shando. The agent's man Charlie kept 
things fairly smooth. To the paleface of 
a quarrel he cursed his half-brothers in 
w r hite talk the reds could not understand, 
while to the dignity-offended Xez Perce he 
lied in his own lingo of a full apology by 
the white; or he patched up a peace by 
coaxing, or any honesty that fitted best the 
fever of the moment. 

"Charlie," said the county representa- 
tive, "your kids is a terror !" The federal 


half-breed chewed his mustache, and with 
his fingers playing tentatively along his 
cartridge belt, kept his eyes roving like a 
hunter's for more sign. 

"Tell you, sheriff, why you lettim git 
whisky? How me gettim reservation, you 
lettim git whisky? Yehse! How gettim 

The sheriff was about to reply with his 
petted comment, "An Indian in whisky," 
etc., etc., when a young buck pushed sud- 
denly past them, making a noise in his own 
guttural tongue, of a tone that fitted the 
look in his eye to perfection — with both 
drink and anger in it. 

"What's the matter with that boy?" the 
staring sheriff asked the half-breed. Char- 
lie called over to Kooswap. The young red 
shook out his ruffled blanket, and fixed it 
about him for a girdle, as he strode over to 
his cayuse, cursing in good Sahaptin as he 
went. He would not listen to the coaxing 
of Charlie, and the half-breed turned to the 

"Kooswap, whisky. Play too much. 
Kooswap say bank break him, he break 
bank. Kooswap bad boy, orright!" 

"What's he goin' to do?" asked the 
sheriff. The half-breed, however, did not 
reply. Kooswap was on his cayuse, and, 
heeling the brute, dashed with a yell 
straight through the pretty glass doors into 
the parlor, absorbingly occupied with its in- 
toxicated gaming and 
liquor parties. 

Neither the whisky 
nor the native mad- 
ness in Kooswap was 
worse than the evil 
hereditary in the 
blood of his wiry 
bronco. Kooswap's 
taste in horse color 
had run to black and 
white; in the shape of 
face he admired a 
nose like his own /with 
a broad base at the 
eyes and a sharp 
curve clear down 
that would fit the arc 
of a bent bow; and 
for eye one that he 
could not trust by its 
look. The beast un- 
der Kooswap, as he 
plunged through the 



Digitized by 




door, touched the floor with its nose, while 
its heels hit the bar and bucked its way 
across the confused arena as its mad rider 
yelled the time for it and lashed its flanks; 
craps, roulette, stud and keno poker were 
all played together as never Shando had 
seen them played before. 

Kooswap gave his last whoop as his white- 
faced, Roman-nosed brute kicked its way 
through the thin gable of the house. Be- 
yond breaking the bank in his own drunken 
fashion, and hurting a rib or a leg of a few, 
the young devil had done no harm, and not 
a shot had been fired. The Bitter Roots 
gaming fraternity had had no time to mark 
a virtue like presence of mind by a hole in 
Kooswap' s hide. But as he skimmed away 
on his horse and they gathered the guilty 
bearings of Kooswap's sport, the gap in the 
gable filled with an angry mob of dignity- 
disturbed whites, and warm lead traveled 
with Kooswap by the pound. 

Following the bullets went one or two 
horses, and among them the peace-loving 
sheriff, with still more decided opinions on 
whisky and Indians wheeling in his nervous 
brain. In a few minutes, also, the clever 
half-breed had all his restive pets together 
and mounted, and sobering before the ex- 
citement of a chase. 

Kooswap was a quivering, dancing dot 
against the fierce blue sky that hung over 
the far-away reservation. Where he had 
been, a dust cloud told of the insulted 
posse. Now a hundred Xez Perce galloped 
out of Shando with the wily agent's half- 
breed leading, as he left the blessings of 
fire-water behind him, gently blessing Koo- 
swap as he counted out the end of the puz- 
zling problem. 

"How me gettim back reservation?" 

Kooswap rubbed his moccasin heels 
against his cayuse, that, now on the run, 
needed no spur but the soft touch of his mas- 
ter. Kooswap laughed at the chase as he 
remembered the quality of the flesh beneath 
him, worn down to neat bone and sinew by 
the test of true Indian riding, and well 
trimmed inside by true Indian feeding. 
Any latent fear Kooswap eased by a drink 
at a bottle he drew from the holster of the 
gun he had traded that day to satisfy the 
instincts left him by his odd-and-even play- 
ing ancestors; and to better enjoy the nov- 
elties of white man's way. The Indian soon 
lost himself to the influence of the liquor, 
aided by the labors of the day, and the safety 




Digitized by 




he felt in his 
knowing, plucky 
cayuse. The 
brute caught the 
sound of the 
chase behind, 
and its ears flick- 
ed right, left, in 
a mark-time; 
and pricked, for- 
ward, back, keen 
to the heat of 
the contest. 
Kooswap's dim 
and only thought 
was for the sleep 
that he would 
take when once 
within the reser- 
vation line, where 
the sheriff would 
turn back with 
remarks on the 
awkwardness of 
federal and state 
control that re- 
spectively began 
and ended there. 
But the reser- 
vation line was 
yet two hours 
away. The fly- 
ing Roman-nose 
pricked his 
points right, left, 
front, back ; sus- 
pecting every va- 
riety of bad thing out of the steady hoof- 
taps behind. The brute's sinews snapped 
like shuttle straps, and its muscles gripped 
its work as definitely as a piston shivering 
on a load up-grade. 

Kooswap's attitude, overcome with alco- 
hol, was passive bone and flesh above a 
streak of flying black and white. The trail 
had been worn for ages by elk in their run 
from the snow of each winter to the low- 
lands, and later worn decent to travel by 
man. The makers of the mountains had 
hewn things square up and down each side 
of the path, with the resting places for beast 
or burden in accident's way deep below 
any ordinary safety line. But Kooswap 
trusted his only possession. 

The stillness of the coming night that 
hung in the canyon had no sense for Koos- 
wap; and the pratter-pat-pat, pratter-pat- 

pat of the chasing posse dis- 
turbed his cloudy brain about 
as much as a dream of a 
maiden. The situation, in- 
deed, struck him quite from 
altogether another point of 
view, and as his choice in 
horse-flesh clipped along the 
trail, Kooswap again fum- 
bled in the holster at his 
saddle-bow. With a thick- 
ening voice he laughed over 
the only loose goods he had 
not left at the wheel, and he 
drank at the hot liquor as 
ordinarily no one should 
drink lemonade, but long 
enough to waken a little to 
the responsibilities of sleep- 
ing while the only interested 
principal of a desperate man- 
hunt. Kooswap, in fact, 
noticed that his horse had 
slowed, and cantered with an 
ugly wobble. Drunk as he 
was, the Indian guessed 
trouble. He dropped from 
his saddle, and the first thing 
he saw was a red spot deco- 
rating the white belly of his 
horse. In his own tongue 
Kooswap muttered: 

"Blood!" and he quizzed 
the Roman-nose as to why 
he let the lead hit him, and 
asked it the extent of the 
bleeding inside. Kooswap 
then quickly figured out the 
situation, and with the best 
of Indian logic and feeling, | 
affectionately told the beast 
he would ride it until it 
dropped, anyway. Kooswap 
drank a little to his good- 
natured resolution, and 
climbed back to his saddle. 
Soon he forgot the red mark 
he sat over, while the cay- 
use pricked its ears, right 
and left, back and forward; 
quicker as they caught the 
near tread of the chase, and 
slower, as the sinews of the 
brute slackened, and its 
muscles softened, from the 
faintness of blood lost. But 

as it lurched forward Koos- 

Digitized by VjOOv IC 



wapmipht have been 
riding to the happy 
hunting-grounds, he 
was so dead to every 

Suddenly his 
whisky sleep was 
shaken. His deaden- 
ed nerves felt a shock, 
and then the canyon 
echoed with the ex- 
cited drunk's yell as 
he felt the gait in- 
crease to the nature 
of a drop through 
space. Kooswap 
dimly understood he 
was now riding the 
corpse of his favorite 
in horse-flesh down 
the sheer sides of the hill, and his awaken- 
ing soul felt some tremors for eternity. 
Halfway down the cayuse rested in a 
thicket a straddle the butt of a tamarack, 
while Kooswap, his pace slackening as he 
and his blankets tore through the thicken- 
ing brush, finally succeeded in congratulat- 
ing himself; and, lying where he fell, was 
soon in the solid sleep of the bruised and 
the drunk. * * * * 

The half-breed, shrewdly calculating his 


scheme, thought that the reservation was 
near enough, and the cloud that marked 
Kooswap's pace altogether too dangerously 
near. The sheriff had best call it off thought 
the federal man, and go quietly back to 
Shando, while he and his band would go 
with Kooswap to the reserve; and with this 
in his head he drew in his men, and spurred 
closer to the chase. The Indian riders were 
soon mixed in the dust of the white crowd, 
and the half-breed would have cut off the 
sheriff's men short, when the still canyon 
rang out with the shrill cry of the eternity- 
seeking Kooswap. The quickness of it, and 
the unknown meaning of it, stunned all on 
that trail, but as the strange note sank into 
the souls of the men, and red and white each 
translated it for good or for bad, the valley 
sang out in a choir of anger and fear like 
the voice of an avalanche. (But in Koos- 
wap's quieting brain it vibrated just as a 
far-away tender scolding of his reservation 

The only silent man in the crowd was 
the sheriff. He was content to soliloquize 
again a helpful axiom he had impressed 
with more and more will on his party at 
every bend in the road that showed Koos- 
wap still well out of sight. Kooswap's shout 
had startled the sheriff by its nearness* 
and as he raced up to the next turn 
where the fugitive should have been, and 
noted the sheer bluff above and the* sheer 
slope below, and not a living thing nor its 
sign in sight, he once more turned to his 
followers as he pulled his horse to a stand, 
and solemnly said: 

"An Indian in whisky, boys, is the devil 
in hell!" 




Digitized by 



By John S. Wise 

EVERY American sportsman who has 
attained even middle age knows 
how rapidly game has decreased in 
the United States, even within the period of 
his recollection, and that the time is not far 
distant when it will be virtually exterminated 
unless it is protected by uniform, intelligent 
laws regulating its destruction. 

No protection, legislative or otherwise, can 
be devised to restore large game, deer ex- 
cepted, to the country east of the Missis- 
sippi; but, under proper restrictions, deer, 
turkeys, ruffed grouse, prairie chickens, quail, 
woodcock, snipes, and all varieties of water 
fowl, waders and shore birds, may be pre- 
served in large numbers for an indefinite 
period, in all parts of the country where they 
still exist, and may be brought back to many 

H places whence they have been driven. 
Indiscriminate slaughter is but one of the 
principal causes threatening the extinction 
of game in the East. The increased density 
of population in many places has hopelessly 
banished the more wary varieties, which will 
not abide in the neighborhood of man. But 
many kinds of small game, animals and birds, 
will, under proper conditions, remain and 
multiply even in populous communities. 
Population is only one factor in the problem. 
Game will disappear from uninhabited sec- 
tions if they do not furnish the food and 
cover necessary for sustenance and protec- 

There are large areas in the East where 
the slaughter has not been great, and 
the population has not increased, yet in 
which, owing to changed agricultural con- 
ditions, game has visibly decreased. When 
I was a boy, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland 
and Virginia were the favorite quail shooting 
grounds of the American sportsman. That 
was when small grain was cultivated in those 
States at a living profit to the farmer. The 
abundant food and cover furnished by these 
crops caused the birds to multiply, although 
shot closely every year. Then came the 
trans-continental railway lines, bringing ce- 
reals from the West and delivering them in 
the East cheaper than the eastern farm- 
ers could raise them. This, and the 
abolition of slavery in the section named, 

led to the abandonment of small grain, and 
the farmers turned for a living to the cultiva- 
tion of potatoes, vegetables and trucking. 
With this change, the quail disappeared from 
the fields. When the crops are in the green , 
state, they are too dense and damp to furnish 
a range for the birds; when they are ripe 
and gathered, the grounds on which they 
stood are left too bare and barren either to 
furnish feed for the birds or protection from, 
their enemies. Thus it has come about that, 
from what was once the most attractive 
shooting ground in the country, the birds 
have gone; and while a few still linger, averse 
to abandoning altogether their natural home, 
such as remain are compelled to live in woods 
and swamps and in the tangled underbrush, 
and vines upon the borders of the fields, 
where, if they are found at all, they give the 
sportsman but a single shot at the rise of the 
bevy, as they scurry away to the impene- 
trable depths of the swamps or morasses 
which are the only safe cover left them. 
Never again will these sections be restocked 
with quail, unless they are converted into 
game preserves, and cultivated so as to re- 
store the old conditions. Whenever that 
occurs, the game supply will be promptly 
replenished to its old abundance, for the 
region is the natural habitat of the quail, and 
given half a chance, it will return and be 
fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth. 

The changes referred to have produced 
exactly opposite results touching other kinds 
of game. The abandoned lands in Virginia 
have grown up in pines and underbrush, and 
the deer, turkeys and ruffed grouse, which 
had been almost or entirely driven off by 
close cultivation, have returned in large 
numbers. Thus we see that other causes 
than the actual killing of the game operate 
to increase or diminish the supply in many 

The fate of the bison, the elk, the ante- 
lope, and other large game in America seems 
to be the same as that of the Indian. The 
few left have, for the most part, gone to 
territory still controlled by the United States 
Government, where we may hope for uni- 
form legislation and the wise exercise of 
power to enforce the laws protecting them. 

The Game Law Problem 



The pinnated grouse is almost gone from 
the country east of the Mississippi River. I 
remember when there was good shooting in 
Ohio, Indiana and Illinois, but it is not so 
any longer. When I first began shooting 
prairie chickens, a man need go no further 
than Central Minnesota for the best of 
sport; but a few years ago I went as far as 
Dakota, found but a few, and was told that 
they were rapidly moving on towards the 

The Southern States still have an abun- 
dance of quail, turkeys, ruffed grouse, and, 
in some sections, deer; but, so far as legisla- 
tion goes, they extend very little protection to 
game, and the enforcement of the laws is not 
seriously attempted. 

Nevertheless, there is a widespread wak- 
ing up among our people to the necessity 
of protective laws before the quail is exter- 
-. minated. The difficulties in the way spring 
chiefly from legislative indifference to a 
subject which many consider beneath their 
dignity; from the over-enthusiasm of some, 
who, with the best intentions, would place 
too many restrictions upon the taking or 
possession or sale of game; from the pitiable 
lack of uniformity in the legislation of the 
States, and from the lack of power in the 
United States to legislate upon the subject. 

Many people forget, or do not know, that 
the United States Government has no power 
to regulate fishing or hunting in the States. 
Our general Government is so strong, and 
has done so many things, that the mind of 
the average citizen does not always realize 
that there are some things which it has no 
power to do.^ It was created for special 
purposes, under a constitution formed by 
sovereign States which pre-existed it, and 
one of the first amendments adopted, re- 
served to the States and their people the 
powers not delegated to the general Govern- 
ment by the Constitution. That Constitu- 
tion granted no power to the United States 
to regulate or control hunting or fishing; and 
the Supreme Court of the United States has 
repeatedly declared that it has no control 
over these subjects, except in certain inci- 
dental ways. True, the United States has 
exclusive control over the subject of navi- 
gation, and it has been held that fishing 
plants existing under State laws may not 
interfere with the navigation of streams 
under Federal laws. Otherwise fisheries are 
subject solely to0tate control. So, too, the 
United States has exclusive power to regu- 


late commerce between the States and with 
foreign nations. This has been construed 
by a New York Court as protecting dealers 
who buy fish or game lawfully in one State 
and take it as an article of commerce into 
another State where its possession is for- 
bidden in the close season. It was said that 
the fish or game becomes an article of com- 
merce, and that the owner has a right to sell 
it anywhere, and that a State law forbidding 
his possession or sale of it at certain seasons 
within the State, is legislation restricting his 
commercial rights and violative of the ex- 
clusive power of Congress to control .com- 
merce. No Federal decision sustains this. 
It remained for a State court to-declare this 
limitation upon the rights of the State. 
This is a most unfortunate conflict of law. 
It tends to thwart and trammel State 
legislation, enacted on a well-defined theory 
of game protection, and in my opinion, 
the decision is radically wrong. But its 
effects have been obviated recently through 
the passage by Congress of what is known 
as the Lacey Law, passed in 1900, which 
makes it unlawful for anybody to trans- 
port any game into any State as an article 
of commerce contrary to the laws of the 
State. The Lacey law came late, however, 
and after conflicting decisions, by State 
courts, not only on the above question, 
but concerning the interpretation of 
State laws which were substantially alike. 
The national Government is doing good 
service now. The Lacey law will accom- 
plish much. It confides to the Depart- 
ment of Agriculture power to propagate 
game, and incidentally, power to collate 
and disseminate to all the States the legis- 
lation of all the other States, on game 
protection. Under this law the Agricul- 
tural Department has already done what 
no State has heretofore attempted; it 
has printed, in one pamphlet, the statutes 
of the several States on the subject of 
game protection, and distributed it in all 
parts of the country; it will be of invalu- 
able service in educating the people and 
producing uniform State legislation here- 

I cannot hope to say anything new in 
this discussion I can only repeat arguments 
that have been made by others, and make 
suggestions which are not novel. 

In the legislation of the several States, 
there is a pitiful lack of uniformity; and \ 
even where the language in the acts of dif- 
Digitized by VjjOOQIC 


.The Game Law Problem 

ferent States is similar, the constructions 
placed upon the same phraseology by the 
courts of different States have been diver- 
gent and conflicting. 

The laws which have been passed for 
the protection of game may be classified 
as follows: 

First: Those fixing a period in which 
game shall be protected. 

Second: Those limiting the number of 
animals or birds which may be taken. 

Third: Those limiting the class of hunt- 
ers and the disposition of game after it 
is taken. 

Let us discuss these in their order: 

1. Concerning the period in which game 
may be killed or captured. 

All agree that game should be protected 
during its breeding season. It is equally 
manifest that different States having the 
same climate, have, in fact, a uniform 
breeding season, and that their laws should 
be uniform upon the subject of protec- 
tion. Mr. Charles Halleck was a pioneer 
of this idea and has advocated ?t most 
strenuously. He prepared a map divid- 
ing the United States into three grand 
territorial and climatic areas, contending 
that throughout each of those respec- 
tively the close and open seasons should be 
identical. The first area, called the north- 
ern, embraces a tier of States on the 
same parallel of latitude — Virginia, Ken- 
tucky, Missouri, Kansas, and Colorado and 
all the State* to the north; the second area, 
called the southern, embraces all of the States 
to the south of the northern tier; and the 
third area, called the Pacific, embraces 
the States on the Pacific slope. He is 
sustained in his position by the later 
investigations of scientific men, who con- 
clude that the breeding season is practi- 
cally identical in the States embraced in 
these grand divisions, respectively, and that 
the laws regulating the open and close 
season in all the States composing each, 
should be uniform. It would have re- 
quired much more time, energy and money 
than may reasonably be supposed to have 
been at his disposal for any single individ- 
ual to successfully present and enforce 
this very sensible idea before the State 
legislatures. But when the general Govern- 
ment takes the matter up, it is different. 
There is even* prospect that the Govern- 
ment will now succeed, by properly pre- 
senting this subject to State legislatures, 

accompanied by the statistics and the 
promise of assistance in securing State 
laws which are intelligently uniform. For 
this prospect we are indebted to the Hon. 
John F. Lacey, of Iowa, whose good work 
is beginning to be appreciated, although 
the subject was treated as insignificant 
when he first brought it to public notice. 

With the 'close season thus uniformly 
fixed, we will confront another problem, 
to wit: The right of citizens to possess 
or sell game in the close season. Is it 
wise after forbidding the killing of game 
within a certain period, to permit citizens, 
nevertheless, to possess and sell any game 
during that period? Does not this virtu- 
ally destroy the chance of successful prose- 
cution by enabling every offender, when 
detected, to plead that the game possessed 
or sold by him was game killed in the open 
season and held over, or game brought 
in from another State where it was law- 
fully killed. Manifestly the legislatures 
in some States believed that such per- 
mission would be thus abused and, ac- 
cordingly, laws passed forbidding the pos- 
session or sale of game in close season, 
whencesoever it came, except for a few 
days after the beginning of the close 
season, in order to allow the dealer to dis- 
pose of his stock on hand when the open 
season ended. In California, Illinois, Mary- 
land, Massachusetts, Michigan and Mis- 
souri, the decisions rendered i>y State 
courts sustain laws forbidding the posses- 
sion or sale of game in the close season, 
no matter whence it came, as reasonable 
regulations to prevent evasion of the game 
laws. In this they followed the English 
decisions on the same subject. 

In New York, a recent decision has 
held that although the language was general, 
it was only intended to forbid possession 
or sale of game killed in the State. Here 
we have a conflict of constructions which 
will not be reconciled, even when the laws 
are uniform in the three grand divisions; 
for the close season will be different in 
the three, and game from the Southern 
or Pacific sections may, according to this, 
be possessed or sold in New York during 
close season. It is a dangerous authority, 
and the State law of New York ought 
to be made so plain on the subject that 
the Courts cannot construe it away. 

The States have all unfled in protecting 
pheasants and other introduced birds not 
Digitized by V^OOQlC 

The Game Law Problem 


native to the State — most of them for a 
limited period; but Virginia, Colorado, 
Oregon and Montana have given them 
unlimited protection. 

Touching game birds which do not exist 
here and which, when imported dead from 
foreign countries, cannot be confounded 
with our own, such for example as Scotch 
blackcock and English woodcock, they 
ought to be admitted. They are neither 
in size nor appearance anything like any 
bird in America. Their possession and sale 
cannot be made a pretext for avoiding our 
own game laws; their enjoyment does not 
deplete any game stock in America, and 
our people ought to be allowed to enjoy 
them, and not educated to think that 
game laws are passed to enforce upon 
them senseless deprivations for the bene- 
fit of a few who shoot. The same may 
be said of the Egyptian quail, which cannot 
be confounded, dead or alive, with any 
American bird. It is much smaller than 
the American quail, its head and legs are 
different; its meat is not of the same color; 
and the fact that these birds are called 
grouse, or woodcock, or quail should not 
debar our people from their use. On the 
contrary, the righf; to import them would 
satisfy the cravings of large cities for game, 
and relieve the pressure upon dealers to 
risk violating the laws by serving native 
game. Such a permission would be in- 
valuable as a protection to our native 
game, yet it is violently opposed by many 
ardent advocates of game protection, as 
if a violator of the law could escape' by 
proving that an American grouse was a 
Scotch blackcock, qr an American wood- 
cock was an English bird twice its size, 
or an American quail an Egyptian quail, 
half its size and different in every way. 
For the above reasons, I strongly advocate 
the passage of laws permitting the importa- 
tion of foreign game of varieties plainly 
distinguishable from American game. 

Delaware and Kansas are the only 
States in the Union which, offer no pro- 
tection to deer, the reason being, perhaps, 
in the case of Delaware, that there is not a 
deer in the State. Every State in the 
Union protects quail, but the woodcock 
is unprotected in Delaware, Kansas and 
Nebraska, and the only Southern States 
which restrict the shooting of that bird 
at all are South Carolina, Alabama and 

2. Limiting the number of animals or 
birds which may be taken. 

It seems to me thpt one of the most 
efficient measures for protecting game will 
be to limit the numbej* to be killed by any 
gunner. Twenty-one (States have laws lim- 
iting the game bags, but only eleven of 
them relate to birds. I It is true that this 
limitation may be (ivoided as may all 
others, but it is a tangible, feasible and 
uniform requirement!/ operating on all 
classes alike. There is not a game preserve 
in Europe to which this rule is not applied. 

3. Laws limiting (the class of hunters, 
and the disposition Which they may make 
of their game after it is taken. 

Eight States have 'laws prohibiting the 
killing of game for sale; twenty-four States 
prohibit the sale of) certain enumerated 
game. What is accomplished by such a 
law? What difference does it make, after 
game is killed, whether it be sold, eaten 
or given away? Is ajny less game slaugh- 
tered by reason of sucjh a prohibition. We 
understand the theory, of course, but a 
law like that can n^ver be popular. In 
its essence it is discrimination between 
classes, touching a tiling that belongs to 
all alike. It assumes that a rich game- 
hog is better entitled to shoot and will 
be more merciful to the game than the 
poor market-hunter. Is that true? It 
turns loose unrestrictedly all the appliances 
of inconsiderate wealth, to whom the price 
of ammunition is no object, and restricts 
the rights of the poor man, who has as 
much right and loves hunting as much as 
the rich, and derives as much pleasure 
from it, and who has not the appli- 
ances for destruction possessed by his 
rich neighbor. It denies a poor man op- 
portunity to indulge his passion for hunt- 
ing, because he is willing to forego the 
luxury of eating, or; giving away what 
he kills of the common store, in order 
to provide himself with the means to go 
again; it deprives' the farmer's boy 
of one of the sweetest pleasures he has, 
for he gets his pocket change from selling 
the little bunch of game he kills upon his 
father's farm; it antagonizes the residents 
of towns who never hunt themselves, but 
enjoy the game which others shoot, and 
are glad to pay for it. It raises up a storm 
of unnecessary antagonism among people 
who would be ardent supporters of a less 
onerous and equally effective system of 
Digitized by LiOOQ IC 


The Game Law Problem 

protection. It seems to me this sort of 
legislation presses the idea of game pro- 
tection unreasonably far; that it tends 
to class legislation, giving to a few the 
rights possessed by all; and that it tends 
to prevent general support of really effec- 
tive laws. There is not a nobleman in 
England or France who thinks it beneath 
his dignity to sell game which has been 
killed upon his preserve. When game 
is killed and in possession of its captor, 
how can one argue that the manner of 
disposing of it will affect the question of 
game protection one way or another? The 
time to protect it is before it is killed, and 
the right to kill ought not to be decided 
by trying to ascertain the motive of the 
gunner when he is seeking it, or the disposi- 
tion which he intends to make of it after he 
kills it. These things lie away behind the 
main question of protection. The State of 
Montana prohibits the sale of all game 
taken in the State, and this seems to me 
to press the doctrine just discussed to its 
legitimate limit. No wonder populism 
flourishes there and the poor natives hate 
the rich Easterners, who come and shoot 
and eat the game or give it away, while 
the residents cannot afford to shoot what 
is their own, or buy what really belongs to 
them. It is class legislation of the rankest 
sort. A similar law has been offered in 
the New York Legislature, and I predict 
that it will be defeated, as it should be. 
Forty of the States prohibit the export 
of certain game, and all but three of these 
prohibit the shipment of quail. There is 
reason in this, and propriety. The game 
belongs to the people of the States; there 
is no State where it is so abundant that 
the people of the State cannot consume it. 
The right to export it is a temptation to 
exterminate it, and denial of that right is 
a means of limiting its use to those fairly 
entitled to enjoy it. Yet, it may well be 
contended that if the law permits a man 
to kill game, it becomes, when reduced 
to possession, as much part of his personal 
property as money in his pocket, and that 
a restriction upon his use of his property, 
after it has become absolutely his, is an 
unreasonable restraint upon his right of 
disposition, .a right co-ordinate with absolute 

Many of the States allow both the export 
and import of live game for breeding pur- 
poses under reasonable limitations during 
the close season, and this provision should 
be made universal, as territory depleted 
of game by extraordinary storms or droughts 
or other causes should be replenished from 
more fortunate neighborhoods; to whom, 
in reverse conditions, it may thereafter 
return the courtesy. 

Another means of protecting game and, 
in my opinion, one of the most effective, 
is a system of encouraging the capture and 
paying rewards for the scalps, of the 
enemies of the game. It is impossible to 
exaggerate the depredations of weasels, 
hawks, owls, and other vermin upon the 
small game and upon the birds and their 
eggs. The danger becomes greater as 
cultivation destroys cover. The States 
should offer small rewards for the trophies 
of these game destroyers. The simplest 
method of dealing with hawks is to place 
small platform traps on poles in different 
parts of the farm. The hawks will surely 
alight on these. In my own experience 
upon a small farm, we catch a great num- 
ber of hawks by this method every year, 
and other birds are multiplying visibly. 
These traps cost about $1.80 a dozen to 
private individuals and could be bought 
much cheaper in large lots. If the Stato 
or Federal authorities would adopt a 
system of buying and distributing them I 
believe they would do more effective work 
in that way than in any other one way at 
their command. 

The foregoing crude summary *f the 
laws as they exist, shows that the subject 
of game protection is rapidly approaching 
proper consideration; that some of the 
unfortunate conflicts in the past have 
been obviated for the future; that others 
can and will be reconciled; that, on the 
whole, the outlook is more hopeful than 
it has ever been before; and that, in all 
likelihood, the American people, with that 
marvelous common sense and instinct of 
self-preservation which has made them what 
they are, will -deal with this problem con- 
servatively and sensibly, and transmit to 
their posterity a bountiful supply of many 
kinds of game which has been provided for 
them by a kind Providence. 

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By Charles H. Morton 

WHEN the chill of winter has relaxed, 
and the iron grip of Jack Frost has 
released the lakes and rivers from 
their icy bonds, the appearance of the wild 
fowl on their way to the northern bound- 
aries of their summer home heralds the 
approach of spring. The sportsman, ever 
on the lookout for the first straggling flock, 
as early as the latter days of February, notes 
their cordons sweeping overhead in long, 
swiftly-moving wedges; and in March the 
flight along the river has begun, and the 
lakes and ponds — even the very mud-puddles 
along the country roads, are swarming with 
pintails, mallards and teal. The whistle of 
their wings shrills in the air each rainy 
night, and their vociferous "call" is music 
indeed to the farmer boy, as he steals, in the 
gray of the spring morning down to the 
pond in the pasture lot, with his double- 
barrel. He is after "meat," and his am- 
munition is too dearly purchased to waste on 
flying game. He cautiously crawls to the 
confining embankment, and stealthily peers 
over its grassy edge. His hasty glance takes 
in the confines of the small pond, and rests 
upon the comfortable bunch of mallards, 
swimming within easy range, unconscious of 
danger. Now both hammers are raised, the 
gun is gently brought to shoulder, two re- 
ports blend into one, and death and conster- 
nation follow. The remnant of the flock, so 
rudely startled, mount into the air and wing 
their way into the distance. Our pot-hunter, 
as he deserves to be called, follows the flock 
with satisfied eyes, and his keen gaze is espec- 
ially directed toward a laggard duck vainly 
striving to keep up with his mates. Farther 
and farther grows the gap between. There! 
he leaves them now, and swings down to the 
prairie, not five hundred yards away. Our 
farmer boy picks up the dead ducks when 
they drift to the bank; shoots a couple of 
crippled ones, gathers them, and goes after 
the one on the prairie. To his surprise, 
this duck is not so dead after all but that 
at his approach it struggles into flight and 
would escape if the lad was not a wing shot, 
as he proves to be. So, although distant a 

good forty yards, the duck drops back to 
earth once more, as the smoke drifts away. 

The changing weather of early spring 
incites the ducks to change their migratory 
flight quite often. An early spring, with 
the ice rapidly breaking up, causes them 
to swarm from the south, and for a few days 
the air is filled with their flying wedges; then 
the weather grows colder, the north is raging 
again, and the wild fowl seek the southern 
climate for refuge once more. Spring shoot- 
ing is performed under the most unfavorable 
of conditions. Generally the best shooting 
is to be obtained during the worst weather, 
and a person must be of remarkable endur- 
ance, and a possessor of sturdy health, to 
undergo the dubious delights of duck shoot- 
ing with the thermometer lingering near 
zero, the wind blowing a freezing gale, and 
the water turning to crystals on hip-boots, 
clothing and decoys. The hunter who can 
keep his temper while engaged in the self- 
inflicted punishment of taking up decoys 
after an unfruitful morning's vigil in the 
snow and ice of early spring, can lay claim to 
attributes worthy of a better cause. Spring 
shooting is to be condemned, as it is killing 
of game during nesting time — which means 
extermination, pure and simple. Neither 
are ducks in the best of table condition in the 
spring, being poor and rank in flavor. 
They are wilder, too, and more wary than 
they are in the autumn. It is certainly far 
better sport to bag half a dozen fat, juicy 
mallards in the golden days of our glorious 
Indian summer, when the weather and all 
conditions make the shooting enjoyable, than 
to shiver away the long hours of the dawn- 
ing day in the hope of having a shot at a few 
suspicious pintails, whose edible properties 
would rank well with a pine-knot — the usual 
spring flavor of all ducks. If spring shoot- 
ing was universally ended, the Book of Num- 
bers of the duck family would be a large 
edition indeed; the autumn shooting would 
be all the better. 

In the middle States the pintail is the first 

of the ducks to arrive in the spring. He and 

his fellows take very good care of themselves, 

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Why Duck Shooting is on the Wane 

and the straining eyes of the early hunter 
may mark their scudding flocks against the 
far away sky. Byron must have received 
his inspiration from the pintail when he 

"Vainly the hunter's eye 

Might mark thy. distant form to do thee 

As, dimly painted on the eastern sky 
Thy figure floats along." 

The pintail well deserves his scientific 
name of Dafila acuta, for he is cautious to 
the highest degree, and rarely ever pokes 
his long, slender neck into danger. He is 
essentially a river duck, but likes the coun- 
try, and is found in great numbers linger- 
ing around those farms where cattle are 
being wintered. The mallard and green- 
winged teal arrive from the south nearly 
as soon as the pintail, and ponds and water 
holes attract them, especially if there are 
good feeding grounds near at hand. Fol- 
lowing the mallard and teal, come the 
redhead and canvasback, the aristocrats of 
the duck tribe. While these are found to 
some extent along the larger rivers and 
ponds, they belong to the sea coast and 
lakes, and are looked upon as rarities else- 
where. The little, plebian bluebill is a 
good substitute for them, and his speed and 
diving powers compare favorably, as sports- 
men well know. In the inland States, 
where wild celery is not to be found, and 
the food of all ducks is the same, the 
table qualities of mallard, bluebill and teal 
taste much the same as the redhead and 
canvasback. The teal, perhaps, is the best 
of the lot. His little body is always encased 
with fat, and its flavor is unexcelled. The 
widgeon, or bald-pate (so named from the 
patch of white feathers on his head); the 
shoveller, with his sluggish disposition, the 
" section hand of the duck family," and the 
slowest flyer; the gadwall, closely allied to 
the mallard; the butterball, or ruddy duck, 
diver and buffoon of the webfeet, contempt- 
uous of danger, and trusting to his im- 
mense webbed propellers for safety, rather 
than to his diminutive wings; all these come 
and go during the latter part of March 
and the early April days, and leave behind 
them thousand of victims, slaughtered by a 
mistaken people and sacrificed on the altar 
of greed. 

Along toward the latter part of April, when 
the fields are becoming once more green and 
the birds are singing their spring song in 

wood and meadow; when the willow buds are 
bursting into puffs of whiteness like pigmy 
batteries bombarding the nervous sand- 
piper as he dodges up and down the sand- 
bars, we find the river tenanted for a few 
days by a beautiful little duck, whose shin- 
ing plumage flashes with brilliant hues as he 
sits proudly on the water, or flies here and 
there along the willow-masked banks. This 
is the blue-winged teal, of all the ducks most 
unsuspicious and approachable ; and those 
who know his habits can sadly misuse him, 
for he is always hungry, always on the 
lookout for food, always hustling up and 
down the river, searching for new feeding 
grounds, and always loath to leave these 
tempting spots. 

One great defect in the otherwise excel- 
lent scheme of existence made and provided 
for the welfare of all ducks is to be ob- 
served whenever there occurs that marked 
change in the weather presaging a "flight." 
Since the late "unpleasantness" in South 
Africa, the English have learned the bale- 
ful effects of a close order advance on an 
enemy, even at extreme range. They find 
it far more comfortable and less disastrous 
to scatter out when attacking a Mauser- 
lined area on sun-scorched scrub. If the 
ducks could take the hint from Tommy At- 
kins, and scatter out more, when migrating, 
instead of pouring in in dense hordes when- 
ever the vagaries of the weather advise, 
they would be gratified at the great change 
in their death rate, but they do not profit 
by experience in this line. Duck shooters 
knowing their habits, board the train for 
the lakes and marshes and establish their 
concealed batteries with all the ingenuity of 
the Boer marksman. So it transpires that 
the advance guard of the web-footed army 
is met with a withering fusilade from every 
lake and pond and swamp they visit, and 
the main guard and followers of the van 
suffer the same reception. In autumn it is 
hard lines enough for the poor duck, but in 
the spring it is another step toward that 
sure extinction that awaits all wild creatures 
condemned by a cruel custom of man to 
suffer death because he must be amused. 

The pot-hunter and spring-shooter — 
verily these twin agents of destruction go 
hand and hand, but they are not alone. 
The unthinking greed of the hunter who 
delights in making a great score, entitles 
him to swell the list of exterminators. It 
is true he is a sportsman; he does not hunt 

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Why Duck Shooting is on the Wane 

for market, and he always shoots his game 
on the wing. He gives his friends each a 
mess of ducks — and thus clears his conscience 
of the crime he has committed. But his 
is a dangerous element, and when the 
wild fowl are gone, at his door will be 
laid a great part of the blame. 

This may be resented by some, who 
affirm that ducks are plentiful yet, and 
therefore there is no reason for alarm be- 
cause a man kills more than he can use, 
once in a while. Until sportsmen learn 
the law of moderation, game laws are of 
no effect, and there is need to cry caution. 
What can a man, unless he is a shooter 
for the market, possibly do 'with a bag of 
one hundred or more ducks, killed in a 
single day? He may be proud of the feat, 
and entertain his friends with a recital 
of his grand sport, but it is to be hoped 
that somewhere, deep in his heart, he is 
ashamed of the slaughter and will never 
again be guilty of such a doubtful exploit. 
One hundred ducks is a large number for 
a man to kill in a day's shoot,' but at Lake 
Inman, in Central Kansas, and on the great 
salt marsh near the lake on the line of 
the Rock Island Railroad, the feat has 
been performed many times by hunters 
who have allowed their greed to overcome 
the voice of conscience. It is a hard 
matter to leave a duck pond while there 
is good shooting to be had, but any fair- 
minded lover of sport will admit that a 
day's kill of twenty-five ducks should sat- 
isfy the cravings of any hunter. Lake 
Inman and surroundings constitute the 
largest duck preserves in Kansas. Influen- 
tial sportsmen have leased the property for 
shooting, and a vast number of ducks are 
killed there every spring and autumn. 

Lake Inman is but one of the number- 
less shooting grounds in the United States. 
Ducks are slain by the thousands, un- 
necessarily and wantonly, throughout our 
country by men who claim the title of 
sportsmen, because they love to shoot, 
and own shares in the duck preserves, 
where preservation is never even thought 
of, or made a clause in the club rules. 
Even if over-ambitious sportsmen and their 
brothers, the pot-hunters, should carry on 
their warfare against the ducks, the wild 
fowl would rapidly increase if spring shoot- 
ing was absolutely prohibited. 

A few, alas, a very few, of the States 
are learning to realize what game protec- 
tion means. Only ten have laws prohibit- 
ing spring shooting. These are California, 
Idaho, Michigan, Minnesota, New Hamp- 
shire, Rhode Island, Vermont, Washing- 
ton and Wisconsin. Of these, Minnesota 
places a limit of twenty-five ducks per day 
to each shooter; Vermont limits the shooter 
• to twenty, and Washington to ten. It 
is a wise provision. Vermont and Wiscon- 
sin prohibit duck shooting between sun- 
set and sunrise. Only five States, out of 
all the rest that allow spring shooting, 
place restrictions upon the shooter. Colo- 
rado allows each hunter fifty ducks per 
day; Maine, fifteen; Montana, twenty; the 
Dakotas, twenty-five. A few of the States 
prohibit the sale of game, but ducks are 
not protected by this provision. Ohio pro- 
hibits Sunday and Monday duck shooting, 
and some of the larger clubs owning duck- 
ing privileges abstain from shooting on 
certain week days. Other than these few 
examples, the slaughter of wild fowl can 
go on unchecked. Pot-hunting, spring- 
shooting and a biased idea of sport are 
serving to exterminate the wild fowl, not 
slowly and surely, but with a rapidity 
and certainty that is astounding. Old 
hunters may easily recall how plentiful 
were the ducks twenty years ago, and the 
possibility of their extinction was then 
unthought of. 

With the invention of the breech-loader 
their extermination began, and now, with 
the aid of powerful shotguns loaded with 
smokeless powder and handled by a class 
of over-zealous gunners, it will be but a 
question of a few years until the wild 
duck is classed with the wood pigeon (so 
well known by our grandfathers), the wild 
horse of the plains, and the buffalo. Un- 
less prompt legislation comes to the aid 
of the wild fowl and strictly prohibits all 
duck shooting in the spring, when they 
are mating and nesting, and also places 
a restriction upon the number of ducks 
to be killed in a single day, the coming 
generation will be obliged to apply to old 
numbers of sporting magazines, ornitho- 
logical works and the museums in order 
to realize some idea of the bird, once so 
plentiful, that gave their thoughtless fathers 
that best of sport, wild-fowl shooting. 

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By E. Hubert Litchfield 

DURING the spring of the year 1900, 
just after an unsuccessful hunt 
after tigers in the jungles of the 
terai near Dehra Dun, D. and I started 
for a flying trip to Kashmir, more with 
the idea of seeing the justly celebrated 
Vale than with the expectation of get- 
ting any shooting. After a tiresome trip 
of two hundred miles in a jiggly tonga from 
Rawal Pindi, made in the fast time of two 
days, we arrived at Srinagar, the capital of 
Kashmir, a town which once held the hon- 
ored reputation of being 
the dirtiest place on the 
face of the earth, but which 
now, thanks to the super- 
human efforts of the street- 
cleaning department, holds 
only second place, with, 
however, the chance of re- 
maining there for many 
years to come. 

There are three varieties 
of bear commonly met with 
in the Indian Empire: the 
Himalayan black bear 
(Ursus torquatus, or Ursus 
tibetanus); the Himalayan 
snow bear (Ursus isabiUi- 
nus), and the sloth bear of 
the plains (Ursus labiatus). 
The last is the common 
bear of India, being found 
all the way from Mysore to 
the foot of the Himalayan 
Mountains. The first two 
are confined chiefly to the 
Himalayas, and are indige- 
nous to Nepal and Kashmir. The black 
bear is essentially a forest-loving animal, and 
probably is never found at a greater elevation 
than twelve or thirteen thousand feet. It is 
very fond of fruit, corn or maize, but will kill 
sheep and cattle if it gets the chance. In 
its forages for food it naturally meets man 
very often, and for this reason is not shy in 
the least. On the contrary, it will invade 
a native's corn field when the maize is ripe 
and actually gather the mulberries from 
the trees along the regular highways. In 

this love of fruit, as in many other respects, 
it resembles our own black bear; yet there 
is one great difference, our black bear is 
naturally a coward, and will run at the 
sight of a man, while the Kashmir variety, 
if in the mood, will move out of the road 
for nobody, and has been known many 
times to attack and kill without provoca- 
tion. It is deep black in color, with a white 
V-shaped mark on its chest, and a white 
lower jaw. The hair, even in winter, is not 
very thick, so the pelt does not make a very 


valuable trophy. The head is short and 
rather round, and the eyes are small. The 
claws, being short and strong, are well 
adapted to climbing. Individuals of this 
species vary considerably in size, ranging 
anywhere from ^ve feet to seven feet in 
length, though occasionally an old bear will 
grow even larger. The female is usually 
much smaller than the male. 

This is the bear whose pelt I sought to 
carry off to America. My battery con- 
sisted of a .303 double barrel express, and a 

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Black Bear Shooting in Kashmir 

double .577 express, so I felt equal to meet- 
ing anything. The .303 was chambered to 
shoot the regular English military cartridge 
with soft-nosed bullet, while the .577 shot 
170 grains of black powder and a 450-gram 
hollow bullet. I had tried without success 
to get cartridges loaded with the solid bul- 
let, fearing that -the hollow express would 
break up on striking the larger bones of a 
bear. And my experience justified my fears. 
I lost two bears which I undoubtedly would 
have secured had I used the solid bullet. 

Through the kindness of Col. Ward and 
Mr. Cobb, I was enabled to obtain a good 
shikari (hunter), an intelligent-looking Kash- 
miri of about thirty-five years, a cook, a ser- 
vant and the necessary camp outfit. The 
size of my tent, and the extent of my camp 
furniture would make one of our western 
hunters smile, but in India one requires 
a large tent, with fly, and many other com- 
forts on account of the terrific heat. All 
baggage is carried by coolies who manage a 
sixty-pound load without difficulty, aver- 
aging fifteen miles in the day, up hill and 
down. An ordinary "bunderbust" (out- 
fit), for two men will be about ten coolies; 
you pay these men four annas (eight cents) 
the march, so you can afford to have quite a 
following and many luxuries in the way of 
extra baggage, which the price of transporta- 
tion in this country would prohibit. 

I had been advised to go up the Liddar 
valley, where bear were said to be plenti- 
ful. This valley lies about fifty miles south 
of Srinagar, and is one of the regular 
routes to Ladakh. The mountains, heavily 
wooded in some places, rise on each side 
to a maximum height of about 17,500 feet, 
averaging probably nine or ten thousand 
feet. These mountains are furrowed with 
ravines called nullahs, and it is in these 
nullahs that the bears are found. They 
come down from the mountains at night, 
get their food in the valley near some 
village, and retire to the dense jungle 
during the day. Your best plan is to 
send men to the neighboring villages after 
information of bear; having secured which 
you hasten to the locality, arrange your 
"bunderbust," and try a "hank" (drive). 
The game laws only permit driving 
with men and dogs between May 15 
and October 15. At other times you 
must still hunt; sometimes you can 
get a shot by watching the corn fields 
and surprise bruin as he is on his way 

from breakfast; very often success attends & 
night walk among the mulberry trees, 
where the bear may be feasting. For this, 
however, you need moonlight, and you 
must have your handkerchief or some 
other white object tied around the muzzle 
of your rifle as a guide in sighting. 

After a beautiful trip of two days up 
the Jehlum river on a houseboat, I arrived 
and made camp at Islamabad, a prosper- 
ous town at the foot of the Liddar valley. 
That evening news came of a bear having 
killed a bullock about fifteen miles up the 
valley, so early the next morning we started 
with the owner of the slain bullock as 
guide. A climb of about 2,000 feet brought 
us the first day to the scene of the bear's 
feast, and we pitched camp by a dirty 
little village, situated in the center of the 
rice fields at the foot of a range of moun- 
tains ranging as high as 15,000 feet. The 
prospect of employment filled the settle- 
ment with joy and I was received in state 
by the lumbudahr (head man), and the 
villagers, who assured me that a bear 
not only had killed the bullock but others 
had ravaged the nearby corn fields. 

My shikari estimated forty beaters to 
be sufficient, so we selected that number, 
in addition to three leaders to conduct 
the line, and started at 4.30 the next morn- 
ing. The beaters were armed with drums, 
cymbals, tom-toms, tin cans, in fact with 
anything on which a noise could be made, 
their own voices being not the least effec- 
tive. As for clothing, a "kummerbund" 
(waist band), and a skull cap constituted 
their simple, and, for that climate, suf* 
ficient outfit. It was arranged that I 
take my position at the top of the nullah, 
while the beaters began the drive from 
the bottom, and walked towards me. 

Preceded by a guide, and followed by 
my shikari, I toiled up the mountain, and 
hard work it was, especially after the sun 
had risen and under the heat you began 
to feel like a baked potato. After two 
hours I reached the head of a nullah, 
and surveying the ground carefully with 
my glass, selected a likely spot, where 
with my rifles I awaited the drive to begin. 
My shikari was posted off on my right and 
another man on the left to drive the bear 
in toward me if it should try to get out 
at the side. The forest was so thick in 
front of me that I could not see clearly more 
than thirty or forty yards, and the danger 

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Black Bear Shooting in Kashmir 


of killing a beater in this kind of cover, 
where it was snap shooting as the bear 
momentarily showed himself! made me, 
I confess, a bit nervous. Very often the 
bear keeps just ahead of the line of beaters, 
so that you see them as soon, or even 
before you see the quarry, thus one must 
needs keep his head to avoid killing a 
native. Only the week 
before my hunt a beater 
had thus been accidentally 
killed by an Englishman. 

At last the signal was 
given and immediately fol- 
lowed from far down the 
mountain by a hideous 
chorus of yells, whoops, 
whistles, drumming of the 
tom-toms, and clashing of 
the cymbals, as the beaters 
dashed into the jungle like 
a pack of fox hounds. A 
slight breeze carried the 
noise up the mountain to 
me, and it sounded as if 
Bedlam had been let loose. 

Gradually, yet it seemed 
an age, the sounds came 
nearer and nearer, and now 
and then I thought I 
could distinguish words; 
but though they sounded 
near, the beaters were still 
a long way off. The beat- 
ing of the tom-toms was 
incessant and sounded 
stronger or weaker as the 
coolies passed through 
thick jungle or patches of 
clearing. Meanwhile I sat with the .577 in 
my hands expecting any minute a bear to 
pop out of the wood in front of me. My 
position on the sloping hillside not being very 
secure I had propped myself on the upside 
of a large tree, that I might take steady 
aim. Suddenly, above the clamor, which 
had become terrific, I heard harputf har- 
pui! kvbberdar! which means "bear, bear, 
look out ! " Glancing around the tree I could 
distinguish two black forms coming up 
toward me at a lope, now appearing dis- 
tinctly as they reached a clearing and again 
disappearing as they rushed through the 
heavy underbrush. They came on to within 
about forty yards of me, when, probably get- 
ting my wind, they swerved to the left. I 
could then see them fairly well as they lum- 

bered along and noted that they were large 
bears. Picking out a space between the trees 
past which I saw they must go, I waited 
till they came in view and then let go with 
the .577 at the shoulder of the larger, which 
at the time was about thirty yards away — 
the smoke preventing my getting in a 
second shot. At the report I heard a savage 


grunt and saw the bear rolling over and 
over down hill toward the beaters, who, in 
their excitement, kept shouting lugga (he's 
hit)! maro (shoot)! kubberdar; all this 
mixed with the loudest kind of yells and 
cries as they scattered right and left, 
climbing trees or rocks to keep out of the 
path of the wounded bear. I had not gone 
more than one hundred yards in pursuit, 
when we came to a tree whose blood-covered 
base showed it to have been the obstacle 
which had brought the bear to a sudden 
stop in his down-mountain roll; but he 
was up and on again. One of the track- 
ers went first, I next with the .577, my 
shikari following me with my second gun, 
and then came all the beaters yelling and 

shouting like madmen. Being unabli 
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Black Bear Shooting in Kashmir 

speak the language I could not keep the 
coolies quiet or drive them off. I was 
afraid the bear might back-track, spring 
upon us from behind some bush, and, in 
the scrimmage that I would shoot some- 
body. But my attempts at making my- 
self understood were of no use. They would 
not be left behind. 

We followed that bear up hill and down 
for about a mile and I was beginning to 
fear it would get away, even though I was 
sure I had held straight on the brute. At 
last we came out at the edge of a wooded 
nullah, and viewed the bear down at the 
bottom, making his way slowly up through 
the dense jungle of the opposite side, and 
looking very sick. I saw at once that if 
I did not then stop him he would escape, 
because by the time I could descend and 
ascend again he would be a long way off. 
So I decided to risk a shot when the bear 
again hove in sight. Taking the .303 I 
sat down on the hillside and waited, the 
natives all standing around and jabbering 
like magpies. Once more bruin came in 
sight and he looked for all the world like a 
giant fly walking up the window pane 
across your room. He was about one 
hundred and seventy-five yards off. I took 
a fine sight at his nose and slowly pressed 
the trigger, hoping to break his backbone as 
he climbed up. The small bullet did its work 
well, for at the report the bear suddenly 
came to a standstill, fell backwards, and 
then rolled over and over down hill till it 
came up with a crash in the bushes and rocks 
at the bottom. The result of this shot, as un- 
expected to my men as it was to me, took the 
coolies right off their feet. They jumped 
around waving their arms, rushed up, patted 
me on the back, calling me an atcha shikari 
(fine shot), and actually tried to kiss me, an 
operation for which I was not at all eager. 
At the bottom of the nullah we found the 
bear wedged between two large boulders 
growling and trying hard to extricate himself. 
I saw his backbone was broken, so, crawl- 
ing around into an advantageous position I 
gave him his quietus by a bullet through 
the brain. 

It was a very large specimen, about seven 
feet long and heavy in proportion. My first 
shot had entered at the left shoulder, but the 
hollow bullet had broken up on striking the 
heavy bones, thus only disabling instead of 
going clear through the way a solid bullet 
would have done. The second shot had 

broken the backbone and made the bear help- 
less. The last shot had shattered the brain. 
One lesson I learned right there, viz., that 
you want a heavy, solid bullet for smashing 
big bones, the hollow express being only 
useful against the soft parts of the animal. 
After the bear had been skinned, and the 
coolies had smoked the pipe of victory over 
the carcass, we returned to camp, I, for 
one, being so tired I could hardly stand 
after the work in the extreme heat. The 
news of the hunt had gone before us, and on 
our arrival, all the women and children were 
gathered in front of my tent awaiting us. 
The most interesting part of .the day (for the 
coolies) was now to come. They were 
drawn up in line and I handed each a four 
anna piece (eight cents) ; this, I had been in- 
formed, was a handsome reward, sufficient to 
enable each to live luxuriously for nearly a 

I hunted nearly every day for three 
weeks in different parts of the valley, with 
varying success; sometimes going for days 
without seeing a bear, and at other times 
having the bear driven almost within range, 
only to have it turn back and escape, through 
bad management on the part of the beaters. 
I was getting accustomed to the hard work, 
and had begun to pick up a few words of the 
language. We had been for several days 
after a very large bear, which was living 
near the little village of Eishmakam. I had 
seen it once in the distance, but repeated 
drives had failed to dislodge the rascal, who 
apparently was an old-timer, and fully cap- 
able of taking care of himself. The villagers 
told wonderful tales of his great strength 
and cunning, and these were corroborated 
one day when, having cornered him in a nul- 
lah, he turned back just as he was about to 
give me a shot, grabbed one of my beaters, 
gave him a fierce hug, and then hurled him 
downhill. The bear then decamped. This had 
taken place in the jungle just below me, but 
out of sight. When I climbed down I found 
the man pretty well used up, being severely 
bitten in three places and knocked insensible. 
I thought I would have a large bill of dam- 
ages to pay the widow, but the man came out 
all right in a few days, much to my relief, 
and a little cold cash fully recompensed him 
for his interview with Ursus torquatus. 

Finally, one day patience was rewarded. 

My shikari and I were seated at the top of 

a nullah, from which we commanded a good 

view. It was a nullah lined with low 

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Black Bear Shooting in Kashmir 


bushes, mixed, here and there, with patches 
of dense jungle; and the drive had not 
started five minutes when my shikari 
grabbed me by the arm, and, pointing down 
the mountain, whispered harput, budda har- 
put (a big bear). I looked just in time 
to see a large black object disappear in 
a patch of jungle about five hundred yards 
below. Bruin, probably having been in 
drives before, had decided to vacate before 
the beaters could get near, so off he started 
for the top. I could see him gradually 
coming up, getting larger and larger as he 

saw me at all, and so I waited until he was 
only twenty yards away, and then, slowly 
taking aim, at the point of his left 
shoulder, pressed the trigger. As the smoke 
cleared away, I saw the bear rolling back 
into the brush, followed by a lot of stones 
and dirt which he had dislodged in his fall. 
Down the mountain he rolled, breaking the 
brush like paper, for about two hundred and 
fifty yards, when I noted the bushes stop 
moving. The beaters had scattered right 
and left and were now looking out from 
advantageous positions behind rocks and 


approached. At length he was only one 
hundred yards away, and had entered a 
piece of brush which extended up to within 
about forty yards of where I sat, so I knew 
that he was bound to come out pretty near 
me. I could hear the underbrush crash 
and break as he came up. At last out he 
came, making for a point a little to my 
left; and I kept absolutely still, waiting for 
him to get well within range. He was so 
intent on getting away from the beaters, 
whose yells were now terrific, that he never 

trees. I hurried down as fast as the nature 
of the ground would permit, and found that 
the bear had brought up in a dense piece of 
thorn and briar bushes about fifteen feet 
high. The coolies had surrounded this 
place, and were hurling rocks in the direction 
of the bear, calling him all sorts of names. 
Bruin declined to move, only giving vent to 
his displeasure by repeated grunts and 
growls. I entered slowly on my hands and 
knees, and had not gone ten yards when I 
saw him through the briars rolling his head 

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An Easter Outing in Florida 

from side to side, and evidently hard hit. I 
crept all around, trying to get a shot at his 
vitals, but he was so mixed up with the brush 
that I could not see, and I decided at last to 
risk a shot, hoping the bear would expose 
himself. I fired with the .303 at what I 
thought was his chest, and accomplished my 
object. Giving a short growl, he struggled 
up on his hind legs and made for me. This 
was just the chance I wanted, so I gave him 
a shot from the .577 right in the V-shaped 
white mark on his chest. That finished 
him. We had a hard time getting the bear 
out, having to cut a regular path with axes; 
but at last it was done. It was huge for a 
Kashmir bear, measuring seven feet six 
inches from nose to tip of tail — the largest 

ever shot in that vicinity, the head man told 
me. My first bullet had entered at the 
point of the left shoulder, smashing it com- 
pletely, and had torn its way into the chest; 
but there it stopped, breaking up into small 
pieces, as I thought it would. A solid bullet 
of the same weight would have finished him 
off then and there. The last shot went 
through the chest and out at the back. The 
coolies cut a small tree, slung the bear on 
with vines, and we started for camp. 

I killed several bears after that, but none 
so large. The weather was by this time get- 
ting intensely hot, which made it practically 
impossible to hunt in the day time, so I 
decided to break camp, and the end of July 
saw us homeward bound. 


By Lynn Tew Sprague 

THOUGH we of the North make much 
ado about spring, we know her not 
in all her beauty. With us she is 
coy, capricious and somewhat lachrymose. 
She is timidly here to-day; to-morrow she 
has fled before returning winter. But in the 
Gulf States she comes suddenly and to stay, 
with assured, sunny smiles and voluptuous 
arms full of flowers. By the first of March 
rose bushes and fruit trees are in bloom, 
the woods are shimmering with yellow- 
greens and the intense, delicious, balmy 
spell is felt in one's very soul. March, with 
us most disagreeable of months, is there a 
succession of golden days and odorous prom- 
ises, and April is what our June is, 

" The balmy month of bloom and birds, 
Of M>ng and leafy bowers.' ' 

It was an Easter day in late April when 
my snail-paced mule drew me up before 
the Major's gate. The dignified old gentle- 
man who was to be my host, I had casually 
met only a few days before when a quail- 
hunting trespasser on his acres. He had 
sat with me on a fallen log in his hummock 
lands and talked in quaint, stately phrase 
of old times and old ways in the old South; 
and on Easter eve an antiquated negro had 
brought to my hotel, two miles away, a 

note written with the straight, strong 
strokes our grandfathers affected, which I 
knew at a glance was from the Major. It 
briefly asked, "Will you come and dine on 
the gladdest of holidays, and see how simply 
an old-time Southerner lives?" 

So I had driven away in the soft beauty of 
the Florida spring morning, along a sandy 
track that wound and twisted seemingly any 
whither, like the weird Ocklawaha River, 
which it skirted, and was now at the Major's 
home. The courtly old gentleman came down 
the path to receive me, as though I was a hero 
spoil-laden from victorious battle, and there 
was, from that moment, a gracious old-time 
flavor about all his hospitality that put me 
altogether at ease. Like nearly everybody in 
Florida, the Major has known better days. 
The great freeze all but ruined him, but he is 
as erect and uncompromising as the noble old 
oaks in his yard. His plantation consists of 
some four hundred acres of sand and pine 
trees, with perhaps forty acres of rich hum- 
mock lands. He has a half dozen old negro 
servants, who raise a little poor cotton and 
some vegetables for market; and who cut for 
the Major some salable cypress timber. Be- 
fore the destructive freeze, the Major used 
to ship about a thousand boxes of oranges. 
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An Easter Outing in Florida 

His house is large and rambling, much built 
on at the rear. It is sadly dilapidated and 
stands close to the highway, like a Northern 
farmhouse. But inside the weather-beaten 
and unpainted structure, there is the simple, 
delightful courtesy of long ago. Here he 
lives with his sister, an old maiden lady, natur- 
ally sweet and charming without effort, like 
all high-class southern ladies. Their days 
are passed without tedium or melancholy, 
in a climate as gentle as themselves, and as 
gracious as that art of living which they so 
perfectly retain, but which the newer gener- 
ations cannot master. With simple, health 
ful occupations their days unroll among the 
old furniture and the old books; they read 
Walter Scott and Montaigne, and are ignor 
ant of Emile Zola and Mr. Howells. 

The Major has a little lake all to himself, 
on one side of which his large half-ruined 
orange grove stands. A little palm-bordered 
stream flows from it into the Ocklawaha 
a half mile away. Thither, after a little, we 
went to talk and walk, while awaiting dinner, 
and that leisurely promenade, under semi- 
tropic arcades, with the Major's kindly voice 
in my ears, was an experience to remem- 
ber long. The balmy soul of spring seemed 
almost violently sweet, oppressively soft, 
under the palms and live oaks, by the side of 
the still but not sluggish stream. It stole into 
my blood bringing a delicious languor that 
made me feel kindly disposed toward every- 
thing. In the pauses of our talk, day-dreams 
floated through the mind, radiant and tender 
as the turquoise sky above us. The per- 
fumed air was quiet, save when just a sigh of 
wind set the palms scraping and rasping, and 
made the oak leaves whisper gently. The 
pathside was sprinkled with beautiful south- 
ern violets. On all sides the growth was 
dense, and there was never any prospect along 
our walk, only intricate vistas through the 
woods where shadows lay blue across every 
tone of green, and where blades of yellow sun- 
shine shifted in. How strange it seemed 
when a covey of robins leaped and scattered 
before our approach, timid as game birds. 
Were these shy and silent creatures really the 
familiar, garrulous birds of our northern sum- 
mer lawns? And why were they lingering 
hero so late? 

Now and then the southern dove cooed in 
the bush tangled greens, and when the path 
bent toward the stream, two blue heron 
were seen dragging their long legs through 
bordering reeds. At a particularly beautiful 

e ) 

spot where a spring of warm water gushed 
from the black earth, we came upon a flock of 
those divine songsters, the wood thrushes, 
silent and demure here in their southern re- 
treat, where (the pity of it) they are ruth- 
lessly shot like game birds by negroes and 
poor whites. Bright yellow and red wild 
flowers peeped from the thick tangles on 
either side and over our heads the arching 
limbs of century-old oaks were draped with 
festoons of gray moss. Suddenly we found 
ourselves at the mouth of the stream on 
the banks of the Ocklawaha, where the 
earth was soft and the path treacherous. 
With the decline of day miasma rises from 
the river banks and only negroes can live 
near the water. But the stream looked 
weirdly beautiful, as we stood beside it. 
Thick forests of tall cypress, live oak and 
palmetto fringed it; huge vines twisted 
among and interlaced the trees, jungles of 
unfamiliar growths, bright oft times with 
native flowers, were below and overhead 
all was draped with the eternal Spanish 

The celebrated river moves slowly, but 
is very deep, the Major told me. It seemed 
to have sinister shadows on its bosom and 
along its course are so many dark bays and 
coves where the deadly water snake breeds, 
that one scarcely knew where the channel 

We left the river and walked home 
through the pine woods. A mocking-bird 
sung to us ceaselessly, seeming to follow in 
our wake to voice his strenuous joy of the 
spring, and as we drew near home we met 
an old negro searching for us to announce 

When we sat down to feast the Major 
read a prayer in a deeply reverent voice, 
and then on a table trimmed with southern 
holly and mistletoe, an old-fashioned south- 
ern dinner was served. We had turkey 
in a bed of rice, and game, and a plum pud- 
ding, and fresh vegetables, and we had coffee 
made as only southerners make it, and we 
drank some rare old scuppernong wine the 
Major had made. After dinner we went 
out to his half ruined orange grove and 
smoked tobacco the Major had grown, and 
listened to the cardinals. Then toward 
evening we walked back into the pines 
where the Major's negro hands and their 
friends were celebrating the day. For the 
Major believes the anniversary of the Sa- 
viour's rise from the dead should not be a 

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An Easter Outing in Florida 

solemn day, but the very gladdest of all 
festivals. We sat upon a log in the resinous 
fragrance of the wood and listened to the 
snapping banjos thrumming, and heard old 
plantation airs sung in the rich melody of 
negro voices. 

On the edge of a huge bonfire 'possum 
and sweet potatoes were roasting, and 
when the sun went down in a sea of yellow 
glory, the light of the flames on the ebon 
faces made the spectacle almost weird. 
But how happy they were — those dusky- 
faced children of our far South! Does the 
Caucasian ever attain that height of pure 
animal gladness? They danced for us — 
not dances of the feet and legs alone — but 
writhing, contorting dances, wherein every 
muscle played its part. And they accom- 
panied all with shouts and melodious howls 
from the seventh heaven of negro joy. 

"The old African incantatory spirit is 
upon them at these times," said the old 
Major. Nothing could exceed their respect 
toward him. With every new feature 
of the festival, a negro approached, cap 
in hand, to beg his sanction. He in turn 
was all kindness to them. But he takes 
an old southerner's view of their life and 

"They are neither as well off nor as 
happy as in old slave days," he said. " They 
are naturally shiftless, idle and irresponsible. 
They will not work, except when driven 
by want and then only enough to relieve 
it. And I tell you, you cannot educate 
a pure nigger. Intelligence? Why there's 
Leb over there, my brightest darkey. I 
reckon he doesn't know who the President is. " 

"Oh! not so bad as that, Major, is it?" 
I protested. 

"Leb," called the Major, and the negro 
drew near, cap in hand. "This gentleman 
wants to ask you a question." "Leb," 
said I, "can you tell me what is the name 
of the President of the United States?" 

"Yas, sur." 

"Well, Leb, what is it?" 

"De President ob de United States?" 

"Yes, Leb, who is the President?" 

" Well, sur," said Leb, " Gen'al Grant wuz, 
but he ain't no mo!" 

But the Major's sorrowful smile disdained 
his triumph. 

It was late when, leaving the darkies 
feasting, we returned to the house where 

wine and cake were served and some more 
of the Major's fragrant cigars were smoked. 
Then, till bedtime, he regaled me with 
tales of old slave days, tales of the war 
and anecdotes of General Jeb Stuart, his 
old commander. But I fear the Major is 
one of the unreconstructed. "I have been 
a long time out of the world," he said. 
"It is much changed. It is all electricity 
now and no sentiment. The country has 
grown great, you say, and powerful. Aye! 
materially great and brutally powerful. 
Compare the men of to-day with those of 
my youth. It is very sad to me — this 
greatness of our country and its statesmen. 
I would rather see the nation small and 
weak and righteous, like Switzerland, and 
like Switzerland have the smallest percent- 
age of illiteracy and crime of all nations. 
That is the true greatness of a people. 
And this freedom of the niggers down here — 
what is it? this boasted liberty of theirs — 
but a liberty to be idle, to steal, beg, and 
starve? What would become of them if 
it were not for the charity of the whites — 
their old masters — I should like to ask the 
theorists of the north?" 

When at last I went upstairs, in through 
the wide-open windows, out of a summer- 
night's sky, came the pale rays of a late- 
rising damaged moon, and in its light I 
undressed and saw by my watch that it 
was just twelve, and a very happy Easter 
day was done. Back in the woods the 
negroes were yet singing and their soft, 
faraway voices came to me across the old 
cotton patch. A sweet lullaby to which 
I fell asleep. 

About ten the next morning, Leb brought 
my sleepy mule around and the old Major 
came out into the road to see me off. I 
thanked him in my awkward best way and 
told him* I wished there were more of his 
kind to sweeten and ornament life. But 
what a real grace these old southern gentle- 
men have! He did not rudely disclaim 
and correct me as a northerner might in 
an attempt to return politeness. He said, 
"Ah, you brought youth and sunshine into 
our old home, and even a blackbird may 
sing a little in the brightness of the spring. 
Promise me to come again soon. We will 
hunt together." 

And thus I bade adieu to the straight 
old Major and drove away in the sand. 

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By Ellen Oughton Giles 

I FEEL somewhat at a disadvantage, 
by reason of the shortness of my 
stay in America and the limited 
experience of two shows, to speak with 
authority on the American side of the 
question, yet I have really seen much, 
and it may interest my English country- 
women to know what are my impres- 
sions of the American side; and Americans 
may like to have some account of our 
dog showing in the old country. The 
catalogue of the Westminster Kennel Dog 
Show recently held in Madison Square 
Garden discloses one hundred and twenty- 
eight ladies' names as exhibitors; but this 
does not represent their full number, as here 
it appears you are not obliged to give your 
name in the catalogue but can enter as the 
" * * * kennels," giving the name by which 
your kennels are known. I personally 
cannot see any reason if a lady owns dqgs 
why she should not give her name. In 
England we have no choice in the matter, 
the Kennel Club compels us to give full 
names and addresses, or we cannot ex- 

This brings me to one of the principal 
points of difference between the exhibitors 
of the two countries. As far as I could 
see there were very few ladies who took 
their dogs into the judging ring. In Eng- 
land the contrary is the case, almost 
every one preferring to show their dogs 
themselves as far as possible. At the 
Ranelagh Hound Show last June two 
duchesses led their dogs to victory. I 
hope that the Ladies' Kennel Association 
of America will use its influence in this 
respect and that the members will follow 
the example of their President, Mrs. J. L. 
Kernochan, Miss May Bird, the Hon. 
Secretary Miss L. P. Moeran, Mrs. Pul- 
sifer, and other members whom I noticed 
with their exhibits in the judging rings. 

With regard to the breeds in which 
women are interested over here, the num- 
ber seems to me more limited than at 
home. Here there are no chows chows, 

whippets, ofd English sheep dogs, or 
bassetts, very few griffons, pomeranians, 
pugs, schipperkes, no Dandie Dinmonts 
and only a few skyes. On the other hand 
ladies here are very strong in that charm- 
ing breed the cocker spaniel, in which 
at home I can only recall one ladies' ken- 
nel. Sporting spaniels, too, seem a more 
popular breed with ladies here than with 
us. I should like to know the reason of this; 
as I should have supposed it would have 
been the other way about. Then, of 
course, here ladies have first rate kennels 
of. Boston terriers; a breed so far unknown 
in England. Before leaving this subject 
I want to say something about the condi- 
tion of many of the exhibits. In this they 
fall far short, as a rule, of the English; and 
in this respect it seems to me American 
amateurs have much to learn. I refer 
more particularly to the curly and long- 
coated varieties. Take the poodles, which 
were inferior to the average pet ones in 
England; but however good they might 
be in other ways they would not stand 
the faintest chance at one of our shows 
unless their coats were thoroughly well 
cared for. I have seen a lady spending 
a good hour's work on her poodle's coat, 
which already seemed as near perfection 
as possible, so carefully are they attended 
to every day. The curly poodles are 
brushed and combed and the coat kept 
as clean as a baby's head and as glossy, 
and after the judging is over .they are 
decked out in ribbons tied in their hair 
with the greatest taste. I am rather 
inclined to think, as regards the appear- 
ance of the hair, that exhibitors here 
labor under difficulties which we do not. 
The extreme dryness of the atmosphere 
and the excessive heat of the rooms tend, 
I believe, to make the hair lose much of 
its natural moisture, and consequently 
it is not as easy to produce the silky effect 
which is so desirable in Yorkshires. 
There were really hardly any of the York- 
shires or toy spaniels which were up to 

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American and English Women Dog Fanciers 

our beat show form, but curiously enough 
the Japanese spaniels I thought looked 
remarkably well. 

I referred just now to the number of lady 
exhibitors at the recent Westminster Kennel 
Show which, as it was the most impor- 
tant one here, seemed I should suppose 
a representative entry: a number which 
I fancy must equal that of our Kennel 
Club Show. Yet I feel sure that at present 
in America it would not be possible to 
hold such a show as that of the Ladies' Ken- 
nel Association at the Botanic Gardens, 
which is limited to ladies' exhibits only, and 
where, as far as I can remember, there are 
considerably over two thousand entries. The 
" toy " classes being, as is natural, unusually 
strong; far outnumbering the larger breeds, 
which are, however, often well represented; 
for it may be said women hold some of the 
best kennels in almost all breeds in England. 
The following are some of the names which 
occur to me: The Duchess of Newcastle 
(borzoiz); Mrs. Oliphant (bloodhounds); 
Mrs. Harcourt Clare (pomeranians) ; Mrs. 
Skewes Cox (schipperkes) ; Mrs. Horsfall 
(Great Danes); Miss Reston (pointers); 
Mrs. Graves (poodles and toy spaniels) ; Lady 
K. Pilkington (toy bulldogs); Mrs. Thomas 
(pomeranians); Mrs. Foster (Yorkshires); 
Mrs. Strick and Miss Armine Gordon (chow 
chows) ; Mrs. Frank Pearce (griffons bruxel- 
lois) ; Mrs.Fare Fosse (old English sheep dogs) ; 
Mrs. Addis (Asiatic spaniels); Mrs. Lloyd 
Wagner (Dandie Dinmonts); Mrs. Hughes 
(skyes) ; Miss Vera Dunn (pugs) ; Mrs. Tottie 
(bassets). All these and many others have 
kept and studied the breeds named with a 
thoroughness which I venture to claim as a 
national characteristic, who are really com- 
petent to judge them, and whose opinion is 
absolutely reliable. If such ladies as these 
can be induced to judge, and nearly all those 
mentioned have at various times judged at 
shows, it seems to me a great difficulty in 
the much-vexed question of frequently 
changing judges is solved. In England, 
certainly the number of judges is very lim- 
ited, and it is of course impossible that it is 
not pretty well known beforehand what type 
of dog he affects; so that, bar some accident 
of condition, or the advent of good novices, 
entries are undoubtedly regulated by 
whether you think your dog likely to suit the 
judge or not. Now let such ladies and the 
many others that could be named, whose 
bona fides are beyond dispute, judge oftener 

at suitable shows, and I think secretaries 
will find entries easier to obtain. Great care 
should however be exercised in selecting, as 
judges, those ladies who have taken a prac- 
tical interest in the breed. The possession of 
one or two specimens of a breed, however 
good they may be, few a few months, does 
not constitute knowledge. There is no 
royal road to that. It is only attained by 
years of patient study, great attention to 
breeding, and, alas, repeated disappoint- 
ments. In short, generally paying rather a 
high price for your experience. 

Remember the aim of the true dog lover, 
or perhaps fancier would be a more correct 
term here, should be to breed good dogs. 
The accident of money enables any one who 
possesses it to buy the most perfect spec- 
imens, and very proper that it should be so, 
but the real credit, honor and glory belongs 
to the successful breeder. I am given to 
understand that there are many women in 
America who are taking an interest in dogs 
from this higher standpoint, and it is to be 
hoped that the L. K. A. will do all in their 
power to cultivate and encourage the feeling 
by giving prizes for the best American bred 
puppies or adults. There must, of course, 
always be many who keep dogs solely for 
profit and are distinctly professionals, and 
the reason why their dogs so often win is 
that it is their business and therefore their 
first consideration. 

The amateur's dog is, as a rule, put on one 
side because of some other engrossing occu- 
pation to its owner. Precious time is lost, 
and symptoms remain unnoticed and neg- 
lected and the animal is shown out of con- 
dition and the inevitable disappointment 
of " no card " results. In my opinion, ama- 
teurs should be in a position . to keep 
a suitable person to look after their 
dogs, and especially should they always 
have their own attendant at shows. A little 
story will illustrate the value of this. At 
the last Crystal Palace show I saw a little 
beagle being dragged into the judging ring by 
one of the show attendants. It belonged to 
a friend of mine who was unable to come 
with his exhibit. The poor little beagle was 
lying miserably on the ground and refusing 
to show herself at all. I took upon myself 
to send my kennelman to show her. Direct- 
ly he took the lead she jumped up, held up 
her stern gaily and eventually secured a 
championship, which most certainly would 
not have happened had she been left to the 

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American and English Women Dog Fanciers 


tender mercies of a man who knew nothing 
and cared less. If it so happens that you are 
not able to keep a well-trained kennelman 
or woman, then only keep the number of 
dogs that you can attend to with comfort to 
yourself and them. Success does not by 
any means necessarily attend the largest 
kennels. You are just as likely to get your 
champion from one litter as from twenty, 
and certainly much more likely to rear them. 

It is the experience of us all in England 
that the more dogs we have the more we 
lose in proportion, and a friend of mine who 
has had great opportunities of studying the 
subject says she is sure this may be 
traced to the fact that the ground becomes 
more and more contaminated, and ren- 
ders the dogs more liable to contract dis- 
ease. If the experiment of a kennelwoman 
has not been tried in America it might per- 
haps be well to mention that there are sev- 
eral in England, and in many cases it an- 
swers extremely well, particularly with pup- 
pies, for of course women make such better 
nurses than men. A lady in England, a 
member of our ladies' branch of the Ken- 
nel Club, is, I believe, just starting a train- 
ing school for nurses for dog patients. Hav- 
ing had an immense amount of experience, 
her husband and herself both possessing large 
kennels, she proposes to utilize it in this 
way. From my own experience I can 
say with confidence that hundreds of pup- 
pies die every year that might have been 
saved if they could have received the in- 
dividual attention they need when very ill 
with distemper, and which it is impossible 
to give them where there are many ill at the 
same time, and all the routine work of a 
large kennel to be attended to. All the 
cases I have known where the horrible pest 
has been successfully combatted have been 
where this special hourly attention, as in 
enteric cases, has been given. 

Dog showing being comparatively new 
in America possibly many difficulties may 
be thrown in the way of women wishing to 
take it up. One reason often given why 
people do not show is that it is so cruel to 
the dog. Ouida has, of course, written 
strongly urging this point. I cannot agree 
with it. My little beagles jump of their 
own accord into their boxes when they are 
brought to the kennels. My whippet Cham- 
pion Rosette, who is my faithful companion, 

not only leaves me, but with delight, as 
soon as the man appears with her show coat 
and stays with him willingly, though or- 
dinarily she growls if he touches her. I 
am, however, strongly opposed to more than 


First. Open, at Westminster Kennel Club Show. 
Rud. Schneider. 

two days* shows, which I consider quite 
long enough for owners as well as dogs. 
The length of the shows here seems to me a 
great mistake, and unless there is some 
very good reason for prolonging them I 
hope the L. K. A. as it increases in numbers 
will bring influence to bear on this point. 
Fond as I am of dogs, I go so far as to say 
that even if the dogs do get rather bored and 
tired with a show they must put up with a 
certain amount of inconvenience, as they 
are a means of giving an immense amount 
of pleasure. This was evidenced by the 
palpable delight and interest of the enormous 
number of people who crowded to the 
recent Westminster Kennel show. 

It can hardly be much above ten years 
since dog showing became so fashionable in 
England and enough has been said in this 
article to show what a great influence women 
can bring to bear on doggy matters. No 
doubt it will be the same here and 
women will be able, through the Ladies' 
Kennel Association, to wield a great power 
for good. To use it wisely and well and by 
their example, social power and presence, 
raise the standard of dog showing, thereby 
rendering it an amusement in which all may 
indulge without meeting with objection- 
able practices, will be their mission. 

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By William Hunter Workman, M.A., M.D., F.R.G.S. 

FOR two seasons we roamed among 
the peaks and valleys of the vast 
mountain labyrinth that bounds 
India for 1,400 miles on the north. During 
that period the writer traveled with Mrs. 
Fanny Bullock Workman more than 1,800 
miles, crossing some twenty passes of ele- 
vations between 15,000 and 18,000 feet, and 
making three pioneer ascents of snow peaks 
from 18,600 to 21,000 feet high; earning 
thereby the mountaineering record for the 
United States, and Mrs. Workman three 
successive world records for women. In 
this elevated belt, a desert region of high 
valleys, giant mountains, rock and ice — 
many portions of which are still unexplored 
— practically no accommodations for trav- 
elers exist. Beyond Srinagar in Kashmir 
and the few English settlements, such as 
Simla, Mussouri, Naini Tal and Darjeeling, 
scattered along the Himalayan foothills, the 
native villages offer no shelter that a Eu- 
ropean would avail himself of, save in case 
of direst necessity. 

Whoever wishes to travel in this region 
must provide himself with a complete camp 
outfit of tents, tent furniture and cooking 
utensils. His ordinary traveling boxes 
must be exchanged for canvas bags, leather- 
covered " yakdans" and " kilters" or leather- 
covered baskets, which can be transported 
by coolies or ponies, and as the only pro- 
visions to be obtained from the natives 
are limited to chickens, sheep, eggs and oc- 
casionally milk, he must provide himself 
before starting out with all other supplies 
needful for his journey, such as biscuit, 
tinned meats, soups, concentrated and in 
tins, oatmeal, rice, flour, sugar, tea, coffee, 
chocolate, tinned flageolet or baked beans 
and sweet corn, besides a few bottles of 
whisky and brandy for emergencies. It will 
be well to provide a few luxuries to vary a 
diet otherwise monotonous, such as prunes, 
preserved ginger, raisins, jams, jellies, mar- 
malade and the like. He must not forget 
to take a good supply of stearine candles 
and lanterns, as well as petroleum and a 
primus stove; for if he wishes to see nature 
in its most majestic aspect, he must ascend 
to heights far above the limits of fuel, even 

of the most primitive description. In or- 
der to be certain that the food supplies are 
fresh and of good quality, he must obtain 
these either in Europe, or in Bombay or 
Calcutta, from which latter places they 
must be transported 1,200 or 1,500 miles 
by rail and then by cart to the base from 
which the start is to be made. He must also 
pack his provisions in boxes holding each a 
coolie load, at most sixty pounds, and 
secure the covers with hinges and locks for 
convenience of access and to prevent the 
appropriation of the contents by servants 
and coolies. Thus, before starting on a 
tour, one has to prepare his house and house- 
keeping conveniences on rather an extensive 
scale. This done, he engages a khansamah 
or cook, who also acts as general purveyor, a 
bearer, or tent servant, and an assistant, 
who brings wood, water, and performs all 
kinds of menial offices under the direction 
of the others. Many also employ a tiffin 
coolie, who carries the tiffin or lunch basket 
and attends the sahib or master on the 

Transportation is effected on the most 
traveled routes where suitable paths exist, 
chiefly by ponies, though coolies are also 
much employed. On the higher routes, 
particularly in Ladakh and Nubra, and 
toward Tibet, ponies are replaced by yaks, 
while in many lesser traveled parts coolies 
alone are to be had. A coolie load aver- 
ages fifty pounds, though in an easy coun- 
try it may be increased to sixty, while in 
difficult mountain work it may have to be 
reduced to thirty-five. In addition to the 
travelers load the coolie often carries ten 
to twenty pounds in the way of food and 
covering for himself. 

Ponies are supposed to carry three 
maunds, or two hundred and forty pounds, 
but their drivers seldom load them quite to 
this limit. A pony usually carries as much as 
three coolies. When well driven on ordinary 
routes, ponies cover from twenty to twenty- 
eight miles a day, while coolies will .march 
only from twelve to twenty. In the more 
inhabited parts a march is determined by 
the distance from one village to the next, 
varying from six to fifteen miles, and ponies 

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Tent Life in the Himalayas 


and coolies are changed at the end of every 
march. In expeditions into the uninhab- 
ited tracts coolies are engaged by the day 
for the whole time, and, under these circum- 
stances, it is necessary to urge them on 
constantly in order to make proper dis- 
tances. Like some horses they are ex- 
ceedingly slow on the outward march, but 
when their faces are turned toward home 
they move with a surprising alacrity which 
needs no urging. Although ponies cover a 
greater distance in a given time than coolies, 
they do not convey their loads with the 
same care, and one's baggage suffers far 
more when carried by them. There are al- 
ways some with bad tempers, which throw 

moraines rather than take a shorter and 
easier route over ice. 

A number of travelers, mistaking lazi- 
ness and unwillingness for bodily weakness, 
have expressed to me the opinion that as 
coolies live chiefly on rice and meal, they 
must lack bodily strength, and should only 
be asked to carry light loads and make 
short marches. A rather extended exper- 
ience with coolies under various circum- 
stances leads me to dissent from this view. 
While usually spare of body and of rather 
slender frame, I have found them possessed 
of remarkable strength and power of en- 
durance. One has only to observe to per- 
ceive that when working for themselves, 


their loads, and all of them, when the 
drivers are inattentive, which is often the 
case, are likely to run together, jamming 
their loads one against the other, or strike 
them against projecting rocks. One may 
at any time see one's most necessary camp 
furniture rendered useless in this manner. 
Coolies do not like to travel upon ice and 
snow. It is difficult to induce them to 
march on glaciers, and next to impossible 
to make them ascend a mountain above the 
snow line. In making a journey, they pre- 
fer to follow an arduous course over lateral 

they carry far heavier loads than they are 
ever asked or are willing to carry for the 
traveler. In Darjeeling, where alone in 
India, so far as I observed, women and chil- 
dren serve as coolies, I have seen a woman 
carry a box weighing two hundred and sixty 
pounds upon her back, by a strap passing 
-from her forehead around the box, half a 
mile without stopping to rest. A boy of six 
years carried a trunk of mine weighing over 
sixty pounds in a similar manner from the 
railway station in Darjeeling up a hill a 
quarter of a mile without restic 
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Tent Life in the Himalayas 

our expedition into Sikkim several women 
and boys of fifteen or sixteen, who were 
among our coolies, carried their loads of 
sixty pounds fifteen miles a day for several 
days, up and down steep gradients without 
faltering. On the occasion of our ascent 
of Mount Koser Gunge, 21,000 feet, in Bai- 
tistan, one of our oldest coolies with gray 
hair, voluntarily bore a tent weighing over 

slow and even pace it is a more agreeable 
animal to ride upon than the pony. Coolies, 
ponies and yaks are obtained by applying to 
the lambarders, or village chiefs, who are, 
in the more settled regions, bound to fur- 
nish them at fixed prices, but in the more 
remote ones, more or less bargaining as to 
time and wages is necessary. 
Three things are essential to a comfortable 


fifty pounds up an exceedingly rough and 
difficult rock wall from a camp at 14,600 
feet to a higher one at about 18,000 feet. 
The climb took seven hours, and he arrived 
among the first. 

The yak, as stated, replaces the pony, 
both as a transport and riding animal, in 
certain elevated regions. In shape it re- 
sembles the Indian buffalo more than the 
ordinary domesticated bovine. Its sides 
and flanks are covered with long black hair, 
which conceals the outlines of its body. It 
is larger than the pony and carries a heavier 
load. Its gait is slower, and all its move- 
ments more deliberate, but it is surer-footed 
and seldom makes a misstep. Owing to its 

camp: good water, wood, and clean, dry 
ground. These are not found associated at 
the same spot so often as might be imagined, 
and really ideal encamping places in the 
Himalayas are rather rare. In the lower 
regions, on traveled routes, the caravans 
usually stop at the villages, which lie at the 
terminations of convenient marches. In each 
of these a small place is set apart for encamp- 
ing purposes. Here travelers encamp, pick- 
eting their animals around their tents with- 
out regard to the convenience of those who 
are to succeed them; so that, after a while, 
these places become reduced to a condition 
little better than stable yards, and unfit for 
the purpose for which they were designed. 

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Tent Life in the Himalayas 


On unfrequented routes clean spots can be 
found in the neighborhood of villages where 
wood, water and supplies may be obtained. 
Among the mountains it is often difficult to 
find a plateau large enough for the tents, 
which may have to be placed in scattered 
positions; or, perhaps, only a part of them 
can be used, or they may have to be dispensed 
with entirely. On one occasion, owing to 
the tardy movements of our coolies, we were 
overtaken by night on an arete at a height of 
over 13,000 feet, where no level spot existed. 
By dint of piling up stones and scraping 
the earth out from a natural embankment, 
we managed to make a terrace large enough 
to stand the ladies' tent on; while the guide 
and myself spent the night under a shelter 

fore we encamped, was partly turned aside 
by trenches cut just above the tents, but it 
remained a wet bivouac at best. Some of 
our best camping places were found along 
the banks of the great Biafo glacier, at ele- 
vations of 12,000 to 14,000 feet, on small, 
gravelly terraces, covered with scant vegeta- 
tion, at the mouths of torrents pouring out of 
gorges between the mountains which towered 
8,000 to 9,000 feet above our heads. Higher 
up, at elevations of 16,200 to 17,400 feet we 
encamped on glacier ice, which, though cold, 
we did not find unbearable, and at our highest 
camp, at about 18,000 feet elevation, our 
tents were pitched on terraces made of loose 
stones, on the rock-ribbed aretes bounding 
the eternal snows of Mount Koser Gunge, 


made by stretching my tent over the sharp.y 
ascending* path. On this perch refreshing 
sleep was out of the question. A few days 
later after marching the whole day in a 
heavy rain, we were obliged to pitch our 
tents on a small, sloping, rain-soaked and ooz- 
ing, swampy meadow, where we were storm- 
bound for two days. The water, which was 
running plentifully over the soft surface be- 

21,000 feet, our highest peak. 

In the lower Himalayan valleys, up to 
6,000 or 7,000 feet, and higher in the southern 
portions of the chain, wood exists in abun- 
dance, and may be bought for a small price 
at the villages, where camps are made, or 
collected in any desired quantity from the 
dead wood in the- forests. Higher, long 
before the natural altitude limit of tree 

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Tent Life in the Himalayas 

growth is reached, wood, in many regions, 
becomes scarce on account of the absence of 
soil on the mountains and the desert con- 
dition of the valleys. The surface of many 
of the latter at altitudes of 8,000 to 11,000 
feet, consists of barren sand, shale or rock, 
with only here and there an oasis, on which 
a village is situated, where a limited number 
of trees may be found, mostly poplars, though 
near some villages mulberry and apricot 
trees flourish. Above 11,000 feet, and fre- 
quently below this height, the traveler 
must depend for his fuel supply on brush- 
wood growing about two feet high, and 
on an aromatic herb called fcoortea, which 
' grows plentifully in many regions. The 
highest point at which we found bush growth 
along the Biafo glacier in Northern Baltistan 
was at 13,600 feet, where we had a large 
amount collected and sent on ahead to our 
camps above. On Mount Koser Gunge birch 
trees of moderate size grew up to 14,400 feet. 
At the foot of the Sasser Pass, in Nubra, at 
15,600 feet, nothing could be found to burn 
except yak excreta and dried grass, which 
combination does not make a model fuel, 
even in the hands of a Kashmiri khansamah. 
It is astonishing to see with what a small 
amount of fuel and cooking utensils a good 
Indian cook will prepare a palatable meal. 
With three or four sticks the size of one's 
finger, placed between three stones, he will 
boil the water for one's tea or coffee, and with 
as much more he will roast a chicken to a 
turn in a closed iron box. At one of our 
camps on the ice, some 800 feet higher than 
the summit of Mont Blanc, where we ex- 
pected, at best, to dine off a tin of cold Ameri- 
can corded beef and a cup of tea, our 
khansamah surprised us with a most de- 
liciously roasted leg of mutton from one of 
the sheep we had driven with us up the 
Biafo glacier ; roasted over a fire made of the 
brushwood before mentioned. In case of 
the absence of all ordinary fuel, the primus 
stove affords a means of making tea, heating 
soups or tinned food preparations, and warm- 
ing one's tent, radiators being furnished by a 
combination of biscuit tins. Where fuel is 
so scarce it is obvious that the traveler must 
in the main depend for warmth on thick 
clothing rather than on camp fires, and tent- 
ing at high altitudes cannot be called a par- 
ticularly cheerful experience. 

As a rule after leaving the more thickly 
inhabited regions, good water can be found. 

Still this is not always the case. It is 
advisable to carry a filter, through which all 
water, used for drinking or cooking purposes, 
may be passed, as the water of rivers and 
glacial streams is often turbid, especially after 
floods or in the afternoon, when the melting 
of the ice above has increased the* volume 
and also the turbidity of the stream. The 
best form of filter for travelers we have 
seen is the Birkenfeld, which forces the 
water rapidly through a porcelain filter and 
makes the most turbid water absolutely 
colorless and clear. In cases where muddy, 
stagnant water has to be used, as some- 
times happens, the filter becomes a physi- 
ological necessity. We met with an in- 
stance of this kind while encamping 
at Tragbal on the foothills above the 
Woolar Lake, in Kashmir. The only source 
whence water could be obtained was a 
pool of dark brown water, from which 
the cattle pastured in the neighborhood 
drank, and in which they sought refuge 
from the attacks of flies. So filled was 
the water with muddy sediment, that the 
porcelain candle of the apparatus became 
clogged after five strokes of the piston, 
and no more water could be forced through. 
The operation of cleaning it had to be 
repeated over and over after every five 
strokes, and an hour and a half was con- 
sumed in obtaining enough clear water to 
make our tea and soup for dinner. When 
filtered, the only objection which could 
be urged against the water was the knowl- 
edge of the source from which it was taken. 
We used, on our expedition, mostly 
Indian tents made of cotton drilling, manu- 
factured in New England. This drilling 
is much lighter, warmer and more pliable 
than canvas, and is entirely water proof, 
at least for one season, which cannot be 
said of canvas. With our tents well placed 
as regards drainage and with good trenches 
around them to carry off the drip and 
surface water, we weathered a number of 
storms, not only in safety, but with a sense 
of comfort that was rather agreeable. We 
had one double fly tent, the outer fly of 
which is supposed to be useful in keeping 
out the heat by the sun, where the tents 
cannot be pitched in the shade of trees 
or rocks, but as a matter of fact, both 
single and double fly tents were found to 
be uninhabitable, when exposed to the 
summer Indian sun, even at elevations of 

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Tent Life in the Himalayas 


7,000 and 8,000 feet. At 8,500 feet in the 
Shigar Valley, we were encamped for three 
days in the middle of August, in a ploughed 
field, under the sickly shadow of a couple 
of thinly grown apricot trees. We were 
unable to remain * in our tents after ten 
o'clock, a.m., on account of the great 
heat, which varied from 86° to 92° Fahr. 
in the shade, in the afternoon of those 
days, and was considerably higher inside 
the tents. On the contrary, at greater 
altitudes, there is need of all the sunshine 
that can be had. As a protection against 
cold and wind, we had fringes, fifteen inches 
deep, of stout drilling sewed around the 
bottoms of our tents, which when turned 
inward and well weighted with heavy 
stones, kept out the wind effectually. 
In addition our tents were, when needful, 
lined with a native woolen fabric, called 
putto, which made them warm and com- 
fortable. They were also provided with 
rubber floors and Indian " durry " rugs of the 
same square area as the tents. In an 
eight foot square tent thus arranged, with 
a primus stove lighted, we could keep as 
warm in a temperature of 16° Fahr. as in 
any city house. We had with us during 
our first expedition, a new Willesden can- 
vas Whymper tent, with a canvas floor, 
brought out with us from England, but 
long before we experienced a freezing temp- 
erature we discarded it, as it afforded but 
little protection against the cold and was 
in no sense rain proof. In encamping on 
moraines and mountain sides, where no 
proper places to stand the tents on were 
to be found, we had the coolies build out 
with rocks terraces large enough for them. 
In these cases as also in case of glacial 
camps, the tent pins could not be driven 
in as usual, but had to be wedged between 
the stones as well as possible, the tent 
ropes attached to them being weighted 
down with heavy stones to keep them 
taut. When the tents became loaded 
with snow, as frequently happened, or 
when the wind was strong, the pins would 
be drawn out and the sides of the tents 
would partially collapse. On such occa- 
sions we were obliged to turn out, often 

in stormy nights, to readjust the fasten- 
ings, not a pleasant task in the cold, snow 
and wind. Once we awoke in the morning 
to find the sides of our tents pressed in 
so as almost to touch each other by the 
weight of snow, which had unobtrusively 
accumulated upon them during the hours 
of darkness. If one were intending to try 
for a peak of over 20,000 feet, he should 
be provided with Mummery tents, lined, 
as he would in all probability, have to make 
a high bivouac above where he could in- 
duce his coolies to go. 

Sleeping bags are necessary for comfort 
at all elevations above 8,000 feet. For 
very high work those made of eider down 
are, of course, the lightest and warmest. 
Next to these, in our experience, come 
those made of the soft and comparatively 
light German camel hair blankets, while 
the felt English bags backed with canvas 
are heavy, stiff and cumbersome, as well 
as lacking in warmth. A good supply 
of extra light blankets and mackintosh 
cloth is also necessary. 

Without going farther into details of 
equipment, I would say that tent life 
in the Himalayas furnishes experiences and 
pleasures never to be forgotten, whether 
one passes the long summer days in the 
dolce far niente existence of the visitor 
to the Vale of Kashmir and its beautiful 
neighboring valleys, with their delicious 
climate, under its shade of the majestic 
chenars and soaring evergreen deodars; or 
travels for scenery or the chase among 
the valleys of the middle ranges, bounded 
by rock walls and towers of wonderful 
form and marvelous ever-changing colors 
and cleft by swiftly-flowing cascaded rivers; 
or penetrates to the vast icy solitudes of 
the highest regions, beyond the range of 
all living things, where the sky is pierced 
by myriads of grim, rock-bound, ice-cov- 
ered shafts, that tower in sheer precipices 
thousands of feet above his path; where 
the silence, that may be felt, is broken 
now by whispers of the summer breeze, 
now by the howling of the tempest, the 
voice of the mountain torrent or the roar 
of the ever-recurrmg avalanche. 

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By Aloysius Coll 

WELL had Noah whittled out the 
saucer of his ark. Upon it sat 
the upturned cup which held the 
relic-pairs of creation, floating about in the 
dish-pan of the world. Noah had slammed 
shut the doors and the windows of the ark 
when the storm blew up from the north- 
east. From within he heard the loud drop 
of the # deluge on the boat roof. Blue- 
tongued thunderbolts licked at the chinks 
he had forgotten to stop with clay. When 
Mrs. Noah and the other women of the first 
boating party gave respite to his ears, he 
could hear the cedars of Lebanon drift 
under the keel, and feel the thin watered 
mountain peaks bump the belly of the boat 

The downpour on the roof-tree died 
away. The women clamored to get out 
and visit their neighbors; they had some 
peppery secrets over which they had sneezed 
seven times seven; but a circulation of the 
gossip among four females, they said, was 
not enough. 

The cup rattled in the saucer of the ark. 
" Are we going to land?" asked Mrs. Noah. 

"Not likely," answered her spouse — the 
whittler of the ark. " The giraffe made a 
sounding at eve, and couldn't touch bottom." 

"With his hoof?" 

" Woman, am I saved as seed of the new 
creation, think you, and know so little? 
Certainly not with his hoof; with his neck." 

"Four more weeks in the ark!" sighed 
Mrs. Noah. 

Noah fretted. The food bins sounded 
hollow. The lion, in hunger, had already 
chewed the tails off the deer. Noah opened 
a window in the ark and sent out a crow — 
a bird that might easily be seen, should it 
return in the rain, so grand and gaudy its 
plumage, for it must be remembered that 
the crow had as much beauty in the day of 
the deluge as it has pride to-day. 

Noah was disappointed. Mrs. Crow (for 
a female had been sent out on the mission), 
attracted by the float, went astray. "The 
bird has fallen prey to her greed* and 
drowned in her gluttony," said Noah. 

"And now there will be no crows," said 
Mrs. Noah, "for behold the bird in the ark 
will have no mate." 

Noah winked. "Hush!" he said. "I 
knew the wanton greed of the carrion eater, 
and so smuggled an extra pair into the ark 
before we set sail." 

A white dove was released. Returning 
it bore in its bill a fresh branch. 

"Green goods impostor," cried Mrs. 

"I'll untongue you, if this is the speech 
you are to transmit to your parrot pos- 
terity," quoth Noah, angrily. 

"Is that Mr. Parrot or Mrs. Parrot?" 
asked Mrs. Noah, intruding. 

"Tis the woman bird." 

"What a punishment!" muttered the 
matronly chaperon of the boating party. 
"Untongued!" And she shook her head, 
as one who felt the terror of the threat. 

A rainbow ate into the frowning face of the 
sky. The saucer of the ark tilted on the 
rocks of Mount Ararat. Noah flung down the 
gang-plank. Two by two, the birds and the 
beasts, and lastly, the men and the women, 
trailed out of the ill-smelling house. The 
gulls, the petrels and the cormorants were 
sick, and could not leave the ark, which 
broke away from her moorings, and — a dere- 
lict — carried them out to sea. Since that 
day the gulls and the petrels and the cormor- 
ants have not left the waters. 

The beasts and the birds bunched on the 
beach at the landing place. Father Noah 
called the roll. In the list of Cs came the 
crows. " Here!" croaked sober Mr. Crow. 

"Present!" sang out Mrs. Crow. 

"Here!" called another Mr. Crow. 

Then swelled a mighty protest against the 
crows. "This is not justice," quoth the 
birds. "Instead of being one short after 
losing a member of the family, the crows are 
one ahead." 

Noah was anxious to pad the returns, for 
he was in a quandary how to account for the 
gulls and the cormorants and the petrels, 
which he had neglected to get off the boat. 
" It takes two crows to make one bird, such 

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Forest Fables 


as some others of you are," said he, attempt- 
ing to smooth out the wrinkles that had 
gathered in the tally-sheet of the minutes 
for the proceedings of the first day in the 
new world. But the birds would not have 
it so. 

"It's an unfair advantage that will work 
to the increased population of the carrion- 
eaters," snarled the eagle. 

" It's bigamy, too," tittered the wren, and 
under her breath that saucy bird went on: 
"I wouldn't care if one Mr. Crow had two 
wives, but I do solemnly object to one Mrs. 
Crow having two husbands. She'll never 
get done bragging about her duplicity in 

The quarrel would not down. Meantime the 
beasts were counted off, recorded in the new 
world's menagerie roll, and roamed among 
the green bushes, feeding. Noah offered 
sacrifice. His wife scolded. The oven built 
for the cooking of the first supper had been 
soaked by the deluge, and her fire went out 
before she had the coffee boiled. 

But Mrs. Noah's shrill chatter was only 
a trifle to that of Mr. Eagle, and Mr. Blue- 
bird, and Mr. Pheasant, and Mr. Jay, and 
all the feathered fellowship of the forest, 
deep in the squabble over the bold bigamy 
of Mrs. Crow. 

"I can manage two husbands," snapped 
that angry bird. "I bossed the whole 
crow crowd in the ark." 

" How lucky for you that the other Mrs. 
Crow is drowned!" piped Miss Wren. 

" It's an unpardonable precedent for the 
new world," said Mr. Owl, seriously. 

"Just as unpardonable to establish a 
precedent for the granting of divorces," 
retorted Mrs. Crow. " How am I to get rid 
of one of my husbands without divorce?" 

"Poison one," broke in Mr. Hawk, 
looking up from his work of removing 
some of the old boat dirt from between 
his claws. 

"Yes, invite Mr. Cobra to dine with 
wife, and have them drink each other's 
health out of the same goblet," suggested 
Pith-brain Peacock, sweeping the sand with 
a tail tattered in the boat by the trampling 
toes of the tapir. 

" Your opinions change about as often as 
the sheen on your rear-end pride," blurted 
Mrs. Crow, "so that I do not think they 
are to be considered in the plans and 
pleasures of thinking birds." 

Just then Mr. Bull-Frog poked his nose 
up out of the mud. His croak caught 
the attention of the birds. "This deluge 
was a cinch for you, wasn't it?" called 
Mr. Hawk. 

" It was a liberal donation of wet goods," 
gurgled Mr. Frog; "but I came not to talk 
of the over-sprinkled past. Rather I had 
a suggestion to offer regarding the dilemma 
of Mrs. Crow." 

"In order! Properly before the house!" 
shouted the birds. "Out with it!" 

"First, be sparing on Mrs. Crow. She 
did not advertise for an extra husband. 
Her luck is her lot. But why not make one 
of the husbands a celibate? Declare the 
bans of matrimony in his case illegally 
published, untie the nuptial knot and 
ordain him a priest of the new world." 

The humor of the plot at once corrupted 
the good manners of the forest people. 
Mr. Cobra, who had come out of the weeds 
at the mention of his name, hissed serenely. 
Mr. Woodchuck waddled down the dank 
beach and sat on the sands, holding his 
sides with laughter. Mrs. Parrot stut- 
tered in broken syllables, high above the 
wash of the waves and the licking of the 
flames of the new fire Mrs. Noah had kindled 
at her oven. Mr. Frog blinked his filmy 
eyes with satisfaction at the unbounded' 
popularity of his plan. 

"But I have no vocation for the minis- 
try," objected one Mr. Crow, desperately. 

"I would be a disgrace to the cloth," 
said the other Mr. Crow, with emphasis. 

" In either case, to make a very poor 
preacher we would merely un-make a very 
poor husband," said the sarcastic Hawk. 

Below the speaker the weeds parted, 
and Mr. Fox, grinning in the early dawn 
of his joke-spirit, which has never left 
him to this day, came forth from hiding. 
Acquainted with the facts in the queer 
tangle, he declared it the most perplexing 
problem which had been before him since 
the day he had been called upon in the 
ark to straighten the tapir's nose after 
that forest brother had bent it trying to 
kflock the spots off the leopard. 

"They are equally handsome," argued Mr. 
Fox; "there is no choice for Mrs. Crow, as 
far as looks go. But intelligence counts, too." 

"With the preacher, or the husband?" 
broke in Mrs. Crow. 

"We shall see," said the sly Mr. Fox. 

He had a little joke in mind, and he dared 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 


Forest Fables 

not be too explicit, lest both husbands 
be prepared to thwart his plot. 

"By a very simple test," he said, "I 
think it will be fair to decide which Mr. 
Crow is to remain the devoted husband, 
and which to become a pillar of the pulpit. 
Is the matter of judgment left to me?" 
The birds assented. Mr. Frog, disgusted, 
plumped into the mud. One Mr. Crow, 
the junior, took fright, and also took wing, 
striving to evade the decision, but Mr. 
Hawk shot after him like a bullet, bearing 
him to the ground in the underbrush. 
Other birds went into the battle. In the 
struggle Mr. Pheasant's necktie was de- 
ranged — jerked from his throat and heaped 
on his head, like a bandage knot, where all 
the pheasants wear their neckties to-day. 

Mr. Crow was dragged back. With his 
brother he stood before Mr. Fox for the 
deciding test. For convenience throughout 
the trial, Mr. Fox re-christened one Mr. 
Crow Mr. Jim Crow, and the other Mr. 
James Crow. The forest fellows gathered 
about to hear the recital of the wedding- 

Turning to Mr. James Crow, Mr. Fox 
said: "Suppose that in an off day, Mr. 
Crow, you should quarrel with your be- 
loved wife, and break her wing. Which 
brother of the forest would you call in for 
assistance?" Mrs. Swan had the advantage 
of her long neck here. She poked her head 
almost up to the lips of Mr. Crow, hang- 
ing upon his answer. 

Mr. James Crow looked puzzled. Then he 
suddenly hugged himself with his wings. 
" I would call in Mr. Fox, who has never 
failed to adjust broken pledges, re-fill 
broken pocket-books, and mend broken 

"Good! Good!" squawked the swan. 

"And what brother would you call in?" 
said Mr. Fox, addressing Mr. Jim Crow. 

"First and last, I shall never need the 
assistance of any brother of the forest for 
such a help. Jim Crow does not beat his 
wife!" and the bird threw up his wise head. 

"Jim's the true husband!" shrieked the 
birds, crowding about to carry him off 
in triumph. Mrs. Crow dodged under the 
Swan's bent neck to get a loving glance 
at the hero. 

"It is plain that Mr. Jim Crow is the 
wiser bird of the two," began Mr. Fox, 
judge-like," for the. wisdom of the test was 
not to be proven in the truth of the answer, 

but in the falsehood of the question. Fur- 
ther trials would be idle. I shall there- 
fore decide that Mr. Jim Crow shall be 
the preacher, and " 

"The husband! the husband!" fairly 
stormed the birds, rushing with one accord 
upon Mr. Fox. 

"Nay, not the husband," quoth the 
fox, suavely. "In the ministry we desire 
the finest intelligence; in the husband we 
must have the finest intelligence also. In 
the ministry Mr. Jim Crow shall work 
alone, and on his own wits. And he has 
the tools for his new work. But who is 
here to say that Mrs. Crow has not the 
wisdom and the intelligence in herself to 
make up for the loss of Mr. Jim Crow as 
husband?" Mr. Fox, with the air of a 
village schoolmaster, triumphant in the 
stumping of his class of twelve-year-olds, 
looked about from side to side. Mr. Cobra 
drew back his hood, and bared his fore- 
head to the sea-breeze, that he might 
think clearly. Mr. Crane scratched his head 
with a bony claw. "I repeat it," said 
Mr. Fox, quietly, "who is here to say 

No bird stirred. "Not even I myself,, 
who declare my divorce by my own speech > 
will say it," spoke the gallant Jim Crow, 
in a choking voice. "Always have I paid 
tribute to the wit of my beloved wife." 
And walking a little distance down the 
sands, he stood, and stretched himself 
to his full height. "I am ready for the 
ordination," he said. 

Then came Mr. Blackbird, and pulling 
out a gaudy feather from Mr. Crow, re- 
placed it with one of ebon hue from his 
own breast. Came Mr. Buzzard, and he 
did likewise. Came Mr. Vulture, and Mr. 
Dodo, and all the fowls of the fields and 
the air which had feathers of black, each 
giving Mr. Jim Crow one or more, till he 
stood before them — a somber bird of min- 
isterial mein, dressed in cleric garb from 
the tip of his tongue to the rim of his tail. 

"Reverend Jim Crow!" said Mr. Fox, 
introducing the new preacher to the congre- 
gation of the wood. 

But Mrs. Crow loved him, for all his 
sober garment. "I suppose," she said, 
with mock indifference which she affected 
to stifle her real feelings of love, "that 
Reverend Jim Crow, making the rounds 
of his parish, may call at my house, or 
offer me consolation in time of sorrow — 

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On the Edge of the South Land 


privileges granted to all the members of 
the congregation." 

"Reverend Jim Crow is the pastor of 
his people, and must look after his flock 
without fear or favor," said Mr. Fox. 
Whereupon Mrs. Crow picked a burr out 
of Reynard's tail. 

"And she'll be sick often enough !" 
muttered the wren, darting into the under- 
brush. True was the prophecy, nor did 
Mrs. Crow die of her illness till long after 
Reverend Jim Crow had transmitted his 
clever tongue, his wise discretion and his 
black vestment to the Jim Crows of all 

The dodo has passed from the face of 
the earth, and men gape at his semblance 
in glass cases. The blackbird did murder 
one day at the broqkside, and ever since 
his wing has been splotched with the red 

badge of guilt. The vulture is estranged 
from the haunts of men, and must steal 
away in the dawn and in the day-danger 
on carrion trips. The dove has lapsed 
into a puny pet. But Jim Crow — the 
gallant, the unselfish and the faithful — 
true to the trust of his forefather, is still 
a leader among the flocks of birds, still 
a shepherd in the feathered fold. Day 
after day he mounts guard for the faint 
sign of the foe. Only the far-traveled 
bullet reaches his heart, and disturbs the 
roost of his people. Every son of Noah, 
who reads of his ordination, has heard him 
at his sermons in the top twig of a tree, 
far out in the middle of the sheep field, 
on Sunday afternoon. So is he still high 
priest. And we love him more for one 
bad habit he has kept from the ark-trip — 
he still eats meat on Friday! , 



By Leonidas Hubbard, Jr. 

FOR us of the North there hovers over 
the Southern States a glamor akin 
to romance. We become conscious 
of this when we cross a State line and 
enter the new region. Not only does the 
sun take on a new brightness and the air a 
new balm, but new accents float up to us 
from the railway platforms and enter with 
the incoming passengers. To the sports- 
man comes a charm but slightly different. 
He may not note the change in accent, but 
the new sun and the new atmosphere — if it 
be winter — suggest open rivers and lakes 
where ducks stay well on into the cold 
months, where fish bite the whole year 
round, and where strange kinds of game, 
birds and beasts that he never finds along 
the Canadian border, are waiting to lead him 
a new chase. 

Missouri is such a State. One crosses the 
line from Iowa or Illinois, and instinctively 
feels himself in the South. Farther to the 
north he has lamented with the settlers the 
extinction of the kingly wild gobbler. He 
has come to feel for that elusive bird some- 

thing akin to the longing of the old Spaniards 
prowling through this same region in search 
of El Dorado. Now he is in a land where the 
turkey may still be found. Here, too, is a 
country where squirrels were always, where 
quail never freeze, and where he sees the first 
of migrating birds in their winter home. In 
this new land he is in contact, too, with those 
bits of half sport which have a charm of their 
own entirely distinct from that of the more 
exciting chase; he may join in a neighborhood 
coon hunt and stumble through the woods 
by lantern or torch, while the hounds bay 
terrifying messages to coon and 'possum. 

Here, too, sport has an association lacking 
in the North : the association of famous deeds 
done in the days of history making. When 
Daniel Boone and his companions were fight- 
ing the aborigines across the border in 
Kentucky; when men no less courageous 
were pushing into the more northern lands 
of the Western Reserve this State was 
wilderness. When the deer and bear grew 
scarce in those new settlements, the pioneers 
pushed across the Mississippi and found 

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On the Edge of the South Land 

themselves able to repeat the fight in a land 
as plenteously supplied as that which their 
fathers had entered before them. Here were 
riflemen as unerring as the heroes of 
Cooper — men who felt uneasy when the day 
came that they did not need to watch for the 
prowling Indians. From among them went 
volunteers to help General Jackson in 1814, 

manship in these Missouri-bred shooters. 
There are pot-hunting Missourians and 
Missourians who denounce pot-hunting, but 
slip out now and then to shoot, shame- 
facedly, into a flock of ducks in spring- 
time. But in the midst of these are men 
in numbers who have in their natures 
the chivalry of the South — a chivalry that in 


and the slaughter of Britons at New Orleans 
spoke of their perfect marksmanship. From 
among them came great workers, great fight- 
ers and great thinkers. From among them, 
too, came others whose notorious outlaw 
deeds carried terror to citizens and officials 
alike. Later came days of political disturb- 
ance, when men disagreed on matters of most 
vital importance, and, disagreeing, reached 
for their ever-ready rifles, which cracked and 
echoed, carrying death and tumult in a 
frightful civil conflict. Such are the associa- 
tions that, spirit like, hover, half recognized, 
about the pilgrim who crosses the Missouri 
boundary. One seems treading on historic 
ground, and if he have a touch of romance 
in his blood, his gun becomes one of those 
ancient, never-failing squirrel rifles; his guide 
a friendly aborigine, and himself a part of 
the historic and heroic past. 

Of course, one finds now only scattered 
remnants of that long-past day of hunting 
in the wilderness; even the remnants are 
enough to gladden a sportsman's heart. But 
among the men who dwell here he finds more 
distinct traces of the old-time order. It 
shows itself in their love of outdoor life, 
especially when the out-of-doors is such as to 
call guns into play. There is real sports- 

the old day ostracized the shooter of a fox as 
it would a thief. This spirit of sportsman- 
ship in her citizens has made Missouri a 
State where good shooting is plentiful. This 
is not so much because the law makers have 
been wise in their protection, as because the 
sportsmen have entered upon the making 
of preserves, the saving of native game, and 
the introduction of birds from the outside. 
The State is becoming a State of preserves, 
and one is surprised at the enterprise found 
here, standing out in decided contrast with 
that of Iowa, its neighbor, and many another 
State of the North. To be sure the laws of 
Missouri have been bungled and re-bungled, 
as the game laws made by the solons of every 
other farmer State have been. The prairie 
chicken has been allowed to become well-nigh 
extinct; ducks may be shot as late as April 
first, and citizens of other States are for- 
bidden to shoot within Missouri borders, 
under any conditions — a statute which has 
never been enforced. There is, too, among the 
sportsmen's clubs, some taint of the narrow 
spirit which favors duck slaughter in the 
mating season. Still, this seems to be the ex- 
ception rather than the rule, and a law which 
checks the murder on April first is better 
than one which allows it to go on until May. 

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On the Edge of the South Land 


As the forest disappeared from the face 
of the land, the sportsmen of Missouri found 
four regions within the State that main- 
tained their wild character. First were the 
marshes that stretch across the State on 
either side of the Missouri; second, was a 
strip of marsh along that portion of the Missis- 
sippi above St. Louis; then in the south- 
eastern corner of the State, along the Mis- 
sissippi, are the overflowed lands, submerged 
since the earthquake of 1812, and made a 
mighty stretch of marsh. Last of all, there 
was wild country, part timbered and part 
stony, in the southwest, about the Ozark 
Mountain district. In each of these districts 
game preservation has, of late years, prog- 
ressed at a very rapid rate. Clubs have 
everywhere been organized, swamp land has 
been purchased, and houses built. In the 
mountains a number of purchases have been 
made, staked off and policed. In the settled 
portions of the State, where wild land long 
ago disappeared, leases have been taken and 
preparations made for guarding the game 
from unauthorized hunters. The enterprise 
of these Missourians is surprising. One 
could almost wish it were less, for it is but a 
matter of time, if the present tendency con- 
tinues, until the hunting will be as far out of 

at all. Where the clubs are made up of 
thoroughgoing sportsmen, it counteracts the 
effect of evil laws, which have threatened 
the extinction of migrating birds. For this 
reason one could almost wish to see Iowa's 
shooting ground and that of Wisconsin all 
preserved — if there were sportsmen enough 
in the former State to make such a thing 
possible. But there is something radically 
wrong in shutting the public out entirely 
from a State's hunting grounds. To have a 
gun and wander in the woods, or paddle over 
a lake, is a wonderful education for a boy. 
Skill, self-reliance, courage, good morals, 
and a love of nature, are results of such a 
privilege. Nothing makes a better American 
or a better man than just such training. 
While to have the desires for such outdoor 
life and to have not the means for their 
gratification, is likely to turn energies that 
should be helpful and constructive into chan- 
nels where they are harmful and destructive. 
Missouri could, if she would, set aside some 
of her waste for just such public purposes. 
Her citizens would be better and happier 
as a result, and her sport would not suffer. 
Among the first hunting lands to be 
entered by sportsmen intending to make 
preserves was the overflowed district in 


the reach of the multitude as it is now about 
Sandusky Bay in Ohio, or as it is in some of 
Europe's smaller states, where all hunting 
rights belong to the nobility and the sport of 
the common people is the unwholesome game 
of poaching. This close preservation is a 
thousand times better than no preservation 

the extreme southeast. This part of the 
State, lying along the St. Francis River, 
was once on a level with the surrounding 
portions of the State. But in 1812, when 
the war clouds were gathering, came a 
mighty rumbling, roaring and shaking to 
this portion of the South. Then nature 

Digitized by 



On the Edge of the South Land 

played one of her old tricks. She shook 
the bottom out from under this section 
of Missouri and let it drop down so that 
what had been the banks of the St. Francis 
became the bottom of a marsh in which 
the river lost itself, spreading out to form 
lake, lagoon and bayou. To one who 
loves the wilds, whether they have or have 
not the elements of conventional beauty; 
to one who loves alike the blue-topped 
mountains and the black pine slashings, 
the primeval forest and the dismal swamps, 
who loves the wilds, not for their green- 
ness so much as for the mere fact that 
they are wild and hold wild creatures, 
this vast overflow is full of charming sug- 
gestion. Descending the St. Francis one 
sees high ground with green grass and 
mighty trees. Then comes a succession 
of swamps and at last the river merges into 
the marsh and becomes a part of this great 
waste. Here, as in the dismal swamps 
farther southward, are the dead and fallen 
trees, the groves of living cypress, the 
projecting knees, and between bayou and 
channel the rank growth of marsh grass. 
In this swamp are all the residents that 
come into a semi-southern waste. Muskrats 
swarm; mink are plentiful; about the 
higher parts are raccoon by hundreds. 
On their southern flight millions upon 
millions of wild fowl make this their stop- 
ping place. The lakes and bayous are 
dotted with every species of duck. Geese 
and swan hide among the thick weed 
growth. Flocks of snipe and woodcock 
are ever on the wing, while from the top 
of the cypress comes the unmel odious voice 
of the bittern. But with all its attractive- 
ness the swamp is an inhospitable old 
waste. These bayous and creeks are harder 
to follow than the windings of the Mam- 
moth Cave, and one who ventures out 
alone faces starvation among the blind 
channels or drowning among the half 
submerged knees that lie hidden to catch 
and upset the boat of the hurrying sports- 
man. Here it is that the native is useful. 
The native is a queer specimen. Some- 
times his ancestors came to this swamp 
because their love for the careless life of 
hunter and trapper got the better of their 
ambition; more frequently they gravitated 
here, drawn by the law of natural selection, 
which gives the fertile fields and rich forests 
to those able to contend for them and 
consigns to the waste swamps and barren 

hills those who fail in life's battle. So it 
is that the natives of this swamp are a 
class peculiar to themselves. They have 
no ambitions beyond the swamp, know 
nothing beyond, and care nothing for the 
laws or customs or men of the outside. 
But they do know the swamp. They are 
violators of the game law from year's end 
to year's end. Hidden away on their half 
sunken islands they shoot and trap when 
or what they please. At first they looked 
with disapproval upon any encroachment 
of the outside sportsmen. Now and then 
a camp would be burned or a boat cut 
loose and allowed to drift away. Now, 
however, they have come to know that 
there is money in these men, that they 
can make money enough acting as guides 
during duck season to buy tobacco and 
ammunition for a whole year, with a jug 
or two of cheap whisky in the bargain. 
So with the native guide to paddle or 
pole him through the swamp in duck 
boat or dug out, the sportsman may pene- 
trate the utmost recesses of the marsh, 
to shoot over decoys at the edge of the 
open water or to kill birds which rise as 
the pirogue crowds through the marsh grass. 
The chief and oldest sportsmen's organi- 
zation of this region is made up of St. Louis 
men and incorporated as the " Knobel 
Club." At first this was strictly a sports- 
men's club, but of late years it has taken 
on a social phase. And this phase is not 
bad either. It does not mean a degenera- 
tion of the sporting spirit of the organization 
as such changes too often do, but rather 
an addition of outdoor spirit to include 
those who love the outdoors, but cannot 
well take part in the more rigorous forms 
of sport. This change consisted in the 
building of a large club-house, far above 
the swamp on the high ground along the 
St. Francis. There is little shooting and 
only moderate fishing here, but there is 
an abundance of water and fresh air. So 
here the men of the Knobel Club come 
with their wives. When they want shooting 
the sportsmen take their launch and drop- 
ping downward some twenty-five miles, 
make temporary headquarters at the old 
club "annex" which stands in the shooting 
country. I like this idea of a combined 
country and hunting club. It would have 
drawbacks in abundance were it not that 
the club's location is such as to permit of 
two houses far apart, yet within easy reach 

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On the Edge of the South Land 

of one another, and to give two kinds of 
territory radically different. I like, too, 
the spirit of the club, for I believe it to be 
a thoroughly sportsman-like organization. 
Its constitution explicitly declares that 
no one who shoots for the market can be- 
come a member and provides a means for 
the expulsion of any one who lacks the 
true spirit, or who fails in sportsman-like 
conduct. Its attitude has likewise been 
against excessive kills, and its influence 
has been for better game laws. 

There is in the overflow district an abun- 
dance of unpreserved land where all men may 
shoot. It is not so in all regions. In the 
marshes along the Missouri, especially at the 
lower portion, the free shooting has grown 
extremely scarce. Every bit of marsh and 
every little lake is being bought or leased 
and hedged about with notices warning 
the public to keep off. So far has this 
thing gone that St. Charles has one of the 
most unusual clubs I have ever seen. The 
Ballast Pit Fishing Club, it is called, and 
the name is indicative of its character. 
Fishing grounds were at a premium, so 
much so that this club, which is a real 
sportsman's organization, secured an old 
ballast pit, from whence a railroad had 
drawn gravel. In this are bass and crop- 
pies and catfish. The club is fostering the 
existing species and introducing new ones, 
with the result that a bit of water that 
would seem about as likely to offer good 
sport as did the celebrated pail in which 
Simple Simon sought to catch a leviathan, 
promises to give some really good fishing. 

Among the leading organizations of 
sportsmen in this region are the Monas 
Temps Clair Lake Hunting Club, the Cuivre 
Club, the Garden Shooting Club, and the 
Horse Shoe Lake Club. None of these is 
better or more sportsmanlike than the Cuivre 
Club. An- old club, with wealthy mem- 
bers, and members who are sportsmen in 
every sense of the word; it is an organiza- 
tion to be studied and followed. Ducks are 
fostered here by feeding. Out over the 
waters of Maple Lake platforms are built 
on piles that project above the surface. 
On these the keeper of the grounds places 
corn and other grains that ducks like, and 
of this every bird is free to partake. At 
first one is apt to suspect that such feeding 
is merely a scheme to help along with 
slaughter, that the resulting sport savors of 
shooting tame birds in a barnyard. But 

it seems rather designed to make a refuge 
for the fowl whither they will be tempted 
from the lands and waters on which men 
shoot every day. Daily shooting is not 
permitted on these club grounds. Mem- 
bers have two days a week, and only two, 
when they may hunt on the preserve. On 
other days the game is safe. The spirit 
which prompts such self-control is one that 
could well be imitated by sportsmen far- 
ther north and farther east. J 

It is in the region of the Ozarks, in Mis- 
souri's southwest, that one finds the wildest 
country and the only large game of the 
State. Here is timbered land, some of it 
in the primeval state. Here, too, are barren 
tracts of rock-covered hills, cold streams 
and pretty lakes. The deer hunting of this 
region remains good, while turkeys, too, 
are fairly numerous. This is mainly free 
land where all are at liberty to hunt. In 
the protection of her deer Missouri has de- 
parted from the plans pursued by most 
States farther north. Her open season be- 
gins October 1 and ends on December 31, 
which is too long. To some extent, how- 
ever, she makes up for this by prohibiting 
entirely the killing of does for the five years 
beginning with 1897. This is a very good 
law if it can be enforced, but its enforce- 
ment is difficult. So long as men are al- 
lowed in the woods they will now and then 
kill does, of which no one outside will ever 
hear. It would be a good thing for sport 
if the season were shortened and the does 
still protected. Shortening the season keeps 
men out of the woods and when out of the 
woods they violate no laws. The laws of 
this State are not well enforced. The sys- 
tem of , policing is that of volunteer war- 
dens, and their work has not been very 
effective. It is largely due to lack of en- 
forcement of existing laws that the prairie 
chicken has disappeared from Missouri. 
The only game remaining in the more set- 
tled sections consists of quail, partridges, 
rabbits and squirrels. In most sections this 
has become very scarce owing to the work 
of pot-hunting farmers and other'pot-hunters 
from town. 

Preserves are being made to some extent 
in the farming districts and in some in- 
stances their promoters are doing very good 
work indeed. An excellent example of this 
sort of game preserving is that of the Greene 
County Game and Fish Propagating and 
Protective Association. This is located from 

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On the Edge of the South Land 


four to ten miles north of Springfield in 
Greene and Polk counties. It is extremely 
interesting as showing what may be done 
to make sport in a settled land. Sportsmen 
roundabout Springfield saw the game killed 
by pot-hunters, the laws half enforced, and 
the woods and fields becoming barren of 
animal life. The law forbade any one going 
across another's land with dog or gun with- 
out written permission, thus in general 
keeping off gentlemen hunters, while the 
professional game killer and the small boy 
went by way of the back fence. So this or- 
ganization was effected. Forty is the limit 
of membership. Twelve thousand acres of 
land, largely timbered, were selected, and a 

question, " Is pheasant breeding in America 
a success?" has been answered here, and 
answered in the affirmative. In many 
places where men have introduced the birds 
the preserves have been too small and 
pheasants have strayed over the line where- 
upon their feathers went to make dusters 
in the nearest farm house. But here on this 
twelve thousand acres a pheasant may fly 
far and still be safe. So it is that the birds 
have increased and multiplied and next year 
the club members will go forth to hunt. 
In time such preserves as this must prove a 
source of great good to any State. A duck 
preserve where no birds are propagated may 
be a questionable blessing if the State gives 


lease secured to the hunting right. This 
land was placed in charge of a keeper, with 
men to carry out the club rules against 
poaching. Four years ago the club bought 
a number of English and Mongolian pheas- 
ants and secured several pairs 'of wild tur- 
keys, which were turned into the preserve. 
Quail were also bought and added to the 
native stock. Up to date no hunting has 
been done, but the promoters have watched 
with keenest interest the increase of their 
game. It seems almost certain that the 

proper protection to its birds. But there 
can be no question as to one like this. For 
here new birds are raised and land that 
yielded no sport comes to be full of fine 
shooting. More than this, as time goes by 
the pheasants will spread beyond the pre- 
serve borders and stock the country round- 
about. Then the farmer will come in for 
his share of the fun and will see that what 
he in his haste condemned as a creation 
of snobbery was after all a blessing in dis- 

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By George Raper 

THE annual exhibition of dogs under 
the auspices of the Westminster 
Kennel Club, which opened on 
February 19, 1901, and closed on the 22d, 
was the twenty-fifth anniversary and its 
popularity was fully demonstrated by the 
fact that, not only in quality, but numer- 
ically, all previous records were beaten. 
Without question dogs in this country are 

specimens. This entry is only exceeded 
in Great Britain by the Kennel Club show- 
held at the Crystal Palace, Crufts held in 
the Agricultural Hall, London, and the La- 
dies' Kennel Association, held in the Botan- 
ical Gardens, London. Birmingham, Edin- 
burgh, Manchester, and Liverpool, the next 
four largest exhibitions, cannot lay claim to 
so good a record as New York, which fact 



Montebello Kennels. 

increasing in popularity; more interest is 
being taken in their breeding, and the form- 
ation of specialist and other clubs has 
aroused sporting and competitive instincts, 
the results of which will be the attainment 
and improvement of pure bred stock. 

The numerical strength of the collection 
was shown by the fact that 2,125 entries 
were catalogued, represented by 1,555 

should not only make the Westminster ex- 
ecutive feel proud, but give zest and. deter- 
mination to all canine lovers to attain, if 
not eclipse, a world's record. The arrange- 
ments, with the exception of one or two 
slight details, were excellent, but the inno- 
vation of benching all dogs of the same 
breeds that belong to one kennel together, 
should not be encouraged; for neither the 

Digitized by 


The New York Dog Show 


public nor the critic can follow the awards, 
except with great difficulty. This system, 
too, causes great delay to the judges on ac- 
count of the stewards and keepers having 
to wander here and there in search of the 
various competitors. Again it would be a 
boon to visitors were handlers to wear con- 
spicuously the number of the dog on com- 
petition so that the interested public who 
throng round the rings would be able to 
identify each individual competitor. 

St. Bernards headed the catalogue. In 
going along the benches I missed the entries 
of Mr. Thomas J. Sheubrooks. who probably 
owns the strongest kennel m the United 
States. Individually I have seen better 
specimens, but there was an absence of any- 
thing very inferior. There is certainly 
plenty of room for improvement, not only 
in head, but in hindquarters and action. 
Type and soundness should first claim the 
attention of breeders, for without these 
essentials, size, with a judge who understands 
his work, is of little account. The head of a 
typical St. Bernard should be massive, the 
muzzle should be moderately long, but both 
deep and wide, though the lips should not 
be too pendulous; the stop or indentation 
between the eyes should be deep and wide, 
the temples well defined, the ears of me- 
dium size, eyes rather deep dark in color, 
the expression kind and 
intelligent; let the bone 
be massive, ankles 
strong and feet large 
but compact; body 
massive, hindquarters 
very strong and mus- 
cular, hocks well let 
down. If these points 
can be obtained to- 
gether with size, so 
much the better, but 
avoid if possible a long 
and narrow muzzle, 
weak pastern and hind- 
quarters. Amongst the 
rough-coated specimens 
Mr. J. Meisenheimer's 
Champion Autocrat 
won, a very good sized 
dog, whose head for- 
mation and type ap- 
proaches the standard ; 
he might with advan- 
tage be a little longer 
in body. Mr. Boldt, 


First: Open (Harlequin.) • 
Montebello Kennels. 

Jr.'s Harbor took second, but the latter, 
a dog of capital quality and style, proved 
invincible in the limit competition, in 
which class Col. J. Ruppert, Jr.'s Le Royal 
was only very highly commended. This 
dog has many grand attributes and he 
should without doubt have taken higher 
honors. The winner in novices was Our 
Bobs, owned by Mr. Frank Jay Gould. 
His head might with advantage be more 


Mr. Frank J. Gould. 

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The New York Dog Show 



First: limit. Open, Winners. 

Mr. J. J. Gilligan. 

massive, but it is certainly correct in char- 
acter and type. The Columbia Kennels 
sent Uncle Remus, but he was not for com- 
petition; a very large dog, with capital 



First: Open, Winners. 

Mr. Frank F. Dole. 


Mr. R. Croker, Jr. 

head, and but for his defective forelegs, he 
would be hard to beat. There were several 
nice bitches. Amongst those deserving of 
special mention, I would include Mr. J. F. 
Meisenheimer's Sylvia Kenmore, and Mr. F. 
Jay Gould's Hornsea Jessamine and Marvel- 
croft. In smooth-coated dogs, a kennel 
companion to the latter brace won. I refer 
to Baron Sunbridge, a typical-headed, well- 
built son of Algol and My 
Lady Phyllis. Newfound- 
lands for some unknown 
reason have not become 
popular. There were only 
four benched, none of which 
were above second rate. 

Great Danes, judged by 
Mr. J. Blackburn Miller, con- 
tained some very creditable 
specimens, but I still find 
many that lack quality and 
gracefulness. Thick heads 
and staring eyes should be 
avoided, also heavy shoul- 
ders. A perfect specimen 
should almost represent a 
bull terrier in build and out- 
line, but of course very much 
bigger; the neck also longer 
and free from loose skin. 
The head should be long, 
especially before the eyes; 
the lips well defined and 
blunt, presenting a rather 
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The New York Dog Show 


deep and square appearance; the skull should 
not be too broad or exhibit any undue cheek- 
iness. Eyes small, round, and deeply set, 
with sharp, alert expression. There is no 
dog that presents a more graceful appearance 
than a really typical Great Dane. As an 
illustration, the Montebello Sandor Vom Inn 
fills the order. This kennel exhibited a 
number of handsome animals. Their Meteor 
Vom Inn was a dual winner. Montebello 
Caesar and Montebello Margauth, a brace of 
handsome harlequins, won first and second 
honors in the competition provided for this 

hands up. 
fox terrier. 

Winner of Fox Terrier Club Challenge Cup. 
Mrs. R. F. Mayhew. 

color. The latter I pre- 
ferred, although she would 
be improved with a further 
addition of bone. This re- 
mark is equally applicable 
to champion Montebello 
Harold, shown not for com- 
petition; a particularly good- 
headed and characteristic 
specimen named Bauschau 
was exhibited low in flesh 
and out of condition by 
Messrs. Losen and Gerhart. 

Mastiffs and bloodhounds 
secured little support, and 
but for the entries of Dr. C. 
A. Lougest would almost 
have been a failure. Why 
those two old and elegant 
breeds have fallen into dis- 
favor is hard to say, but 
such is the deplorable fact. 

Russian wolfhounds, or 
more correctly, "Barzois," 


First; Novice, Limit, Open. 
Mrs. J. Brazier. 

have not during the last four years made 
any decided advancement. Champion 
Marksman, imported some years ago, still 
holds the sway. He is a very large ani- 
mal, and, considering his size, shows great 
quality; his head is right in type and char- 
acter, although his skull is a little coarse and 
heavy. Here, however, is a standard dog as 
a guide to what is required. Scottish deer- 
hounds have not shown any improvement 
for some yeara — in fact, since the retire- 
ment of that once enthusiastic fancier, 
Col. J. E. Thayer, they have been on the 
down grade. 



- tm 


\ if ^ I 

1 /rJr ^ 

7^ *' 


First: Limit, Open. Winners. 
Meadows Kennels. 

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The New York Dog Show 


First: Open, Winners. 
Mr. F. G. Taylor. 

By far away the best greyhound benched 
was Leeds Music, owned by the Newton 
Abbot Kennel. She is a very handsome 
fawn, who shows immense substance, with- 
out the sacrifice of quality. Her kennel 
companion, Whirlwind, also exhibits nice 
points, more especially behind the shoulders, 
his chest is deep, ribs nicely sprung, loin 
firm, strong and muscular, and the most 
severe critic cannot find much fault either 
with the development or formation of his 

Pointers, judged by that old breeder, Mr. 
George Jarvis, were, as usual, a good group. 
In many instances the weaker sex ex- 



First: Open. Winners. 

Mr. C. H. Snodgrass. 

hibited more quality and 
better points than their 
male companions. The lat- 
ter were a pretty level lot, 
yet I did not consider the best 
up to the highest standard. 
Really good specimens, es- 
pecially dogs, both in this 
country and Great Britain, 
are scarce. Better heads are 
wanted. The most prevail- 
ing faults appear to be mean 
and too snipy muzzles, light 
colored eyes and coarse 
skulls; necks rather short 
and furnished with too much 
loose skin. With these 
faults, others are almost 
certain to follow, notably 
wide and loaded shoulders, 
together with coarseness. 
Lad of Kent, the property of the judge, wears 
wonderfully well; although eleven years of 
age he can yet obtain honors in the prize 
list. Mr. George Mott's Banner Boy, who 
secured the coveted ribbon in novice dogs, 
will never make a flyer, and in my humble 
opinion is not in the same class with his ken- 
nel mate, May Hobson, a high quality bitch, 
right in type, character and outline; a little 
more substance over her hips and thighs 
would be a further improvement. She won 
all she could. Mr. F. J. Kent's Kate and 
Bell Westlake, from the Westlake Kennels, 
are both representative pointers. The lat- 
ter' s shoulders have developed rather too 
much substance yet she was 
one of the best heavy pointers 
on the benches. 

English setters shewed a 
very marked improvement, 
but the judge, Mr. W. S. 
Bell, was not consistent in a 
few instances. If champion 
Barton Tory, who had al- 
most an unbeaten career in 
Great Britain, is correct in 
type, Mr. Hartmetz's Oakley 
Hill cannot be, or vice versa. 
Again, Knight Errant, who 
was placed first in the open 
class for dogs, is built on 
different lines to either Bar- 
ton Tory or champion Gil- 
hooley. Taking the English 
standard, he would be con- 
sidered too coarse and 


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The New York Dog Show 



First. Limit. 
Mr. W. T. Payne. 

heavy in skull, rather short in neck, 
decidedly broad in chest, and heavy 
shoulders. Undoubtedly for years a 
great divergence of opinion has existed 
in this country — one section of fanciers 
following a certain type, while the other 
section declares for quite a different animal. 
There is a standard for English setters. 
Either it should be followed, or the term 
"English" discontinued for a more appro- 
priate title. 

Irish setters were hardly so good as I saw 
four and five years ago. The Vancroft 
Kennels exhibited a nice-headed, well-built 
dog in Prince Victor, who after winning 
first honors in the novice and limit classes 
was beaten by Dr. Gale's Ben Lau in the 
open. Both dogs have good 
heads and shoulders, but 
the latter appeared a little 
long in back, where his rival 
excelled. A setter should 
not be too long in back, 
especially if the length is 
found in the loin; they 
should cover enough ground 
for certain, but loosely 
coupled dogs ought not to 
find much favor or encour- 
agement. In Gordons the 
imported Duke of Edge- 
worth, who has had a high- 
ly successful career in Eng- 
land, won almost all he 
could, yet for choice com- 
mend me to the same own- 
er's (Vancroft Kennels) 
Heather Twinkle, a hand- 
some bitch and the type to 
be looked for. 


First. Open. 
Mr. 8. C. Jones. 

Field spaniels keep even, but cockers go 
ahead, at least the benches gave evidence 
of their continued popularity. I have al- 
ready expressed my opinion that the old 
country is well behind in this variety; how- 
ever, I would warn breeders not to go to an 
excess in shortness of body, with it is sure 
to follow short necks, heavy shoulders and 
clumsy hindquarters. What is required is a 
merry, active dog, not a rolling, waddling, 
cloddy lump, who would cry " go " within an 
hour if put to legitimate work. I don't want 
a field spaniel body, but there is a happy 
medium in all things. 



First: Novice, Open. Winner*. 

Mr. G. S. Aiott. 

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The New York Dog Show 


First: Limit. Open. Winners. 
Newton Abbot Kennels. 


First. Open, Winners. 
Mr. T. W. Turner. 

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The New York Dog Show 


Several very typical collies were benched, 
amongst the dogs the Newton Abbot Ken- 
nels' Emerald Eclipse, a splendid tri-color, 
was considered the best, he, however, was 
severely pressed by the well-known Bran- 
dane Alton Monty, a really good one, but 
youth will tell; the latter is not so pleasing 
now as he was in expression, and taken all 
round, I could not differ with the placings, 
for Eclipse is so full of collie character and 
so well built that his shortness of head and 
slight weakness before the eye have to be 
forgiven. In bitches champion Old Hall 
Victoria apparently felt the effects of her 
sea voyage. However, she won, and when 
seen at her best she is certain to make as 
many friends here as she did across the sea. 
The Verona Kennels brought out a nice one 
in Red Hill's Mint, whose quality should 
have put her first in her class Poodles 
showed a great falling off, but this might be 
expected, inasmuch as Mr. H. G. Trevor, who 
owns the biggest kennel of this breed, con- 
sented to officiate as judge and, of course, 
could not show. 

Bulldogs created quite a furore. Many 
came to see the great crack Rodney Stone, 

undoubtedly the best of his breed living. 
Amongst the rest were other celebrities, 
namely, Persimmon, Colenso, Glen Mon- 
arch, Pleasant, and L'Ambassadeur. In 
bitches Glenwood Queen, True Type and 
Ivel Dearie all did well. Bull terriers are 
not making headway, breeders evidently of 
late have not been lucky enough to produce 
anything above the average. In England, 
owing to the edict which prevents them be- 
ing cropped, they have fallen from bad 
to worse. Airedale terriers are booming, 
nothing of note was benched for the first 
time. Breeders should endeavor to obtain 
sound coats and orthodox color and mark- 
ings. Many otherwise good specimens were 
mixed in color, far too much of brown 
hair being intermixed with the black. The 
color of the saddle should be solid black, 
if possible. Boston terriers keep going 
ahead. There is no falling off, and good 
prices are still made. French bulldogs 
compared favorably with previous years. 

The beagles were an extraordinarily nice 
collection, the general type and orthodox 
character is being well maintained. Mrs. 
Oughton Giles, who brought a team from 


First: Novice, Limit, Open, Winners. 
Newton Abbot Kennels. 

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The New York Dog Show 

England, did not meet with success, the 
type exhibited not finding any great favor 
with Mr. A. J. Purinton, who officiated as 
judge. My own fortune was better with fox 
terriers, winning two firsts and a special for 
the best smooth dog with Rowton Besom, 
who made a successful debut at the Crystal 
Palace. In the wire-haired section I was 
successfully represented by Ruby Match- 
box and Humberstone Bristles, both of 
whom have won many prizes in England. 
Mrs. R. F. Mayhew's Hands Up, which last 
year was first, came next in order, and a 
good looking quality terrier. He took the 
coveted Challenge Cup for the second time 
in succession, this handsome trophy being 
only eligible for members of the American 
Fox Terrier Club. The Norfolk Kennels, as 
usual, showed a good team, amongst them 
Norfolk Mainstay, Norfolk Dame and Nor- 
folk Clarita, a sterling good terrier. In 
bitches, Mr. J. J. Lynn and Messrs. Steers 
and Beales met with considerable success. 
The judge, Mr. G. M. Carnochan, exhibited 
no less than fifteen, not for competition, 
amongst them the celebrated Go Bang and 
Claude Duval. There were a few very 
good Irish terriers to be found on the 
benches. Amongst the dogs Mr. Bruck- 
heimer's Masterpiece, and the Meadow 
KenneFs Inverness Shamrock were de- 
cidedly the best; and in bitches commend 
me to Red Gem, Lorton Belle and Encliffe 
Hecate. The majority of the exhibits were 
fairly sound in color and coat, but many 
were shown in uncouth and rough condition. 
There is room for improvement in legs and 
feet. Many failed to come up to the 
standard in these essentials. There was 
nothing new or interesting in black and 
tan terriers, in which variety there is yet 
room for improvement. Welsh terriers, 
a breed likely to come into favor, were 

poorly represented, and in skye terriers 
Jean Harmer, owned by the Swiss Mountain 
Kennels, was the most typical animal, al- 
though she was only placed third on the 
list. Pomeranians are likely to become 
favorites. The Swiss Mountain Kennels 
have lately imported some of the best speci- 
mens from the old country. Amongst the 
Japanese spaniels Mrs. F. Senn's Senn Senn 
achieved great success, and is undoubtedly 
one of the best of his variety ever seen. In 
addition to winning in his class he won 
many handsome specials, including the 
Champion Cup presented by Mrs. Clarence 
Mackay for the best dog or bitch of any 
breed on show, the property of a member 
of the Ladies' Kennel Association of 

I would be remiss if I did not take this 
opportunity of tendering my sincere thanks 
for the many courtesies extended to me, 
from friends and fanciers and from the 
press, during this my ninth visit to Amer- 
ica. I regret that I could not avail myself 
of a fraction of the many offers to visit 
kennels and judge at shows, even so far as 
San Francisco, but I fully appreciate these 
invitations and shall carry back many 
happy recollections to my home in England. 
In conclusion I will say that between my 
first and this ninth visit to America there 
has been a great change in connection with 
dog shows. It is noticeable in the expert 
criticisms in the kennel, sportsman's and 
daily press; the interest of a thorough- 
going class of fanciers — individual experts 
in their respective breeds — a better general 
knowledge of what is desirable and what to 
be avoided and, by no means least, the 
addition of so many ladies to the ranks of 
the exhibitors, and showing their own 
dogs. Evidently the schoolmaster has been 
abroad to some purpose. 

Digitized by 



By Alexander Kidd 

ALONG the shore of Great South Bay, 
on Long Island, hidden in dense 
scrub oak, is a colony of exiles. Once 
they lived in a city called Manhattan, but 
they belonged to a wretched class known as 
millionaires, whom men persecuted with 
telegrams and telephone, and personal calls; 
with request and entreaties, and sometimes 
with threats; till the poor devils fled and 
founded for themselves a colony here in 
the woods, where their persecutors come 
not. Here they are happy in the idyllic 
lives of honest rustics. It was poor land 
they found, sandy and barren. The prim- 
eval forest had gone the way of other prim- 
eval forests in lands where the lumberman 
comes, and in its place had grown up a rank 
covering of stunted oak. The land was 
cheap and each of the exiles purchased sev- 
eral hundred acres, so that they now own 
the whole bay shore front, from Islip to the 
eastward of Oakdale. 

A trout stream comes down from the 
Island's interior and when it has crossed the 
railroad does a strange thing. It spreads out 
and twists around until you wonder whether 
you are on a big estuary to a little river or 
on a modest arm of old ocean. The Indians 
preferred the former theory and called this 
puzzling bit of water Connecquot River. 
Such is its name on the map to-day. If you 
should try to ascend it in a yacht you will 
come to grief, for it is very shallow. But if 
you can get a skiff and row out upon it, you 
will see two sights well worth beholding. 
On the east is a great brick mansion of two 
stories, large enough to be the palace of a 
nobleman with a hundred retainers. It is 
surrounded by lawns, and gardens, and 
greenhouses, and buildings which furnish 
water and electric light. This is the home 
of one colonist, and his name is William K. 
Vanderbilt. On the opposite side, partly 
hidden by oak trees, is another dwelling; 
less pretentious perhaps, for it is built 
partly of wood, and is dark in color. Yet 
it is large and roomy, and suggestive of 
wonderful comforts within. Here and there 
if you look sharply, you detect little breaks 
in the trees through which you catch 

glimpses of other buildings. This is the 
country home of Mr. Wm. Bayard Cutting. 

Homes and farms, like men, have their 
individuality. Perhaps the personality of 
a farm reveals that of the owner. I have a 
friend who claims to tell the character of a 
man by a glimpse at his house. If the 
house has queer angles, and all sorts of 
senseless little cupolas, he declares the man 
to be eccentric. However this may be a 
man has character in proportion as he has 
positive qualities — qualities which stand 
out — which you remember when he is away. 
Just so with places. The country place of 
Mr. Cutting is one that has character; that 
has striking qualities. Whenever it is men- 
tioned there comes to your mind a large 
stretch of oak forest; some cleared fields; 
beautiful beds of rhododendrons; a tree gar- 
den with rare trees from every corner of the 
globe; a log hunting lodge, the very ideal of 
rustic work; Mongolian pheasants; golf links; 
Jersey cows; a thousand tame fowls and an 
enterprise in the way of breeding rabbits 
and distributing quails. It took infinite 
work to perfect ail these; infinite genius to 
design it all; and a mastery of men to carry 
out the plans. For to make such a place is 
a work of art; a work in which many men 
must be involved, and one of the greatest 
difficulties in carrying it out is in the diffi- 
culty of finding men combining skill and 
ability to fulfil trust. 

For his helpers Mr. Cutting turned pretty 
largely to England. Turn up your nose if 
you wish, but after you have visited the 
place you will realize that it would be about 
as feasible to send locomotives to China 
and expect uninstructed coolies to operate 
them as to expect the untrained American 
farm hands to make such a place as this. 
This is because such places have not ex- 
isted in America until very recently, while 
they are old institutions in Great Britain. 
Installed as superintendent, Mr. Cutting has 
a man who worked and studied on the coun- 
try places of Great Britain for ten years to 
learn his business. He has a gamekeeper, 
too, who learned the secrets of his trade on 
a great English estate. 

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Country Homes on the Connecquot River 

"Pshaw," says some one, "game keep- 
ing is but the keeping off of poachers. Any 
one can do that." But the doubter does 
' not know what he is talking about. It is 
not all of game keeping to foil poachers. 
The gamekeeper must know game as the 
hostler knows horses. Walk down a path 
that leads through Mr. Cutting's woods. 
A beautiful Mongolian pheasant starts up 
in front of you. You are surprised. That 
pheasant is one of the ideas of the game- 
keeper. He cared for such birds on the es- 
tate in England. He brought them here, 
and is doing his best at their cultivation. 
He is succeeding fairly well, in spite of the 
fact that birds will fly off the property and 
be shot by hunters on surrounding grounds. 

grass and water. The winding lanes through 
oak forest, the tree covered lawn, the 
views of the great river from the veranda; 
all these may be frequently duplicated. 
These are something like the purely physi- 
cal features of feminine loveliness that 
are good to behold, but do not guarantee 
a lasting pleasure in companionship. There 
must be other qualities; qualities that come 
through cultivation, qualities discoverable 
as acquaintance ripens. 

Let us look from these purely natural 
features and see if there is charm which 
does not appear at first glance. We get 
a hint at it in the growth of rhododendrons 
along the roadside, wherever dense green 
may beautify the view. We catch an- 


M *«. ..- 

Photo ipeciallyifor Omnia by Facta, N. T. 


Go on farther and you see what looks to 
you like a cast-iron deer. At least you think 
it must be cast iron or it would not stand 
so still. You are wondering why they put 
such a piece of statuary out here in the wood 
when the cast-iron ears raise; the cast-iron 
legs double up and away goes your land- 
scape ornament. This is another work of 
the gamekeeper. 

This matter of gamekeeping is but one 
detail, of the making of a country place 
with character, but its thoroughness is 
An index to the work of every department. 
In beauty the grounds of this home may 
be equalled in many another place, for 
beauty is free wherever there are trees and 

other hint when we see artificial banks, 
here and there through the woods; banks 
of green, built up of earth and brush and 
covered with ivies; with so much of the 
underbrush left about that only a student 
of landscape gardening will guess that 
art has stepped in to lend to Nature a 
helping hand. 

But it is when we have stepped through 
the woods and come out into the tree 
garden that we realize what infinite work 
and what enormous expense has been in- 
volved in the making of this place. Here 
planted along the gravel paths, in soil 
brought from a distance, their shade almost 
overlapping, are the Spanish yew and the 

Digitized by VjOOQLC 

Country Homes on the Connecquot River 


English oak, the Norway pine and oriental 
juniper, the Japanese maple and the cedar 
of Lebanon ; and scores of other trees 
just as rare. To get them Mr. Cutting 
has searched the countries of the world. 
The only limit to the variety of tree life seems 
to be that laid down by Long Island cli- 
mate. Caring for them is a man who 
knows trees and loves trees. 

Passing beyond this garden we come 
to the greenhouses. One is full of tropical 
plants, and you may dream that you are 
south of Cancer. An equable temperature 
is maintained and the plants thrive in 
the fiercest of Long Island blizzards as well 
as in the warmest of Long Island summers. 
Another is full of roses, perfect American 
beauties, whence come the decorations 
for table and party. Then there is a 
carnation wing, where we see prize winners 
from Madison Square Garden. These green- 
houses differ from many similar establish- 
ments in one important feature. You may 
guess it when your conductor says, " Here's 
where we bring our friends when we want 
them to see flowers." The friends are 
brought to the flowers, instead of having 
flowers sent to friends. And the green- 
houses are arranged on this plan. They 
are large and roomy, so that one can walk 
down an aisle without fear of knocking 
over a rose jar or of damaging some pre- 
cious slip with an inadvertent movement 
of the elbow. The greenhouse is a place 
to visit, to walk about, to drink in beauty 
and to gratify your love for this one of 
Nature's phases. And being a place to 
visit, it is kept as clean as a parlor. Such 
features as dead leaves, empty jars, little 
puddles of mud and water on the floor, 
and occasional broken down chairs are 
refreshing by their absence. 

From the greenhouses through the woods 
towards the river is another narrow path 
and this brings us to a queer little 
building which the dwellers on the Cutting 
place call "The Log Cabin." It is a small 
one story building and its logs are of pine 
about four inches in diameter. Its roof 
of Scottish heather projects in wide eaves 
that give an appearance of pleasant quaint- 
ness. The floor is of hard pine and the 
ceiling of a curious green moss. The 
window frames are made of limbs of trees 
with all their natural curves, and this 
makes the panes of glass as varied as the 
patches of a crazy quilt. Its card table 

is covered with deer skin and a rustic 
couch is likewise upholstered. On the 
ceiling is a ten foot alligator from Florida. 
Above the fire place hangs the head of 
a mountain sheep. About the walls are 
specimens of animals from this farm. 
Raccoon, mink, musk rat, opossum and 
deer mingle with duck, woodcock, par- 
tridge and plover. You suspect that this 
is a shooting lodge. And so it is. It is 
not yet complete, but when it is it will be 
the place where Mr. Cutting or his friends 
will run for a day at a time if they want to 
escape from the city when the house is 
closed. Adjoining the main room is a 
kitchen, and off of that a photographic 
dark room. Close at hand is a bowling 
green; through the trees in front one catches 
a glimpse of the river; all about are woods, 
and in this little log house the owner and 
his friends may play at being pioneersmen. 
While all these ornamental features of 
the place are full of interest they are no 
more so than the farming which is done 
here. Mr. Cutting is a lover of fine stock, 
and he takes as much pleasure in his sheep 
and cows as in the tree garden. The land 
is not ideal for farming; sandy pine land 
never is; so the fields have been seeded to 
grass. The stock consists of fine Shrop- 
shire sheep and Jersey cattle. The sheep 
are kept for two reasons. The owner likes 
them and takes pride in having good ones 
with which he can win prizes at stock shows; 
and then they help greatly to keep the fields 
in good condition and the grass even. But 
cattle are the specialty. Mr. Cutting's Jer- 
seys have care that many children might 
envy. The stable is brick; the floors of tile. 
There are no stanchions, but each cow 
stands in a stall with a chain about her 
neck. In each manger is a shaft. The 
turn of a crank makes this revolve so that 
a metal trough appears. The pressure of a 
button causes water to gush into the trough. 
If the weather is cold another button is 
pressed and a stream of warm water takes 
a chill from the drink. Another turn and 
this watering trough drops out of sight and 
a feed trough takes its place. Hydrants 
and hose are at hand and after every milk- 
ing the floors are drenched and made as 
clean as a table. Mr. Cutting keeps about 
thirty Jerseys and no other kind of cattle. 
He breeds for richness of milk alone. He 
never asks, "how much?" but enquires as 
to the percentage of butter produced. 

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Country Homes on the Connecquot River 

Partly his cattle breeding is for good butter 
and good milk; but even more it is to make 
a real farm and to give the pleasure that 
comes to a stock lover with the opportunity 
to go to his barn and forget everything else 
in looking after the welfare of cattle and 

The other feature most interesting in this 
barnyard is the poultry raising. The hen- 
nery is a great building fifty yards or more 
in diameter, shaped like a circus tent. Here 
is every sort of tame fowl good for the table, 

the grounds as much as ever they 

The management of the woods is thor- 
oughly sportsmanlike. The owner never 
shoots a deer. It is a very intimate friend 
indeed who is allowed that privilege. Last 
year but one was killed. This year a mem- 
ber of the owner's household went deer 
hunting, but, though frequent opportunities 
offered, would not shoot, because the deer 
seen were all does. Friends are invited to 
shoot quail, rabbits, partridges and ducks, 

Photo specially for Otrrna by P*ch, N. Y. 


with the exception of geese. Geese are 
ruled out as being hard to manage and un- 
satisfactory in every way. 

But the most striking part of this country 
place is the home atmosphere. Many Long 
Island places seem, not homes, but resorts, 
where the owners may escape the city for a 
few days now and then; such is "Idle 
Hour," just across the river. But this 
house is open the greater part of the year, 
and the life it represents is that of the 
country. The attitude toward the public 
is generous. So long as they do not 
shoot game the neighbors may walk about 

but Mr. Cutting does not even join in this 
sport. He likes game, but likes it alive in 
the woods and takes no pleasure in its kill- 
ing. This is one of the characteristic works 
of the owner, this furnishing of sport for 
others. He keeps, back of the barn, a race 
track in good condition yet he keeps no 
racing stock. It is merely there for the use 
of the neighbors. The links and club-house 
of Westbrook Golf Club are on this land. 
In golf, however, Mr. Cutting does take an 
interest. Perhaps his enthusiasm for golf 
helps him to understand that of others who 
love different sports. 

Digitized by 



By Caspar Whitney 

This is the time of the year when sportsmen do not kill wild fowl. It is also the season when it is 
unlawful to kill or to have in possession "quail" (partridge), grouse, woodcock, plover or venison. Restau- 
rants which serve this game are liable to legal prosecution and fine, and people who eat it abet the work 
of the game butchers, and defeat the efforts sportsmen throughout the country are making to provide 
needful protection for our game birds and animals. 


For the first time in long years 

?**** of persistent sportsmanly en- 
. |V deavor, it really looks as though 
^f. in New York we shall have a 

_f**T* law forbidding spring duck shoot- 
^ DO(Kto ** jng # Such a one has been recom- 
mended by the Game Commission, and 
as we go to press, the question is being 
discussed by legislative committees with 
apparent favor. As usual, however, strenu- 
ous opposition comes from Long Island — 
home of the pot-hunter — whose delegates 
invariably array themselves on the side of 
the market butcher. 

General distribution of enlightenment 
would no doubt be as impracticable as an 
even division of wealth — and as unwise. 
That, I suppose, is the reason why the 
Almighty inflicts these ignorantiy selfish Long 
Islanders upon us. They are by way of a 
mortification of the enlightened flesh, of 
which we are admonished to take heed. 
God help us! Is there no other penance 
we may undergo? 

Out in Nebraska is another community 
of creatures whose mental warpage reveals 
unmistakable Long Islander tribal charac- 
teristics. This Western species favors kill- 
ing ducks during the breeding season, be- 
cause in the spring "we have the only 
chance to shoot the birds!" There you 
have a frank disclosure of the tribe's senti- 
ment — which in words is — "bother all this 
high-toned talk about sportsmanship and 
protection of the birds, so long as we get 
our fun and fill our pot, we don't care 
whether anyone else gets any or whether 
the ducks are all killed off." 

There is no educating this kind of senti- 
ment; the only counter-irritant is the law, 
backed up by a dutiful game warden and 
a repeating shotgun. 


Yet sometimes I wonder the 
intelligence of such communi- 

F tufa ^ iea l8 not snoc ked m ^° super- 
r** human educational efforts. 

r^falj^ Take Long Island for instance 
— considering the number of 
well-to-do and intelligent people who there 
have homes — the attitude of the official repre- 
sentatives at Albany, on game protective 
questions, is incomprehensible. It would 
seem as though the colonists are in suffi- 
cient numbers to create, if they exerted 
themselves to do so, at least a leaven of intel- 
ligence on the island. Very much it looks 
as if they cared not. And this exhibition 
prompts me to say that it is this very uncon- 
cern in one of the most important questions 
of game protection, which accentuates, as no 
words can, the difference between the Eng- 
lish — who seek the country house and sport 
by instinct, and for love of such life — and 
the American who does so to exploit recently 
acquired wealth or a burning desire to be 
considered a person of landed estates and 
sporting proclivities. 

To protect the birds (game and insectiv- 
orous), is a matter which first and, perhaps 
most deeply, concerns every English country 
gentleman. Thus far, the American country 
gentleman, at least him whom we find upon 
Long Island, has missed the distinguishing 
attribute of the class. 



Idea of 


It is surprising at any time 
to discover men of intelli- 
gence among spring duck 
shooters, but just now, when 
sportsmen and right-minded 

people are, throughout the country, mak- 
ing a great effort (and with encouraging 
prospects of success), to stop the killing of 
wild fowl during their breeding periods, it 

Digitized by 


The Sportsman's View-Point 

is peculiarly disturbing to find, among the 
offenders, a man who once held the highest 
office to which the American nation could 
elect him. Grover Cleveland's recent duck 
shooting exploits at Norfolk have shocked 
sportsmen. Not content with seeking ducks 
during the time of their mating and breed- 
ing, he deepens his offense by shooting an 
unusually large number. To kill up- 
wards of seventy-five ducks in a single day 
is not the work of a sportsman at any sea- 
son; at this time of the year it is the work 
of a pot-hunter. By the light of these re- 
cent revelations it is easier to understand 
why there was less Federal sympathy with 
game protection movements while Mr. 
Cleveland resided in the White House, 
than during any other Administration of 
comparatively recent years. 

« , How gratifying it is, in turning 
T~* from this disturbing situation, to 
a «^ view the splendid results which are 
being accomplished in the pro- 
tection of wild bird life by indefatigable 
sportsmen and the Audubon Societies. 
Only those who are particularly interested 
and who therefore take pains to be es- 
pecially informed, realize the practical 
workings of this protective movement. 
Bird lovers everywhere have united in a 
determination to stop the plume hunting 
of milliners' agents, and to save our birds. 
So vigilant have they been that feather hunt- 
ers are unable to keep their contracts with 
the milliners, and even a great corporation, 
the Pennsylvania Railroad, has added its 
mighty influence for the good cause, by 
notifying its agents to allow no shipment 
over its lines of birds killed against the law. 
If every railroad company did likewise, it 
would substantially decrease illegal feather 
traffic. The Lacey law, forbidding trans- 
portation of illegally killed birds from one 
state to another, has also helped immeas- 
urably. Thousands upon thousands of gull 
and other feathers have been seized under 
this righteous law. 

Feather dealers are now appreciating how 
impossible it is to withstand so powerful 
and determined a movement, and are asking 
inspection of their stocks that they may 
eliminate contraband articles. 

Every woman can do her share in this 
humane work, by refusing to purchase a 
feather-trimmed hat; feathers of domestic 
fowl, ostriches and imported birds are per- 

missible, but who can say what the feather 
is in a shop window? It's best not to dis- 
criminate, but to refuse a hat trimmed 
with any feather save ostrich, which is un- 
mistakable — and expensive enough to pro- 
tect it. 

The best results of all this agitation is 
the creation of a sentiment against bird 
killing, which is sweeping over all the 
country. May it sweep on. 

New York 




There is no doubt that the 
cocker spaniel, the fox terrier 
and the bull dog classes were 
the strongest in the show. And 

remarkable classes they all were. 
The cocker spaniels, in numbers and quality, 
made unquestionably the finest display of 
the week, and deservedly popular they are — 
for a sweeter, more companionable and more 
serviceable dog does not exist, though I 
must say that the beagle runs the cocker 
very close in these qualities. I am much 
gratified in observing that the beagle is 
becoming better known in this country. 
He has never been appreciated; while as a 
matter of fact, to the possessor of a small 
country place, with patience and time and 
money for only one kennel, he is an ideal 
and a delight. There is a lot of sport to 
be got out of a pack of beagles. They made 
a fine showing at Madison Square Garden, 
both in numbers and quality. Fox terriers x 
have long been popular, and long may they 
remain so — knowing, alert little dogs that 
they are. There appears to be an un- 
diminished rage for bull dogs, that I re- 
spect, although personally confessing no 
especial admiration for this type, which, as 
presently developed and bred, seems to be 
approaching the uselessness of the "toy." 
For some reason the entry was below that 
of last year, several well-known dogs and 
kennels not being represented. 

Frankly speaking, I prefer the Boston 
terrier, which, year by year, is becoming a 
type more fixed and uniform, and seems to 
have more excuse for living than the bow- 
legged and hideously-visaged bull dog — 
degenerate relic of a once active and useful 
sire. Modern bull dogs and pugs ought 
to be classed together nowadays; one is 
about as inspiring as the other. Bull ter- 
riers and Irish terriers both appear to be 
more popular with lovers than with breeders 
of dogs, for neither type has made very 
much progress in this country; especially 

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The Sportsman's View- Point 


is this true of the bull terrier, which de- 
serves better of American breeders, for it 
combines something of the fox terrier's 
alertness with a fair allowance of the bull 
dog's sociability. Another type of terrier, 
the Airedale, seems to be rapidly coming 
into favor, and with good reason, for it is 
a hardy dog, courageous and a dependable 

Fox hounds made no impressive showing; 
there were a few English of good quality, 
and a poor display indeed of the American 
type, some of them in wretched condition. 

-T^^^ tract as do the smaller ones ; 
«*# n j/ n j, perhaps it is because the 
oondlands, mamtenance f a kennel of 
Great Danes* , * » i 

the former is so much more 

of an expensive and time-absorbing under- 
taking. Newfoundlands and St. Bernards 
and mastiffs, all of them dogs of great intel- 
ligence, companionability and watchfulness, 
fail to receive the attention they deserve. 
The St. Bernards still retain a hold on pop- 
ular affection; but popular sentiment is so 
fickle, and already it seems to be deserting 
this grand type. There is a reason for it 
all, no doubt; perhaps it is explained by 
the changed and changing conditions of 
living. To-day, with the atmosphere in 
which we work and play surcharged with 
activity, we appear to require more spright- 
liness in these our dumb servants, whether 
as companions or custodians. This is why, 
I am sure, the Great Dane is attaining pop- 
ularity. He is a giant among dogs, yet 
has the alertness of a terrier, is a dog of 
courage and watchfulness, and yet com- 
panionable and good tempered withal. 
Not many in America have attempted to 
breed him on an extensive scale; but at 
least one breeder, the Montebello Kennels, 
has been pre-eminently successful. Some 
remarkable specimens were shown by this 

The exhibition of bloodhounds was very 
ordinary, strange to say, in a country where 
the finest specimens should be on view. If 
we do not look sharp, England will beat us 
all hollow with our own material. 

I think I may safely say that the sensation 
of the week was created by the winning of the 
Ballyhoo Bey challenge cup, a gift of Mr. 
William C. Whitney, by Senn Senn, a tiny 
Japanese spaniel, owned by Mrs. Ferdinand 
Senn. This cup is for the best American 


bred dog of any age, type or sex, which has 
been bred by a member of the Ladies' Ken- 
nel Association of America — conditions 
which, of course, bar a great many very 
famous home-bred dogs. Still, it was a 
notable victory for the little dog — and for 
its breeder. I wonder some one does not 
offer such a cup for dogs other than " toys," 
which are well 
enough as pets 
for women, but 
as compared 
with any other 
breed. Here is 
an opportunity 
for some en- 
thusiastic fan- 

The women, 
by the way, are 
deserving of 
tions; I noticed 
more of them 
than usual tak- 
ing their dogs into the judging ring; more 
of a business attitude and less hysteria 
and gush. 

o^^ It is not a pleasing fact to those 

P * ten. °^ us w ^° * ove an indigent, 
£_/*/ affectionate dog, that succeeding 

So felt Dencn snows seem to indicate 
^ )an * the setter breed to be standing 
still, if indeed not losing ground among 
Eastern fanciers. I am inclined to believe, 
and surely to hope, that this is not true of 
the West, where, unless I mistake not, the 
setter and the cocker spaniel are, for the 
most part, preferred to other breeds. Cer- 
tainly for ruffed grouse shooting the setter, 
which is a close ranger, has no superior, un- 
less it be the cocker. And I am not so sure 
if the latter is not the most serviceable, all- 
round shooting dog of the day. He is most 
industrious, will find almost as many birds 
as the setter, and stays close at hand. For 
some kinds of shooting, the last quality 
comes near to being his only weakness. 

Perhaps the setter is less hardy and needs 
more care; yet where, in my experience, 
he has required more of his master, it was 
only the reward of unusual merit. How- 
ever, opinions of dogs vary according to the 
individual owner. I had rather be drawn 
into a 16 to 1 argument with a rabid sil- 
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The Sportsman's View-Point 

verite than precipitate a discussion on the 
relative merits of the setter and the pointer. 
lie that an it may, last month, in New York, 
the »how of the Westminster Kennel Club, 
whose annual exhibition and awards have 
attained to national significance, displayed 
setter classes comparatively inferior among 
all sporting dogs. English setters were 
abundant enough, but of a decidedly mixed 
quality, some of the entries being really la- 
mentably poor, and scarcely any being truly 
high class. In truth, it was a shameful show- 
ing; I might almost add, a mongrel show- 
ing. The Irish setter class, beautiful dog 
that it is, was no better; indeed, it was 
worse, because it lacked even a few good 
specimens to redeem the commonplace lot 
on exhibition. Better no setter classes 
next year, than such ones as were shown 
in Madison Square Garden this year. 

The pointer classes were a very great im- 
provement on the setter classes, both in 
numbers and quality, and yet even this 
breed, upon which so many sportsmen hang 
all their hopes, was not, as a class, up to 
what might reasonably be expected. It 
was put quite out of the running by several 
other breeds — notably by the cocker spaniels. 

— , -, I must confess to an oft recurring 

« /^ thought, that the pointers and 

ftM setters are not so satisfactory in 

Bird Dog* 

the field as they used to be. I 

** can hardly call it a thought, 
perhaps, rather, it is a query that comes 
to me, when I go afield behind the slen- 
derly fashioned and delicate and costly 
modern bird dog. It does not seem to me 
(and of course I am speaking of the 
average, not of chosen individuals), that 
their noses are so keen as they were fif- 
teen to twenty years ago, when they were 
not reared so tenderly, and I know they 
are not up to such a day's work. Of 
course, on the bench the modern dog out- 
classes the ones of earlier remembrance to 
which I allude, but in the field — well, it 
does seem to me that the old-fashioned one 
was much the superior. And this is hardly 
a case of a laid-up-for-repairs old sportsman 
growing garrulous over youthful sporting 
memories, for I am yet able to "sit up and 
take not ice,*' and to do my share of tramping. 
I am wondering if inbreeding is not re- 
sponsible for the modern dog's delicacy and 
snipey nose. It used to be that the litter 
of a good bitch meant so many more good 

pups; nowadays, you do not average more 
than one high-class dog for every half 
dozen litters of puppies raised. You get 
beautiful dogs, but only a small percentage 
of dogs that will prove serviceable. Inju- 
dicious inbreeding, in my judgment, is do- 
ing great harm to both pointers and setters, 
and is emasculating the fashionable shoot- 
ing dog of the day. 

The average sportsman wants a strong, 
hardy dog, that will keep at work in the 
field so long as you wish, and that has a nose 
which will enable him to find birds whether 
the day be cold or warm, wet or dry. Such 
a dog, in my experience at least, is not 
usual in the fashionably bred and pro- 
fessionally handled product of to-day. 

The show at the Madison 
Sportsmen's Square Garden this year was 

Shows quite the best that has been 
Educational, held, and more nearly ap- 
proached the ideal of this 
kind of exhibition. The competitive feat- 
ures, such as hippodrome water polo 
matches, were missing from the beginning, 
and the nerve-racking trap-shooting competi- 
tion on the roof of the building was sensibly 
stopped by the management after a few 
days of its irritating cracking. There is 
only one place for that kind of competition, 
and that is outside of city limits. More- 
over, matches of this or of most kinds 
are out of place; they are not in keeping 
with the idea of the show, and the people 
are not attracted by or interested in them. 
The way to make these shows successful 
is to work up the camping and the natural 
history features. And this is the very 
direction in which the New York show made 
so excellent a start this year. 

The picturesque arrangement of camps, 
tents and log cabins, the lake with its beaver 
and its boating Indians, the bear, moose, 
wolves, caribou, game birds and hatchery 
exhibits — all these were the real elements 
of the show and the ones to which the spec- 
tators responded. 

The great value of these shows is educa- 
tional. They bring people near to animal, 
bird and fish life, give an intelligent idea 
of what is l>eing done, scientifically, in their 
care and propagation, and, undoubtedly, 
create and help spread the out-of-door 
spirit. To the sportsman the show pro- 
vides an annual opportunity of viewing and 
studying at leisure the various improve- 
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The Sportsman's View-Point 


ments making continually in guns, rods, 
tackle, boats and camping impedimenta. 
And the scent of the balsam and of the hem- 
lock salutes his nostrils in delicious fra- 
grance and with pleasing reminiscence. 

Another year the natural history features 
should be improved, especially in the show- 
ing of game birds, which this year I thought 
very indifferent. So, too, the exhibit of 
game fishes can be and should be enlarged. 
It is a good show and one that should be 
generously supported. 

Natinmf ^ ne °P enm & °* Mr. Robert- 
r |( son's administration was 

Chamoiomhii* marked most happily by a 

piUISUipB, ^^ w j se ( J ec J s i on fo hold 

the championships during the second week 
in September, rather than in June as had 
been proposed. It was, too, a graceful 
and courteous compliance with the desires 
of western golfers, which the latter should 
recognize and remember. The choice of 
Atlantic City for the course, does not, on 
the face of it, appear to be so gratifying, 
although, believing in the sportsmanship 
of the Association, I feel the Committee 
must have satisfied itself thoroughly as 
to the propriety of this links for holding 
an event of such importance and dignity 
in the world of sport. Hitherto Atlantic 
City has been known as a hotel course, 
i. e. f one maintained by the hotel pro- 
prietors, and to which any guest of such 
hotels was eligible for a day or a month, on 
payment of the prescribed fee. Evidently 
the character of this particular links has 
been changed, else the Committee would 
not have chosen it for the championship. 

Hotel golf courses are most desirable 
features of resort life, and are to be en- 
couraged, but championship tournaments, 
national or sectional, should, of course, be 
held on club courses. And this is a matter 
which should have the alert and careful 
attention of the Association officials, for un- 
less watched, we shall have a scandal one 
of these days in State or sectional tourna- 
ments, that will bring disgrace upon the 
parent body and sorrow to golfers who 
cherish the cleanliness of the game. 

the Game 

Nothing was done at the Golf 
Association annual meeting to 
check the abuse of ethics and 

•» - sportsmanship, which is mak- 
ing through those golfers of 
amateur mien and professional heart, who 

accept free board from resort hotels, in 
return for their attendance upon hotel 
tournaments. It is very surprising that 
some action was not taken, because it is a 
matter of great and growing importance; 
indeed, it is a menace which no official 
organization with the welfare of a game 
in its keeping, can afford to leave unchal- 
lenged. Mr. Robertson did indeed allude 
to 'the evil in his inaugural address, but 
while his sentiments were most commend- 
able, the situation demands more than 
"nice" sentiments and parliamentary lan- 
guage. Stricter supervision by the local 
clubs (which should be held to a rigid ac- 
counting for the morale of their section), 
and particularly some active legislation by 
the Association is needed. 

No doubt the surest and quickest blow 
which can be dealt this masquerading golf 
professional is (1) to forbid golfers enter- 
ing any tournament given without the offi- 
cial sanction of the Association or one of 
its legislative divisions, and (2), with dis- 
cretion, to withhold such permission from 
hotels. There is no wish to offend or 
harmfully affect such hotels as keep up a 
course solely for the pleasure of their guests, 
nor would such legislation restrict in any 
degree the sport of the holiday making 
golfers. But certainly something should be 
done, and the health of the game should be 
and is, I am sure, the prime consideration 
with Mr. Robertson and his Executive 
Committee. Need of some action is par- 
ticularly pressing this season, because for 
two or three years the Association has, on 
this question, restricted its activity purely 
to the delivery of fine sentiments at the 
annual meeting. Meantime the evil con- 
tinues unabated. 

Golf clubs can severally do a lot of good 
in this and other directions by exerting a 
salutory influence over local players; so, 
too, the effect, of individual example can be 
used with most gratifying results in check- 
ing a lingering tendency to play for stakes. 
It is surprising how many men do ques- 
tionable things, not because it gives them 
any especial pleasure, but because of the 
ruling idea among men of weak char- 
acter, that to follow the example of the 
few "sporty" ones whom almost every 
club harbors, is to exhibit manly attributes 
and a fine disregard for money. The out- 
of-door spirit has done a great missionary 
work among this class. j 

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The Sportsman's View-Point 

~„ c . There has been remarkably little 
Uu *J er0 ° j n southern golf this winter 
- °*°* season worthy of especial 

proving* comment, notwithstanding 
champion Walter J. Travis and semi-finalist 
A. G. Lock wood having been among those 
who, partially or completely, made the round 
of the resort courses. There has been no lack 
of tournaments; every hotel on the east and 
west coast of Florida, not to mention the 
Carolinas or Virginia, has given one, while 
club links, wherever within reach of the 
visitor, have more than had their share. 
In fact, there has been a great deal more 
of play this winter than last; and yet noth- 
ing notable has resulted. This is tanta- 
mount to saying that golf is in a most 
healthful and flourishing condition; for it 
means that every one is playing his own 
game, and because he likes it, and not, as 
was so much the case a few years ago, es- 
pecially at these southern resorts, because 
playing golf is thought to be consistent 
with being fashionable. 

Southern links at this season provide an 
excellent opportunity of studying the duf- 
fels form, and there is no doubt that the 
average play of the average man and woman 
who make no pretense of especial skill, is 
considerably above what it was, say, to 
speak from personal observation, two win- 
ters ago. In this respect it may be ad- 
mitted that the southern resort season of 
1901 has been noteworthy. By the first 
week in April the hotel season will come 
to an end with an All-Florida champion- 
ship, to be held at St. Augustine, I be- 
lieve. This, of course, is an event which 
is of no consequence in the world of sport, or 
even of golf; it is mere holiday making. 

Notwithstanding the negative 
Sectional influence of a coterie of Bos- 
Golf ton (and thereabouts) golfers, 
Tournaments who, both in and out of print, 
Increasing* take themselves very seriously 

indeed, golf tournaments on 
geographical lines are making their way at 
quite a pace. It is eminently logical that 
they should, and there is every likelihood 
that the coming season will witness more 
State and sectional tournaments than any 
previous two years. The West, always 
quick to detect the practical issue, is making 
great progress in sectional organization; the 
most recent development being the Western 

Pennsylvania Golf Association, composed of 
seven clubs in the vicinity of Pittsburg. 
In a game so widely popular as golf, this sort 
of organization is the only practical one, 
there is no doubt that in another year or so 
we shall have not only the entire country 
organized on sectional lines, with annual 
championship meetings, but similar organ- 
ization, also with annual tournaments, for 
every State — except Massachusetts, which 
seems to have placed its golfing fate with 
advisors of singularly aggressive, if appropri- 
ately named, myopic symptoms. 

New Life ^ e * jea S ue °^ American Wheel- 
f the men '^PP 610 * 8 at ^ ast t° nave 8e " 
^ a v cured in Mr. H. S. Earle, of 
Michigan, the kind of President it 
has long needed. And none too soon, for this 
splendid organization has been declining at 
such a rate that it looked as if dissolution 
must be the eventual end. The trouble with 
the L. A. W. has invariably been a lack of 
harmony among its officials, and no head 
of sufficient strength to hold warring ele- 
ments in check and force the issue. 

Mr. Earle realizes, what every^ sane bicy- 
clist, outside of the L. A. W. executive, has 
realized for ten years, that the strength, the 
rightful field of the League is in touring, in 
the recreative features of the bicycle as dis- 
tinguished from track racing. With this as 
a basis, then, the official work of the L. A. W. 
executive and the influence of its thousands 
of members, is, of course, best directed 
towards the making of good roads. 

This is precisely what President Earle is 
doing. He has organized a good roads 
campaign such as none before him has at- 
tempted. The scheme provides for a special 
train, which will take a three months' trip 
over first the southern and eastern, and 
then the western States, to give practical il- 
lustrations in modern road building, and to 
stimulate an active interest in the work. 
The "special" will be made up of eight or nine 
cars, carrying the latest machinery for 
modern road building, and several import- 
tant State functionaries. Advance agents 
will arrange with the farmers to have all 
ready for the practical demonstrations, on 
the arrival of the "special," and a road 
congress will be held in two places in every 
State visited to discuss the subject of high- 
way improvement. It is proposed to build 
about a mile of good road on each of these 

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occasions, which will come, no doubt, more 
frequently together in that section between 
New Orleans and Chicago, along the line 
of the Illinois Central. It is a thoroughly 
practical scheme, and must stimulate interest 
in good roads, which in turn, of course, will 
create practical interest in bicycling, auto- 
mobiling and pleasure-driving. 

mm^ When we begin to understand that 
7!°?** the only economical way to secure 
* good roads is by building the best, 

_- we shall have taken a long step 
P„* towards our practical education. 
A prominent authority has stated 
that $600,000,000 is annually wasted in 
the United States because of poor roads. 
It seems incredible, yet the figures are 
official and vouched for. Along the same 
line, the Maryland Geological Survey has 
announced that the people of that State 
have expended during the last ten years 
over $6,000,000 on their common roads; 
the greater portion of the money being used 
in continual repairing. The same survey 
proved by careful estimates that the citizens 
of Maryland paid $3,000,000 a year more to 
do their hauling over their poor roads than 
it would cost if the roads were made first- 

Even more convincing are the results of 
the Department of Agriculture's investiga- 
tions. Data was received from twelve hun- 
dred counties chosen to fairly represent 
this country, and from six European coun- 
tries that possess improved highways. It 
was found that in America the average cost 
of hauling a ton load one mile is twenty-five 
cents, while the average cost in the European 
countries is eight cents. In other words, the 
American farmer can haul only one ton over 
his poor dirt roads, while the European 
farmer is able to haul three tons along the 
modern highways of his country. 

There is no denying that the common 
roads of America are in about the condition 
of England's one hundred years ago, when 
poor condition necessitated very high toll 
rates, and eventually forced the matter of 
their improvement upon the British public. 

Undoubtedly the marvelous development 
of our railroads very largely explains the 
neglect of our highways; but the American's 
mind is a practical and a shrewd one, and 
he is beginning to realize that thousands of 
dollars are annually wasted through the lack 
of good roads. Not only is he wasting 

money, but his farmer is handicapped in 
his hauling, as three to one — a state of af- 
fairs, we may be sure, the money-making 
native will not long tolerate. In point of 
fact, we hear of movements everywhere look- 
ing to improvement of public highways, and 
one of the most commendable missions of 
the L. A. W.'s campaign under President 
Earle will be its endeavor to induce the 
States visited, to pay from one-third to one- 
half the cost of the proposed improvements 
— as is done in New York and New Jersey — 
instead of townships and farmers being 
taxed for it all. There is every prospect 
of this campaign being highly successful, as 
it deserves to be; for a worthier cause has 
not been served. 

_ , With a vigorous and far-seeing 
J A <~w President in the chair, it is to 
be hoped that the membership 
roll of the League of American Wheel- 
men will grow prosperously. Every man 
who is in any way interested in good roads 
owes the L. A. W. a debt, the least acknowl- 
edgment of which he can now make, in 
joining its ranks. If he owns a bicycle, L. 
A. W. membership is not only desirable, but 
invaluable. And surely every one can af- 
ford one dollar a year in such a cause. 

With the automobilists coming into the 
good roads campaign, and the pleasure 
of driving taking hold of us, not many years 
should pass before our roads will be raised 
to the Continental standard. 

tu *♦*#. ^he ^v 61 ^ Public proclama- 
mebtatus tiong which Mr Thomag w 

M . Lawson, of Boston, Mass., has 

* iJt*" 1 issued through his press bureau 

His Boat. 

have created some confusion as 
to that gentleman's real pur- 
pose in building the ninety footer, which, he 
announces, will be christened Independence. 
As originally expressed, his intention was the 
commendable one of strengthening the forth- 
coming defense of the America's Cup, by 
placing at the service of the Cup Committee, 
a trial boat from the plans of one of the few 
designers whose work has indicated ability to 
cope with the Herreshoffs in the creation 
of racing craft. Mr. Lawson's latest press 
bulletin, however, implies a revision of first 
intentions, and an apparent decision to sail 
the yacht entirely for his own pleasure and 
gratification — a decision which no one will 
pretend to question; for surely if there is any 

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luxury on this mundane sphere with which a 
man may do as he please, that luxury is his 

There is no argument possible on this 
question; but Mr. Lawson appears to have 
fallen a victim to the subtleties of sensation- 
seeking newspaper reporters, who have be- 
trayed him from the dignity and strength of 
his decision to do what he liked with his own, 
and have set him to fighting windmills, in the 
shape of the inviolate rules governing the 
races for the America's Cup. 

That some rules must govern races for this 
Cup is obvious; and that those rules should 
be the rules of the New York Yacht Club, 
which first won and brought the Cup to this 
country, and has been its guardian, sponsor 
and successful defender ever since, admits of 
no denial. It would be the hight of presump- 
tion, indeed, for any club or any individ- 
ual to question the club's fitness; for the 
America! 8 Cup race has become a classic event, 
and the New York Yacht Club is certainly the 
leading organization of its kind in America. 
One of the rules governing this event declares 
that the yachts in the trial races must fly the 
colors of the New York Yacht Club; which 
is of course entirely reasonable, since, as the 
races are under N. Y. Y. C. rules, it follows 
that the Cup Committee must be able to 
enforce them upon every competing yacht. 


That when he contracted for his 

, y boat, Mr. Lawson fully understood 
r and acquiesced in the situation is 

^ evidenced by the following excerpt 
from one of his early heart to heart 
talks with the public, through the press, un- 
der date of December 9, 1900. 

"As so much has been said in the public 
prints, to my mind injudiciously, about the 
eligibility of our boat to compete, her owner 
not being a member of the New York Yacht 
Club, I will say that this is a matter of minor 
importance. I have taken the responsibility >of 
building the boat, and if by any technicality it 
is found that she cannot sail the race because 
of her then owner's ineligibility, our yachtsmen 
may rest assured I will meet conditions as they 
exist, even though they necessitate my giving 
the boat to any member of any eligible club that 
the committee decides is a good enough fellow 
to have her, and personally withdraw from fur- 
ther participation." 

This was a sportsman's attitude, and one 
entirely in keeping with the character of the 
event. It suggested Mr. Lawson's interest 
as being in the successful defense of this 
classic trophy, rather than in the exploitation 
of himself as owner. 

But there came a change, and on March 
9th, 1901, Mr. Lawson issued his most 
lengthy and latest pronounciamento, from 
which I reprint the following paragraph : 

" In regard to the statements printed that 
under certain conditions I would resort to the 
subterfuge of allowing some one else, who had 
no ownership in my boat, to be proclaimed her 
owner for the sake of being allowed to race, I 
can only say I regret there is any one con- 
nected with yachting so unmanly as to think 
this possible. No one has ever suggested such 
a thing to me. Rather than resort to the 
methods suggested to obtain a race, I would, 
without regret , sink the Independence on her 
launching day ' ' 

Here is a statement which, if it means any- 
thing, and Mr. Lawson is not juggling with 
the words "proclaimed her owner" (for the 
N. Y. Y. C. rules refer not to ownership but 
to the colors of the sponsor during the racing), 
means that Independence will enter the trial 
races under Mr. Lawson's colors, or not at all. 

And this is a decision which Mr. Lawson 
has every good right to make — only it com- 
pletely changes the impression he first made, 
and suggests playing the game for tribute to 
self, rather than playing the game for the 
game's sake. 

The effort making by a number 
of ex-university oarsmen to or- 
ganize a rowing association, 



A i*rtfn snou l c l have the unstinted sup- 
port of the colleges and of all 
sportsmen who wish to see an American 
boating spirit developed. That American 
boating needs encouraging is unquestionable, 
and that some one must take the initiative 
is obvious. The existing rowing association 
is of no value whatever in accomplishing 
these much to be desired* ends. 

The scope of the new association includes 
the colleges, the best boat clubs, and an 
annual regatta of two or three days at New 
London, during the last week in June, 
which is the only time and place to hold 
such an event. The main reasons for such an 
organization are two : first, to get rid of the 
objectionable elements of the existing asso- 
ciations, and second, to bring into active 
competition and the pleasure of rowing that 
considerable class of ex-college oarsmen, 
who have not the time or inclination for 
rigid training, and yet would enter events 
where they would meet their own kind. 

The suggested charter members of the 
proposed association are the Union and 
Undine and the Boston Athletic Associ- 
ation boat clubs of Boston, the Phila- 

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delphia and the University and the Bach- 
elors barge clubs of Philadelphia, the New 
York Athletic Club, the Detroit Boat Club, 
and the boat clubs of Harvard, Yale, Penn- 
sylvania, Cornell and Columbia. . 

Professionalism would be kept out of 
such an association by the character of the 
members, in the first instance, and cleanli- 
ness assured by a committee on admission 
and eligibility, which should have absolute 
control to accept or refuse any candidate 
without being obliged to give reasons for 
so doing. 

The idea in a word, is to have a two or 
three day regatta which shall in its sport 
and in spirit approach the English Henley 
as near as may be. The project is entirely 
feasible if the colleges will lend their official 
support and enough men be found to take 
an active interest at the start. Such an 
organization is sorely needed, for in all this 
great country we have so little organized 
dub rowing outside the colleges as to re- 
flect shamefully upon our boating spirit. 

Unmanly jealousies and petty politics 
usually make difficult the organization of 
such a project as this, and I already ob- 
serve evidences of their handiwork in the 
reception given this scheme in several 
quarters. Perhaps a sufficient number will 
rise superior to their environment and make 
the new association a fact. I hope so. 



After the 


And so the National Association 
of Amateur Oarsmen is really 
going to take up the cases of E. H. 
Ten Eyck and J. A. Romohr! 
These men may finally at this 
late day get their deserts, but that will not 
reinstate the Association in our good opinion. 
An organization which has so little self- 
respect, and so slight a regard for the morale 
of the sport it governs, cannot so easily 
escape the just consequences of its abjection. 

A ^. The racing outlook in this 

— , country for the coming year 
rw«*ionfc k exce ^ en ^> notwithstanding 
p nv«* *^ e departure °f our I* 8 * year's 
famous two-year-olds for Eng- 
land. Perhaps one of these days when our 
owners and breeders and jockey clubs have 
learned enough about the game, they will 
give more prominence to the three and 
four-year-old events and thereby retain our 
very best youngsters on this side of the 
Atlantic. Still the outlook for the imme- 

diate future is far from gloomy. The latest 
declarations for the great Champion Stakes 
event shows that there are nearly eighty 
horses of four years old, and forty-four three- 
year-olds eligible to start. Looking a little 
farther into the future, the Produce Stakes 
for 1903 has closed with the considerable 
number of 273 nominations, Mr. August 
Belmont contributing 48, Mr. William C. 
Whitney 25, Messrs. J. R. & F. P. Keene 
11, and F. R. Hitchcock 9. 

To my way of thinking the most en- 
couraging sign of the times is the converts 
to the turf among our wealthy men, and 
the amount of money and intelligent in- 
terest which these are giving to breeding. 
The latest addition is Mr. Clarence H. 
Mackay, who was a considerable buyer at 
the dispersal sale of the Bitter Root Stud, 
although he has been for some time actively 
interested in the purely racing side, his 
best known horse being Banastar, which 
won the Brooklyn Handicap in 1899. Just 
recently Mr. Mackay has leased the well 
and favorably known Silver Brook Farm 
at Red Bank, N. J., where he is proposing 
to maintain his stud on an enlarged scale. 

Mr. William C. Whitney has increased his 
establishment very largely by acquiring the 
interests of the late Lord William Beres- 
ford in the latter's race horses, Star Shoot 

In England I note a renewed effort is 
making for reform in excessive two-year-old 
racing. Reform in this direction is undoubt- 
edly needed in England, but it is needed in 
America at least three times as sorely. It 
would be a lasting service if the turf of the 
two countries united in legislation on this 
all-important question. 

A MfiAt While ambition is a most desirable 
-^j. quality, the quality which indeed, 
V*Tj"j to a large extent, makes the 
"wheels go around/' it is pos- 
sible for it to be a deterrent element when 
propelled without judgment. It then be- 
comes disturbing and reactionary. 

I have often wondered if the driving clubs 
would not have less friction over questions 
of records and amateur definitions, if they 
were less ambitious and more, reconciled 
to the purposes which originally they 
were organized to serve. The legitimate 
channel of the amateur driving club, as I 
understand it, is the stimulation of interest 
in driving among its members, the better- 

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ment of horseflesh, the holding of race meet- 
ings for members, and above all, and through 
and by reason of this development, the 
improvement of roadways. It is a club 
whose rightful field is strictly local, and the 
moment it begins to stray from home, 
to go on a circuit, it is trespassing upon a 
field which the professional associations fill 
very much better. 

The ambition of every driving club should 
be to encourage the ownership of good 
horses, and the building of first-class roads 
in their respective cities, and to provide on 
occasion, cleanly conducted sport for their 
members and friends. It is a laudable am- 
bition and gives ample opportunity and 
work for the most energetic. 



There are some very fine dis- 
tinctions as to when a record 
is not a record m the much 
discussed case of Mr. Dev- 
ereux's speedy stallion, John A. McKerron. 
The performance of the horse in minutes 
and seconds was actually a record for the 
distance, i, e. f he trotted the distance faster 
than had been done before under similar 
conditions, but the owner disputes its being 
accepted as a record, not that the horse 
failed to go the distance at record pace, 
but because the spectators were admitted 
free, or there was a brass band in attend- 
ance, or something of that kind. 

A ^^ A great advance in the ethics 

ruft <44 °* tra P shooting has been 

J™T°* made by the Carteret Gun 

proving* Club > g ^option of a new rule, 

which reads as follows: 

A professional shooter is one who as em- 
ployee or principal shoots in the interest of any 
dealer in guns, ammunition or sportsman's sup- 
plies of any kind, or who shoots for the purpose 
of advertising such wares, or who makes a busi- 
ness or practice of shooting public matches for 
money or prizes, or for any purpose whatsoever. 

Professional pigeon shooters are ineligible to 
membership in the Carteret Gun Club. 

It is such an innovation as to make trap 
shooters gasp; yet it is one of the most de- 
sirable steps toward placing the game on a 
clean basis. The distinction between ama- 
teur and professional has always been hypo- 
thetical and ridiculous. In point of fact 
there has been no difference, except that 
the amateurs usually shot for larger purses. 
This is only a beginning — there is still con- 
siderable clearing to be done before the 
amateur is really one. 

The Road Drivers' Association has alao 
been cleaning house, which, it must be con- 
fessed, badly needed it. Here is their new 
definition of an amateur: 

The amateur driver is a man who never has 
trained horses for a living or accepted pay in 
any form fordoing so, and after February, 1901, 
must not engage in any races against profes- 
sionals or drive a horse in any professional 
race, or for any stake except a ribbon, rosette 
or emblem solely for amateurs. 

I print this with the especial purpose of 
commending it to all driving clubs, and es- 
pecially to the league recently formed by 
Pittsburg, Boston, Cleveland, Toledo, Chi- 
cago, et al. 


It is good news indeed, that 
the War Department intends 

Vest PoJoL to ^^ty encourage polo at 
the National Military Academy. 
I have been looking for such an announcement 
ever since Captain Charles Treat was made 
Commandant of the cadets, for I remember 
some excellent polo at Fort Leavenworth, 
for which he was responsible while stationed 
there. The Academy is to be congratulated 
on securing a Commandant, who, while 
unexcelled as a soldier, is a sportsman, and 
up-to-date in his ideas and methods. It 
must be gratifying to military men to know 
that the army is gradually losing that once 
predominating type of officer, whose vision 
is too narrow to cast a shadow, and whose 
entire conception of the education of the 
soldier is bounded by martinetism on one 
side and by the manual of arms on the other. 

A game so well qualified as polo for 
embryonic cavalry is yet to be discovered; 
it will put into practise some of the theories 
he has received in the riding school, and if 
there is any horsemanship in him will bring 
it out. 

It is a training too, in the English seat 
and shortish stirrup, with which cavalry 
officers should be familiar as well as with 
the close American seat and long stirrup. 

The Government has contracted for 
twenty or more ponies in the West, and 
we shall probably see the game well started 
at West Point before the season is over. 
With polo at home and baseball and foot- 
ball games with Annapolis, and its fencing 
team entered for the Intercollegiate cham- 
pionship, it really looks as though the army 
authorities had finally awakened to the 
value of sport as an element in modern 

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Apropos of the frequently reported de- 
cline and fall of the horse, because of bicy- 
cles, automobiles, etc., I note that the 
Government had to pay from $140 to $150 
a head for upwards of 400 cavalry horses 
the other day out West, which is from 
fifty to sixty dollars more than the price 
at which I have seen thousands of head 
sold. It means that this so-called horseless 
trolley ful age is driving the poorer stock 
to the boneyard, and that a decidedly" 
better quality of horse is finding its way 
to the market. It costs more to raise 
good horses than poor ones; but the good 
horse earns his keep. 

P« The American championships 

rWm -nsfftfo held this year in the New 

£**""** York Racquet Club courts 

^^ ae ^ with eight entries, disclosed 
y * the highest class form and 

the best average of play of any tourna- 
ment seen outside of England. With 
few exceptions the native entries showed 
marked improvement, in the finesse 
of the game (i. e. in placing) and particu- 
larly in speed, both on service and on 
returns. As in every other game, speed 
is the indispensable and perhaps the most 
notable, element of modern racquet play. 
And it means fitter men and a higher 

Mr. Quincy Shaw, Jun., is unquestionably, 
despite his tendency to erratic work, the 
most expert player that the American 
game has developed. This is saying a 
great deal, with the court generalship and 
forehand stroke of Mr. B. Spalding de 
Garmendia still fresh in mind, yet not 
too much, I feel sure. It might easily 
be, that in a given number of matches 
between the two, Mr. de Garmendia would 
win the majority because of his very much 
superior steadiness, but there is no con- 
tradicting the greater skill per se of Mr. 
Shaw. His service is the severest and his 
placing the most brilliant an amateur 
has ever exhibited in an American court, 
and Mr. Eustace Miles would very likely 
have lost the title to the championship 
which he won in 1900 over Mr. Shaw, had 
he been here this year to defend it. 

Next to Mr Shaw, Mr. Clarence Mackay 
is undoubtedly our strongest player and 
one who stands an excellent chance, in my 
judgment, of championship honors. He 
has not the brilliancy of Mr. Shaw, nor 

his service, but is a remarkable getter, and 
his placing, especially in the corners, is 
quite up to the champion's best. Above 
all he is steady and is still improving. 
Mr. Mackay and Messrs. George C. Clarke, 
Jun., and Payne Whitney, are in fact the 
most promising of American players. 

Mr. Rolland, the Canadian champion, 
made an improved (over 1900) and excellent 
showing. Barring Mr. Shaw and Mr. Mackay, 
he is too strong for our amateurs. 

There has been more indoor 

athletic activity this season than 

^™* in any previous season I recall, and 



it looks as if there were a growing 
appreciation of the healthful and 
recreative qualities of racquets, squash, court 
and lawn tennis. Racquets and court tennis 
are games which require rather costly 
investment and are somewhat expensive to 
play, so they are not likely . to attain to 
popular acceptance. There are only about 
a half dozen tennis and racquet courts in this 
country — but squash is quite another mat- 
ter. It is a simple yet an entertaining game, 
gives abundant exercise, and costs little. A 
squash court does not even require a special 
building; it is entirely possible for any coun- 
try or town house of moderate size. You 
have simply to board over the plaster of a 
fairly large room — and there you are. 

At the Racquet Club and at Tuxedo there 
has been quite a squash fever, which has 
kept the club courts filled and led to the 
making of several private ones in New York, 
where the women play as well as the men. 
Indeed, its possibilities for women is one of 
the best features of the game. Squash, I 
have no doubt, is destined to spread through- 
out the land — for, like baseball and golf, 
all can at least amuse themselves, even 
if no particular skill be acquired. 

Indoor lawn tennis has also shown some 
life the past winter, although not alto- 
gether joyous, for there is no doubt that a 
regimental armory is a makeshift, and will 
always keep the game from becoming popu- 
lar; the light is apt to be poor, which 
is enough to cool the enthusiasm of the aver- 
age. That is no reason, however, why the 
game should not prosper. New York, 
Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, — every city 
large enough to have a lawn tennis following 
— also has some public exhibition building 
in which a tournament could be held with 
success and pleasure. New York, which 

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this season had a tournament with twenty- 
four entries, ought, to have such a building 
as that of the Paris Lawn Tennis Club, which 
has two thoroughly lighted courts. A build- 
ing in New York with first class racquet, 
squash, court and lawn tennis courts, bowl- 
ing alleys and shooting range, for club and 
public use, ought to pay. I wonder some 
sportsman does not make the venture. 

It is pleasing assurance by the way, 
which a recent letter brings of a British lawn 
tennis team coming again this season to 
compete for the Davis International chal- 
lenge trophy. I rather doubt if we shall 
emerge so completely successful in 1901 as 
we did in 1900; yet it will be good for the 
game if we have to go to England for the 
Davis cup in 1902. 

Baseball indoors has never been successful 
and never will be. It does not lend itself to 
enjoyment or skill within walls. Basketball 
is thriving and winning converts, especially 
in the gymnasia of women's colleges, and in 
those of the Y. M. C. A. 

^.^ Something ought to be done 
£^. by the colleges and the larger 

R *T^ athletic clubs to stimulate 
N Wfed. interest in cross country run- 

^ ning. And this is just the 

time of year to begin the good work. 
Why more attention is not given to 
this — one of the very best branches of ath- 
letics, and the one in which Americans are 
weakest — I have never, I confess, been able 
to learn any good reason. There is a 
Cross Country Association, and annual 
championships are held, yet with ac- 
tually no support, outside of a few of 
the smaller clubs, among which the 
Pastime Athletic Club of New York is a 
notable leader. Here is a club which is 
doing and has done actually more constant, 
honest work for track athletics than any club 
in this country, including the New York 
Athletic Club. 

The Pastime does not subsidize the suc- 
cessful athletes of colleges and other clubs; 
it develops them; it has been a metropoli- 
tan athletic nursery. A famous old club, 
it is in truth, of which, by the way, Mr. James 
E.Sullivan,Secretary of the Amateur Athletic 
Union, was a one-time champion and presi- 
dent, and has remained its most dependable 
advisor. It is a great pleasure, therefore, 
for me to record that in a recent official 
summary of points won in athletic compe- 

titions during 1900, the Pastime Club led the 
next nearest club in the metropolitan district 
by practically one hundred points. Pastime 
A. C, 413; Knickerbocker A. C, 315; New 
York A. C, 305. This is really notable in 
athletic history, because the Pastime material 
is all home-made; and I cannot recall a point 
winner recently developed by the N. Y. 
A. C, and only a very few by the K. A. C. 
While cross country running is receiving 
excellent attention from the real working 
athletic clubs, among which the Pastime 
stands as a leader, yet the sport drags none 
the less, because it receives so little practi- 
cal encouragement from the colleges and 
the influential clubs. If the Knickerbocker, 
and the Boston and the Chicago athletic clubs 
would put as much initiative into cross 
country running as they do into indoor 
athletic games, which are insignificantly 
trivial in comparison, there would be a dif- 
ferent story to tell. I wish the Amateur 
Athletic Union might be induced to take 
some active interest in the subject. 

The recent arrangement between 
Dual Pennsylvania and Columbia Uni- 
Athletic versities suggests the favor with 
Meetings* which dual athletic meetings are 
coming to be regarded. I 
might go farther and with about as much 
truth say that such contests are the most 
wholesome and the most satisfying of the 
athletic year. Wherever location and the 
athletic conditions make it possible and 
desirable, these dual arrangements should 
be effected. Not only between colleges, but 
also between clubs, for such meetings 
tend to all-round improvement, and develop 
material as no other kind of athletic contests 
can. Not all believe so much as that but 
•they are all coming to it. 

Again there is talk, I see, of an Oxford- 
Cambridge-Harvard-Yale track meeting this 
season; and again it will, I fear, amount to 
nothing more, if Harvard persists as last 
year, in wanting the event scheduled for 
Cambridge or New Haven. I am a strong 
believer in college grounds for college games, 
but there are occasions when judgment 
should rule sentiment. A meeting of such 
international character and import to all 
university men should unquestionably be 
held in New York, where the facilities are 
such that the greatest number of them 
would have an opportunity of viewing the 

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Ch. Clonmel Ch. Dun 
Marvel Barton Las 

Bassett Hounds 

Not exceeding j. 

12 inches f ' 
Field Trial Clara . 


Black and Tan 

(Manchester) {. 
Terrier ) 




Windholme's \ 

Bangle J 

Reed's Nell 

Lucy L. 

J Beachgrove 



Boston Terriers Roxie 

Bull Dogs 
Not exceeding \ 

25 lbs. r 

Dogs under 

45 lbs. 
Dogs over 

Bitches under \ 

40 lbs. f 

Bitches 40 lbs. 

and over 

Bull Terriers 
Not exceeding 
30 lbs. 





Duc h ess 

I Queen 


i Ch.Glen- I 
(wood Queen f ' 

I vel Dearie 

Clumber Spaniels 

Cocker Spaniels 

Black Ch. Ono 



Dick Burgs 


Any other I 
color f 

sable and white f^" 096 
j Emerald 

Ch. Blue 


English Setters 

f Eclipse 
Romeo II. 


Old Hall 






Field Spaniels 


Any other 

Fox Hounds 

Fox Terriers 


Wire haired 

French Bull 

Gordon Setters Duke of 
Edge worth 

t Ch. Endcliffe Ch. Brid- I 
I Bishop ford Morda f ' 
j Saybrook Woolton j. 
I Popcorn Dagmar f ' 

Bragdon Carmen 
Sportsman Rarity 

Rowton Norfolk 
Besom Dame 

H umber stone Matri- 
Bristle mony 

Dimboola Mimi 




Great Danes 

Any color ex- 
cept brindle 
Harlequin or 


Irish Setters 
Irish Terriers 
Irish Water 


VomuTn fCh-Porti. 



Whirlwind Leeds Music 

f Montebello 

f Montebello 

I Blits vom 
] Kaisers- 
( lautern 

Ben Lau Red Bess II. 
Masterpiece Red Gem 



1 Dan 
I McCarthy 

Newfoundlands Captain 

Old English 

Sheep Dogs Gillie Clarissa 


TJnder851b..{ Ba JX» , | oy } 

55 lbs. and over Baby Kent 

50 lbs. and over MayHobson 

UnderSOlbs. | sJarUe*^ 


Any color 
over 8 lbs. 

Black not ex- 
ceeding 8 lbs. 

Any other 

color not ex 

oeeding8 lbs. 



Professor { 
Ruskin J 







Carlo T. 



No entries 





Eberhart ] 
(Canonbury < 
< Princess 
( Zora ! 

Russian Wolf- 

Borzois -J 


Terriers J 

Skte Terriers 
St. Bernards 
Rough -j 

Smooth < 

Ch. Marks- 


Ch. Lady 



Duchess of 


Sunbridge Marlborough) 
Tot Spaniels 

King Charles Perseverance Li Hie 
Blenheims Rollo Berengaria 
Rubies Duke Lilly Langtry 
Prince Charles j 

Japanese Senn Senn YukaSenn 

Tot Terriers 


Other than ) 
exc'ed'g 7 lbs ) 
Welsh Terriers 


Terriers j 

Neddie O Rosey 



Lassie of 


Digitized by 



ANEW idea in nature photography, calcu- 
lated to be of considerable educational 
value, has recently been given to the public 
by Mr. Charles Barnard. It consists of tak- 
ing a series of photographs of a flower, a tree 
or a landscape, from precisely the same point 
of view each time, at intervals of, say a week, 
over a considerable period, and of showing the 
pictures in succession by means of a stereopti- 

Mr. Barnard has carried his idea far enough 
to prove its simplicity and to give a hint of its 
possibilities. He goes out into the country, 
or into a nearby park if his time is limited, 
say first in the winter, when the snow is on the 
ground. Here he selects an interesting tree 
or flowering shrub for example, and photo- 
graphs it, being careful to mark the position 
of his tripod. A week later, when the snow is 
melting, perhaps, and lies upon the ground in 
patches, he takes another picture of the same 
subject from exactly the same position. At the 
next photographing the snow will have en- 
tirely disappeared probably, and at the next 
it may be that the leaf buds are beginning to 
swell. Presently they burst and unfold and 
are photographed weekly at all stages of their 
growth. Then perhaps the flower buds appear, 
then the flowers, and after that come pictures 
of the fruit in immaturity, perfection and de- 
cay, and the series finally ends with the fall- 
ing of the leaves and the return of winter. 

JVlR. Barnard converts these pictures into 
lantern slides which register accurately, and 
by means of twin stereopticons, he projects 
them on the screen, dissolving each one into 
the next of the series; thus carrying the spec- 
tators through the entire year in the course of 
an hour. Delightful series of woodland pict- 
ures might be made in this way, and while a 
man was out with his camera it would not be 
much more trouble to make half a dozen se- 

Oportsmen interested in ornithology will find 
that much amusement and not a little instruc- 
tion may be obtained by attracting birds to 
definite points in the forest, or even to the home 
grounds, and photographing them at their daily 
occupations. Many species may be lured by 
means of some favorite food ; ant's eggs, canary 
seed or cracked nuts, perhaps; but water is a 
greater attraction, especially in hot weather. 
Large shallow pans, not too conspicuous, sunk 
in the ground to the rims and kept full of 
water, are sure to be visited by birds which 
desire to drink or bathe. Of course, the spot 
selected should not be close to a river or other 

natural supply. A common wooden box, 
large enough to accommodate the camera, may 
be placed at a short distance from the spot 
frequented by the birds, and covered with ever- 
green boughs, growing creepers or anything 
else which will give it a natural appearance. 
When it is desired to take pictures, the cam- 
era may be placed inside the wooden box, with 
the nozzle just projecting from a hole pre- 
viously cut for that purpose. After focusing 
the instrument on the water pan or other at- 
traction to which the birds are in the habit of 
coming, the photographer should retire some 
distance to where he can hide in a hole or be- 
neath a brush heap, and still be able to see what 
is going on. Some who go in for this work, 
hide inside an artificial tree trunk, made of can- 
vas, painted to represent bark, and perhaps 
covered over with real creepers. The shutter 
may be operated by means of a long tube, by a 
linen thread or electrically. If tubing is used 
and it is very long, it will require considerable 
pressure to force the air through it, and a small 
foot pump, such as wheelmen use, will be 
found quite convenient for this purpose. 

The value of a silent shutter cannot be too 
strongly borne in mind, for birds are hardly 
likely to return often to a place where they are 
repeatedly startled by a strange noise. 

When birds are nesting, most interesting se- 
ries of photographs may be taken, beginning 
with the nest building operations, carried 
through the period of incubation, and ending 
with the fully fledged young as they are about 
to leave the nest. Such a series of pictures 
would illustrate two of the most interesting 
chapters in the biography of a bird. 

A style of camera which has found much 
favor with those who make a specialty of pho- 
tographing athletes in action, is one which has 
two lenses that match exactly in focus. The 
rays of light from the upper lens are reflected 
by a mirror on a full-sized ground glass set in 
the top of the camera. Here the operator may 
watch the progress of a foot race, baseball 
match or any other game, keeping the players 
in focus until there occurs some specially in- 
teresting incident of which he wishes to make a 
picture. The bulb, of course, is in his hand, and 
the moment the incident occurs he releases the 
shutter and the picture is taken by the lower 
lens in a chamber entirely separate from the one 
of which the ground glass forms a part. It is 
claimed by good authorities that a focal plane 
shutter is the best for this kind of work, as it 
passes the most light in any given space of time. 
Ernest ..g&tyO&Sgk 


DURING the earlier months of the year the 
waterside has few attractions for the 
angler, who, if properly attuned and withal 
practical, has filled in the otherwise dreary 
winter season by preparing his gear for effec- 
tive use when the days shall be full of balm, 
and the woods and meadows in foliage and 
bloom. To many fly fishermen the period 
from November to April is, voluntarily, a close 
season, although the laws of several States 
permit fishing for trout, black bass, and other 
fish esteemed as game by the angler. 

For instance, there are no restrictions on 
rod and line fishing in the State of Florida, 
where the fly caster has the broadest and most 
fruitful field for his pastime, not only in the 
inland waters, but in those of the gulf and At- 
lantic coasts, and their almost innumerable 
passes, inlets and creeks. The same privilege 
is extended to him in nearly all the States south 
of Virginia. No law restricts him in Western 
Virginia after January 1, from catching 
any species of fish. In western North Car- 
olina, where our eastern brook trout and the 
rainbow abound, all waters are open from De- 
cember 31 to October 16. During the entire 
year the open season prevails in Delaware, 
where black bass and trout have been intro- 
duced, and in Virginia (for black bass only) it 
extends through the spring months to May 15, 
the close season running from that date until 
July 1, when fishing for black bass is legalized 
until May 15 of the ensuing year. There are no 
restrictions regulating hook and line fishing 
in the States of South Carolina, Georgia, Ala- 
bama, Tennessee, Kentucky, Mississippi, Lou- 
isiana, Texas, Missouri, and the Indian and 
Oklahoma Territories. In the Indian Territory 
the regulations forbid taking out of the ter- 
ritory fish caught therein. 

In the northern and Middle States and 
those of the Mississippi Valley there are a few 
sections where rod and line fishing is per- 
mitted as early as March for the so-called 
game fishes. In Pennsylvania, lake or salmon 
trout can be taken from January 1. Black 
bass, perch and all species of the pike family 
can be legally caught as early as March in the 
States of New Hampshire, Indiana, Iowa, 
Connecticut, Illinois, Ohio, and Michigan. In 
Wyoming there are no restrictions on fish- 
ing for black bass, which have doubtless been 
introduced in the waters of that State during 
the last decade. 

In California, the steelhead trout (some- 
times called salmon) can be caught in tide 
waters at all seasons of the year. In Maine 

the law gives permission to fish for salmon 
when the ice is out, which does not usually oc- 
cur until the early days of May. In Oregon, 
except in the Columbia and Willamette rivers 
and their tributaries, angling for salmon is per- 
mitted from December 20 to April 15, and 
from June 1 to November 20. The laws of 
Washington permit fishing for salmon only in 
the tributaries of Puget Sound, but many 
local waters have special laws regulating fish- 
ing in them. 

In Canada the salmon rivers are open to 
the fly fisherman as early as March in New- 
foundland, in the Provinces of Nova Scotia, 
New Brunswick, Quebec and Prince Edward's 
Island. Trout can also be caught in March in 
Newfoundland and Prince Edward's Island. 
Trout can be legally taken- in Manitoba 
in March. In Ontario, pickerel (dore, local- 
ly), pike, mascalonge and salmon or lake 
trout (or togue), can be caught in and after 
March, and also in the Province of Quebec, 
where land-locked salmon or ouananiche are 
added to the list of fishes allowed to be caught 
with rod and line. 

Salmon trout and all species of the pike 
family, also trout (black spotted), can be taken 
in March in Manitoba and British Columbia, 
the last named having no restrictive laws gov- 
erning fishing. The fish (excepting trout) 
can also be caught in and after March in the 
Northwest territories. 

In Alaska no laws restricting fishing have 
been enacted or regulations issued by the In- 
terior Department at Washington. 

It will be seen from the foregoing that the 
fly fisherman issomewhat restricted in his range 
for spring trout fishing, but, doubtless, on 
the legal day, in each of the States named, 
the streams will be well threshed by ardent 
rodstere. The occasion will be ripe with di- 
verse experiences, qualified by the fruitful- 
ness of the waters fished and the climatic con- 
ditions existing. The amount of actual pleas- 
ure that any angler will experience if the 
opening day of the season be not exceptional 
with the balm and sunshine of an early spring 
is questionable. For years past, these days 
have been bleak ones, snowy and tempestuous 
in more or less degree, and the fish taken 
loggy and unattractive to the angler, who 
should gather from the surroundings of an out- 
ing and the gameness of his quarry his great- 
est enjoyment. 

W. C. Harris. 

Digitized by 



Conducted by Gifford Pinchot 



THE recent passage of the bill to consoli- 
date the New York Forest, Fish and 
Game Commission and the Forest Preserve 
Board marks the accomplishment of a very- 
noteworthy change in forest matters in 
New York. It will be recalled that this 
change was first suggested in Governor Odell's 
inaugural message. It has been brought about 
with unusual promptness and it may easily be 
followed by equally unusual progress toward 
the greater safety and better handling of the 
New York State Forest Preserve. Just as 
the personnel of the Commission appointed by 
Governor Roosevelt under the old law was far 
in advance of all precedents in the recent his- 
tory of forestry in New^York, so there may here 
be an equally vital advance in organization. 
The bill provides for a single Commissioner 
with whom there will be associated for a time 
two members of the State Land Board, serv- 
ing without pay. Upon the honesty, firm- 
ness and wisdom of the paid Commissioner 
depends the success or failure of the new plan, 
for upon him the executive work necessarily 
rests. The opportunity is a superb one, since 
the interests which hang upon success or fail- 
ure are among the most important in the State. 


X ROORE8S in forest matters is making in 
national, not less than along State lines. The 
partial reorganization of the Department of 
Agriculture achieved by the agricultural ap- 
propriation bill which takes effect on the first 
of next July provides for four new bureaus, 
one of which is the Bureau of Forestry. This 
raising of the present Division of Forestry 
into a Bureau is a long step toward a satisfac- 
tory organization of the government forest 
work, at present weakened by the isolation 
of its various branches in different Depart- 
ments. It is also a most gratifying assurance 
that forestry is about to take more nearly its 
proper place in the eyes of Congress — an as- 
surance made doubly sure by the successive 
increases of the appropriation for forest work 
in the Department of Agriculture from $28,- 
520 for 1899 to $48,520 for 1900, to $88,520 
for the present year, and finally to $185,440 
for the ensuing fiscal year. The effect of the 
Bureau organization and the increased re- 
sources together will be to put forestry upon 
a plane where work of far larger importance is 
possible, and where satisfactory achievement 
in saving our forests is in sight. 


1 he progress of the forest work of the De- 
partment of Agriculture may be attributed 
in very great part to active field work in prac- 
tical forestry. Until within recent years ac- 
tual forest management was not among the 
activities of the Division of Forestry. It was 
occupied chiefly with investigations of forest 
problems, and with the scattering of knowl- 
edge on various phases of forestry. Then 
came the period of practical work with 
private owners of forest land and, as a 
result, the introduction of conservative lum- 
bering on a large scale in different parts of 
the United States. The last number of Out- 
ing contained a description of one instance 
of such work. Then followed work of a simi- 
lar kind in the Adirondacks by the Depart- 
ment of Agriculture through the Division of 
Forestry in co-operation with the Forest, 
Fish and Game Commission, and in the na- 
tional forest reserves in co-operation with the 
Department of the Interior. The effect of 
all this has been forcibly to call attention to 
the extremely practical nature of forestry, 
and to the widening recognition of that fact 
by the owners of timber lands and by practi- 
cal lumbermen. When that had taken place 
the upbuilding of the forest work in the De- 
partment of Agriculture followed as a natural 
consequence. Field work was the corner- 
stone, but it could not have been laid 
without the long and patient labor of the men 
who, like Warder and Hough and their suc- 
cessors, quarried the rock and prepared the 
lime and sand. 


I he attractiveness of forestry as a pro- 
fession is based almost wholly on the same char- 
acter that is giving it its growth through Con- 
gressional appropriations. Field work is nat- 
urally and immensely attractive to most 
young men of the wiser and better sort, and 
there is reason for keen congratulation that 
it is so. But forestry is not wholly to be pur- 
sued in the field, nor is every young man with 
a love of nature physically fit for the work. 
So far as I may be the judge, forest ry is unus- 
ually exacting in its demands on vitality and 
bodily endurance; and by no means suited 
for the pursuit of men who are anywhere 
weakened or unsound. Such men are unfor- 
tunately not infrequent among applicants for 
positions in forest work, zed by \^J< 


TN looking over a number of new advertise- 
-1 merits of sporting goods, I find that the 
tendency among manufacturers appears to be 
to increase the destructive power of firearms, 
and to decrease the same power in fishing gear. 
In other words, the use of the finest and best 
tackle increases the difficulty of killing a good 
fish and demands more time for the operation, 
while the aim of the gunmaker is to extend the 
range and killing power of the arm — especially 
by increased rapidity of fire. Why should 
this be? If it adds, as it certainly does, to 
the pleasures of angling to give the fish every 
possible chance by using the very daintiest of 
tackle, such as can prove effective only in ex- 
tremely skilful hands, why should not the 
same principle apply to sport with the shot- 
gun? Apparently it does not, for each novelty 
in the gun is claimed to be an improvement 
because it will make the killing of a bird an 
easier task. Every effort appears to be di- 
rected toward increasing the gun's killing 
power, and this at a time when the gun is 
already proving too deadly for the welfare of 
the game. To my mind, the real triumph of 
a sporting feat is only to be attained by the 
mastery of what presents itself as an extremely 
difficult proposition — the greater the difficulty 
the greater the glory of success. This is what 
makes the memories of certain shots live, 
while thousands of others are forgotten. Hence 
I should say, rather than encourage guns which 
render killing easier, let us turn to those which 
demand the greater skill and resource in their 
use. If I could go afield with a gun with 
which by the exercise of perfect skill I could 
drop my bird with a single pellet of shot, I 
should consider myself the king of all sports- 
men, because 1 had given the bird every chance 
and had only triumphed by a thorough mastery 
of the art of shooting. If this principle be the 
true one, why should not our earnest endeavor 
be to approach as closely as possible to this 
ideal feat? Instead of seeking weapons, loads, 
etc., that will do most of the work for us, why 
should we not rather encourage the attainment 
of perfect marksmanship by reducing the gun's 
present advantages? 

W hen I began to shoot, great, big, costly, 
made-to-order ten gauges were the ideal 
weapons. These were supposed to be abso- 
lutely necessary for all water fowl and for 
pigeon shooting. These I never fancied — 
what would now be termed a very heavy 
"twelve" was my choice. Later, I exchanged 
for a beautiful "twelve" the lightest gun then 

in our part of the country. After the deal had 
been completed, I was laughed at and told 
that the gun had proved too light for any use. 
I studied out the proper charge for it, found 
the correct dose, and went back at the big 
fellows. Later came a "fourteen," then a 
"sixteen," and finally a "twenty." They 
looked like toys and felt like feathers, but they 
were guns that would kill if held right. I did 
not own them, but merely gave them thorough 
trials, then went back to the light "twelve" 
for all-round work. The chief trouble with 
the small guns then was the difficulty of getting 
shells in an emergency Fodder for the 
"twelve" could be obtained of the nearest 
country dealer, so as a matter of convenience 
I stuck to the old gun That, however, did 
not prove a gun smaller than a " twelve "un- 
desirable. Like the dainty fishing gear, the 
smaller gun demands the greater skill in its 
use, and so is worthy of serious consideration. 
So long as a gun will kill game cleanly if held 
aright, it can hardly be too small. To con- 
centrate the shot pellets within a smaller circle, 
which is necessary to insure the new arm's 
effectiveness, means to give the bird a better 
chance, and this is in the line of true sports- 

A report places last season's bag by two 
Long Island gunners at 1,522 head. Of these 
952 were quail, the remainder grouse and rab- 
bits. Presumably, a number of market shoot- 
ers (to which class the report says the two men 
did not belong) killed more game, and there 
must also have been some few sportsmen who 
killed at least half as much. This augurs ill 
for the future of Long Island covers. No ter- 
ritory located as is the one in question can 
stand such destructive work. In the old days, 
and in a crack game country, a number of us 
used to consider a mixed bag of fifteen head 
per day, and two days' shooting per week, 
ample for a keen sportsman. In that country 
a hard worker and good shot might have killed 
fifty head per day, but any continuous per- 
formance of the kind would certainly have 
earned for him the cold disapprobation of all 
genuine sportsmen. And the country in 
question was a deal better game country than 
the best of Long Island. My present opinion 
is that any man who really wants to enjoy an 
outing as a sportsman should, can have all the 
fun he is entitled to while bagging from a half 
dozen to a dozen head of game per day. 

The movement to forbid spring shooting in 
Jefferson County, N. Y., is a good thing. It 

Digitized by VjODQIC 


The Gun 

would be improved by being enlarged to cover 
the entire State. Spring shooting is the worst 
of short-sighted foolishness in any State where 
the same game may also be shot in the autumn. 

Latest reports speak of the early northward 
flight of water fowl as being unusually heavy 
— in fact, better than for a number of years; 
and the spring shooters were already busy. 
Many of the old gunners steadily uphold spring 
shooting, in spite of the fact that it has proved 
to be the ruination of many once-famous 
grounds. One plea constantly advanced is 
that the fowl are shot farther north. This -is 
no sound argument. Because one man does 
wrong is no excuse for another doing likewise. 
Ontario, with many famous grounds, allows 
no spring shooting; Newfoundland has an 
equally wise law; Nova Scotia carefully pro- 
tects certain species, and the sportsmen of 
Quebec are at present working hard to prevent 
spring duck shooting. If the men farther north 
and in closer touch with the breeding grounds 
frankly admit the evils of spring shooting, why 
should those in the south remain stubbornly op- 
posed to measures which cannot fail to prove 
of broad benefit? The fact is that our water 
fowl cannot hold their own under present con- 
ditions. The cheapening of effective firearms, 
the contraction of the natural breeding grounds, 
the increase of facilities for reaching erstwhile 
remote sections, all work strongly against the 
fowl. If the proper proportion between pro- 
duction and destruction be not maintained, 
the end is certain. Wise laws, properly en- 
forced, will preserve the sport of wild fowling 
for an indefinite period, and the best informed 
sportsmen of the country speak strongly for 
more protection before it may prove too late. 
When guns are killing too much the simplest 
and most effective remedy is to shorten the 
open season. This course has done much for 
other game in some of the States and Prov- 
inces. Wherever it has been fairly tried it has 
been found equal to the emergency, and there 
is no reason why it should not work as well 
applied to water fowl. 

1 he Inspector of Indian agencies and Re- 
serves for the Dominion of Canada states that 
there are at present between five and six 
hundred wood bison in the far Northwest. 
Their range is the country about the Peace 
and Salt Rivers to the southwest of Great Slave 
Lake. The bison are carefully protected, and 
their number is slowly increasing. The coats 
of these northern animals are far superior to 

the finest that ever came from the southern 
ranges. A robe which I handled in Winnipeg 
a few years ago showed a magnificent, long and 
very dark fur. 

A correspondent asks if I believe the elk, 
or wapiti, ever ranged Western Ontario and 
Michigan. I certainly do. In Kent and 
Essex counties of Ontario many old elk antlers 
have been picked up. I have found three 
fragments, one of which must have been worn 
by a grand bull, and I have seen a number of 
others. In 1876 I was in the Michigan woods, 
and the trappers then had a story of a huge 
buck which had been seen the previous winter. 
This animal, by their description, must have 
been a bull elk. The last elk killed in Western 
Ontario fell, so I've been told, some time in the 
fifties. Worse-looking things than bull elk once 
roamed that excellent sporting ground. A 
man digging a well in certain sections is liable 
to find a tooth, tusk, rib, or shoulder blade that 
will set him guessing. The Canadian brand of 
elephant must have been a buster in the brave 
days of old. 

A very good way to prevent a lot of illegal 
shooting would be to prohibit the taking of 
firearms into the game country during the 
close season. The summer camper, with his 
weapon for which he has no legal use, accom- 
plishes a deal of mischief during a holiday. 
It is probable that before long the best game 
States in the Union will have such a prohibi- 
tive law, and good sportsmen should welcome 
the measure. A man bound upon a fishing 
trip, or a camping holiday, during the close 
season for game, has no need of gun or rifle. 
The presence of either in a camp is usually 
explained by the plea that it is for defense 
against tramps, or wild animals. Now and 
then the owner of the weapon claims that he 
wants to practice at marks. None of these 
excuses are good. A game cover is no place 
for practice shooting — it should be left as un- 
disturbed as possible; while the tramp and 
wild animal story will not hold water. Men 
take arms into the woods with the idea that 
they may get a shot at something, and when 
once in the cover they are none too particular 
about what they shoot at. Grouse, swimming 
ducks, and deer offer marks too tempting for 
most people to withstand, and considering the 
frailty of human nature, it would be better to 
leave weapons at home until the season for 
their lawful use conies round. 

E. W. Sandys. 

Digitized by VjOOQLC 


TT 7HILE the generally open winters ad- 
W m it y over a considerable area, of 
bicycle riding with unrestricted freedom 
throughout the entire year, it remains for 
the early spring weather to bring out the 
full strength of the rank and file of wheelmen. 
Conditions indicate that touring is on the 
verge of a boom. There is already, at this 
early date, an increased demand upon the 
manufacturers and dealers for new mounts 
and the interest manifested by the bicycle's 
patrons in the recent bicycle exhibit presages 
an increased interest in the sport of wheeling 
for recreation purely. While new and radical 
departures in the construction of wheels will not 
be much in evidence the chainless bicycle' claims 
a big following and the old type seems likely to 
pass into general disfavor. The cost of the 
chainless wheel is now so nominal that it is 
within the reach of all riders. It is also evi- 
dent to the experienced rider that it is upon 
this type the manufacturers are devoting all 
their attention as the practical up-to-date ma- 
chine. Motor cycles will be less of a novelty 
this year. Riders who take up all new novel- 
ties with great eagerness seem to see in this 
class of wheel the future bicycle. All new 
makes take time to gain popular favor, but 
the motor cycle will no doubt this year have 
a great many riders. 

C/nb of the most remarkable present condi- 
tions is the indifferent interest taken by the 
average rider in the League of American Wheel- 
men. This organization, which for years held 
undisputed sway over the destinies of cycling, 
seems to be fast losing its hold. Many rea- 
sons have been suggested to account for this. 
The most practical theory seems to be the 
lack of harmony among the leaders in the 
Association. While the League was governed 
by strong, competent men, several years ago, 
men who manifested a general disinterested- 
ness in all matters which did not relate spe- 
cifically to the welfare of the general member- 
ship, the League was a strong body; to-day 
the frequent dissensions within it have resulted 
in a relaxation of public interest. The new 
officers of the L. A. W. will discover that to 
build it up to its old strength a liberal policy 
will have to be followed. It seems reasona- 
ble to expect that properly governed it can 
attain again its old standing; but a general 
abandonment of old methods will have to be 
experimented with, and new and modern 
ideas followed. Riders who have been affili- 
ated with the L. A. W. since its early infancy 
deplore the present conditions and look for- 
ward to the adoption of methods that will 
result in a general and successful recruiting. 

The League has not passed beyond useful- 
ness as many assume. It can be made just 
as strong as it ever was, but the new execu- 
tive must revolutionize the management, 
which has practically been in a condition of 
decay for the past three years. 

1 here is a general idea prevalent that 
bicycle racing will this year be put again 
upon a strong foothold in this country. Small 
interest was taken in the competitions be- 
tween the different classes last season. The 
National Cycling Association which now con- 
trols the racing department is striving hard 
to keep up the standard of the sport and has 
met with fair success. The public wants 
good racing — honest racing and it is a mistaken 
idea to assume that the professional riders 
provide sufficient of this. The most interest, 
properly encouraged, lies in the fostering of 
amateur competitions. 

There is a strong sentiment against women 
taking part in cycling tests of endurance. 
The endorsement of a few road racing riders 
and some dealers, encouraging Vvheelwomen 
to undertake road trials over the public high- 
ways for twelve, and twenty-four, hours rec- 
ords, has been decidedly harmful to cycling. 
Century riding promoted by clubs which 
offered special trophies for the best time for 
one hundred miles was the first step to bring 
women into prominence in this respect. Clubs 
actively engaged, and directly interested in 
the promotion of cycling, cannot fail to see 
the ill effects of these long distance contests. 
If the organizations which make a feature of 
supporting them would act discreetly this 
year they will debar all wheelwomen from 
participating. They have no place in such 
contests. Let some of the leaders take such 
a step; others will follow, and the results will 
be directly beneficial. 

It is curious how long some of the most use- 
ful additions to the bicycle are in making 
their reputation, whilst others are adopted 
and often abandoned with precipitancy. 
Among the slow but sure appliances may be 
numbered the now almost universally recog- 
nized aid, the coaster brake. It was on the 
market two years before it became well known : 
but its popularity is now assured. In an un- 
dulating country it is essential, because it com- 
bines the duplicate action of a brake and a 
free wheel: whilst even where all the riding 
is on the flat it effects a very considerable 
saving of power. Beside these qualifications it 
has two other commendable ones. It can 
be applied to any wheel, ancient or modern, 
and it is cheap. 

Walter J. Masterson. 


Q. A. Shaw, Jun., 

W. B. Dinsmore, 

New York, 



Shaw, "bye." 
16—18, 12—15, 
15—9, 15—8, 

G. C. Clark, Jun., "I 
New York, [ 

F. Huntington, 
New York, 


J. S. Hoyt, 

New York. 
F. F. Rolland, 


C. H. Mackay, 

New York, 
W. R. Miller, 

Payne Whitney, 

New York, 
M. S. Paton, 

New York, 
Austin Potter, 

New York, 


Clark, 17—15, 
15—3, 15—12. 

Rolland, 15—7, 
15—8, 15—0. 

Mackay, 15 — 1, 

7—15, 15—3, 


"bye. 11 

Potter, 11—15, 
15—11, 7—15, 
15—8, 15—10. 

Rolland, 15—8, 
* 11—15,6—15, 
15—2, 15—3. 

Mackay, 7 — 15, 

15— £, 15—2, 


Shaw, 0—15, 

15—3, 15—9, 


(Q. A. Shaw, Jr.) His improvement over 
last year is quite five aces, witfi a service very 
deadly, both back and forehand, and beyond 
doubt the very best an American amateur ever 
displayed. Shaw showed ideal racquets. His 
straight up and down play was marvelously 
accurate — at times a revelation to the older 
division among the spectators. 

(C. H. Mackay.) Played with perfect judg- 
ment and at his top form; serving with rare 
accuracy and at times displaying remarkable 
returns. His backhand has improved very 
much and developed more speed; it is quite 
equal to Shaw's, although not so brilliant. 

(F. F. Rolland.) Played his usual dashing 
game, although handicapped by the greater 
pace of the court, which is smaller than the one 
he is used to at home. At times he displayed 
splendid form. His backhand stroke cer- 
tainly showed hard practice. Although not 
a brilliant player, he showed great improve- 
ment in all-round play and head work. 

(W. B. Dinsmore.) As usual, he revealed 
great speed, and an attractive style that was 
perfect, but not deadly. His is a game which 
relies too much on the service. He showed 

(Payne Whitney.) Has made rapid strides 
in the last year. And being a strong and ag- 
gressive player, should by another year be- 
come very formidable. His service is very 
fast and his fore and backhand strokes have 
improved very much. 

(G. C. Clark, Jr.) Although his first appear- 
ance in championship class, proved a dashing 
competitor. His full swing in serving was 

"Mackay, 15 — 8, 
15—8, 15—2. 


12—15, 15—5, 
15—10, 15—6. 

very effective and at times proved deadly. 
He is a splendid worker and a great getter and 
should become a fine player. 

(W. R. Miller.) Is considerably improved 
in all-round play, but lacks " cut* ' to his ser- 
vice, which is too much of the lawn tennis pat- 
tern. He is a very hard hitter and showed 
some fine corner shots. 

(Austin Potter.) Showed good form, but no 
speed. His returns are sure and safe, but he 
is slow around the court. 

(M. S. Paton.) This veteran, as usual, 
played with length and certainty and was 
very straight on his returns. The length of his 
service proved at times very puzzling to his 

(F. Huntington.) He has improved in his 
all-round play, but is slow round the court. 
His returns are sure, but his service weak. 

(J. S. Hoyt.) Displayed excellent form and 
his drops at times were very deadly. He is 
not so good as in former years. 




S. de Garmendia. 



S. Tooker, 



S. de Garmendia. 



S. de Garmendia. 



S. Tooker. 



S. de Garmendia. 



S. de Garmendia. 



F. Rolland. 



A. Shaw, Jr. 



H. Miles. 

•Mr. F.F. Rolland at Montreal, successfully 
defended his title to the Canadian champion- 
ship by defeating W. R. Miller. 

George Standing. 


THE noble game of the sword wins its way 
quietly but steadily in the United States. 
At West Point and Annapolis it has always 
been part of the training of our military and 
naval officers, but only in the rarest cases 
did officers continue to practice with the foil 
after graduation. In the great outside world 
there has been too little interest to stimulate 
the young graduate, who has been more ex- 
cited hitherto by a game of football than a 
good bout with the weapon he carries by his 
side. But since fencing has become recog- 
nized as a game; since the universities have 
taken it up, there has been a distinct improve- 
ment in the work at West Point and Annapolis. 
Yale, Harvard and Columbia have had teams 
at work for some years; Cornell and the Uni- 
versity of Michigan are now in the field. For 
the first time West Point will send representa- 
tives to the intercollegiate contest. The effect 
of this entrance of the two government col* 
leges into competition with the universities 
must be far-reaching. 


1 he contest for the cup given by the Fencers 
Club brought out from the New York Athletic 
a strong team, with Bothner for the foils, 
Lyons for the duelling sword and Pope for 
the sabre. Their master is Professor Gouspy. 
The Fencers Club put in Fitzhugh Townsend 
for the foil, Erving for the duelling sword and 
Van Z. Post for the sabre. Their master is 
Professor Vauthier. The Boston Athletic was 
represented by Brownell with the foil, de Diaz 
with the duelling sword and Vitali with the 
sabre. The cup was held by the New York 
Athletic owing to its victory last year; but 
fortune was fickle. In all three weapons the 
Fencers Club led, until the competition came 
most satisfactorily to a tie between the Fencers 
and the Athletic, when, in accordance with the 
rules of the Amateur Fencers League, the foils 
were called upon to give the decision. Messrs. 
Townsend (for the Fencers Club) and Bothner 
(for the New York Athletic) made as pretty 
a bout as was ever seen between amateurs in 
New York. Both were in capital training. 
Their positions and clean hits were warmly 
applauded. Mr. Townsend led very slightly, 
and at last scored a triumph for himself as 
well as his club, while the loser received almost 
as much applause. In the sabre contest Mr. 
Vitali, of the Boston Athletic, during his bout 
with Post, of the Fencers Club, made a, fine 
beginning, but seemed to tire, Post acting 
strictly on the defensive; when the latter 
began to warm up, however, he planted his 
blows well. Still, it must be confessed that 

the sabre bouts were inferior to the ifoil con- 
tests. There was too much countering, too 
little science shown in the parry with riposte. 
The duelling sword showed Lyons, of the New 
York Athletic the superior to Erving, of the 
Fencers, who in turn showed stronger than 
de Diaz, of the Boston Athletic. The moral 
is the old one: for fine, clean, interesting 
fencing there is nothing like the tool evolved 
for the sport; there is nothing like the foil. 
Other weapons appear coarse in their work 
beside it. 


1 here are persistent rumors that Boston is 
to see revived the Boston Fencing Club, which 
blazed forth some years ago, only to wither 
and die. Meantime Washington has been 
found good soil for a club of fencers. Years 
ago the first secretary of the Russian Em- 
bassy started a fencing club on the premises 
of the embassy, but it did not survive the 
departure of Mr. Alexander Greger to other 
diplomatic fields. Curiously enough the Presi- 
dent of the new Washington Fencers Club is 
the Russian Ambassador, Count Cassini. 
From the army and navy officers stationed 
at Washington, and from the different staffs 
of the legations, not to speak of the men in 
the departments and the citizens of Wash- 
ington, a club should obtain recruits of the 
best material. There is no reason to doubt 
that the new club has come to stay. Pres- 
ently we shall have a team from the Wash-' 
ington Fencers coming on to a contest with 
the fencing clubs of New York. The new 
club was opened at No. 1701 I Street last 
May, with M. Darieulat, formerly assistant 
to the late Professor Jacoby, of New York, 
as the instructor. The leading spirits are 
Count Pierre de Wollant, Prince Troubetz- 
koy and Cavaliere tj. Trentanove, the sculp- 
tors, and Mr. Henry Gordon Strong. Count 
Cassini was elected president, Mr. Henry May 
vice-president and Mr. Ballard N. Morris, of 
the Patent Office, secretary. There is a ladies' 
class, which includes the daughter of the 
Russian Ambassador and Madame de Wollant. 
The club is closely patterned on the Fencers 
Club of New York. 

newbold morris medals. 
The sixth annual contest of juniors for the 
Morris Medals resulted in a victory for the 
Fencers' Club, of New York. There were en- 
tries from Columbia, Yale, Cornell, New York 
Athletic Club and New York Turn Verein, 
Harvard failing to appear. Final score : Fen- 
cers Club, 57; New York Athletic Club, 4. 

Charles de Kay. 


SUFFICIENT home experience has now 
been accumulated to form a basis for 
strictly American views of what automobilism 
has in store for this country ; and in these views 
the automobile considered as an instrument 
for sport, holds only a subordinate place. 

Sport loves to create difficulties for itself 
in order to glory in overcoming them, or picks 
out a dangerous task for the sake of braving 
the risk : but the difficulties and dangers of auto- 
mobilism cannot be perpetuated artificially 
by preserving the imperfections of automo- 
biles while the weightier objects of automo- 
bilism clamor for their removal. Even the 
most inveterate sportsman will flinch from 
driving a 60-horse power, seven-levered auto- 
mobile with a tricky motor requiring constant 
scientific coaxing to do its best, for the mere 
satisfaction of demonstrating his mastery over 
its intricacy, if his contemporaries are in pos- 
session of common-sense vehicles which will 
do the work demanded of them without over- 
taxing the driver's purse, patience and skill of 
hands and brains. 

It is toward this business-like vehicle that the 
whole automobile world is now consciously 
striving, and nowhere more single-purposedly 
than here. Through the hard sense and in- 
sight in mechanics of many of the first users 
of motor vehicles, and by their assistance and 
insistence, manufacturers have been morally 
forced to desist from attempting to make the 
production of impracticable racing vehicles 
the main feature of the industry. Especially 
the physicians, who adopted automobiling for 
practical work, have contributed to this result. 
Their reports, criticisms and suggestions have 
received a salutary publicity in the technical 
press and forced the development in a practical 
direction. Their experiences as narrated in a 
series of articles in the leading automobile 
journal created a great deal of comment and 
cogitation among the makers of mechanical 

At this writing,the troubles arising from cold 
weather are practically over, but the lessons 
'earned will not be forgotten when the rigors 
of winter set in again. No adequate remedy 
has been found for the freezing of water and 
steam pipes in steam vehicles left standing on 
the street or road when the temperature sinks 
below 2QP Fahrenheit; and no definite results 
have been reached to decide whether salt, 
chloride of calcium, glycerine, alcohol or any 
other one of the proposed chemical additions 

to the cooling water of gasoline vehicles is 
preferable for this latter class of automobiles. 
They will all serve the purpose in a meas- 
ure, and perhaps completely, if added in the 
right proportions. 

For acetylene lamps one-third glycerine 
added to the water which they contain is the 
only remedy recommended, and it will not 
operate satisfactorily in all makes of these 
popular light-givers. 

All automobilists may rejoice in the passing 
of the bill drawn by the legal representative 
of the Automobile Club of America, and intro- 
duced by Senator Piatt, by virtue of which 
there will be no further difficulties in having 
automobiles accepted for passage on ferry- 
boats, if the captain of the boat consents and 
all fires, as in steam vehicles, are extinguished 
during the passage. 

A member of this active club has advanced 
the proposition that hotel keepers be induced 
to lay in stores of gasoline and other automo- 
bile supplies, in the manner practiced success- 
fully in France; and that lists of hotel keepers 
who comply with this request be placed at the 
disposal of motor vehicle owners through their 
clubs or otherwise. The proposition is gen- 
erally considered a valuable one, as much 
annoyance results from inability to get sup- 
plies on the road under present conditions 
and from the poor grade of gasoline that the 
ordinary country store frequently dispenses. 

Comparison with other countries, such as 
Italy, where gasoline costs fifty-three cents 
per gallon, should make our automobilists re- 
joice in the favored position we occupy with 
regard to this fuel. Its cheapness here is 
largely accountable for the possibility of 
operating steam vehicles with some degree of 
economy, as the consumption of gasoline per 
horse power ranges from 3 to 1 up to 5 to 1 
when the steam vehicle is compared with the 
gasoline motor vehicle in this respect. 

In addition to a week of automobile sports 
preceded by the endurance contest from New 
York to Buffalo under the auspices of the 
leading New York club, referred to on this 
page last month, the Sports Committee of 
the Pan-American Exposition at Buffalo has 
now decided to solicit a large subscription 
purse for an international automobile road 
race from Buffalo to Erie and return, a dis- 
tance of about 200 miles; but it seems doubt- 
ful if this speed race can be made interna- 
tional in more than the name. 


Digitized by 

C. Krarup. 

y Google 


THE approaching spring is sure to witness 
such a boom in the speedway-and-gen- 
eral-road-driving of fast trotting bred horses 
as there has never yet been. It is to be hoped 
that the "amateur" elements in various parts 
of the country may reconcile their differences 
and pull strongly together instead of bickering 
over trivial technicalities. Interesting racing 
upon the trotting tracks among the "ama- 
teurs" should help along the good work, but 
the objections to competing for cash prizes 
will not tend to encourage any great increase 
in the number of owners who will care to pa- 
tronize that branch of the sport in any very 
active manner, or depart very far from their 
native heaths to engage in racing, where the 
sole emolument is a blue ribbon. The ex- 
pense of these campaigns is very heavy, and 
the objections to contending for cash prizes 
do not seem well made. Money may be bet 
and won by the man who drives for a ribbon, 
and yet the fact that the prize itself is money, 
will render him a professional, even if he figure 
as a competitor only and not as a victor. The 
people in charge of the Elkwood course at 
Ix>ng Branch, who are practically those in 
control of the Road Riders' Association of New 
York, have offered handsome cash prizes for 
amateur drivers at their meeting advertised 
for the coming summer, and yet the rules of 
the organization explicitly prevent any ama- 
teur member from contesting for such prizes! 

1 he campaign so gamely entered upon and 
carried out by the Cleveland amateur horse- 
men last year was calculated, one would think, 
to greatly encourage and promote such sports- 
manlike contests, and yet the venture was 
enormously expensive ; and the races at Boston 
were brought off before practically empty 
benches; hardly a corporaPs guard witnessing 
events which were really sensational in char- 
acter. In fact, it may well be doubted whether 
the elaboration of speedways everywhere; the 
presence thereon of hundreds of the fastest 
horses in the country, driven not in tiresome 
and long drawn-out contests, but in sharp and 
crisp dashes, wherein there is no laying up of 
heats and no pulling, nor tiresome scoring; 
where one is an active participant, not a mere 
spectator, will not serve to work to the trot- 
ting turf much injury, so far as gate money 
and really interested attendance is concerned. 
The group of hide-bound and moss-grown 
fatalists who have controlled trotting contests 
for these many years are awake to no argu- 
ment, alive to no demonstration, and the same 
methods obtain in the sport to-day that were 

in vogue forty years ago. The presence of 
thousands of people on the New York Speed- 
way on any bright day to witness events hon- 
estly contested and quickly concluded conveys 
no gleam of intelligence to these old fogies, and 
the practical bankruptcy of almost every trot- 
ting association in the country is proof positive 
of how absolutely wrong are all the methods 
connected with trotting races. It is safe to say 
that hardly one association in the country' re- 
ceives in cash at the gate twenty-five per cent, 
of the entire money it offers for its meeting! 
Can anything more ridiculous be conceived 
than the fact that the same processes will be 
in force to reach this result in 1901, as in all 
previous years? — for in hardly a feature has 
trotting management changed since 1865! 

1 he programmes for the spring horse shows 
are most attractive, and, from hearsay and 
evidence, there will be a large number of new 
exhibitors in the field to contest with the " Old 
Guard" the right to the judge's recognition. 
The new people and horses are those which 
should receive especial encouragement from 
all sources; and every inducement should be 
held out to them to come into a competition 
which has been gradually falling far too gen- 
erally into the hands of a few professionals and 
quasi-amateurs. Broadening of interests is 
a good thing for any business, but it is the very 
bone and sinew of the successful horse show. 
The Boston management has been extraordi- 
narily liberal in respect of the novice classes, 
and will surely reap its reward in an unprece- 
dented entry list, and in the presence of many 
new faces among the contestants in the arena. 
If other shows would only follow this lead, we 
should soon find the tiresome old campaigners 
relegated to the obscurity they deserve; and 
the leisure they have well earned and can easily 
afford, would result in the betterment of all 

I he most valuable accomplishment that a 
horse can possess is the ability to walk fast, 
and yet nowhere do we find prizes offered 
for perfection at this most essential pace. 
No judge of harness horses ever considers 
the merit of a class in this respect, and, 
singularly enough, an adept is no more val- 
uable than an animal which merely crawls 
along. Buyers, also, rarely investigate a 
horse's speed at the«ralk, and yet it is certain 
that no equine isao* generally overdriven and 
abused as the slow walker, which is kept at 
the trot everlastingly h5^ed^y@OWle 
slowly at the other pace. 

F. M. Ware. 


THE turf winter of 1900-01 may be epito- 
mized as having been characterized by '* wars 
and rumors of wars," principally the former. 
In England the Volodyovski litigation between 
Lady Meux and the widow of the late Lord 
William Beresford, disputing as they were the 
control of the Derby favorite, for some weeks 
comparatively paralyzed the Derby betting, 
despite the fact that each party had announced 
her intention in case of victory to leave the colt 
in the hands of his present trainer, the Ameri- 
can John Huggins, who has always handled 
the horse. The legal decision in favor of Lady 
Meux, it may be added, was eminently just and 
sensible. The supposedly superior mind of the 
court could scarcely have failed to grasp what 
the veriest tyro in racing easily realized, namely 
that the personality of Lord William, himself 
one of the ablest turf managers of the era, was 
the principal factor in originally securing for 
him the lease of so valuable and promising a 

In America, the East has been the only sec- 
tion characterized by thorough peace and good 
will. The prompt and apparently final col- 
lapse of the project to establish an outlaw 
race-course at Chesapeake Bay removed the 
only possible cloud on the horizon. That 
enterprise would, however, have caused only 
a very mild ripple of excitement (if even that 
much) in Jockey Club circles, and would in all 
probability have been totally ignored and 
suffered to die a natural and early death. 

In the middle West, the older Turf Congress, 
after suffering from a sort of daze for several 
weeks, suddenly recovered its equilibrium and 
proceeded to dramatically announce its inten- 
tion to fight the new Western Jockey Club to 
a finish, wisely omitting, however, to prophesy 
which organization would be finished. Then, 
too, after persistently neglecting its duty and 
opportunity for years, the Turf Congress per- 
petrated a sort of eleventh hour deathbed 
repentance, at the same time making an ab- 
surdly transparent bid for moral, if not actual, 
support from the Jockey Club of the East, by 
passing a nomenclature rule conforming ex- 
actly with the latter body's requirements on 
the subject — a proceeding which prompts the 
observation that the Congress would now have 
no such vigorous young rival as the Western 
Jockey Club on its hands had its legislative 
enactments in the past been of a nature to pave 
the way for the formation of a National Jockey 
Club by conformity, if not absolute unity, with 
the Jockey Club of the East. 

It remained for California, however, to fur- 
nish the climax of the winter's strife in that 
thoroughpaced absurdity commonly known 
as a race-track war. Tanforan and Oakland, 
beginning the winter season under an equi- 
table and sensible agreement as to the appor- 
tionment and non-conflict of dates, have at 
this writing been racing daily for several w<n*ks 
in opposition to each other, with the extraor- 
dinary accompaniments of pyrotechnic articles 
in their respective subsidized newspapers, 
special inducements to the crack jockeys* and 
the owners of the better class of horses, and* 
a general cross-fire of accusations, cuss words* 
and stentorian defiances. The row originated 
in the suggestion of a local movement to re- 
strict the racing at Tanforan to a specified num- 
ber of days in the year. The Tanforanites ac- 
cused the Oakland party of originally inspiring 
and secretly aiding the movement, and threat- 
ened to retaliate by holding a race meeting at 
Inglcside, a third California course which , is 
under their control, but has of late been un- 
used. In a jiffy the feud waxed hot, resulting 
in Tanforan 's prompt decision to race right 
along on Oakland's dates. The latter track 
naturally replied in kind. 

1 aking sides one way or the other, mainly 
according to their beliefs as to the direction 
in which their bread might be the better but- 
tered, the horsemen have meanwhile been 
enjoying extraordinary opportunities for win- 
ning money. On one afternoon, for example, 
Tanforan gave a $12,000 handicap for all-aged 
horses as an opposition attraction to Oakland's 
$10,000 Burns Handicap, a similar race, which 
has for some years been one of California's 
leading winter classics, and was rim on the 
same day! Nothing like it has been experi- 
enced since the celebrated imbroglios between 
old Jerome Park and new Morris Park in 1889, 
and between the Monmouth Park Association 
and Brighton Beach in 1891. Doubtless the 
horse owners now racing in California would 
be perfectly willing to stand it forever! The 
merits of the case appear to be too evenly 
divided for a comparative outsider to render 
a confident judgment, but it may be timidly 
suggested that, if there is a better side to the 
argument, the Tanforan party have at least 
a shade of it. The affair as a whole is decidedly 
silly however, and it is to be hoped that it is 
not destined to become so involved as to pre- 
cipitate such occurrences as came* from the 
Chicago race-track war in the last decade. 

j by VJlO H. Howe. 





m um 

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Ai-Y, 23 '0\ 



MAY. 1901 

No. 2 

By Charles G. D. Roberts 

THE April night, softly chill and 
full of the sense of thaw, was 
closing down over the wide salt 
marshes. Near at hand the waters of the 
Tantramar, resting at full tide, glimmered 
through the dusk and lapped faintly among 
the winter-ruined remnants of the sedge. 
Far off — infinitely far it seemed in that 
illusive atmosphere, which was clear yet 
full of the ghosts of rain — the last of day- 
light lay in a thin streak, pale and sharp, 
along a vast arc of the horizon. Over- 
head it was quite dark; for there was no 
moon, and the tenuous spring clouds were 
sufficient to shut out the stars. They 
clung in mid-heaven, but kept to their 
shadowy ranks without descending to ob- 
scure the lower air. Space and mystery, 
mystery and space, lay abroad upon the 
vague levels of marsh and tide. 

Presently, from far along the dark 
nights of the sky, came voices, hollow, 
musical, confused. Swiftly they jour- 
neyed nearer; they grew louder. The sound 
— not vibrant, yet strangely far-carrying — 
was a clamorous monotony of honk-a-honk, 
honk-a-honk, honka, honka, honk, honk. 
It hinted of wide distance voyaged over 
on tireless wings, of a tropic winter passed 
in feeding amid remote, high-watered 
meadows of Mexico and Texas, of long 
flights yet to go, toward the rocky tarns 
of Labrador and the reed beds of Ungava. 
As the sound passed straight overhead 
the listener on the marsh below imagined, 
though he could not see, the strongly 
beating wings, the outstretched necks and 
heads, the round, unswerving eyes of the 

wild goose flock in its V-shaped array, 
winnowing steadily northward through the 
night. But this particular flock was not 
set, as it chanced, upon an all night journey. 
The wise old gander winging at the head 
of the V knew of good feeding grounds 
near by, which he was ready to re-visit. 
He led the flock straight on, above the 
many windings of the Tantramar, till its 
full-flooded sheen far below him narrowed 
and narrowed to a mere brook. Here, 
in the neighborhood of the uplands, were 
a number of shallow, weedy, freshwater 
lakes, with shores so choked with thickets 
and fenced apart with bogs as to afford 
a security which his years and broad ex- 
perience had taught him to value. Into 
one of these lakes, a pale blur amid the thick 
shadows of the shores, the flock dropped 
with heavy splashings. A scream or two 
of full-throated content, a few flappings 
of wings and rufflings of plumage in the 
cool, and the voyagers settled into quiet. 
All night there was silence around the 
flock, save for the whispering seepage of 
the snow patches that still lingered among 
the thickets. With the first creeping 
pallor of dawn the geese began to feed, 
plunging their long black necks deep into 
the water and feeling with the sensitive 
inner edges of their bills for the swelling 
root-buds of weed and sedge. When the 
sun was about the edge of the horizon, 
and the first rays came sparkling, of a 
chilly pink most luminous and pure, 
through the lean traceries of the brush- 
wood, the leader raised his head high and 
screamed a signal. With answering cries 

Copyright, 1901, by the Outing Publishing Company. All rights reserv^ t 


The Homesickness of Kehonka 

and a tempestuous splashing the flock 
flapped for a few yards along the surface 
of the water. Then they rose clear, formed 
quickly into rank, and in their spacious 
V went honking northward over the half- 
lighted, mysterious landscape. But, as it 
chanced, not all of the flock set out with 
that morning departure. There was one 
pair, last year's birds, upon whom had 
fallen a weariness of travel. Perhaps in 
the coils of their brains lurked some in- 
herited memory of these safe resting 
places and secluded feeding grounds of 
the Midgic lakes. However that may have 
been, they chose to stay where they were, 
feeling in their blood no call from the cold 
north solitudes. Dipping and bowing, 
black neck by neck, they gave no heed 
to the leader's signal, nor to the noisy 
going of the flock. Pushing briskly with 
the black webs of their feet against the 
discolored water they swam to the shore 
and cast about for a place to build their 

There was no urgent hurry, so they 
chose not on that day nor the next. When 
they chose, it was a little bushy islet off 
a point of land, well tangled with alder 
and osier and a light flotsam of driftwood. 
The nest, in the heart of the tangle, was 
an apparently haphazard collection of 
sticks and twigs, well raised above the 
damp, well lined with moss and feathers. 
Here, in course of days, there accumu- 
lated a shining cluster of six large white 
eggs. But by this time the spring freshet 
had gone down. The islet was an islet 
no longer, but a mere adjunct of the point, 
which any inquisitive foot might reach 
dry shod. Now just at this time it hap- 
pened that a young farmer, who had a 
curious taste for all the wild kindred of 
wood, and flood, and air, came up from 
the lower Tantramar with a wagon-load 
of grist for the Midgic mill. While his 
buckwheat and barley were a-grinding he 
thought of a current opinion to the effect 
that the wild geese were given to nesting 
in the Midgic lakes. "If so," said he to 
himself, "this is the time they would be 
about it." Full of interest, a half hour's 
tramp through difficult woods brought 
him to the nearest of the waters. An 
instinct, an intuition born of his sympathy 
with the furtive folk, led him to the point, 
and out along the point to that once islet, 
with its secret in the heart of the tangle. 

Vain were the furious hissings, the opposing 
wings, the wide black bills that threatened 
and oppugned him. With the eager de- 
light of a boy he pounced upon those six 
great eggs, and carried them all away. 
" They will soon turn out another clutch, " 
said he to himself, as he left the bereaved 
pair, and tramped elatedly back to the 
mill. As for the bereaved pair, being of 
a philosophic spirit they set themselves 
to fulfil as soon as possible his prophecy. 
On the farm by the Lower Tantramar, 
in a hogshead half filled with straw and 
laid on its side in a dark corner of the tool 
shed, those six eggs were diligently brooded 
for four weeks and two days by a com- 
fortable gray-and-white goose of the com- 
mon stock. When they hatched, the good 
gray-and-white mother may have been sur- 
prised to find her goslings of an olive- 
green hue, instead of the bright golden 
yellow w T hich her past experience and that 
of her fellows had taught her to expect. 
She may have marveled, too, at their un- 
wonted slenderness and activity. These 
trivial details, however, in no way damp- 
ened the zeal with which she led them to 
the goose pond, or the fidelity with which 
she pastured and protected them. But 
rats, skunks, sundry obscure ailments, and 
the heavy wheels of the farm wagon, are 
among the perils which, the summer through, 
lie in wait for all the children of the feathered 
kin upon the farm ; and so it came about that 
of the six young ones so successfully hatched 
from the wild goose eggs, only two lived 
till the coming of autumn brought them 
full plumage and the power of flight. Be- 
fore the time of the southward migration 
came near, the young farmer took these 
two and clipped from each the strong 
primaries of their right wings. "They 
seem contented enough and tame as any," 
he said to himself, "but you never can tell 
what'll happen when the instinct strikes 
; em." Both the young wild geese were fine 
males. Their heads and long, slim necks 
were black, as were also their tails, great 
wing feathers, bills and feet. Under the 
tail their feathers were of snowiest white, 
and all the other portions of their bodies 
a rich grayish brown. Each bore on the 
side of its face a sharply defined triangular 
patch of white, mottled with faint brown 
markings that would disappear after the 
first moult. In one the white cheek patches 
met under the throat. This was a large, 

Digitized by VjOOQLC 

The Homesickness of Kehonka 


strongly built bird, of a placid and domestic 
temper. He was satisfied with the undis- 
tinguished gray companions of the flock. 
He was content, like them, to gutter noisily 
with his discriminating bill along the shal- 
low edges of the pond, to float and dive 
and flap in the deeper center, to pasture at 
random over the wet meadow, biting off the 
short grasses with quick, sharp, yet grace- 
fully curving dabs. Goose pond and wet 
meadow and cattle-trodden barnyard bound- 
ed his aspirations. When his adult voice 
came to him, all he would say was honk, 
honk, contemplatively, and sometimes honk- 
a-honk when he flapped his wings in the 
exhilarating coolness of the sunrise. The 
other captive was of a more restless tem- 
perament, slenderer in build, more eager 
and alert of eye, less companionable of 
mood. He was, somehow, never seen in 
the center of the flock — he never seemed 
a part of it. He fed, swam, rested, preened 
himself, always a little apart. Often, when 
the others were happily occupied with their 
familiar needs and satisfactions, he would 
stand motionless, his compact, glossy head 
high in air, looking to the north as if in 
expectation, listening as if he awaited 
longed-for tidings. The triangular white 
patch on each side of his head was very 
narrow, and gave him an expression of 
wildness; yet in reality he was no more 
wild, or rather no more shy, than any others 
of the flock. None, indeed, had so confi- 
dent a fearlessness as he. He would take 
oats out of the farmer's hand, which none 
of the rest quite dared to do. 

Until late in the autumn, the lonely, un- 
comraded bird was always silent. But 
when the migrating flocks began to pass 
overhead, on the long southward trail, and 
their hollow clamor was heard over the 
farmstead night and morning, he grew more 
restless. He would take a short run with 
outspread wings, and then, feeling their 
crippled inefficiency, would stretch him- 
self to his full night and call, a sonorous, 
far-reaching cry — ke-honk-a, ke-honk-a. 
From this call, so often repeated throughout 
October and November, the farmer named 
him Kehonka. The farmer's wife favored 
the more domesticated and manageable 
brother, who could be trusted never to stray. 
But the farmer, who mused deeply over his 
furrows, and half-wistfully loved the wild 
kindred, loved Kehonka, and used to say he 
would not- lose the bird for the price of a 

steer. "That there bird," he would say, 
"has got dreams away down in his heart. 
Like as not, he remembers things his father 
and mother have seen, up amongst the ice 
cakes and the northern lights, or down 
amongst the bayous and the big southern 
lilies.' 1 But all his sympathy failed to 
make him repent of having clipped Kehonka's 

During the long winter, when the winds 
swept -fiercely the open marshes of the 
Tantramar, and the snow piled in high 
drifts around the barns and wood piles, and 
the sheds were darkened, and in the sun at 
noonday the strawy dungheaps steamed, 
the rest of the geese remained listiessly con- 
tent. But not so Kehonka. Somewhere 
back of his brain he cherished pre-natal 
memories of warm pools in the South, where 
leafy screens grew rank, and the sweet- 
rooted water-plants pulled easily from the 
deep black mud, and his true kindred were 
screaming to each other at the oncoming of 
the tropic dark. When the flock was out 
in the barnyard, pulling lazily at the tram- 
pled litter, and snatching scraps of the 
cattle's chopped- turnips, Kehonka would 
stand aloof by the water trough, his head 
erect, listening, longing. As the winter sun 
sank early over the fir woods back of the 
farm, his wings would open, and his desir- 
ous cry would go echoing three or four times 
across the still countryside — ke-honk-a — 
ke-honk-a — ke-honk-a! Whereat the farm- 
er's wife, turning her buckwheat pancakes 
over the hot kitchen stove, would mutter 
impatiently; but the farmer, slipping to the 
door of the cow-stable with the bucket of 
feed in his hand, would look with deep eyes 
of sympathy at the unsatisfied bird. "He 
wants something that we don't grow round 
here," he would say to himself; and little 
by little the bird's restlessness came to seem 
to him the concrete embodiment of certain 
dim outreachings of his own. He, too, caught 
himself straining his gaze beyond the marsh 
horizons of Tantramar. 

When the winter broke, and the seeping 
drifts shrank together, and the brown of the 
ploughed fields came through the snow in 
patches, and the slopes leading down to the 
marshland were suddenly loud with running 
water, Kehonka's restlessness grew so eager 
that he almost forgot to feed. It was time, 
he thought, for the northward flight to begin. 
He would stand for hours, turning first one 
dark eye, then the other, toward the soft sky 

Digitized by 



The Homesickness of Kehonka 

overhead, expectant of the V-shaped, jour- 
neying flock, and the far-off clamor of voices 
from the South crying to him in his own 
tongue. At last, when the snow was about 
gone from the open fields, one evening at the 
shutting-in of dark, the voices came. He 
was lingering at the edge of the goose pond, 
the rest having settled themselves for the 
night, when he heard the expected sounds. 
Honk-a-honk, honk-a-honk, honka-honka, 
honk, honk, they came up against the light 
April wind, nearer, nearer, nearer. 'Even 
his keen eye could not detect them against 
the blackness; but up went his wings, and 
again and again he screamed to them 
sonorously*. In response to his call, their 
flight swung lower, and the confusion 
of their honking seemed as if it were 
going to descend about him. But the wary 
old gander, their leader, discerned the roofs, 
man's handiwork, and suspected treachery. 
At his sharp signal the flock, rising again,, 
streamed off swiftly toward safer feeding 
grounds, and left Kehonka to call and call 
unanswered. Up to this moment all his 
restlessness had not led him to think 
of actually deserting the farmstead and 
the alien flock. Though not of them 
he had felt it necessary to be with them. 
His instinct for other scenes and another 
fellowship had been too little tangible to 
move him to the snapping of established 
ties. But now, all his desires at once took 
concrete form. It was his, it belonged to 
himself — that strong, free flight, that calling 
through the sky, that voyaging northward 
to secret nesting places. In that wild flock 
which had for a moment swerved down- 
ward to his summons, or in some other flock, 
was his mate. It was mating season, and 
not until now had he known it. 

Nature does sometimes, under the pressure 
of great and concentrated desires, make un- 
expected effort to meet unforeseen demands. 
All winter long, though it was not the season 
for such growth, Kehonka's clipped wing- 
primaries had been striving to develop. They 
had now, contrary to all custom, attained to 
an inch or so of effective flying web. Ke- 
honka's heart was near bursting with his 
desire as the voices of the unseen flock died 
away. He spread his wings to their full ex- 
tent, ran some ten paces along the ground, 
and then, with all his energies concen- 
trated to the effort, he rose into the air 
and flew with swift-beating wings out into 
the dark upon the northward trail. His 

trouble was not the lack of wing surface, 
but the lack of balance. One wing being so 
much less in spread than the other, he felt a 
fierce force striving to turn him over at every 
stroke. It was the struggle to counteract 
this tendency that wore him out. His first 
desperate effort carried him half a mile. 
Then he dropped to earth, in a bed of 
withered salt-grass, all awash with the full 
tide of Tantramar. Resting amid the salt- 
grass he tasted such an exultation of freedom 
that his heart forgot its soreness over the 
Hock which had vanished. Presently, how- 
ever, he heard again the sound that so 
thrilled his every vein. Weird, hollow, 
echoing with memories and tidings, it came 
throbbing up the wind. His own strong cry 
went out at once to meet it — ke-honk-a, 
ke-honk-a, ke-honk-a. The voyagers this 
time were flying very low. They came near, 
nearer, and at last, in a sudden silence of 
voices, but a great flapping of wings, they 
settled down in the salt grass all about him. 

The place was well enough for a night's 
halt — a shallow, marshy pool which caught 
the overflow of the highest spring tides, and 
so was not emptied by the ebb. After its 
first splashing descent into the water, which 
glimmered in pale patches among the grass 
stems, every member of the flock sat for some 
moments motionless as statues, watchful for 
unknown menace; and Kehonka, his very 
soul trembling with desire achieved, sat 
motionless among them. Then, there being 
no sign of peril at hand, there was a time of 
quiet paddling to and fro, a scuttling of prac- 
ticed bills among the grass-roots, and Ke- 
honka found himself easily accepted as a 
member of the flock. Happiness kept him 
restless and on the move long after the 
others had their bills tucked under their 
wings. In the earliest gray of dawn, when the 
flock awoke to feed, Kehonka fed among 
them as if he had been with them all the way 
on their flight from the Mexican plains. 
But his feeding was always by the side of 
a young female who had not yet paired. It 
was interrupted by many little courtesies of 
touching bill and bowing head, which were 
received with plain favor; for Kehonka was 
a handsome and well marked bird. By 
the time the sky was red along the east and 
strewn with pale,, blown feathers of amber 
pink toward the zenith, his swift wooing was 
next door to winning. He had forgotten his 
captivity and clipped wing. He was thinking 
of a nest in the wide emptiness of the North. 

Digitized by 


The Homesickness of Kehonka 


When the signal cry came, and the flock 
took flight, Kehonka rose with them. But 
his preliminary rush along the water was 
longer than that of the others, and when the 
flock formed into flying order he fell in at the 

end of the longer leg of the V, behind the 
weakest of the young geese. This would 
have been a humiliation to him, had he taken 
thought of it at all; but his attention was all 
absorbed in keeping his balance. When the 

'the struggle lasted scarcely more than two heart beats 

Digitized by 



The Homesickness of Kehonka 

flock found its pace, and the cold sunrise air 
began to whistle past the straight, bullet-like 
rush of their flight, a terror grew upon him. 
He flew much better than he had flown the 
night before ; but he soon saw that this speed 
of theirs was beyond him. He would not 
yield, however. He would not lag behind. 
Every force of his body and his brain went 
into that flight, till his eyes blurred and his 
heart*seemed on the point of bursting. Then, 
suddenly, with a faint, despairing note, he 
lurched aside, shot downward, and fell with 
a great splash into the channel of the Tan- 
tramar. With strong wings, and level, un- 
pausing flight, the flock went on to its north 
without him. 

Dazed by the fall, and exhausted by the 
intensity of his effort, Kehonka floated, 
moveless, for many minutes. The flood tide, 
however, racing inland, was carrying him still 
northward ; and presently he began to swim 
in the same direction. In his sick heart 
glowed still the vision of the nest in the far-off 
solitudes, and he felt that he would find there 
waiting for him, the strong-winged mate 
who had left him behind. Half an hour 
later another flock passed honking overhead, 
and he called to them; but they were high 
up, and feeding time was past. They gave 
no sign in answer. He made no attempt 
to fly after them. Hour after hour he swam 
on with the current, working ever north. 
When the tide turned he went ashore, still 
following the river, till its course changed 
toward the east; whereupon he ascended the 
channel of a small tributary which flowed in 
on the north bank. Here and there he 
snatched quick mouthfuls of sprouting 
grasses, but he was too driven by his desire to 
pause for food. Sometimes he tried his wings 
again, covering now some miles at each flight, 
till by and by, losing the stream because its 
direction failed him, he found himself in a 
broken upland country, where progress was 
slow and toilsome. Soon after sunset, 
troubled because there was no water near, he 
again took wing, and over dark woods which 
filled him with apprehension he made his 
longest flight. When about spent he caught 
a small gleaming of water far below him, and 
alighted in a little woodland glade wherein 
a brook had overflowed low banks. 

The noise of his abrupt descent loudly 
startled the wet and dreaming woods. It 
was a matter of interest to all the furry, 
furtive ears of the forest for a half mile 
round. But it was in no way repeated. 

For perhaps fifteen minutes Kehonka 
floated, neck erect, head high and watchful, 
in the middle of the pool, with no move- 
ment except the slight, unseen oaring of 
his black-webbed feet, necessary to keep 
the current from bearing him into the gloom 
of the woods. This gloom, hedging him on 
every side, troubled him with a vague fear. 
But in the open of the mid-pool, with two 
or three stars peering faintly through the 
misted sky above him, he felt compara- 
tively safe. At last, very far above, he 
heard again that wild calling of his fel- 
lows — honk-a-honk, honk-a-honk, honka, 
honka, honk, honk — high and dim and 
ghostly, for these rough woodlands had no 
appeal for the journeying flocks. Remote 
as the voices were, however, Kehonka an- 
swered at once. His keen, sonorous, pas- 
sionate cry rang strangely on the night, 
three times. The flock paid no heed to it 
whatever, but sped on northward with un- 
varying flight and clamor; and as the wizard 
noise passed beyond, Kehonka, too weary 
to take wing, followed eagerly to the north- 
erly shore of the pool, ran up the wet bank, 
and stood straining after it. 

His wings were half spread as he stood 
there, quivering with his passion. In his 
heart was the hunger of the quest. In his 
eyes was the vision of nest and mate, 
where the serviceberry thickets grew by 
the wide sub-arctic waters. The night wind 
blew steadily away from him to the under- 
brush close by; or even in his absorption he 
would have noticed the approach of a men- 
acing, musky smell. But every sense was 
now numb in the presence of his great de- 
sire. There was no warning for him. 

The underbrush rustled, ever so softly. 
Then a small, delicately moving, fine-furred 
shape, the discourager of quests, darted 
stealthily forth, and with a bound that was 
feathery in its blown lightness, seeming to 
be uplifted by the wide-plumed tail that 
balanced it, descended on Kehonka's body. 
There was a thin honk, cut short by keen 
teeth meeting with a crunch and a twist in 
the glossy slim blackness of Kehonka's 
neck. The struggle lasted scarcely more 
than two heart beats. The wide wings 
pounded twice or thrice upon the ground, in 
fierce convulsion. Then the red fox, with 
a sidewise jerk of his head, flung the heavy, 
trailing carcase into a position for its easy 
carrying, and trotted off with it into the 
darkness of the woods. 

Digitized by 



By Tappan Adney 

A LITTLE while ago, a dog harnessed to 
a boy's rude wagon, passed my door 
at a lively trot, followed by a troop 
of roystering children. He was doing all the 
work, yet he appeared to be having as 
much fun as his human companions. I 
never contemplate a dog in the society of 
mankind, whether sharing his work or play, 
without marveling at the close bond be- 
tween two animals separated so widely in 
the scale of nature. With civilized man 
the dog lives a life of comparative idleness. 
Even the hunting dogs, which exert them- 
selves more than any other in the service 
of civilized man, can hardly be called work- 
■ere, since they are but obeying the natural 
wolf instinct. The watch dog's role, too, 
is largely passive. The lap dog and the 
mere pet, although the most utterly use- 
less of dogs, doubtless have a place in our 
-complex civilization. So, to my mind, we 
rarely see the dog in his noblest relation to 
mankind — that is, when brute and human, 
reduced to the first principles of existence, 
work and suffer together. 

The use of dogs for drawing loads and 
carrying burdens is less general in this 
<xmntry now than formerly. A generation 
ago in New York city dogs, in teams of 
three and four, drawing peddler's little 
-carts, were a common sight. In the streets 
of a modern city dogs, particularly if 
driven in teams, would be sadly out of place ; 
though in Holland the inconvenience attend- 
ing the driving of a long-drawn-out affair 
is obviated by hitching a single dog directly 
under the axle of the vehicle. Except in 
children's play, civilization is ceasing to 
have use for the true working dog. But 
there are still parts of our country where 
the dog is not only a constant, but most 
picturesque feature of the daily life. One 
may say that the line between the United 
States and Canada marks the two parts of 
our continent where, on the one hand, dogs 
are chiefly companions, and, on the other, 
important factors in the economy of the 
-country. Endurance and ability to draw 
small loads with great speed peculiarly fit 
the dog for a wilderness where neither roads 

nor railways have to any considerable ex- 
tent made their appearance. Then, again, 
as in this northern wilderness, peopled only 
along its southern border, where the rivers 
and lakes are the highways of travel in 
summer, it follows that in winter, when the 
tangled forest trails have been made smooth 
by their deep covering of snow, the dog en- 
ters upon his real usefulness. Long before 
white men set foot upon the western shore 
of the Atlantic, the Indian hunter and trap- 
per drove his string of hardy wolf dogs 
over the frozen watercourses. The Hud- 
son's Bay Company, pushing westward even 
to the Pacific coast, northward as far as the 
mouth of the arctic McKenzie, and thence 
still farther west into the Yukon Valley of 
Alaska, adopted the native dog and to- 
boggan as the sole means of winter travel; 
and to-day, as far as one may go, even to 
the shores of Behring Sea, white men are 
driving the dog as the aborigine did before 
them. Before the advance of civilization 
these characteristic features of the life are 
disappearing. The old Hudson's Bay posts 
of the border are no longer stations for 
the exchange of furs, and the locomotive's 
whistle drowns the tinkle of sleighbells on 
the gaily caparisoned back of the sledge dog; 
one must travel beyond, where the dog is 
still the only, or almost only, domestic ani- 
mal, and white men live scarcely better than 
savages, in order to realize the true worth of 
the best friend of man. The Klondike ex- 
citement and the consequent demand for 
sledge dogs, introduced for the first time, to 
thousands of persons, this characteristic and 
necessary adjunct of northern life, and of 
all that number, including not only those 
who plodded along the weary trail behind 
the patient, faithful brutes, but also those 
who merely read of it, I am sure there was 
not one who did not come to love the dog 
as never before. If there was one such, he 
was without a soul, and the dog was the 
better of the two. 

The range of the true sledge dog may 
almost be spoken of as circumpolar. The 
finest specimens are still found within the 
Arctic Circle, and although locally known 

Digitized by 



The Sledge Dogs of the North 

details of its eyes, ears and muzzle, often 
the very manner of carrying its bushy tail, 
plainly bespeak the wolf ancestor. So much 
in color and markings do some of these 

A. Bearnkin. B.Rope*. 

by various names, as 
Eskimo, husky, mala- 
moot, siwash, etc., and 
regarded by some as 
being so many distinct breeds, they possess 
in common many characteristics distin- 
guishing them from civilized dogs. In 
Klondike and Alaska, where I have seen side 
by side the native dog of Siberia, the mala- 
moot from Behring Sea, the husky from the 
valley of the McKenzie River, and the ordi- 
nary siwash dog of the Indian, there was 
observable much variety in size, color and 
markings, yet their differences seemed more 
individual than otherwise. There were 
malamoots which could not be told from 
huskies, and Indian dogs that could not be 
told from those that came from the Eskimo. 
They were all wolf dogs. The name Es- 
kimo is perhaps the best to represent the 
uniform type of extreme northern dog. 
The name husky, given in the Hudson's 
Bay country, is derived from the Eskimo 
of that name on the coast at the mouth of 
the McKenzie River; while in the Yukon 
Valley, including Klondike, the name mala- 
moot is similarly given, from a tribe of 
Eskimo of that name dwelling on the east- 
ern shore of Behring Sea, from whence the 
first, and for a long time only, dogs for sledge 
purposes were brought into that country. 
Siwash, being merely Chinook, or Hudson's 
Bay Company's trade-language, for In- 
dian (French sauvage), that name is applied 
to all native dogs by people from the west 
coast, where the aforesaid jargon is still in 
general use. 

The typical Eskimo dog has a thick, 
short neck ; a sharp, wolf-like muzzle ; slant- 
ing eyes, but without the wild wolf's hard, 
sinister expression ; short and generally 
erect pointed ears, and it is protected from 
the severe cold by a coat of the warmest 
and thickest hair. Its general form, the 

native dogs re- 
semble the gray 
wolf which inhabits 
the wooded parts of the 
Northwest that at a little 
distance it is frequently impos- 
sible to distinguish them, and miners 
in the Yukon have more than once re- 
frained from shooting at a solitary wolf 
until they were able, by some sign, to make 
certain that it was not a stray dog. * In 
color the purest strain runs from solid black 
through black and white, to white all over, 
while these colors may be modified by a 
grizzled-gray quality in the fur more or less 
completely replacing the positive mark- 
ings, and so closely resembling the gray 
wolf, that one is irresistibly impelled to 
believe the reports which are current in 
all parts of the Northwest, of the native 
dogs breeding with wolves. The dogs of 
the Indian villages in the interior of Alaska, 
are often of the meanest description, under- 
sized, lean, and in proportion as they are 
starved and stunted do they seem vicious 
and cowardly in disposition. It is now rare, 
in the length and breadth of the Yukon 
Valley, to find a good dog in the possession 
of either Indian or Eskimo. The best have 
been bought up by the miners and traders, 
who have been willing to pay almost any 
price. Moreover, in order to supply the 
extraordinary demand for sledge dogs re- 
sulting from the Klondike excitement, the 
Canadian Northwest was raked and scraped 
for dogs by intending miners and others 
bound for the scene of the great gold strike. 
Some notion of how thoroughly all avail- 
able dogs were snatched up at the begin- 
ning of the excitement is shown by the 
experience of the Canadian government, 
when getting together a set of dog teams 
to send in with mail to Dawson. A hundred 
huskies were expected, but when the teams 
arrived at Dawson, there were only forty 
dogs, and half of that number were not 
native dogs, but setters and Newfoundlands. 
Thousands of "outside dogs" (so called by 
the miners to distinguish them from the 

Digitized by 


The Sledge Dogs of the North 


"inside' ' or native dog) were carried to Klon- 
dike; a few trained to sledwork, but the 
majority unused to harness. Besides New- 
foundlands, and Gordon, English and Llewel- 
lyn setters, there were long and short- 
haired St. Bernards, spaniels and collies; 
that is to say, any large, solidly built dog 
with a full covering of hair. Numbering 
nearly as many as the native dogs, on the 
upper Yukon and about Dawson, these 
have begun intermingling with the natives, 
until now the native breed is fast losing 
its identity, and it can be but a short time 
when, as a well-marked breed, it will dis- 
appear from all but the more remote re- 

of his forequarters, standing square and 
solid, with head and ears up and with tail 
tightly curled over his back, he is the em- 
bodiment of strength, energy and an inde- 
pendence that is fairly aggressive. As he 
stands thus he craves favor of neither man 
nor dog. Derived from generations of 
sledge dogs, having no other example nor 
precept than that of pulling, in a state 
where the sledge or toboggan is next in im- 
portance only to the implements of hunting, 
he knows his place and is conscious of his 
worth. In the sledge train he carries him- 
self as if proud of his work. With some of 
the newcomers it has been quite different. 


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gions, like Greenland and Siberia. The 
outside dog has proven well fitted for his 
work. Without the extreme hardiness of 
the native dog, or his indifference to cold, 
and ability to work for days at a time 
without food, when necessity demands; 
nevertheless he. soon becomes acclimated. 
The second winter an outside dog carries 
a much heavier coat of fur, and long before 
that probably he has learned his work, and 
accustomed himself to the drudgery of the 
trail, like a native. 

The Eskimo is distinctly the dog of the 
North. Broad chested and with powerful 
shoulders, almost hyena-like in the tallness 

Especially to the hunting dog, it was a very 
sad come-down, when the miserable hoop 
of stuffed moosehide was firsi thrust over 
his tender ears, and he was shoved into a 
train of four or five other dogs and com- 
pelled to pull. 

Dogs are driven in a variety of ways. 
The voyageurs in the region south of Hud- 
son's Bay employ a collar with two short 
traces which meet on the dog's back, and 
to these is attached a single trace to the to- 
boggan, and if four or five dogs are driven 
together, there are as many separate traces 
as dogs. The Eskimo tribes around Behr- 
ing Sea adopt a somewhat different method. 

' Digitized by 



The Sledge Dogs of the North 

The harness itself is not greatly dissimilar. 
Sometimes built of leather or pieces of rope, 
the traces, instead of leading directly over 
the back, first pass under the foreleg. This 
style of harness in its original form, I was 
told by Edwin Inglestad, at St. Michael, was 
simply a piece of fresh bearskin, through 
which three long slits were made lengthwise. 
The middle slit was pulled over the dog's 
head and served as a collar, and the fore- 
legs were thrust through the remaining 
slits. To the other end, resting upon the 
back, was attached the trace. This trace, 
in the Eskimo style of harness, is a strand 
of raw seal hide about three feet in length. 
It is made fast to a long single trace — a 
thong of walrus hide — and the dogs are 
hitched generally in pairs, at intervals of 
about six feet, with a single dog as leader. 
The small trace joins the main trace with 
a bone swivel. Thus, if the dogs become 
entangled, as happens when two rival teams 
meet and start to settle a feud, or when the 
sledge takes the notion of going down some 
steep hill faster than the dogs, it is easy to 
straighten them out afterwards. Although 
the advantages of this arrangement of dogs 
are obvious, it is not so convenient in a 
wooded country, where two dogs may 
try to pass upon opposite sides of one tree. 
The harness almost universally used by 
white men throughout Alaska and Klon- 
dike consists of collar and side traces, back- 
band and belly string — like an ordinary 
horse harness. In this style the Indians 
harness their dogs to their light hunting 
toboggans. The collar is simply a round 
affair about two inches in thickness, of 
moosehide stuffed with moose hair. The 
traces, two inches wide, are of the same 
material. The back-band, supporting the 
traces, is a band of leather four to ten inches 
wide, often highly ornamented with bright 
chenille patterns and surmounted by a 
string of small sleighbells. 

Moosehide with canvas traces. 

If a dog is driven alone the traces attach 
directly to the sledge or toboggan, and 
when two or more are hitched together, 
the traces of the forward dog are tied into 
a slit in the trace of the hinder dog, between 
the collar and back-band. Between each 
dog is a space of two or three feet. Thus 
harnessed a .string of dogs is easily kept in 
a narrow trail, but it is a style of harness 
that is constantly becoming tangled. Often 
the leather of the traces and back band 
is replaced by strips of drill or canvas. 
Fine harnesses, made by white men out of 
regular harness leather, the collar being 
stiffened with a stiff wire which serves as 
hames, and with regular iron snaps on 
the traces, are now made expressly for the 
Yukon trade. 

Two distinct kinds of sleds are used by 
the native tribes of the North and North- 
west. One is the familiar toboggan, made 
of thin white birch with the front part 
bent upwards and backward. It skims 
lightly over the snow in the trail of the 
snowshoe and is the universal hunting sledge 
of the Indian, and is exactly the same 
both in the Hudson's Bay country and in 
the Yukon Valley. The Eskimo, who inhabit 
the sea coast and short distances up into 
the mouths of the large rivers, do not em- 
ploy the toboggan, but use instead a sledge 
made of driftwood, setting well up on 
runners shod frequently with walrus ivory, 
and having a superstructure consisting of 
uprights of wood filled in with thongs of 
rawhide, for containing the load, or occu- 
pants, of the. sledge. They are further 
fitted with two plow-like handles behind, 
by means of which the sledge, when passing 
over the rough, hummocky ice of the sea, 
is kept from overturning. Those seen at 
St. Michael and at Nome are very strong 
and heavy. As one goes up the Yukon to- 
ward Klondike, this sledge becomes much 
lighter in build and is constructed of the 
best available wood — 
white birch — and is 
known as the "basket 
sleigh. ,, 

Both Indians and Es- 
kimo use the "basket 
sleigh," just as their snow- 
shoes are similar, but as 
one goes farther up the 
river the toboggan alto- 
gether replaces it among 
the Indians. The min- 

Digitized by 


The Sledge Dogs of the North 


ere have adopted the " basket sleigh/' but 
never use the low, flat toboggan, for the 
reason that the constantly used trails along 
the creeks and river bottoms are fre- 
quently overflowed with water, even in 
the coldest winters, and their goods would 
become wet. The miner's " basket sleigh" 
is eight to twelve feet in length, with a 

with a rope strung along each side, by 
means of which the load is lashed fast to 
the sled. A distinguishing peculiarity of 
the " Yukon sleigh " is a stout pole, known 
as the gee-pole, six or seven feet long, 
securely lashed to the fore part of the 
right-hand runner and extending forward, 
so that as a man stands in front of 


floor about eight inches from the ground, 
runners unshod with metal, and a "tread" 
of twenty to twenty-two inches. Origin- 
ally all made by natives, they can now be 
purchased in the Puget Sound cities, as 
well as in Dawson, where they are con- 
structed by white men of hickory and 
ash. The regular price for such a sleigh 
of hickory in Dawson, in the winter of 
1898, was $75; very much more, of course, 
than their cost outside. The miner's sled, 
pre-eminently, however, is the "Yukon 
sleigh," formerly known as the "Cassiar 
sleigh," because the first miners who went 
into the Yukon fifteen or twenty years 
ago came from the Cassiar mining region, 
south of the headwaters of the Yukon. 
This sled was invented there, and has since 
undergone no material modification. It 
is seven feet in length, with a tread of 
about sixteen inches, and a hight of six 
inches. It is strongly built of hickory, 

the sleigh his hand, as it falls naturally 
to his side, may reach and grasp it. 

The gee-pole is invaluable for steering, as 
well as for holding back upon grades not 
steep enough for the " rough lock " — a rope 
or dog-chain dragging under the runners. 
The "Yukon sleigh" is shod with steel. Some- 
.; times, but rarely, handles are placed behind, 
as on the basket sleigh. As the driver of 
the "Yukon sleigh" must travel in front 
where he can hold the gee-pole, a rope 
long enough to clear the gee-pole is fastened 
to the front cross-bar, and to the front 
of this is a short singletree to which the 
traces of the team are fastened. As one 
can imagine, when the trail is very 
crooked the driver is obliged to jump 
with considerable liveliness to keep from 
being tripped as the rope swings from side 
to side. The driver further assists his team 
with a rope around his neck and shoulders. 
Thus rigged and on a smooth trail a strong 

Digitized by 



The Sledge Dogs of the North 

malamoot, or an outside dog, like a St. 
Bernard or Newfoundland, will draw three 
to four hundred pounds, which is more 
than a man will care to pull for even a 
short distance. Indeed, it is well known 
that a man will hardly pull all day a weight 
much greater than his own. Much of the 
man's strength is lost by the upward lift 
and by the insecurity of his foothold, while 
the dog pulling horizontally and digging in 
with its toes, utilizes its full strength. 
The sleigh used by freighters is larger than 
the usual, and generally a second sleigh, 
known as the " trail sleigh/' is hooked on 

A limit is sometimes reached to the 
number of dogs that can be driven together, 
tandem; so when say two teams of five to 
seven dogs are doubled-up they may be 
hitched in pairs, with a single dog as leader. 
A good leader is all important. Without 
one that obeys quickly the words of com- 
mand it is nearly impossible to drive a dog 
team, for the ordinary dog naturally pre- 
fers to follow rather than lead, for which 
reason when making rapid journeys it is 
nearly always necessary, in order to get 
the most out of the team, for one man to 
run ahead. The leader is taught to respond 
to "Gee," "Haw" and "Whoa." There is 
another word which every dog comes to 
learn, if only at the cost of much sorrow, 
the meaning of which, apart from its deriva- 
tion, is apparent from the expression with 
which it is uttered by the driver. It is the 
word, " Mahsh," a Chinook word known 
wherever the Hudson's Bay Company's 
trade-language is heard. Obviously a cor- 
ruption of the French marche, it means 
"get-up"— "(tit." To the majority of late 
newcomers into the Yukon the word was 
unknown, and, as uttered by the dog driv- 
ers there, it sounded more like mush, so 
mush the word forthwith became, until 
now that pronunciation is nearly universal. 
There has also been introduced into the 
English language as now spoken on the 
Pacific coast, not only a new verb " to mush," 
but also the noun, " musher." Originally a 
musher was a traveler by dog team, then 
from meaning a person who pulls his own 
sled, it has come to signify simply a traveler 
afoot. The word calls up to a Klondiker, 
not the horrors of the trail, but rather its 
humorous side. \ 

The cost of getting together a dog team 
in Alaska varies so much at different times 

and places that it is impossible to give 
figures that will serve as a guide. Extra- 
ordinarily high prices prevailed at Dawson 
in the winter of 1897-8, as for nearly every- 
thing else. The demand was far in excess 
of the supply at hand, and the wealth of 
the miners, together with the high prices 
that they were willing to pay for freighting, 
ran the prices of dogs up to a fabulous figure. 
Fares of six hundred to fifteen hundred dol- 
lars were paid for single passage from Daw- 
son to Skagway with a dog team, with no 
other privilege than that of sleeping under 
the teamster's robe and eating his food. If 
a person preferred to take his own team, it 
would have cost him more than that to have 
fitted out one. The best dogs were not for 
sale at any price, while the best that were 
for sale brought three to four hundred dol- 
lars each, and any kind of dog large enough 
for sled work, brought one hundred dollars 
and upwards. The highest price I positively 
know of was paid by the agent of the 
Alaska Commercial Company at Fort Yu- 
kon, for a team of five magnificent huskies 
from Rampart House on the Porcupine 
River — two being bought from an Indian 
for $500 the pair, the other three for $400 
apiece from old John Shuman, chief of the 
Indians at that place. "Yukon sleighs," 
worth seven dollars outside, sold for forty- 
two dollars — thirty dollars for the wood- 
work, and twelve dollars for the iron run- 
ners. Before the discovery of Klondike 
and the stampede to Dawson good native 
dogs could be had for from five to ten dol- 
lars each. While dogs were so high at 
Dawson they could be bought at St. 
Michaels and the lower Yukon for twenty- 
five to thirty dollars. When the spring 
came in 1898, dogs suddenly dropped in 
value. Incoming dog teams, sold at public 
auction, brought from ninety dollars to as 
low as twenty to thirty dollars per dog. 
All these were nearly worn out by their 
hard work during the winter. Prices again 
advanced the following winter. 

The usual food of the sledge dog consists 
of dried salmon, cooked rice, cornmeal and 
oatmeal with bacon. By the most exper- 
ienced drivers the dogs are fed but once a 
day, and that at night, after the day's jour- 
ney; although when the travelers upon a 
long journey stop for their noonday rest 
and a hot cup of tea, they may give them 
out of their own larder a doughnut apiece. 
Upon long journeys, such as from Dawson 

Digitized by 


The Sledge Dogs of the North 


and Circle City to Skagway, before road- 
houses were built at forty and fifty-mile 
intervals along the route, it was necessary 
to measure the time and weigh out before- 
hand with utmost care each article carried 
on the sleigh. The cooking of the dog feed 
was as important as making camp. Some 
drivers invented a large boiler of heavy tin 
that fitted around the sheet iron Yukon 
stove. They would set up their tent, place 
the stove inside for their own warmth, and 
then cook the rice or bacon for the dogs in 
the boiler over a blazing fire outside. The 
native dog cheerfully lies outdoors in the 
coldest weather, but the more careful dog- 
drivers brihg their dogs inside their cabin 
or tent at night, if only one or two at a time, 
as they start in on their work next morn- 
ing in much better spirits. 

The distance a dog can travel in a day 
and draw a load is astonishing. With a 
light load of one hundred to one hundred 
and fifty pounds he will make easily forty 

his natural powers of vehement expression 
and vigorous epithets, conspicuous among 
which are references to the particular dog's 
ancestry on the mother's side. When 
threats, as well as words of encouragement, 
fail and the dog sulks or will not mahsh, the 
driver betakes himself to his big mittened 
fists, with which he thumps the refractory 
one about the ears or ribs, occasionally laying 
on with a light dog-chain, a mode of pun- 
ishment not so liable to cause injury as a 
hard stick would be. The good dog- 
puncher is sparing of blows and everything 
that will rattle or discourage his dog, but 
when all other measures fail and the dog 
thinks he has found an easy boss, he then 
whips him soundly, or to use his own pic- 
turesque expression, "bastes hell out of 
him." A sound thrashing when needed, 
with consistently kind treatment constantly 
at all other times makes a good dog; while 
nagging soon spoils the best. 
In summer the sledge dog formerly had, as 


miles a day, while the best teams under 
favorable conditions will make sixty miles 
for day after day. This is the rate at which 
the six hundred and odd miles between Daw- 
son and the coast has been covered by a 
single team, while, by relays, a single sled 
has covered the distance in even less time. 
No whip is necessary in driving dogs, but 
drivers sometimes carry a thick plaited one 
seven or eight feet long, having a short wood 
handle and the butt of the leather part 
weighted inside with a slender bag of shot. 
The driver usually has recourse only to 

a rule, nothing to do but bask in the sunshine 
of the long days. But now in the new mining 
camps of Alaska and the Yukon Territory, 
there is much summer work which dogs can 
do. At Dawson and Nome horses have 
been imported for heavy freighting, but the 
dogs continue to perform much light work. 
At Dawson a pack-train of eighteen dogs 
made daily trips from Dawson to the 
mines on Eldorado, a distance of sixteen 
miles. Each dog was fitted with a pack- 
saddle made of a small canvas flour-sack 
with the end sewed up and a slit made across 

Digitized by 



The Sledge Dogs of the North 

the middle, and when this was fastened 
over the dog's back the two pouches each 
side could be filled with cans of provisions 
or small sacks of gold dust. The weight 
carried by each dog was twenty to thirty- 
five pounds. One day as the train was 
returning to Dawson with a load of gold 
dust, one of the dogs in crossing a foot-log 
over Bonanza Creek fell into the water. 
Fortunately for the dog, the pack fell oft", 
with about six thousand dollars' worth of 
gold dust, and the dog swam out, the pre- 
cious dust being recovered afterwards. 

At Nome, during the summer of 1900, 
there was great demand for the service of 
dogs for hauling up and down the beach 
upon which the city stood. Teams of two 
to half a dozen dogs hitched to small carts 
were a constant feature of the crowded 
streets; but more noticeable than the dogs 

a team of five black Newfoundlands used 
a cask fitted with a sort of axle by which 
it could be hauled over the ground like a 
roller. Still another man conducted an ex- 
press business, delivering anything from a 
can of milk to a ton of coal, employing 
five slender undersized boarhounds — a 
team altogether unique. Dogs are often 
used by the miners along the shores of 
Behring Sea, when the weather is fine and 
the sea is still, for towing their skiffs. The 
towline being attached a third or a quarter 
of the way back from the bow, the driver 
sits in the stern with a paddle, while his 
team of perhaps seven dogs carries him along 
faster than a man can walk. 

It has been said that the Eskimo dog does 
not show affection for man. Doubtless 
there are instances of vicious dogs, but in all 
my experience, both at Dawson and at Nome, 


themselves were some of the vehicles that 
were used. One young man used to haul 
water from one of the wells from which 
drinking water was obtained, and distribute 
it to his customers in a low, rude wagon with 
four small discs sawed off a log for wheels; 
the water being transported in old five- 
gallon oil cans. Another water carrier with 

where more dogs of that kind were gathered 
together than ever at one place before, I 
never saw a native dog attack a man, nor 
even snap at him, excepting one half-starved 
Indian dog which had never learned to ex- 
pect anything but a blow from an out- 
stretched hand, and this same dog after- 
wards became friendly. Independence of 

Digitized by 


The Sledge Dogs of the North 


a certain sort characterizes the native dog, 
and if to display affection is to grovel and 
fawn and go into hysterics because a man 
pats him on the head, then the native dog 
may be said to lack affection. A wonder 
it has been to me that, under the abuse 
constantly piled upon their poor bodies by 
their native owners, they do not turn. 
Some outlet for suppressed feeling must be, 
and I think the native dog, for every blow 
and harsh word he receives from human- 
kind, holds a bite or a snarl for each of his 
fellows. In an Indian dog community every 
dog's lip is raised against his neighbor, so 
fierce is the struggle for existence. Snow, 
wind, cold and curses, the native dog ac- 
cepts with a show of stolid indifference, but he 
also possesses a trait hard to reconcile with 
the former. I should call the Eskimo dog 
the bravest, yet the greatest coward among 
dogs. When in the mood he yelps at the 
upraising of a hand. I have seen a stick 
shaken at an Indian's dog, and though the 
dog was well out of reach, every time the 
stick was waved, the dog let a yelp. It is 
apparently a part of the game. At times, 
when receiving only moderate chastisement, 
a malamoot.will yell as if being murdered 
by inches. This disposition to make much 
outcry causes their frequent battles with 
each other to sound much worse than they 
really are. They seem to know perfectly 
that their thick coat of hair protects them. 
No matter how furious the onslaught, or 
vicious the shakings, a dog is rarely hurt in 
a single-handed fight. Consequently he is 
a great bluffer, and when in anger his row 
of hideous fangs and the expression of eyes 
and whole attitude is the most ferocious that 
I ever observed in man or beast. 

Conspicuous as his good traits are, it must 
be acknowledged however that as regards 
rights of property — edible property — the 
malamoot approaches the lowest depths 
of turpitude. In this respect he is without 
moral sense. A born thief, he glories in the 
fact. To steal is as natural to him as to eat. 
I knew only one native dog that would not 
touch his owner's provisions when in reach 
and only that on hearsay. That dog, strange- 
ly enough, had lived the first year of his life 
in an Indian's lodge, but he had been taken 
by a kind, intelligent white man, who had 
trained him. It was at Teller City I saw 
the dog, a fine black fellow who had hauled 

his master from Klondike. His present mas- 
ter then made the assertion that he would 
on the spot test the dog with a piece of bacon, 
and he offered fifty dollars to back up what 
he said. Everyone present was incredu- 
lous, but no one covered the bet. At Circle 
City the men freighting supplies to the 
mines on Birch Creek, used to make an extra 
charge for hauling bacon, as a sort of insur- 
ance precaution. Indians when camping 
for the night in winter raise their toboggans 
upon stakes some distance off the snow and 
cache their supplies of meat or fish in little 
log houses raised eight or ten feet from the 
ground upon posts. The miners do the 
same, or else enclose the overhanging fronts 
of their cabins, where they store meats and 
such supplies that would spoil inside the 
warm cabins. These elevated caches are a 
conspicuous feature of the northern mining 

The Eskimo dog does not bark, or bay, 
like the civilized dog. His only note for 
expressing deep emotion is a long-drawn 
howl. It is the wolf cry — a sound that 
seems to me the most mournful, the most 
dismal in nature. When fifty or a hundred 
dogs raise their voices in unison (or disso- 
nance) the effect is impossible to describe. 
At Dawson, in the summer of 1898, four or 
five thousand dogs were assembled, about 
equally divided between native and outside 
dogs. Whenever a steamboat hove into 
sight from down-river, the malamoots would 
begin, in the same key as the steamboat's 
whistle, and the other dogs, not knowing the 
cause of the outbreak, would join in, and the 
concert would be kept up for several min- 
utes, the deep baying of the outside dogs 
keeping up for some time after the mala- 
moots had subsided. 

At present there is no person breeding 
the native sledge dog with a view to pre- 
serving it distinct. It would be difficult 
under the conditions. It might be worth 
while to do, as has been done along the 
coast of Alaska with blue and black foxes, 
set apart an island for breeding purposes. 
There will always be a demand for good 
native dogs and trained sled dogs of any 
breed but it would not be profitable to 
import them to the gold-fields, if, as was 
done last summer, some of the steamers 
bound for Nome should make a charge of 
twenty-five dollars per dog for freight. 

Digitized by 




By Clarence Deming 

HE was not a player blazoned with a 
preparatory school fame, nor did he 
come to college crowned with the 
budding laurels of the diamond. In Fresh- 
man year he barely made his class nine; as a 
Sophomore he climbed no higher than substi- 
tute on the Varsity, and when, as a Junior, 
he was full-fledged as a Varsity infielder, not 
a few of the critics of the ball field questioned 
his title to the place. As a player, he seemed 
to the shallow vision, commonplace. He was 
not a hard or even very regular hitter, he was 
clumsy in action, he was not swift between 
bases. Rarely did he draw the plaudits of 
grand stand and bleacher by the long hit or 
showy catch. But, by and by, even his 
censors began to note a certain "git thar" 
quality in the man, at first dubbed luck, later 
confessed to be a deeper element of his play. 
He had a way of always being just inside 
the dead line. The opposing baseman found 
him ever a little out of reach, and the aca- 
demic experts marveled at the certitude with 
which the " slow " man stole bases. His was 
the opportune bunt, or "good eye" at the 
home plate, which, at the crisis, saved the 
game. Before his Junior year ended he stood 
proved as the Old Reliable of the team, and 
when he was made captain, criticism was 
mute. He took a baseball squad crippled 
by the graduation of J six veterans; on rela- 
tively raw stuff he stamped his own person- 
ality, and the wise prophets were not sur- 
prised when his nine pulled out ahead in the 
rivalry for the college championship. 

There was another and later Captain of the 
Nine at the same university. He entered col- 
lege from a large preparatory school heralded 
as a star player, and he easily won a place on 
the university nine in his first year. 

He was graceful — a little too graceful — in 
play, a fleet base runner, a good hitter, and, 
under authority, fairly steady. But little 
traits of play during his early college years 
on the nine disclosed his flaws. He would 
take an ill-judged risk to make a showy play 
on bases and arouse applause. He tried 

over-much to individualize his own work 
at the cost of team-play. There was a 
coarse streak of trickery in his dealing with 
opposing nines on the field. He was elected 
captain on certain technical merits, and not 
without misgiving. As head of the team, 
unchecked by a superior, his spots of char- 
acter came to clearer view. 

The nine, as a body, lost respect for him. 
Some of the team aped his defects, others 
turned to discontented critics, all drifted into 
laxity. His nine, almost filled with trained 
men, after a brilliant opening of the cham- 
pionship season, steadily lost "grit" and 
morale, failed dismally in the ultimate big 
matches, and that particular season is unto 
this day black-lettered in the baseball annals 
of his university. 

The foregoing record of the contrasted 
captains, not altogether nor even largely a 
fable, suggests the prime trait for the captain 
of the college nine. Except he have char- 
acter and a forceful personality, he will be as 
sounding brass or tinkling cymbal. He is 
a leader of his team as well as one-ninth, 
more or less, of its playing energy. He repre- 
sents, besides, the whole soul of the nine, as 
well as a large fraction of its body. To 
judgment he must join steadiness, to steadi- 
ness discipline, to discipline, tact. That he 
must have knowledge of the technique of the 
game goes with the saying. Yet that tech- 
nical knowledge is not enough unless, like the 
successful teacher in the classroom, the cap- 
tain can impart what he knows to his men. 

The value of what may be called the 
character or nerve trait in the captain of 
the college nine springs directly from the 
formative and plastic material with which 
he has to deal. 

The professional captain finds his nine 
ready made. It is well-nigh sodden in the 
enthusiasms, not easily moved, not particu- 
larly responsive to a call in a crisis of the 
game. Indeed, the professional team, es- 
pecially if made up, as it usually is, of hard- 
ened players, knows no such thing as a crisis 

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The Captain of the Nine 


in a match. What is a crisis to the emo- 
tional onlooker is simply a situation which 
the professional has faced so often that it 
has lost all its novelty, and most of its power 
of appeal to strenuous deed. Such a nom- 
inal crisis is met by the professional with, 
perchance, a little awakened interest, but 
with no deeper feeling; and almost the whole 
problem for the professional captain is one 
of sharp discipline on the field and care for 
the physical condition of the nine 'twixt 
games. He is the engineer in charge of a 
purchased mechanism which he must keep 
in order and earn his wages. 

Far different and deeper is the problem 
with which the captain of the college and 
amateur ball nine has to do. Except so far 
as he has academic veterans on the team he 
must create it. The range of hie material 
is vast. There is the born player and the 
player self-made or in the making; the player 
sub-trained by the matches of the secondary 
school and the player, maybe, potentially 
better, who has never seen — nor heard — a 
grand stand; players of big but untrained 
thews, players with muscles small but of 
high tension and quality; players nervous 
and players nervy, players who will improve 
through four years of baseball, players who 
will as steadily run down and out. From 
this great ruck the captain must pick his 
men with a nice, eye to individual traits, 
form in play, temper, nerve, physical pow- 
ers and habits. The material itself is duc- 
tile and emotional, easily made or marred 
by its treatment. In measuring his squad, 
as group and as individuals, the Captain of 
the Nine has a complex task. But if his 
problems are many and various, so are his 

That the Captain of the Nine makes 
habitual mistakes certain almost chronic 
weaknesses of the college baseball teams 
of to-day testify. A familiar fact and 
fault of the game of baseball is its cen- 
trality in the pitcher, instead of distribu- 
tion among nine men; and, in the coach- 
ing and choice of pitcher, the captain must, 
then, exercise no small measure of discrimi- 
nation and skill. Yet, how many captains 
have fully realized that about forty per cent, 
of runs are due to the deadly "base on 
08118/' that it must be borne in on the pitcher 
that he is not to exhaust his margin by ini- 
tial "trick" pitching, and that control must 
never yield to the hope of securing a strike 
by a bad ball! Last season, for the first 

time, the fulness of the evil of "base on 
balls" began to be recognized by the cap- 
tains, after untold years during which the 
persistent fault has rattled teams, made 
victory negative and defeat illogical, and 
too often vitiated the game as a show. 

Again, has the Captain of the Nine given 
due watch to the development of fielding 
in the pitcher? In his relation to field 
work the pitcher is, in fact, a kind of 
shorter shortstop, an advanced outpost of 
the three basemen with a most difficult class 
of balls to handle, exacting often very quick 
and precise work in fielding them to first base. 
The writer has seen many pitchers under 
their coach, and their side practice before 
the nets is almost dismal in its monotony; 
but never once has he observed the Captain 
of the Nine drilling his pitcher in close field- 
ing and teaching him even the rudiments of 
handling short balls, including the vexa- 
tious and often effective bunt. 

In the technique of field work there are 
other pervasive faults which the Captain 
of the Nine is prone to disparage or over- 
look. There is the tendency of the catcher 
to fight the ball instead of cultivating the 
quick mechanical arm work without which, 
generally speaking, no catcher in these days 
can cut off the runner at second base. Does 
the captain, as sternly as he should, insist 
that the outfielder shall try the fly catch on 
quick-dropping balls instead of running for- 
ward and stopping short — may be in dread 
of the scored error — and does he compel the 
whole team to play for victory rather than 
for the score book? Does he train the team 
carefully to overrun the bases — particu- 
larly in overrunning first base to lead toward 
second — and to be ever ready poised to take 
advantage of an opponent's slip? Some- 
thing in this branch the baseball captains 
of thirty years ago can teach the captains 
of to-day, especially as to the point of fol- 
lowing the pitcher's arm so that the set- 
tling of the ball in the catcher's hands finds 
the runner under the momentum which is 
more effective than the long lead from the 

Has not the Captain of the Nine under- 
rated the importance of coaching the base 
runner in the match, and training for that 
purpose at least three men of the nine 
selected for their discretion? And, at the 
bat, how often does the Captain of the 
Nine himself illustrate the "bad eye" and 
with, say, two or even three balls called 

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The Captain of the Nine 

and no strikes, hit at the ball in obvious 
defiance of the most obvious law of batting 
chances and the ratios of risk? The cap- 
tain in his rule for such cases and many 
analogous ones, should fix in mind the dic- 
tum that, while the errors in execution — 
the missed ball, the wild throw, the miscal- 
culation of time and distance — are to a de- 
gree inevitable, the error of forethought is 
rarely to be pardoned. 

But the greatest task of the Captain of 
the Nine is the rounding of his plastic and 
sensitive material for team play. Here 
again the professional serves, by contrast, 
for an illustration. If we study carefully 
the action of the old professional player on 
the ball field, compared with the play of 
collegian and amateur, we shall be impressed 
not so much with a slight superiority in 
throwing, catching, marking down the ball 
and bat work, as by a certain quick instinct 
which, seemingly without thought, puts the 
professional in the right place at the right 
time and makes him do the right thing. 
Long habit has made of him a sort of cog 
in a well-perfected machine, acting almost , 
without volition. We fitly term this auto- 
matic adjustment of the nine units to each 
other, team work. In accomplishing it with 
his green wood the Captain of the Nine 
deals with the nice psychological task of 
reducing to a single and correct motive the 
sudden motives, good or bad in a baseball 
sense, under which the young player acts. 
The erratic impulses of the baseball novice 
must be systematized into a swift and ac- 
curate instinct. 

It is a hard and vexing riddle for the Cap- 
tain of. the Nine, including, as it does, shrewd 
study of the mental moods and tenses of 
each player, the close differentiation of his 
individual work from his teim play, and a 
series of tests wiwekxaajisjdally be applied 
only in the match game and not in the prac- 
tice squad. And it searches the mental 
caliber of the captain even more than that 
of his team. 

It may be a minor thing, yet too com- 
monly the Captain of the Nine forgets a 
certain responsibility to the bleacher and 

to the man who has paid his gate money. 
The call of play at the hour and minute 
fixed, the quick shifting of the players to 
the bench and back to the field when the 
inning closes, and the promptitude of the 
man called to the bat, may not be vital ele- 
ments of good baseball, but they quicken 
interest and certainly do not blunt disci- 
pline. The dull edge of the most prosaic 
and one-sided match may be sharpened by 
the promptitudes applied thus at the points 
where a fast game is sometimes slow and 
where a slow game is always slowest. 

Finally, there is an ampler field in which 
the Captain of the Nine has a larger and 
more imperative task. His team may be 
beaten in the baseball score, but it should 
never be defeated in the field of courtesy 
and manly conduct. Is a decision of the 
umpire dubious or even palpably wrong? — 
the captain should never question it, if 
an issue of fact and not of the rules. The 
familiar trick of disputing the umpire on 
close decisions so as to lay up capital for 
the next near call is a thing for the captain 
to endure in adversaries rather than him- 
self abet. At the umpire's high Seat of 
Judgment, on appeal, the captain and the 
captain alone is the spokesman for his team, 
every other man of which should be held 
in the background. 

There are captains and captains in this 
exalted code of baseball courtesy — the cap- 
tain simple in bearing, the captain assertive; 
the captain self-controlled, the captain noisy 
and disputatious; the captain who holds 
his nine in hand, and the captain who per- 
mits his team to join in every vocal conten- 
tion and encourages it in the charivari 
which, by hollow fiction, is supposed to 
unnerve opponents. There is even the 
captain, thus far more idealized than actual, 
whose character and authority reach %he 
bleachers and compel even the partisan 
multitude to generosity and discrimination 
in applause, with cheers for the hostile 
good play and silence for the error. Not 
many such captains shall we find, but as 
captains over captains shall they be bre- 

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By Guy Wetmore Carryl 

A STANDING reproach held up by 
Anglo-Saxons against the French 
is the lack in their otherwise com- 
prehensive language of an equivalent for 
the word "home." But a closer knowl- 
edge of France and her people than is com- 
monly the property of her critics, would 
serve to show that, though the actual word 
be wanting, the spirit of its significance is 
very much in evidence, and that in no other 
country, perhaps, is the true atmosphere 

ters, music-halls, and other similar places of 
amusement, together with the fact that 
practically all Paris lives in an apartment 
instead of in a house — all these would 
seem to indicate that the French conception 
of home must necessarily be either so broad 
as to be meaningless, or so restricted as to 
be oppressive. Of Paris this is, perhaps, 
true; but, again, Paris is not France, and 
what is more, Paris is not always Paris. 
A greater contrast than that between 


of home life more deeply appreciated and 
more studiously cultivated. In this, as in 
all other points bearing on the French 
character, there is one often-quoted fact to 
be taken into consideration, and that is 
that Paris is not France. It is but natural 
that a casual observation of modern life in 
the capital to-day should convey to the 
foreigner the impression that an ever-present 
craving for variety and entertainment has 
to a great extent blotted out the spirit of the 
home circle, as Americans and Englishmen 
understand the term. The crowded res- 
taurants; the Bois, with its throngs of 
pleasure seekers; the multiplicity of thea- 

the country life of France and that of 
England and America can scarcely be im- 
agined. The Anglo-Saxon, upon what- 
ever privacy he insists when in town, is 
distinctly gregarious during the summer sea- 
son. Except at stated hours the doors of 
his city residence frown upon the visitor, 
and formal phrases of "not at home," "en- 
gaged," or "not receiving to-day" empha- 
size his dislike of unexpected or unbidden 
invasion ; while the doors of his country 
house stand open all day long, and it is in 
the nature of a favor to relieve the tedium 
of his unoccupied hours by an unlooked-for 
call. If he does not mix with an inter- 
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Country Life in France 

minable horde of his fellow men in the chaos 
of hotel life at some mountain or seaside 
resort, he is at least largely dependent upon 
their aid for his daily recreation. He is 
rarely to be found by himself, or even alone 
with the members of his family. He joins 
or forms clubs of every possible description, 
he rides, hunts, golfs, bathes, and sails in 
numerous company. He fills his country 
house with a kaleidoscopic procession of 
visitors, and it is apt to be his boast that 
he can be contented in the most lonely and 
out-of-the-way localities, if only he has lots 
of friends at hand to keep him in coun- 
tenance with his surroundings. 

Not so a Frenchman. In his case it is 
the town residence that is overrun by his 
kinsfolk and acquaintance, the town life 
in which the craving for society makes many 
friends, and much of them, a practical es- 
sential; it is the country house which is 
closed against intrusion, the country life 
which is for his family, a few intimates, and 
himself alone. A point which is apt 
strongly to impress a stranger traveling in 
France, though he may not wholly appre- 
ciate its significance, is the well-nigh uni- 
versal custom of completely surrounding 
the grounds of a villa or chateau with a 
high, and, in general, uncommonly hideous 
wall, which effectually shuts them out from 
the prying eye of the passer, and certainly 
is far from suggesting that any great element 
of natural beauty is to be found therein. 
This is apt to be the case even with very 
small villas, which, for economical or other 
reasons, are built close together and in the 
heart of a town. Within a stone's throw 

of the spot where this article is written there 
is a row of such villas. Viewed from the 
street, it were difficult to conceive of a more 
uninviting prospect. The houses stand 
shoulder to shoulder, a sickly cream in color, 
with closely shuttered windows, and tall, 
frowning gates that seem the very essence 
of inhospitality. Seen from the river, these 
same villas are delicious. Smooth-shaven 
lawns and flower-beds run to terraces at 
the water's edge, little tents and arbors are 
scattered here and there, and steep flights 
of wooden steps lead down to cheerfully 
painted landing-stages, where the boats and 
skiffs are moored. 

And this is the keynote of country life in 
France. The beauties of a villa or chateau 
are first designed and then kept up for the 
owner, his family, and his friends alone. 
One never sees "show places," such as are 
familiar to American eyes, arranged princip- 
ally with a view to their appearance from the 
high road. The casual passer is shut out 
from the sight of private lawns and flower 
beds as naturally as he is from that of private 
dressing-rooms and linen-closets. Unless he, 
too, has his own wall-girdled greenness, he 
must perforce rest content with a prospect 
of bare walls, dusty road, and the great 
tracts of open country, which are private 
property in a legal sense alone. And if this 
is not the true spirit of home life, it is diffi- 
cult to say what is. 

It has been said that, saving only the 
race-course and the somewhat doubtful 
recreations of metropolitan life, the French- 
man is sublimely ignorant of and indifferent 
to sport. And even the most ardent parti- 


.M ->Ao- •; .fat. 

\Z "JUX -"-XT.*!***- ~&imm~* 

u • ' • . . . 



'a glimpse of the country limited to one day. 7 

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Country Life in France 


san of France cannot reasonably claim for 
her any remarkable knowledge of, or interest 
in, a vast majority of the manifold open-air 
diversions which have come to be the greater 
part of the Anglo-Saxon's country life. For 
sportsmen, like poets and politicians, are 

him to express an even stronger contempt for 
Anglo-Saxon sport than he feels by nature. 

So, when we think of country life in 
France, we are considering something of 
which it is extremely hard for the Anglo- 
Saxon to conceive — an open-air existence 

•his ingenuity will continue to conceal his lack of space. 

born, not made, and in France their birth- 
rate is extremely meager. Perhaps it is not 
to be expected that a people like the French, 
in whose estimation the development of the 
intellectual qualities is of paramount im- 
portance, should attain a proficiency in 
sport even approaching that of their brawn- 
ier but slower-witted cousins of England 
and America. The Frenchman has, indeed, 
no love for sport for sport's sake, and he 
tires of whatever branch he takes up the 
moment it ceases to be novel or amusing, and 
becomes merely a question of endurance or 
skill. It is because he never gets far beyond 
the experimental stage that, to our eyes, he 
is apt to appear ridiculous in whatever form 
of sport he adopts; and it is because we let 
him see that we think him so, that pride leads 

where golf is practically unknown, hunting 
pursued with but half-enthusiasm; even 
tennis played on rare courts, one or two sets 
at a time. Of all the thousand and one 
branches of country recreation, there is 
actually not one which can truthfully be 
called a national, or even a popular, sport 
in France, save only and always horse 
racing, and that almost wholly because of 
its gambling side. 

What, then, goes to make up the recrea- 
tive side of French country life? We must, 
of course, pass over the strictly fashionable 
resorts, such as Trouville, Vichy, or Etretat, 
which are but miniature editions of Paris, as 
Newport is a miniature edition of New York, 
and confine ourselves to those simpler phases 
of summer life which alone have any true 

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Country Life in France 

country atmosphere. In such a case, what 
do Frenchmen do to pass the time? The 
answer is — nothing! 

It must be remembered that, despite their 
airs and graces, the French are a people of 
singularly simple tastes, and in nothing more 
than in their country life. As hunters they 
are satisfied to pursue the most trivial game; 
as fishers, to spend hours angling for the 
smallest of fish. What above all they 
demand is the privilege of being in the open 

of amusing himself differs from that of the 

Through the French character runs a 
strong and sterling affection for the country, 
which is more natural and more honest, 
perhaps, than that of his transchannel and 
transatlantic cousins. And this feeling is 
not that of a class, but runs down through 
all the social strata. In nine cases out of 
ten there is no doubt that the goal of the 
tradesman or workingman in any French 

'seen from the river these same villas are delicious.' 

air, and, given this, they are famously con- 
tent. So it happens that life in a French 
country house is one of singular idleness and 
tranquility. A scrupulously kept garden, 
a boat, a camera, the latest novels, a couple 
of horses, half a dozen dogs — these are all 
that is needed to make life attractive. There 
is none of that eager craving for the constant 
excitement of violent exercise which is char- 
acteristic of the Anglo-Saxon. The French- 
man takes nature at her face value, is grate- 
ful for what she has to give, and never forces 
her hand. To the foreigner this attitude 
lacks enterprise; but again, there is some- 
thing peculiarly attractive in its simplicity. 
It differs from that of the Englishman or 
American precisely as the child's method 

city is the day when his invested savings will 
enable him to retire upon a tiny income to 
some microscopic country house with an 
infinitesimal parcel of ground attached, 
where he can spend the remainder of his days 
in undisturbed quietude. It is not much to 
ask, and no doubt it is because the demand 
is so modest that it is so often gratified. The 
country towns near to Paris or any other 
large French city are full of such little villas, 
whose owners have nothing to ask of life save 
what is theirs already — the privilege of doing 
nothing in the open air. 

In one sport alone the Frenchman, while 
he cannot be said to excel, is at least an 
enthusiast, and this is boating, or, as it is 
called in France, canotage. To American 

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Country Life in France 


eyes it would seem rather a mild form of 
exercise, this sculling and paddling of light 
boats; but it is a combination of not too 
onerous exertion, with the pleasantest feat- 
ures of out-of-door life, which appeals to the 
French with an irresistible fascination. 
Along the Seine are to be found hundreds of 
these pleasure craft, long, shallow row-boats, 
with outriggers and sliding seats, or canoes in 
the form of an American pair-oared shell, 
decked over fore and aft, propelled by 
double paddles, and luxuriously fitted with 
scarlet carpets and cushions. These are 
the more costly types, and hence, as rule, 
private property. For the casual comer 
there are heavier boats for hire by the day, 
norvegiennes, or Norwegian dories, and 
clumsy punts, as awkward as young arks, 
for fishing. But even into boating there 
creeps that curious French flippancy which 
marks the boundary between serious sport 
and mere amusement, for the more oddly 
shaped or unusually propelled a boat may 
be, the greater is its popularity. The ques- 
tion of serviceability is invariably given the 
go-by in comparison with that of appear- 
ance. There are some weird craft to be 
seen upon the Seine. 

To return to the retired tradesman or 
employ 6, whose slowly amassed earnings 
procure him that goal of his ambition, a 
modest home in the country near to the 
great city where his small fortune has been 
made. As a general rule, the amount of 
land which he is thus 
enabled to acquire is so 
small as to be almost ri- 
diculous — an acre or two 
at most. But his in- 
genuity will invariably 
contrive to conceal his 
lack of space by a most 
wonderful elaborating of 
its limited possibilities. 
He must have his garden, 
his tent, his arbor, his 
gravel walks, his lawn, his 
flower beds, as if the land 
at his disposal had been 
two hundred acres, in- 
stead of two. He must 
have his pond, even if it 
be but four feet square, 
and a few rocks and a 
dozen goldfish, and the 
whole dominated by a 
miniature fountain. He 

must have his meals in the open air, and 
flowers of his own cultivation upon the 
table. And when all this is possible he 
speaks with pride of his "villa," sends 
his flowers to his friends, and is enor- 
mously pleased with his industry and the 
estate which it has earned. Not a very re- 
markable achievement, perhaps, but an 
admirable illustration of how little it takes 
to make a Frenchman happy in the country. 
Considering the remarkably good taste 
generally displayed by the French in mat- 
ters architectural, it is surprising how un- 
beautiful their country houses are. For 
the most part, they display none of the 
rambling irregularity which is so great an 
attraction in American and English coun- 
try houses. The newer ones are built 
squarely and rigidly, like town residences, 
of brick or stone, with roofs and woodwork 
painted a lurid yellow or green, and sharp, 
uncompromising angles that no benediction 
of vines is competent to redeem. They re- 
semble nothing so much as the result of 
combining the contents of a child's box of 
bricks into one of the atrocious composi- 
tions shown in the leaflet accompanying it; 
and the most pretentious show no improve- 
ment, but convey only an impression that 
the box of bricks cost a dollar, instead of 
fifty cents, and so more bricks were availa- 
ble. The older type of country house is 
better, cream- white in color, with wooden 
blinds to match, flat roofs, and high, door- 


I A. 

-^,~-;^* r 



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Country Life in France 

like windows, opening on narrow balconies 
or on a level with the ground. With the 
exception of the rooms actually in service 
at the moment, the windows are apt to be 
closely shuttered in the daytime, so that 
the general effect is quite the reverse of 
cheerful. Occasionally a better example 

rank fumes of petroleum and stifling clouds 
of heavy dust. To its driver, who is usually 
on his lightning way from one town to an- 
other, the comfort and peace of mind of 
those whom he chances to meet along the 
way are matters of supreme indifference, 
and so it is that this most modern of sports 


is found, an exception influenced by English 
or American country architecture, which, 
however, only more strongly proves the rule 
of unattractiveness. 

Whatever influence the craze of automo- 
bilism has had upon French country life is 
almost wholly an evil one. Automobilists, 
as a class, are the most obnoxiously incon- 
siderate of sporting beings, and it is but 
just to yield the French motor driver the 
doubtful palm of being king of his kind. 
His vehicle is an enormous blood-red ma- 
chine, of ponderous workmanship and tre- 
mendous power, which thrashes and thun- 
ders at all hours of the day and night along 
the high roads, at a pace which no law seems 
competent to control, leaving in its wake 

is gradually making havoc of rural tran- 
quility, and turning more moderate recrea- 
tions, such as walking, driving, or bicycling, 
into veritable nightmares. And, what is 
more, as a young Frenchman said not long 
since, that while other vehicles stop when they 
stand still, the automobile continues, like 
the hackneyed brook, to go on forever. If 
anything, it is more noisy when it is not 
advancing than when it is. So that there 
is no rest for the weary in France until auto- 
mobilism dies out or some public benefactor 
introduces a noiseless motor. 

The subject of automobiles brings us nat- 
urally to a feature of country life in France 
in which they play a large part: Sunday ex- 
cursions and excursionists. Nowhere in the 

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Country Life in France 


world is a brief respite from the dust and 
turmoil of city life more highly prized and 
more sedulously sought after. The average 
country town near a large French city is on 
week-days to all appearance dead. The 
restaurants are deserted, and at one of the 
bare tables on porch or terrace a solitary 
smug-faced waiter may be seen serenely 
sleeping. The bicycle racks are empty, 
the boats unused. But on a Sunday or 
fete-day, what a change! It would seem 
as if half the population of Paris had invaded 
the town. The restaurant proprietor, pro- 
fusely smiling and perspiring, has engaged 
half a score of extra waiters, and every 
table on the terrace holds its complement 
of laughing, chattering holiday makers. 
The boats are all in use at prices which are 
at once the joy and the amazement of their 
proprietors, and where had been an empty 
promenade beneath the trees, are luncheon 
parties, automobiles, bicycles; a whole little 
world, in short, of activity and enjoyment. 
For to the Frenchman whose means will not 
as yet permit of his calling some little scrap 
of country his own, this is the best substi- 
tute; and, be it noted that, in common with 
the German, when he indulges his craving 

to this extent, it is not alone or in the com- 
pany of a few boon companions, but with 
the full-mustered strength of wife, children, 
cousins, and "in-laws. " 

To understand French country life more 
clearly one can hardly revert too often 
to this keynote of simplicity. Whether it be 
the fortunate owner of a stately chateau or 
villa, the proprietor of a more modest cot- 
tage and acre of land, or .the mere excursion- 
ist, whose taste of the country is limited to a 
day, the Frenchman asks nothing more of 
nature than it is her pleasure to provide. 
The river, the open fields, the woods, the 
gardens — these are enough. He is no 
sportsman, it is true, but neither is he a 
craver of costly luxuries. His love of the 
country is for the country's sake alone. 

Doubtless the Anglo-Saxon conception of 
country life is, as we are wont to think it, 
the best after all, to love the country that 
is, but also to add by every means in our 
power to its possibilities and its charms. 
And yet, in these days, when city life is so 
continuous a round of excitement, it is not 
unpleasing to find a people who appreciate 
and apply the natural antidote of this 
abnormal activity. 

%_-* ■ - 

'as if half the population of pakis had invaded the town." 

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By Clarence Moores Weed 

THE glad sunshine of April that brings 
the willow pussies into bloom brings 
also renewed life to a host of crea- 
tures which have passed the long winter in a 
lethargic condition. Many of these are flying 
insects that visit the willow blossoms to 
find food in the nectar and pollen which 
they so freely furnish. The early butter- 
flies, the small bees, and even the great lum- 
bering bumblebees find needed sustenance 
in the fluffy catkins, and they pay for their 
food by carrying the pollen from flower to 
flower, thus effecting the fertilization of 

the embryo 
seeds. There is 
one insect, how- 
ever, that visits 
the willow pus- 
sies and feeds 
upon their sub- 
stance without 
conferring any 
such benefit in 
return. It is a 
small caterpillar 
that has passed 
the winter with- 
in a little cylin- 
drical case at- 
tached to the 
willow twigs. It 
is the young of 
one of our pret- 
tiest butterflies, 
the viceroy, and 
I can best tell 
its story by be- 
ginning with its 
who was flying 
about the fields 
last May. 
This viceroy butterfly, is a familiar in- 
sect throughout most regions of the United 
States. In appearance and habits it re- 
minds one of the larger monarch butterfly — 
which in truth it mimics — being found in 
open fields and meadows, especially along 
small willow-bordered streams. In such 
situations it sails leisurely about, stopping 


now and then to sip nectar from a flower, or, 
perchance, to deposit an egg upon the tip 
of a leaf on a willow, or a poplar twig. In 
the late summer months it often flies under 
apple trees to sip the juices of the decaying 
fruit. If the egg upon the willow leaf hap- 
pens to have been laid by one of the first 
of the season's butterflies, it hatches in a 
few days — generally a week — into a tiny cat- 
erpillar that gnaws a hole out of the side 
of the egg-shell and then turns around and 
eats the remainder of the shell. This pe- 
culiar meal is probably taken to prevent 
the presence of the empty shell from notify- 
ing some enemy — perhaps an ant, possibly 
an ichneumon — that a young caterpillar is 
in the vicinity. After this dry repast it is 
ready for more succulent food, and this it 
finds right at hand in the leaf it is resting 
upon. Here it feeds, eating the sides of 
the leaf near the tip, but letting the de- 
nuded midrib remain. When its appetite 
is satisfied it retires to the under side of the 
leaf, where it rests motionless upon the mid- 
rib. Throughout the day when its enemies 
could easily see it if it moved, it remains 
quietly on its resting place, feeding chiefly 
under cover of darkness. In about a week 
it moults, eating the cast skin, and soon be- 
gins again to devour the succulent leaf 
tissues. These young caterpillars have the 
curious habit of fastening a few bits of leaf 
together by means of silken threads, and 
then fastening the bunch to the denuded 
rib of the leaf. Such little packets are 
shown in two of the accompanying pictures: 
one on the lower right hand leaf of the 
chrysalis upon a poplar stem, and one near 
the middle of the picture of the young cater- 
pillar feeding upon a poplar leaf; a black 
dot indicates the position of each. These 
little packets, always swaying in the wind, 
are believed by naturalists to be placed 
there to attract the attention of enemies 
from the nearby caterpillars. 

The caterpillars of this early summer 
brood continue to feed and grow, moulting 
twice more at intervals of a week. As they 
become larger the two spiny horns just back 
of the head become more conspicuous, and 

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Camera Studies of Living Insects 


the general color becomes a peculiar mottled 
combination of greenish-olive and gray, the 
darker color being at each end and the light- 
er in the middle. When the insect gets too 
large to rest in comfort and safety upon the 
midrib of the leaf it spends its days upon 
the twigs, resting quietly for hours with its 
head held out to one side. When the cater- 
pillar becomes full-grown it spins a web of 
silk upon the bark of the twig. In this it 
entangles the hooked claws of its hind legs 
and hangs downward. Here it remains for 
a while before the skin along the back splits 
open and is wriggled off, leaving suspended 
a peculiar creature — neither caterpillar nor 
chrysalis. This transition stage is of short 
duration : very soon the definite form of the 
chrysalis is assumed. In color the chrysalis 
is still a mottling of gray and green. It has 
a large projection — suggestive of a Roman 
nose — upon the middle of the back. In 
about a week the chrysalis splits open and 
a butterfly emerges, hanging to the empty 
shell or the adjacent twig, until its wings 
are of full size. Then it walks upward to- 
ward the tip, where it is likely to rest an 
hour or so before taking its first flight into 
the new and airy world in which it finds 
itself. The forsaken chrysalis still hangs 
— an empty tenement, perfect in out- 
ward form with only the cracks along the 
front to indicate where the occupant 

The butterflies that thus appear in Au- 
gust belong to the second brood of the season. 
They remain upon the wing for some time, 
laying eggs during the later days of their 
life on the same kinds of food-plants that 
they developed upon. These eggs shortly 
hatch into little caterpillars that feed upon 
the terminal parts of the leaf in the same 
way that the earlier brood did. But when 
they are about one-third grown they do 
something that was not done by the pre- 
ceding generation; they build special houses 
in which to pass the winter. These houses 
are made out of the leaves of the food-plants. 
The caterpillar selects a likely leaf and fas- 
tens its stalk to the twig so that it shall not 
fall when the other leaves do. The green 
substance toward the tip of the leaf is eaten 
away, so that the midrib remains. Then 
the basal part of the leaf is rolled into a tube, 
the edges being turned upward and fastened 
together by silken threads. The inside of 
the little cylinder is then lined with silk, 
and the caterpillar is ready for the long fast 

which is to continue through the winter 

In spring the same warm sunshine that 
brings the willow pussies into bloom also 
brings these little creatures from their win- 
ter homes. The only food available is these 
same pussies and upon them the caterpillars 
feed. They utilize the winter cases as a 


resting place during the day, and the habit 
of retiring to them is continued long after 
the catkins have given place to the leaves. 
After a few weeks of feeding in the spring the 
caterpillars transform to chrysalids and soon 
change again to butterflies, thus complet- 
ing the yearly cycle of the species. This 
butterfly in its various stages is an admir- 
able subject for the photographer. The 
caterpillars exhibit little disposition to 
wander, remaining quiet for hours at a time, 
while the butterflies when first mature will 
pose and "look pleasant" to your heart's 
content. The species in its several stages 
may also be found almost all summer, so 
that it is available at any time. 
The walking stick has always seemed to 

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Camera Studies of Living Insects 

me to occupy among our insects much the 
same place that the least bittern occupies 
among our birds. The latter has been well 
described by Mr. Frank M. Chapman as a 
"half-solved mystery, to be thought of 
less as a bird than as a survivor of a 
former geological period, when birds still 
showed traits of their not distant reptilian 
ancestry." Both of these creatures are 
extreme examples of that resemblance to 
surroundings which enters so largely into 
the make-up of the animal world, and they 
both have a well-developed instinct for 
keeping quiet to render effective their pe- 
culiarities of color and structure. 

The walking stick seems indeed to have 
stepped from the pages of the books of 
Bates, Belt, and Wallace, with their stories 
of tropical mimicry, or at least to belong 



exclusively to the fauna of our Southern 
States, where it has for company the weird 
praying mantis. In puritan New England 
it seems bizarre and out of place. Last au- 
tumn these walking sticks were unusually 
abundant and I took advantage of the fact 
to get some pictures of them. Better sit- 
ters one could not ask for; they would re- 
main quiet by the hour, so that time ex- 
posures could be made with ease. They 
seemed happy with only a bit of birch 
twig for support, and it seemed a matter of 
entire indifference to them whether they 
hung on with three legs or six, although 
they seldom utilized the latter number. 

The body of the female walking stick is 
considerably larger than that of the male, 
but it attitudinizes in much the same way. 
A back view in which it is clinging to the 
support with five of its feet is shown here- 
with: as will be seen one front leg projects 
forward beside the antennae; on account of 
the larger body and the position of the 
right leg the termination of the head is more 
plainly visible than in the male. When 
one has watched these queer creatures thus 
taking on attitudes and holding them by 
the hour it is interesting to study their 
structure, to see in what ways they are 
adapted to their curious existence. One of 
the most remarkable things about them is 
the entire absence of wings. Another is the 
unusual development of the thorax. A 
little observation through a lens shows dis- 
tinctly the three divisions of this part of the 
body. The joints of the abdomen are short 
and taken together just about equal in 
length the whole thorax. The head seems 
but a continuation of the thorax, except for 

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Camera Studies of Living Insects 



the large, well-rounded, projecting eyes, 
which must give the creature a range of 
vision almost equal to that of the dragon- 
fly. The slender, many-jointed antennae 
that project straight forward from the head 
are four-fifths as long as the body, and a 
little longer than the slender front legs. The 
latter show at their base a distinct and 
peculiar curve which enables the insect to 
bring them close together in front of the 
head. The middle legs are shorter and 
more robust, while the hind ones are again 
slender and nearly as long as the front ones. 
All the legs are so attached to the body 
that the first long joint extends sideways 
and can even be bent upward at an acute 
angle. The legs are loosely jointed, so that 
in the living insect the members of the same 
pair are seldom symmetrically arranged. 
This is doubtless an important point, for the 
insects would be much more easily seen upon 
twigs if the legs were held in positions of 
bilateral symmetry. 

The more you look at one of these walking 
sticks the more you are impressed with its 
wonderful mimicry of a bit of twig. The 
body surface has the shine of young bark, 
and the minute irregularities on parts of its 
surface help out the resemblance. The 
color, too, helps to the same end : it is mot- 
tled brown, or grayish-green, much like 
the bark of little twigs of oak and other 
trees. These walking sticks are vegetarians, 
feeding upon the leaves of oak and various 
other trees. The females drop their eggs 
from the place where they are feeding. 
These eggs look like little seeds. These in- 
sects must be in constant danger of execu- 
tion by birds, and presumably it is to es- 

cape such dangers that they rest so quietly 
in one position for hours at a time. They 
are said also to fall victims to certain pre- 
daceous bugs that wander over trees and 
shrubs in search of caterpillars and other 
insects whose life-blood they may suck. 

In the vast number of insects that live in 
the world, a great variation is to be found in 
the manner of existence. As one studies 
these creatures one is led to wonder more 
and more at the marvelous contrivances 
and adaptations by means of which many of 
them are enabled to survive. Even in a 
single group such as that of the wasps there 
is great diversity of habit. Many wasps 
live in colonies in the paper nests with which 
most people are familiar; others dig holes in 
the ground; others take advantage of hollow 
stems in shrubs and herbaceous plants; and 
a few even build miniature houses on the 
outside of the stems of plants. 

Among the insects that have the last- 


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Camera Studies of Living Insects 

mentioned habit perhaps none is of greater 
interest than the fraternal potter wasp — 
called by entomologists Eumenes fraterna. 
This is a pretty, little, thread-waisted insect, 
black except for creamy-yellow markings on 
the body in the places shown in the accom- 
panying picture (p. 148). When straightened 


out, its length is about three-fourths of an 
inch. These wasps are of special interest 
because they build the little earthen houses 
shown also in the picture. Selecting some 
small stem, preferably one having thorns 
upon it, the mother wasp brings tiny loads of 
sandy soil, which she cements together with 

her saliva, gradually building up a hollow 
earthen cell, nearly round, and about half an 
inch in diameter. Often the shape, when 
completed, is suggestive of a flattened jug, 
without a handle, but with a slight projec- 
tion where the mouth of the jug would be. 
This is well shown in the lower cell in one of 
the pictures. For what purpose does the 
little potter toil so diligently? For the 
same purpose that makes the lives of so 
many insects a round of ceaseless activity — 
that of providing for the young. When the 
cell is nearly finished the wasp searches the 
leaves of trees and other plants for small 
caterpillars, which — probably after being 
paralyzed by stinging — are brought to the 
little house upon the thorny twig. When 
enough of these are found, an egg is laid in 
the cell, which is then sealed up. In the 
case of some species of these potter wasps, 
the egg is hung, from the top of the cell on 
the end of a tiny silken thread. When it 
hatches the larva holds on to the empty egg- 
shell and reaches out to feed upon the cater- 
pillars stored so abundantly just below. Here 
it lives in darkness and alone, except the para- 
lyzed caterpillars that await its devouring 

In due time it becomes full grown in this 
larval stage, having eaten all the victims 
immured within its earthen house. Then 
it changes to a quiet pupa, which shortly 
afterward changes to an adult wasp that 
gnaws a hole through the side of the cell, 
and comes forth to build more houses and 
lay eggs for the next generation. The pot- 
ter wasp is widely distributed in North 
America. Its houses are well worth looking 
for when one is sauntering through fields 
and woods. 

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By C. Edwardes 

I WAS informed, by those who knew 
nothing about it, that there would 
be much more discomfort than pleas- 
ure in a tour of Corsica by bicycle in mid- 
summer. Were there not mosquitoes to 
reckon with? To say little about the blind- 
ing glare of white roads; and the probabil- 
ity that a brigand in the mountains, tired 
of seeing no gendarme within easy range 
of his gun, would in a desperate moment 

tween Sartene and Bonifacio and certain 
other regions, the mere smell of which 
ought to be enough to incite brisk ped- 
alling to get quit of them. 

Corsica is never more enchanting for the 
cyclist than in June and July, when the 
myrtle is in full bloom in the lowlands, 
when the higher pine forests are carpeted 
with strawberries, and when the jagged peaks 
all over the land stand up purple towards 


cover such game as a pair of wheels and 
only a single rider. Furthermore, was there 
not the fever, which is well known to be- 
gin to be murderous on several parts of 
the coast with the beginning of July. It 
is a satisfaction to me to be able to assure 
the world at large that none of these perils 
are worthy of the least consideration, save 
the malaria, and this- only if you determine 
(as no wise bicyclist will) to spend two 
or three nights in such places as Aleria 
op the east coast; the maritime flats be- 

the blue sky with mere ribbons and spots 
of snow about their summits. There are 
no better roads anywhere; they are good 
on the coast level, where one expects them 
to be good-; but they are superb in the 
highlands, from two thousand to four 
thousand feet above the Mediterranean's 
level. It is these highlands which yield 
ecstatic hours to the bicyclist in Corsica 
in midsummer. Down in Ajaccio the 
thermometer may be at eighty-five degrees, 
at Aleria and Bonifacio even ninety de- 
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Corsica for the Bicyclist 

grees or ninety-five degrees; but on the 
firm white roads among the beech 
woods and pine forests of the slopes of 
L'Incudine, Benoso and Monte D'Oro, with 
the sweetest shade on both sides and 
water courses roaring above on the one 
hand and below on the other, you have 
a uniform temperature of about sixty de- 
grees night and day. No mosquitoes either; 
and no fleas to speak of. 

The large towns of the island — Ajaccio, 
Bastia and Corte — are all interesting in 
different ways. There are few more mag- 
nificent views in the Mediterranean than 
that of Ajaccio's gulf from above the town; 
the mountains rise bowl-shaped and ser- 
rated inland, and that amethystine blue 
of the sea, in contrast with the funereal 
cypresses, the silvery olives and the flutter- 
ing palm trees of the foreground, gives 
one a banquet of color effects of which it 
is impossible to weary. 

Bastia, too, has an imposing background 
of mountains, which make their mark on 
the cyclist who has to get over them from 
the east. The Col de Teghime, imme- 
diately behind the town, at a night of 
about eighteen hundred feet is a pretty 
tough rise in six miles. But there is no 
getting away from collar work in this 
island, and the Col de Teghime is a child 
to some of the road ascents of the interior. 
The views of the long reach of flat, lake- 
studded country to the south between 
the mountains and the sea are so attrac- 
tive however, that the push up need not 
be tiresome. The hills which fall from the 
mountains to the plain are splendidly 
wooded and dotted tyith villages picturesque 
at this distance, although dirty and ill- 
smelling enough to explore. A far easier 
and altogether fascinating run from Bastia 
may be made up the long tongue of land 
known as Cap Corse. The road is excel- 
lent and Cap Corse wine is about the best 
in the island, a fact which the cyclist under 
the midsummer sun will appreciate. 

Corte, the old capital in revolutionary 
times, is much more characteristically 
Corsican than the two seaports. The 
bicyclist may get to it from north, south, 
east and west, but only with much toil 
as well as pleasure. The run down to it 
from the pass of Vizzavone, about three 
thousand feet above Ajaccio's elevation, is 
just a succession of thrilling views of the 
high sides of Monte D'Oro and Monte 

Rotondo, with hoarse torrents breaking 
from the ravines on the left, spanned by 
bridges both for road and railway, which 
are as beautiful as they are strong; Corsica 
excels in its bridges. Whichever way you 
get to Corte you will be impressed by it. 
The old castle,, crowning the black crags, 
is more than four hundred feet above the 
newer low-lying town. AH over Corsica 
they are strangely fond of tall houses, but 
I think Corte can beat even Bastia and 
Sartene in this matter. Corte's castle has 
seen rough days under the Genoese domin- 
ion, and when Parquale Paoli lived here 
as dictator. It is not of much practical 
use now. 

Having touched on Corsica's chief towns, 
and hinted at the extreme charms of the 
highlands, I would like to describe with 
some minuteness the country in the southern 
part of the island, as I saw it cycling in July, 
1899 — the very part I was warned against 
as an inferno at that season. I had spent 
the night at Cefvione, a beautiful town on 
the hill ridge on the east coast, its houses 
pitched one above the other with surprising 
effect — especially if you chance to be under 
a cascade of their slops from, say, a sixth 
story window. 

The Cervione inn was a poor concern, but 
I soon forgot that when, the next morning 
at six o'clock, I pedalled down the zigzags 
from the town. A faint veil of cloud was 
about the crucifix on the purple crag over 
Cervione, but the Mediterranean was a blue 
mirror below. The chestnut woods into which 
I ran quickly were wet with dew. Its ferns 
also. The balmy perfume from olive or- 
chards, vineyards and heath in the glorious 
freshness, was almost an intoxicant. The 
main Bastia-Bonifacio road was regained 
after a five-mile scamper in which I de- 
scended about twelve hundred feet. Then 
I had done with gradients for the rest of the 
day. I faced the ardent south in growing 
heat, with the chirp-chirp of grasshoppers 
already loud, and frogs cluttering in the pud- 
dles beyond the hedges of bamboo, myrtle 
and clematis. In thirty miles I rose or fell 
scarcely more than thirty feet, and in twenty 
miles I did not meet ten people. A hard 
road all the time, white, yellow or red, 
according to the belt of soil. The crops had 
been lifted from the cultivatable reaches on 
both sides, and the peasantry, it appeared, 
had gone off to their summer residences in the 
mountains to escape the fever. Every mile 

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Corsica for the Bicyclist 


or so we crossed a Btream, with suspicious 
stagnant pools to it just by the bridge, black 
as ink, but studded with big water lilies, over 
which blue dragon flies chased each other 
and the insects they desired for breakfast. 
A shadeless road, from which the heat 
burned back with double power. The 
patches of cork forest here and there, with 

and rounded, here and there speckled with 
snow, and beautiful everywhere, across the 
broad green and over-intervening plains. 
A slip of a moon hung in the blue heavens 
between the mountains and the sea. Aleria 
was announced at length, in suffocating heat 
(or heat that would have been suffocating 
to the pedestrian), by the gleam from the 


the bark stripped from the trunks, ought to 
have invited to repose and occasional pipes. 
But they were eerie rather than seducing, 
like the mustard-colored oxen which had 
sought shelter in them, and lifted their black 
muzzles and long horns towards my bicycle 
as if half stupefied by the sight. 

It was all jolly enough in spite of the 
heat. And for sublimity I had but to turn 
my eyes inland and look at the long range of 
mountain tops, rich purple in color, toothed 

Diana lagoon to the east, which here fills the 
entire area between the road and the sea. 
Portus Dianae, the old Romans called it, 
when Aleria was the capital of Corsica. A 
bit of a quay witnesses to the past import- 
ance of the place, and an islet of oyster 
shells tells of the appetite for shellfish of the 
colonists here two thousand years ago. 
Modern Aleria, by the rickety bridge over 
the broad Taviguano, proved to be a miser- 
able hamlet, little more than a barrack, a 

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Corsica for the Bicyclist 

house for the sale of salt and tobacco, and a 
wine store, where I drank good wine while 
the vendor shivered with ague. The prim- 
rose complexions of the idlers by the bridge 
were no good advertisement of Aleria's 
salubrity, and the ugly gap in the bridge 
over the black water showed that energy 
also was lacking in the place. A few frag- 
ments of walls in the corn fields, with a litter 
of the familiar thin red bricks used by the old 
Romans wherever they built houses, did not 
tempt to exploration. I mounted and rode 
on as fast as possible between high hedges of 
myrtle, ravishingly sweet in the hot at- 

a place, though the first course of bread 
and milk (soup) was a surprise. It was 
significant that the popular wine here was a 
Malvasia Quina, a febrifuge taken in pala- 
table form. The mountaineers, who dined 
with me, said some very treasonable things 
about France and French rule. But they 
were hospitable as well as outspoken and 
pressed me to look them up in their moun- 
tain home, fifteen miles west. Among other 
inducements they promised to introduce 
me to a bandit friend of theirs who had 
long and successfully defied the authori- 
ties, as in fact it is quite the fashion for 


mosphere. The lagoon of Urlius made a 
blue blot to the east of the road for a mile or 
two. Then it was all scrub (downright 
macchia, such as the bandits love) until 
I rode into the main street of Glisonaccia, 
quite exhausted by the heat, but with an 
appetite nevertheless. A gendarme on a 
restive horse was scattering the chickens 
and exciting the dogs in this blistering vil- 
lage, and four stalwart mountaineers, each 
with his gun on his shoulder, stood at the 
inn door laughing at the official's horseman- 

After a couple of hours in Glisonaccia 
it was mount and away to Solenzara. 
The inn supplied a very fair meal for such 

Corsican outlaws to do. The short run to 
Solenzara was through rich grass land as 
well as pine woods and macchia. As a 
road it was without fault, though certain 
heavy wains with wine barrels and timber 
did their best to make beguiling ruts. 
My cycle was a considerable wonder to 
the mules I met. They did their best to 
throw their Tiders at the sight. But the 
gentlemen themselves took the annoyance 
with amiable amusement. " Ah ! the devil ! " 
exclaimed one of them, as he threw me a 
grin while he boxed his quadruped's ear, 
"he is afraid — the fool!" The average 
Corsican has his share of defects, but it 
may safely be said of him that he is afraid 

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Corsica for the Bicyclist 


of nothing. Stagnant river mouths sue 
ceeded one another on this route; the 
pools packed with fish evidently much dis- 
turbed by the daily restriction of their 
quarters. But I gave all my attention to 
the exquisite rock needles of L'Incudine,, 
that attractive mountain of the interior 
which a week or two later- 1 ascended from 
Zicaro in the highlands. Seen from the 
east it is a most imposing Gothic pile, 
well nigh inaccessible. Solenzara at last, 
its red roofs nestled among eucalyptus trees 
and right on the sea. Here I decided to 
spend the night. A run of forty miles, even 
on such good roads, seemed quite enough 
for the Corsican lowlands in midsummer. 

There had been mosquitoes in the night, 
though not to hurt. They were forgotten 
when at 6 a. m. I found myself bowling 
along a road as firm and white as ever, 
with the sleepy Mediterranean close to the 
left, below the tangled hedgerow of bramble 
and myrtle, the whole clasped loosely by 
convolvuli and clematis. To the right 
the land rose sharply, with olive trees on 
the stony slopes and an undergrowth of 
heath. The chief incident of the morning, 
ere I ascended to the granite-strewn hill of 
Porto Vecchio for breakfast after twenty-four 
miles of movement, was a long bathe in the 
sea from a little cove beautiful enough for 
the nymphs of the classics. 

For fifteen miles I hugged the shore 
until indeed a handsome old tower of the 
time of Genoa stood up boldly on a knoll 
to the left. Then it was right turn and 
the scene changed as the road ascended 
gently amid. cork woods and pine woods 
matted with cistus and through a dust-dry 
stretch of forest. The granite boulders 
here were quite a feature. Some of them 
were so worn by wind and weather that 
they formed very respectable cabins for 
the wayfarer. Tney continued right to 
Porto Vecchio and in the very piazza of 
that intensely dirty yet eminently pic- 
turesque old town sundry of them may be 
seen adapted as benches and building 
walls. Porto Vecchio is one of the most 
curious of Corsica's many curious settle- 
ments. It crests a wooded hillock which 
immediately commands a beautiful roomy 
gulf. A good deal of its old walls remain, 
though courage is required for exploration 

of the relics, what with the little lagoons 
and cascades of liquid $lth and the long- 
nosed swine which seem to think they are 
the appointed guardians of the fortifica- 
tions. From the city walls one road 
descends south and can be traced for many 
miles through the macchia\ west all is 
mountainous with dense forest on the 
slopes, and north are the cork woods 
through which I had come, the source of 
the ship-loads of bark for the vessels at 
anchor beneath the town. 

It is sixteen and one-half miles from 
Porto Vecchio to Bonifacio, all desolate miles 
through thick scrut, in which several 
bandits were known to be in hiding. I 
should think those bandits were as safe 
as they could be, assuming, as we may, 
that they had successfully arranged for 
food supplies. The tangle of the macchia 
of Corsica is so obstructive that the gen- 
darmes who take to it in pursuit of their 
very serious calling must often feel that 
the government should supply them with 
.machetes as well as muskets. It explains 
why so many of them get shot, and why 
the Corsican bandit remains so very much 
at large. Several mortuary crosses dec- 
orate this lonely reach of road, one bearing 
ten chiselled commas on it which I take 
to mean tears. This southeastern corner 
of the island is reckoned as bad for the fever 
as for lawlessness. Nevertheless I found 
the pleasure of the ride right down to the 
chalk cliffs of Bonifacio in no way spoiled 
by either the one bad quality or the other. 
It was not at all necessary to pause just 
where stagnant pools polluted the atmos- 
phere. The day was distinctly on the 
wane when I got into the remarkable 
winding cafion which leads to the foot of 
Corsica's most eccentric and southerly of 
towns, Bonifacio, right on the shore cliffs, 
as if it meant to get as near to Sardinia as 
possible. For all pictorial purposes, Boni- 
faco is as it was three hundred years ago. 
But there is no space now to describe Boni- 
facio. It is enough for me that in out- 
lining perhaps the least attractive eighty 
miles of roadway in Corsica, I have, I 
think, shown that the island as a whole 
is a place of delight for the cyclist. But 
he must be quite sure that his passports 
and papers are in order. 

Digitized by 


By A. Hyatt Verrill 

SIX long and dreary months our little 
whaling schooner had been locked 
fast in the ice of northern Hudson's 
Bay with naught to break the monotony 
of our existence save the impromptu dances 
in the deck-house and the modest festivities 
called forth by Thanksgiving and Christ- 
mas. Although to a stranger the land ap- 
peared still in the grip of midwinter, yet 
to the natives and whalers many signs gave 
warning of the approach of Arctic spring. 
Daily the black edge of water beyond the 
floe grew nearer and the flocks of eider and 
" old squaws" grew more restless; daily, too, 
the ptarmigan increased in numbers and 
added brown feathers to their spotless win- 
ter costume. Then one dull and gloomy 
day a flock of snowbirds, chattering gaily, 
overran the vessel and all hands knew and 
rejoiced that winter had flown and spring 
had come. A day or two later the Iwilics, 
whose low, domed houses of frozen snow 
had nestled in the lee of the schooner all 
winter, began to move ashore and build 
new igloos on a firm foundation. In- 
teresting, indeed, was it to watch these 
Arctic nomads construct their queer homes. 
By the aid of long, curved, snow-knives, 
made from the tusks of the walrus, the 
sturdy fellows cut squarish blocks of 
snow of just the right dimensions, while 

others piled them up in an ever-narrowing 
circle, until at last the home was complete. 
Their moving, once the igloo was finished, 
took but a short time, for their furnishings 
are of the simplest. A soapstone lamp, an 
old tin or iron pot or two, quantities of 
skins and furs all chewed soft (and also evil 
smelling), extra clothes, guns, horn dippers, 
seal spears, bunches of sinew, bone needles 
and sewing gear, and numerous odds and 
ends of bright calico, flannel, beads, etc., 
completes the inventory of the average hut. 
To a white the chief drawback to one of 
these interiors is the smell, which at first 
seems overpowering. One becomes accus- 
tomed to it after a time, however, and 
really gets to like the simple folk. They 
are ever moving from place to place, for it 
seems easier to build a new house than to 
clean an old one. Then again, they are 
very superstitious and among other be- 
liefs is that of the two twin-sister goddesses, 
one of whom has charge of all the land 
animals, while her sister looks after those 
of the sea. According to the Iwilics it 
would offend the land goddess to work on 
skins or clothes made of skins of land ani- 
mals while living on the ice, or vice versa. 
As a result, whenever a garment made of 
deerskin needs repairing during the winter, 
the seamstress is obliged to move to a tem- 


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Musk-Ox Hunting Among the Iwilics 


porary house on shore. As a consequence 
of all these peregrinations the ice and shore, 
at the beginning of spring, looked as if a 
small army of Iwilics had lived there, so nu- 
merous were the abandoned igloos, whereas, 
in reality, the families did not exceed a 
dozen at any time. 

A few days after moving into their new 
quarters, Harry, our head Eskimo, came 
aboard and invited me to accompany him 

ptarmigan filled our tiny dwelling. As we 
sat about in our heavy deerskin garments 
and picked the bones, the boy called his 
father's attention to the stiff leg tendons 
and asked him how they came there. Now 
the Iwilics have a fable or fairy tale to ac- 
count for everything, and are never tired of 
relating them, so, although I have no doubt 
that the little fellow had heard the tale hun- 
dreds of times, his father smiled and nar- 


on a sled journey to Yellow Bluff, where 
he had cached some whales' bones which he 
wished to use for sled runners. Early the 
following day we started off with Harry's 
little boy riding on the sled, while his father 
and I ran alongside to keep warm; for 
although balmy spring had arrived, the 
mercury stood twenty-eight below zero. 
On the way our dogs chased and brought 
to bay a large bear, which we. secured. We 
arrived at Yellow Bluff in due time, but al- 
though thoroughly tired out and half fam- 
ished, before we could eat, drink or sleep, 
it was necessary to build a small igloo, 
light a stone lamp and melt ice for water. 
By the time this was accomplished I was 
glad to munch some frozen meat and crawl 
into a sleeping bag. I awoke hungry and 
refreshed and found Harry and his son al- 
ready up, while the savory odor of stewing 

rated it again. "Many years ago," said 
Harry, " there was an old woman who lived 
in a small igloo with her granddaughter. 
The little girl was very fond of stories and 
teased the old woman to tell them to her. 
One night the grandmother was cross and 
when the child asked for a story she said, 
'Don't want to tell story, little girl go to 
sleep.' But the little girl said, ' please tell 
me a story, Annanating (grandmother).' 
Then the grandmother grew angry and said 
very quick, 'Huh, I see mouse!' Now the 
little girl, like all Eskimos, was very much 
afraid of mice and hid her face and cried 
and cried, until her eyes were red and Nud- 
liauk took pity on her and changed her to 
a bird, and she flew away from the cruel 
old woman, and ever since the ptarmigans 
have had red eyes and stiff tendons in their 
legs, where the child carried her needles in 

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Musk-Ox Hunting Among the Iwilics 

her boots." At the conclusion of the story 
we packed up our goods and started on our 
return. We reached the schooner about 
10 p. m., and I was very glad to doff fur 
underclothing and turn into a decently 
warm bunk. A few days later the Iwilics 
reported a wolf about, but although we 
set numerous traps, we failed to secure him 
that night. The next day when I returned 
from a short tramp on the floe, I found the 
wolf had come skulking about the vessel 
during my absence and had been shot from 
the deck by our first mate. The poor 
creature was almost starved to death, but 
was exceedingly large and almost pure 

To the sportsman hardy enough to spend 
a winter in this desolate land, it would 
prove a rich hunting ground, for game is 
plenty and generally fairly tame. Through- 
out the whole region polar bears and car- 
ibou are numerous, although the former are 
not seen during midwinter and the latter 
are more abundant in spring and autumn, 
when they travel across country in im- 
mense herds. Wolves are not common, but 
the Eskimos manage to get them regularly, 
as well as wolverines. White foxes are 
very abundant and readily secured, as are 
also ptarmigan, eider and other ducks. On 
the wide, rocky plains further inland, musk 
oxen roam, and, if you are guided by ex- 
perienced Iwilic hunters, are fairly easy to 
obtain. The bay itself furnishes four 
species of seal, as well as the walrus. The 
largest of these seals, known as the " oogjug," 
is used mainly for boat bottoms and is so 
highly prized that the Eskimos celebrate 
the capture of one by a three days' round of 
gayeties, during which time the men can do 
no work and the women are not allowed to 
comb their hair; a custom which none of the 
natives seem able to explain, although 
doubtless it originally had some mystic sig- 
nificance. During these celebrations the 
" anticoots," or magicians, take a prominent 
part, as in fact they do at all times. These 
fellows are clever, intelligent chaps, who 
claim to be able to visit the spirit land at 
will, as well as to drive off evil spirits and 
cure disease. They certainly do have more 
or less hypnotic power and are really capa- 
ble of throwing themselves into a trance. 
At these times, also, games of strength take 
place, and some of these are very odd and 
original. In one two lusty young Eskimos 
tie their heads together by means of stout 

sinews around the neck and then try to see 
who can pull the other along — a sort of tug- 
of-war. Then there are wrestling matches, 
races, etc., and last, but by no means least, 
in the estimation of the Iwilics, the gam- 
bling. All the tribe, women as well as men, 
are inveterate gamblers and never miss a 
chance to risk their property in gaming. 
One of the favorite gambling devices is to 
try and jab* a spear through a perforated 
piece of ivory hung immovably in the center 
of an igloo. This seems quite a simple 
thing to do, but when a dozen or more ex- 
cited natives are all jumping about and 
jabbing away at the same time, it is literally 
a game of chance, and the fortunate win- 
ner takes the pot. Another game, par- 
ticularly among the women, is played by 
means of a dipper made from the base of a 
musk-ox horn and fitted with a short brass 
or wooden handle. The women sit in a 
circle and each stakes something, then one 
of them spins the dipper rapidly around and 
when the revolutions finally cease the one 
towards whom the handle points is de- 
clared the winner and must start the bet- 
ting for the next round and also spin the 

Often during the festivities occasioned by 
the capture of one " oogjug," the men kill 
another (for they do not consider hunting 
in the light, of work), and thus one fiesta 
crowds on the tail of another. The men 
are born hunters and spend most of their 
time hunting, in fact, their lives depend 
upon it. The mainstay of their existence 
is the Barren Ground caribou. After the 
caribou in importance, come the seals, 
while musk oxen are used for comparatively 
few purposes. Of course the whales and 
salmon furnish them with a great deal of 
food and other materials, but since they 
have come in contact with the whites they 
save the bone and oil for the whalers, hav- 
ing discovered that it furnishes more com- 
forts in trade than they could secure from 
it direct. Above everything else they prize 
matches, and so precious are these to them 
that when wishing to light a fire the Iwilics, 
instead of striking a match, carefully split 
one into small pieces, keeping this up until 
one is accidentally ignited. As they are 
quite skilful at this, it is frequently some 
time before the fire is started and the Es- 
kimo has by that time trebled his supply 
of matches. This same careful economy 
of civilized articles is observed in other 

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Musk-Ox Hunting Among the Iwilics 


ways. The stems of their pipes, after be- 
ing smoked for some time, are whittled up 
and smoked over with a very little fresh 
tobacco added. Cartridge shells are saved 
carefully and after being cut up with files, 
are hammered out and used in a number 
of ways. In hunting, economy of ammu- 
nition is their main effort and they seldom 
take chances on a long shot. In hunting 
caribou they usually go in companies of 
four or five, and when the game is sighted, 
two or three of the party lie hidden to lee- 
ward, while the others, making a detour, 
approach down the wind. As soon as the 

sledges, about thirty dogs, six squaws and 
three men, Billy, Stonewall Jackson, and 
John L., besides Harry and myself. It was 
quite warm, five above, when we started, 
and the exercise making our heavy fur gar- 
ments uncomfortable, they were removed 
and piled on the sleds. A few hours later, 
however, it clouded over, the wind in- 
creased and we were glad to don the seal- 
skin clothing. That night we camped in a 
little hollow, while a blizzard raged outside. 
We minded it little, however, for the Iwilics 
are a jovial people and always make the 
best of things and thoroughly believe in 


deer scent these they of course travel in the 
opposite direction and fall easy prey to the 
hidden hunters. After being shot at they 
turn about and dash off, forgetting all cau- 
tion, and still more are brought down by 
the other party. In this way it not infre- 
quently happens that an entire herd is 
killed off in a few minutes. 

All during the winter we had hunters in 
the musk-ox country, and although I 
greatly desired to kill one of the creatures, 
no opportunity presented itself for me to 
go until well along in the spring. At last 
the promised day arrived and we started 
off. Our party consisted of three large 

having a good time wherever they may be. 
We spent the evening sitting about the 
stone lamp, smoking and telling stories, 
and when we awoke the following morning 
found the weather clear and cold, with the 
new-fallen snow just right for tracking. 
Late in the afternoon we ran across our 
first game, a herd of eight caribou, from 
which, after a little stalking and manceuver- 
ing, we secured four. For the two following 
days we met with little game, two wolves 
and three or four foxes comprising our bag. 
On the third day we entered an entirely 
different sort of country, rough and rocky, 
with numerous hills, and small ledges jut- 
Digitized by V^OOvlC 


Musk-Ox Hunting Among the Iwilics 


ting out from the surface. This was the 
musk-ox country, and although we saw no 
signs of game during the first day, all pro- 
ceeded with caution, stopping and peering 
ahead as each rise was ascended. About 
noon of the second day we struck a trail 
and after following it a short distance un- 
leashed the dogs, who at once started off on 
the fresh scent. Very soon their yelping 
and howling told us the game was in sight 
and as we reached the crest 
of the next ridge we caught 
sight of them, four dark-brown, 
shapeless bodies, galloping over 
the snow, a half mile away, with 
the dogs in hot pursuit. Over a 
ridge they dashed and over the 
ridges we followed, across a flat 
and rocky plain and over another 
ridge, until it seemed as if we 
would d op from sheer exhaustion 
but the sturdy Iwilics never 
slowed up, trotting rapidly along 
on their sho t legs; knowing full 
well that ere long the oxen 
would be brought to bay. At 
last the shaggy, wild-eyed crea- 
tures turned and faced the yelping 
curs; and truly a fine picture 
of defiance they presented, as 
with lowered heads, steaming 
nostrils and foaming mouths they 
stood shoulder to shoulder, im- 

patiently pawing the ground and await- 
ing the onslaught of their savage enemies. 
For a moment the dogs hesitated, and 
then the leader, a big, tawny brute, 
sprang forward with a snarl. There was 
a sickening thud as the massive horns 
caught him squarely in the breast and 
flung him backward for a dozen yards, 
crippled and bleeding. Profiting by 
the fate of their leader, the other 
curs held off, now and again dashing 
in to snap at the oxen's heels, but 
keeping well out of reach of the long, 
wicked horns. So intent were the 
musk oxen watching their four-footed 
foes, that they failed to note our 
approach until we were within fifty 
yards, when suddenly they caught sight 
of the new enemy and, whirling about, 
dashed out of sight over the ledge before 
we could raise rifle to shoulder. The 
oxen were now thoroughly frightened 
and although we followed them for 
several miles they refused to come to 
bay and we abandoned the chase, returning 
tired and disgusted to camp. 

The following morning, after several hours 
of hard tramping and patient trailing, we 
again sighted the herd. They had evi- 
dently recovered from their fright of the 
day preceding, for they ran barely half a 
mile before making a stand. Taught by our 
former experience, we approached cautiously 
with rifles ready for instant service. When 



\ - 

■5- 1 r 


Digitized by 


A Forest Litany 


seventy-five yards distant they caught our 
wind and started to run, but this time we 
were prepared, and dropping on one knee, 
I took a quick shot at the leading bull 
just as he reached the top of a ridge. 
The big fellow leaped from the ground 
and disappeared on the farther side. At 
the same instant the Iwilics let drive, but 

the rest of us busied ourselves skinning the 
ox; and a truly noble fellow he was, his 
great horns curving in a grand sweep down- 
ward and outward with massive shield 
over his shaggy forehead. We spent a fort- 
night in the musk-ox country and secured 
in all seven of the wild Arctic cattle, re- 
turning to the schooner with fully laden 


aside from little spurts of frozen snow, I 
could see no results from their shots. We 
rushed forward, thinking to get another 
shot at the retreating creatures, and as we 
reached the top of the little hill almost 
stumbled over the body of the bull. One 
of the men started at once for camp, while 

sledges. Upon reaching the Bay we found 
the vessel had come up from the ice and all 
hands were making ready for whaling. A 
few days later the spring thaws were on in 
earnest, with squalls and rain, which rapidly 
broke up the ice and permitted us to once 
more spread our well-patched sails. 


By Amelia K. Wing 

The solemn ritual of the leafy-wood, 

The swaying branches moaning high in air, 

The murmur of the brook in playful mood, 
Are but the soul's deep litany of prayer. 

Digitized by 




By Frank Sherman Peer 




rearing of all 
kinds of farm 
stock is one of the 
most interesting stud- 
ies connected with 
rural life. It is tin* 
object of these articles 
to encourage experi- 
ments in this direction 
among the country gen- 
tlemen of America, who have 
ample means to conduct 
them, and would more gener- 
ally enter this field if they appreciated the 
satisfaction to bo obtained from breeding 
cattle for their improvement, and the skill 
that is required to accomplish it. The 
point that I Wish first to emphasize js that 
the art and science of breeding farm stock 
must forever stand by itself as a special and 
distinct branch of agriculture, and it can 
never be overdone. In no country in the 
world is there more room, or more need, for 
development in this particular line than in 
America, for, as a nation, there arc two 
things, at least, in which we are s-idly de- 
ficient, namely, the building of good roads 
and the breeding of high-class farm stock. 

We are apt to call the English slow and 
behind the times, but, in the question of 
roads and in the scientific breeding and 
improvement of all kinds of farm stock 
they are far our superiors. I imagine some 
of my readers saying : " But do we not go over 
there and buy their best stud horses, bulls 
and rams?" Certainly we do, and we let 
them or their descendants degenerate on 
our hands. We have been going to Great 
Britain for the last two hundred years, 
and we will continue to go there until 
Gabriel's trumpet sounds the retreat of the 
world, unless we learn the art and science 
of selecting and breeding as it is understood 
and practised in that 
country. Anyone can 
go or send to England 
and spend, say $5,000 
for a stud bull, and 
buy aome high -class 
females as a founda- 
tion for a herd. He 
may, as many Ameri- 
cans have done, think, 
from the time the ani- 
mals arrive at the 
farm, that he is a 
breeder, A man who 



Digitized by 


Cattle Breeding for Gentlemen Farmers 


does not know one note from another 
may pay a large sum for a piano, but the 
possession of a musical instrument can no 
more make a musician of the one than 
owning prize animals can make a breeder 
of the other. 

Americans are considered very clever at 
" catching on," but they seem to have failed 
almost entirely — speaking of them as a 
whole — to grasp this problem of breeding 
for improvement. It is our natural bump 
of conceit that makes us think we can do 
anything that any other person can, and do 
it quicker and better. 

With many things we have succeeded, 
but this breeding of farm stock for in> 
provement seems to have balked us. We are 
a new race as agriculturalists, and we have 
much to learn, and in no branch more than in 
the breeding of farm stock. 

I repeat there is no coun- 
try where there is a better 
field for the exercise of 
the art of breeding than 
America, and there are 
none with better qualifica- 
tions or greater advantages 
to enable them to lead the 
way than our retired busi- 
ness gentlemen, if they will 
but devote the attention 
to the subject which it 

One of the most success- 
ful breeders among the 
gentleman farmers is the 
Hon. Whitelaw Reid. This 
gentleman started with a 
small herd of Jersey cattle 




somewhere in the seventies, 
I believe, and has been 
able to keep pace, or nearly 
so, with the improvements 
that have been going on 
with that particular breed 
of cattle in Great Britain 
and on the Island of Jersey. 
I doubt if there are half a 
dozen breeders of Jerseys 
in America who can exhibit 
as good and uniform a herd 
of cattle, of their own 
breeding, as can Mr. Reid. 
Ot a few gentlemen farmers 
who began when he did 
some still continue, but 
most of them have become 
discouraged by their fail- 
ures, and have given it up. Sometimes 
this failure arose from the want of com- 
petent help, but more often, I believe, by 
reason of their having neglected to give it 
their personal attention. Because a man 
has much experience in farming, and has 
been brought up with cattle, it does not 
follow that he is thereby a good breeder. A 
good "caretaker is indispensable, but there 
must be an artist somewhere to direct the 
mating, which is rarely successful unless the 
order comes from the owner himself. 

Ex-Governor Levi P. Morton has been 
quite a successful breeder of Guernseys. His 
herd, when last I saw it, consisted of nearly 
two hundred head and were a decided im- 
provement upon what he started with. In 

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Cattle Breeding for Gentlemen Farmers 


more recent years Mr. George Vanderbilt 
on his farms in North Carolina, Mr. William 
Rockefeller, Mr. H. Mackay Twombly, 
Mr. Walter Law and others have entered 
the lists on a scale that if successful will 
accomplish untold good throughout the 
country. From these breeding establish- 
ments the operative farmer may improve 
his herds and flock at a nominal cost com- 
pared with the original outlay of these 
gentlemen. I have met with several so- 
called "gentlemen farmers" who do not 
profess to know anything about the breed- 
ing of farm stock although they have spent 
large sums to secure some of the best 
specimens ; or, at least, they assume ignorance 
as if it were a question for a subordinate 
and not clearly within the realm of their 
gentlemanly accomplishments; as if you 
were to ask them their ideas of the best 
way to groom a horse or clean harness. 
This is where they make a very grave 
mistake and this is the probable cause of the 
general failure that has attended their 
efforts. It is not only the noblest occu- 
pation, but to say a man is a successful 
breeder of any kind of farm stock, or plants 
even, is to distinguish him as a person of 
superior knowledge, taste and good judg- 
ment. It was never beneath the dignity 
of Her Most Gracious Majesty, the late 
Queen of England, to be considered a 
breeder of several kinds of farm stock, 
especially cattle, over which she took a 
personal interest, to the time of her death. 
She has been an exhibitor at all the leading 

agricultural shows in England. The same 
is true of His Majesty, King Edward VII, 
whose estate at Sandringham, in Norfolk, 
where he lives the life of a country gentle- 
man, is a model. In fact I believe it is 
safe to say that ninety per cent, of the 
titled gentlemen of Great Britain are en- 
gaged in the breeding of one or more kinds 
of horses, cattle, sheep or swine, to which 
branch of farming they give their best 
thoughts and much personal attention* 
If their circumstances will not permit them 
to go in for breeding on such an extensive 
scale, they do the next best thing and 
without loss of caste, by breeding dogs, 
poultry, pigeons, hares, etc., and it is to 
them that the world is to-day indebted for 
nearly all of the many distinct and improved 
families of horses, cattle, sheep, swine, 
poultry, dogs and pigeons. The number 
of different breeds or families of farm ani- 
mals alone that are the result of their 
skill in the care, feeding and breeding, 
possibly is about a hundred; more it is 
safe to say, than has been produced by all 
the other inhabitants of the world combined. 
In America, we have only two distinct 
breeds that have any right to be classed 
as home made namely, the American Dom- 
inique hen and the standard-bred trotter. 
The former, I am told, is well nigh extinct, 
while the latter is practically an American 
development of the English throughbred 
schooled to trot in harness instead of to 
run under saddle. However, they are decided- 
ly American and are the best representa- 

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Cattle Breeding for Gentlemen Farmers 


three of our skill as breeders. Trotters are, 
however, more the result of training than of 
the wish, in the first place, to produce by 
breeding a new family or race with distinct 
characteristics. To be sure we are a com- 
paratively new people and such things 
take time. I have dwelt overlong on this 
point for I wish to show my readers what 
an open field there is in America for the 
exercise of this truly gentlemanly under- 
taking. It is really the rarest of all rural 
accomplishments in America to-day, among 
gentlemen of means, culture and refinement, 
and in a country too where farm stock are 
numbered by millions. Any one can breed 
farm stock but it requires money and 
brains to produce them year after year 
better, more beautiful, more symmetrical, 
more useful and more valuable than they 
were in the preceding generation. 


It is generally admitted that all the dif- 
ferent families or breeds of cattle have one 
common ancestor; from the magnificent 
shorthorn, which weighs a ton, to the dim- 
inutive Kerry, but a quarter of that size; 
from the Scotch Highland cattle, with their 
great spreading horns — wider than a man 
can reach — to the Aberdeen Angus, with no 
horns at all; from the ponderous lymphatic 
Hereford that shakes the ground with his 
tread, to the nervous deer-like Jersey; the 

Ayrshires of Scotland, the Devonsof England, 
the red polled and the Guernsey all have, 
and not a great many years ago, one common 

We learn from sacred history and books of 
ancient writers that the cow, like the ox, 
originally was used solely for agricultural 
purposes, at least, for many hundred years, 
perhaps, before her milk was used as a pro- 
duct for household consumption. It is 
generally believed, also, that originally the 
cow, like the deer, buffalo, moose and elk, 
gave only sufficient milk to rear her young; 
from which we see what a wonderful de- 
gree of improvement has taken place, 
when a single animal is nowadays made 
to produce 100 pounds (50 quarts) of milk 
in a single day, or 100 pounds of butter 
in a month; or again, when a cow has 
averaged over her own weight in milk 
every month for a year. When we consider 
the original inferior ancestry of these ani- 
mals these results are something marvelous. 

Care, climatic influences, selection, mating 
and food have been the causes, and of these, 
food has played the principal part in pro- 
ducing improvements: Man, by selecting 
and mating, has taken advantage of the 
variations produced by food, or the ab- 
normal characteristics, and has gradually 
moulded and fashioned an animal to suit his 
taste and ideals as to greater production, as 
well as greater beauty and symmetry of 
form. The point I wish to make is, that to 


i oil pointing. 

(NO. 2.) 


Digitized by 



Cattle Breeding for Gentlemen Farmers 

whatever degree of perfection an animal 
has attained at the present day over her 
original ancestors, just so much she is arti- 
ficial. The three illustrations herewith of 
Jersey cows most clearly point out the 
wonderful difference between the domestic 
cow as she appears to-day and the animal 
from which she descended. 

Jersey cow No. 1 is from a drawing which 
appeared in the Country Gentleman no longer 
ago than 1853, and believed by the present 
editor of that journal to have been specially 

such wonderful alterations in form, the oft- 
quoted axiom in breeding, namely, that like 
produces like, cannot be strictly true. In 
wild animals, or in the original species in a 
wild and natural state, the law holds good; 
the moose, the deer, the buffalo, the caribou 
or elk, for instance, remain the same 
generation after generation, with possibly 
slight variations noticeable in the widely 
different sections of the country. The great 
changes in cattle and sheep, in fact, all 
animals that have come under domestica- 


made from life on the island of Jersey, the 
picture representing what was called an 
" Old Jersey Cow." Jersey cow No. 2 is from 
a photograph of an oil painting presented to 
the writer by Mr. W. A. Perrie, Secretary of 
the Royal Agricultural Society of Jersey 
representing a cow that was said to have been 
a model of her day and generation. This 
"cow lived some time in the sixties. Illus- 
tration No. 3 represents "Nameless," 
champion cow of the island of Jersey: the 
highest standard of excellence yet attained. 
The science of breeding for improvement 
is to breed and care to produce variations 
or abnormal characteristics. The art of 
breeding is to build upon and so strengthen 
these acquired characteristics that they will 
become dominant and thus transmittable. 
If cattle under domestication are subject to 

tion, signify that man is responsible for 
these changes. 

The essential qualification of a successful 
breeder is an artistic or mechanical eye that 
instantly detects the first tendency in the 
offspring towards degeneration, or reversion 
towards the original inferior animals from 
whence they came. In the limited space of 
three magazine articles, all one can hope to 
do with such a large subject is, first, as in 
this number, to set up a rough working 
hypothesis, upon which, in the second num- 
ber, I will endeavor to notice " The Influence 
of Food in the Development of Variations 
or Abnormal Characteristics," which we 
have already called the " Science of Feeding 
for Improvement," to be followed by a 
third article on "The Influence of Pedigree 
or the Art of Breeding; for Improvement." 

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By Robert Wickliffe Woolley 

RICH men, and even those of mod- 
erate means, have few luxuries 
from which they derive more 
genuine pleasure than from their private 
stables. The townsman especially finds 
his horses and vehicles the source of much 
health and happiness, and the housing and 
care of them a deeply interesting occupation. 
America stands among the first of the 
countries of the world in the completeness 
and value of its private stables, yet here 
the industry — if I may so call it — is scarcely 
a quarter century old. The memory of 
man runs not to the contrary when the 
horse of high racing degree received any but 
distinguished consideration; but the exalta- 
tion, in cities! of the horse of pleasure, is of 

comparatively recent date. The equine 
aristocrat of the twentieth century, however, 
represents so very much gold; so much 
affection and thought is lavished on him, 
and he is treated with such consideration 
by his owner that his position may really, 
by comparison, be said to be regal. Prac- 
tically little is generally known of the 
care and money expended on smart 
turnouts. One realizes they are costly, 
of course, and that they are just as one 
would have them were he or she the arbiter 
of fashion, but of the pains and thought 
expended upon the modern stable and its 
paraphernalia one's estimate is apt to be 
based on very imperfect data. Commodore 
Vanderbilt and his contemporaries, with all 


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Private Stables of Manhattan 

their wealth and excellent horses, never 
dreamed of expending sums on stables that 
even the average establishments of the 
kind in Ne^r York, Philadelphia or Chicago 
cost to-day. 

Mr. Frank Work, one of the oldest and best 
known road drivers on this continent, in- 
augurated the new order of things, and to 
his example is due the credit for the many 
private horse palaces now in the larger cities 
of the country. When, in 1882, he ordered 
plans for a $50,000 stable from architect 
George Edward Harding, his friends and 
rich men generally accounted for his seem- 
ing prodigality by saying the horse was 

With due respect to Mr. Harding, Mr. Work 
is responsible for most of the notably 
good features of the establishment. He 
has been all of his life a lover of the horse 
and a close student of all pertaining to it; 
he has paid liberally for speed and conforma- 
tion, as well as for style and breeding, and 
is ever in the market for the latest and 
best things in harness, vehicles and stable 
appliances. It is small wonder that he 
should have, with the aid of an experi- 
enced architect, constructed a stable that 
really startled the horse world, and after 
twenty years has not been surpassed except 
in the matter of display and superfluous 


his greatest weakness. When the building, 
which is located in West Fifty-sixth street, 
was completed, however, it actually cost 
$140,000, and Mr. Work has frequently 
said he paid not a dollar too much. Though 
many stables since erected are more elaborate 
and ornate, this pioneer is second to 
none in convenience and comfort. In prac- 
tical appointments — ventilation, drainage, 
heating, lighting, location and size of stalls, 
harness and carriage rooms, it is perfect. 

appointments. This stable is famous also 
as the private club of its owner. Mr. Work 
provided quarters for himself as well as for 
his horses. On the second floor are bachelor 
apartments, including sitting-room, dining- 
room, bedroom, refrigerators, wine chests, 
etc. In the rear of these, and overlooking 
the stables and a small tan-bark arena, is 
a balcony where the noted road driver and 
his friends can sit on a winter's day and 
sip high balls and toddies, while discussing 

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Private Stables of Manhattan 


the fine points of a horse on parade. Hun- 
dreds of famous men have been entertained 
in these quarters, and every niche and 
corner is rich in memories. 

Now let me turn from writing of the 
magnificence of the private stable of to-day 
and tell of one stable — and there are others 
somewhat like it — that I consider a marvel 
because of its completeness, the limited 
amount of space it occupies, its simplicity, 
and the smallness of its cost. This is 
Mr. Frederick C, Thomas's, in West Forty- 

noted for more than twenty years for his 
smart turnouts, and is one of the most 
expert tandem drivers in the country. 
No man ever made such a showing at so 
little cost. His stable is his pride, and he 
declares his friends have voted him a horse 
crank. "Maybe I am," he Said to me, 
" and I am rather proud of it. A crank gen- 
erally knows something about his hobby." 

Mr. Thomas has the most remarkable 
collection of harness in New York — prob- 
ably in America — and the story of its gath- 


first street. It is an ordinary three-story 
brick building, 25x60 feet, containing six 
stalls and a carriage room on the first 
floor, feed and harness rooms and offices 
on the second, and servants' quarters on 
the third. The woodwork is polished, the 
brick walls are clean and bare, the lighting 
and the ventilation perfect, and the whole 
cost a very small fraction of the amount 
that is usually expended on an unpre- 
tentious stable. Mr. Thomas has been 

ering is well worth telling. He never had 
a large amount of money to spend at any 
one time on his horses or stable equipments, 
so from the start he was obliged to do every- 
thing on a modest scale. His knowledge of 
leather, of workmanship, of bits, etc., was 
equal to that of any expert. He knew 
where good harness was made, he knew how 
to direct the making of it in shops in which 
excessive prices were not charged, and he 
had taste. The oldest set in his collection 

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Private Stables of Manhattan 


is for a runabout, and it was purchased in 
1884. A little later he bought a double 
set for a brougham, after that a tandem 
set, and so on. He didn't feel that he could 
afford to pay fancy prices: moreover, Mr. 
Thomas never bought harness just because 
a bargain figure was quoted on it, nor did 
he buy what he really wanted when he felt 
that by so doing he would tax his bank 
account. He simply made his collection 
as favorable occasion arose, gradually, and 
took care of what he had. As a conse- 
quence his stable now boasts the finest as- 
sortment of leather trappings and bits to 
be seen anywhere. Those who read of it 
imagine its owner a man of great wealth, 
whereas, discrimination has been his strong 
point. The fastidious may remark here 
that styles in horse gear change as they do 
in one's clothes, and that one's turnout 
cannot be properly rigged if the harness 
is old fashioned. These changes are largely 

imaginary, and almost wholly unnecessary. 
Now for the arrangement and manage- 
ment of this remarkable little stable. In 
the first room one enters from the street 
the vehicles are kept. It has space for six. 
I might say parenthetically, that in buying 
carriages, traps, brakes, etc., Mr. Thomas 
pursues the same course he follows as to 
harness. He has a brougham that is fifty 
years old, a stanhope twenty-four years 
old, and a tandem cart that is nearly 
thirty, and none of them looks odd on the 
avenue. This room is never heated. The 
carriages are washed in a shed in the rear 
and only cold water is used. Mr. Thomas 
believes every vehicle should be overhauled 
once a year, and laughs at the idea that 
cold weather cracks the paint. He says if 
one were to go on that theory he would have 
to give up winter driving altogether, as the 
real harm comes from cold mud, snow and 
ice. There are six stalls in the rear of the 

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Private Stables of Manhattan 


carriage room, separated from it by a slid- 
ing door. Only two horses are kept ordi- 
narily, and they are always as fit as a show 
ring entry. Just above the stalls are 
feed and harness-cleaning rooms. In the 
latter, every strap, every trace, every sad- 
dle is thoroughly cleaned and greased, 
and every buckle, bit and chain is bur- 
nished immediately after being used. Then 
they are carried into the harness repository 
which occupies one-half the space just above 
the carriage room. Here every set has its 
own rack, every extra bridle, collar or sad- 
dle its own hook or hanger, and there is 
never any mixing up. Three walls are 
lined with harness for every conceivable 
turnout, and every piece of it looks as if 
it had just come from the maker's. On a 
small section of one wall are hung all the 
bits and stirrups that Mr. Thomas has 
bought since he first owned a horse. They 
are of every size and shape, and shine like 
silver. In one corner of this room are ar- 
ranged riding saddles, bridles, martingales, 
surcingles and bands almost innumerable. 
In a side room are kept, well packed in 
camphor, blankets, horses' suits for day, 
night and full dress, liveries, etc. Adjoining 
the harness room is a comfortable and ap- 
propriately decorated office. Not an es- 
sential detail is overlooked in this entire 
stable, and it is all cared for by one man — 
the coachman. There is never any need 
to clean a bit, a set of harness or a vehicle 
except after using it, because everything is 

so arranged there can be no rusting, no 
rotting or accumulation of dust. This es- 
tablishment is a striking example of what 
can be done with moderate means by a 
master of details. . It can be duplicated, 
in time, by many a young man who is am- 
bitious to own a stable and smart turnouts, 
but who feels that his modest income will 
always force him to patronize a public 

New York's largest and most pretentious 
private stable is that of Louis Stern, in 
East Eighty-fourth street. It should be 
catalogued as one of the sights of the city. 
Externally it is pleasing to the eye f It 
fronts fifty feet on Eighty-fourth street, runs 
back one hundred and fifty, and the ground 
floor is divided into three squares of 50x50 
each. The first of these is devoted to vehicles, 
there being space for twenty; the second to 
fourteen stalls, two of which are box; and 
the third to an arena where Mr. Stern's 
children jog their ponies, and where the 
horses are exercised in bad weather. The 
second floor of this great stable is devoted 
to spacious quarters for the coachman, 
feed rooms, a reception-room, dressing- 
room and gymnasium for men, and parlor, 
bedroom and bath-room for women. In the 
rear and overlooking the big arena is a 
balcony for spectators similar to that in 
Mr. Work's horse haven. On the third 
floor are the quarters of the grooms and 
footmen. This hasty and brief descrip- 
tion gives small idea of the size and elegance 


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Private Stables of Manhattan 


of the building. Everything about it is 
costly and ornate. The doors and wood- 
work are mahogany and oak, the windows 
and skylights are stained glass, the walls are 
glazed brick, and the harness room is as 
finished and well appointed as a drawing- 
room. Five men are at work in it all the 
time, and it is ever ready for inspection. 
Under this entire building are huge heating 
pipes, fed by a furnace. There are radiators 
in every room and in all departments. The 
carriage room is heated on all damp and 
chilly days, and in very cold weather the 
stalls are warmed also. 

This brings me to a question that has 
long been discussed by stable experts. 
The preponderance of opinion is against the 
use of artificial heat in the horses' quarters 
under any circumstances, and many are op- 
posed to it even in the carriage and harness 
rooms. Yet most of the private stables 
of New York and other cities are equipped 
with it, and the results are far from disas- 
trous. One will inspect Mr. Stern's estab- 
lishment and conclude that it is indis- 
pensable; he will visit that of Mr. Thomas 
and change his mind. The fact is, heat 
can be used advisedly in the room where 
vehicles are dried and stored, and, occa- 
sionally, in the harness repository, but 
never should it be in horses' quarters. A 

deep straw bed, made on a well-drained 
floor of oak or white pine, and a good 
blanket are all the average riding or driving 
animal needs. He should have plenty of 
light and good air, and should always be 
protected from chilly blasts of wind. I 
have a friend who is an expert on stable 
construction and recently he was the guest 
of a rich Philadelphian who had just finished 
having a very elaborate heating plant put 
into his stable. He was very enthusiastic 
and told how many thousands it had cost 

"Could it be removed for that much," 
was the expert's only comment. 

I recall several magnificent establish- 
ments whose carriage room walls are piped 
fully two feet from the floor, and their 
owners complain that the paint on the 
wheels of the vehicles kept in them cracks 
and chips off. Of course it does, and for 
the same reason that one could sit in these 
rooms and suffer from cold feet while the 
upper part of his body was uncomfortably 
warm. If one is bent upon heating, the 
pipes should be on a level with the floor. 
The carriage maker realizes how important 
is this department of a stable, as he is pretty 
sure to be blamed for any damage caused 
by its imperfection. 

The stables of Messrs. W. D. Sloane, 

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Private Stables of Manhattan 


Albert C. Boetwick, W. C. Whitney, H. O. 
Havemeyer, Alfred Yanderbilt and Frank 
Jay Gould stand out among the most 
costly and elegant of the latter day 
city establishments, and each is noted for 
some unique feature. That of the first 
named is the most satisfactorily lighted in 
New York. It is the perfection of neatness, 
its wood and metal work glisten like ebony 
and gold. This stable is designed primarily 
for the horse, and not the smallest detail 
is overlooked. From top to bottom it is 
as clean as Kipling tells us the Maharaja's 
museum at Amber is. It is in Fifty-sixth 
street and is really one of the sights of the 

For completeness and all the luxuries 
that a lively imagination can suggest, the 
stables of H. O. Havemeyer and Col. O. H. 
Payne, in East Sixty-fifth street, are sec- 
ond to none. The walls are highly polished, 
the floors tiled, the woodwork is hard and 
is tastefully carved, the wrought metal 
used is beautifully burnished, and the stalls 
are trim and well kept. Then there are 
the carriage houses; always as clean as a 
new' pin, with space enough for every style 
of pleasure vehicle that a gentleman's fancy 
can picture; and the harness rooms and bit 
closets have plate glass doors and windows. 
The quarters for attendants are spacious 
and elegant. 

Frank Jay Gould's stable in West Fifty- 
eighth street was built two years ago, but 
even at this early date it fails to meet its 
owner's demands. Mr. Gould is passion- 
ately fond of the horse, and though he 
drives or rides comparatively little when in 
New York, he has planned a most exten- 
sive establishment. Quite a large addition 
is being made, and the stable will eventually 
be more spacious than that of Mr. Stern. 
The building has a frontage of only twenty- 
five feet on Fifty-eighth street, so the carriage 
room and horse apartments are necessarily 
cramped. Mr. Gould keeps twenty vehi 
cles, ranging from a two-wheeled cart to a 
brougham, and they form the smartest col- 
lection in New York. The harness room is 
unique. It is fifteen feet long by five feet wide, 
and is enclosed in glass. The racks, hang- 
ers, etc., line the rear wall from floor to ceil- 
ing. The young millionaire is new in the 
business, so his collection of trappings is 
as yet modest, but if he utilizes the space 
he has set aside for that purpose, he will 
soon have a greater assortment than Mr. 
Thomas has. In the rear of his stable and 
connected with it only by single doors, is the 
much talked of academy in which Mr. 
Gould, his sister, Miss Helen Gould, and 
their friends ride horseback on winter days. 
It is fifty by one hundred feet — just twice 
as large as the Stern arena — has a very 


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Private Stables of Manhattan 

high ceiling, with liberal skylights, and on 
one end has the usual balcony for specta- 
tors. In this balcony is a magnificent 
automatic organ which furnishes music 
while the horses are prancing around the 
ring. The surface of this big academy is 
covered with a deep layer of tan-bark, and 
the horses attain a speed and make sharp 
turns on it that really startle the spectators. 
In other respects Mr. Gould's stable does 
not differ radically from at least a hundred 
private stables in New York. He uses 
heat everywhere except in the horse stalls, 

Gerry, but descriptions of them would be 
mere repetition. I have told of the va- 
rious kinds; of their striking features and of 
their management; I have endeavored to 
give a general idea of the money, time and 
care that are lavished on the horse of every 
day use in the city. The subject is an ex- 
tremely interesting one. For nearly twenty 
years architects, with the aid of expert 
horsemen, have given much time and study 
to the perfection of the stable, and it is hard 
to see where any improvement is now 
to be made. Mr. W. H. Moore, recently of 


and these are as well lighted and as care- 
fully ventilated as any I have seen. 

I could write volumes about the many pri- 
vate stables of New York, and would mention 
in particular those of Messrs. August Bel- 
mont, Walter Watson, John D. Rocke- 
feller, W. Seward Webb, and Elbridge T. 

Chicago, is building in Fifty-eighth street, 
a home for his horses that will cost nearly 
$200,000. Many rich men who own private 
stables are interested in this establishment, 
as they are afraid it will surpass theirs. I 
think they need have no apprehension, it 
can only equal them at best. 

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By George Wharton James 


— - 


ta 1 

■ -.-. 







r s\ H 

* ^* 




ONLY an Indian basket! 
True! but what a world of meaning 
and history a discerning soul may 
see in that basket. It is easy to sneer; it 
is sometimes harder to discern. 

Only an Indian basket! 

Yes, but that basket and its fellows, for 
untold centuries, have taken the place of 
all the utensils the modern housewife deems 
indispensables — earthenware, • glass, tin, 
agate, iron, brass, copper ware. "Long be- 
fore pottery had its birth, as well as for long 
after, basketry performed all the useful 
functions of the vessel of earth. Indeed, 
earthenware — pottery of all kinds — is the 
legitimate offspring of basketry, with acci- 
dent, rather than design, as its father. 
The basket is the true mother (absolutely 
and literally the matrix) of the original 
day vessel, as well as of the later products 
of the shuttle and loom. 

Was water to be carried? Use the 
wicker woven esuu, the tu8jeh> or the olla. 
Was water to be boiled or food cooked? 
Place it in the boiling basket, which must be 
so closely woven that it will not leak, and 
strong enough to bear the weight of the hot 
stones dropped into it. Was food, liquid or 
solid, to be given to visitors from afar? 

Place it in baskets. Was a ceremonial to 
be performed? See the important place 
the basket occupies in the rite. Was it a 
marriage, the exorcism of a demon, the 
healing of the sick, the burial of the dead? 
Without a basket the rite was incomplete. 
Indeed, in every function, social, religious 
or ceremonial, the basket had its place in 
aboriginal life, and only in „very recent 
years has it been supplanted by the mod- 
ern utensils of the white man. Baskets 
were made to suit every human need and 
every human whim. In a fully assorted 
collection, tiny baskets, not much larger 
than a thimble, can be seen side by side 
with giant granaries, capable of holding 
many bushels, and in which three or four 
adult persons may comfortably ensconce 
themselves. Here is a flat plaque used as 
a plate; there a heart-shaped basket of fine 
stitch and exquisite design, made as a 
treasure holder for some dear friend. There 
are mush bowls with capacities from a pint 
to four or five gallons, and esuus — water 
bottles — of the same varying sizes. There 
are door mats and slippers, "bottleneck" 
trinket holders, such as the one held in the 
hands of the Mono weaver, Fig. 3; food wal- 
lets, sallybags, gambling plaques, and sacred 
baskets, used only in important religious 
ceremonials. Ingenuity and invention have 
been taxed to the utmost by these rude 
Amerindian workwomen to find new forms 
and shapes, and when the ultimate seemed 
to be reached, they conquered new worlds by 
introducing gorgeous and beautiful feathers, 
glittering pieces of pearl or abalone, various 
shells, bright pendants of silver, tin, brass 
and copper, as ornaments to enhance the 
effectiveness and attractiveness of their 

Compare this work of the rude Amerind 
savage woman, ye sneerer and scoffer at 
Indians, with that of the average woman 
of the poorer classes of the civilized races, 
and how does the comparison strike you? 
What is there in the work of the latter, 
with all the advantages modern civiliza- 
tion affords, that can begin to compare in 
artistic concept, imaginative design and skil- 
ful execution with the work of the savage? 

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Indian Basketry 

It has taken centuries for its develop- 
ment. From the earliest ages of human 
history the art has grown. It has already 
reached its golden age. Indeed it has 
passed its day of meridian splendor. Civil- 
ization, to the Indian, has generally meant 
demoralization. With the advent of the 
Spaniards into North America began the 
decline of nearly all aboriginal art. Be- 
fore that time the young girl patiently 
learned from her mother the art to which 
hereditary instincts inclined her. Tiny 
tots of five years of- age awoke to find 
themselves in kathaks, or carrying baskets, 
on their mothers' backs, going up the 

lines of centuries of hard struggle against 
adverse conditions graven on her expressive 
face, as she returns home laden with mate- 
rial for the exercise of her art. Her " sav- 
age " brain is busy. Is she scheming to 
injure a neighbor? Is she plotting some 
great social coup? Is she meditating 
some new way of outdoing her dearest 
friend? No! just now all her mental 
energies are devoted to the baskets she 
intends to create from the material she 
carries on her back. She is planning the 
shape, determining the design, arranging 
the color scheme, hence the look of con- 
tentment that overspreads her wearied 


steep trails of the mountain sides, where 
they had been carried ever since they were 
born. When they questioned whither? and 
why? they were told they were going for 
the year's supply of willow or chippa or 
squaw grass, or martynia, or fern, or the 
scores of other kinds of material used in 
the making of baskets. And almost ere 
the little ones were aware of it, their eyes 
were trained, their fingers skilled to help 
their mothers in seeking out and picking 
the shoots suitable for the work. . 
See that patient figure in bronze, the 

face as she nears her simple hawa or 
kish of tules or willows, where her 
burden is gladly deposited. Here it is 
in the days following, that she carries 
out the basket plans she has matured in 
her busy brain. No pen or pencil, no 
paint or brush is used to transfer to paper 
the ideas thus arranged. She stores them 
in the secret recesses of her own brain, 
and none but herself knows what she will 
make until her busy fingers give objective 
shape to that which she has planned. 
And, by and by, her little girl will begin 

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Indian Basketry 


to imitate her, and, under her mother's 
direction, the child will learn to fashion the 
flat bottom, then the curved sides, and 
finally the complete basket. 

Ah! little brown mother, clothed in the 
skins of wild beasts or the rude cotton tex- 
ture of your own industrious weaving, you 
may well be able to sleep soundly on the 
hard and unyielding ground when night 
comes. Yours has been a life of toil, and 
you little dreamed, you, in your far-away 

made the textile art. She discovered the 
properties of the crude material, learned 
how to dress and prepare it, and invented 
every known stitch woven with the most 
complex machinery into the costliest fabrics 
of our modern civilization. 

Hence it cannot be said that the intelli- 
gent collecting of Indian baskets is a fad. 

One begins to collect baskets at first, per- 
haps, because of their exquisite shape, well- 
balanced colors, delicate weave, artistic de- 


dim ages of savagery, that your hard labor 
and thought were to bring comfort and lux- 
ury to untold thousands of men and women 
and children in the future. For, let it not 
be forgotten, that it was the poor, ignorant 
savage who took all the first weary steps in 
all the arts and many of the sciences, and 
gathered and stored the knowledge and 
skill which we enjoy as our priceless and 
inalienable inheritance. She it was who 

sign, or skilful finish, and as knowledge of 
exterior things grows, light upon inner 
things begins to dawn, and her basketry re- 
veals the Indian a new creature. She is a 
human being, with aspirations, ambitions, 
longings after the beautiful, desires to create; 
a soul seeking the ideal, groping for the 
lofty, the high, the true, the pure, the noble. 
The chief basket-making peoples of to-day 
in America are found in Nevada, New Mex- 

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Indian Basketry 


ico, Arizona, California, and the region of 
the North Pacific Ocean. In Nevada are 
the Paiutis and Washoes; in New Mexico 
and Arizona, the Zuni, the Hopituh (com- 
monly known as the Moki), the Mescalero, 
San Carlos and White Mountain Apaches, 
the Havasupais, the Pimas and the Marico- 
pas. California has long been known as the 
home of the particularly expert basket 
weavers. Gualala, Yokut and Poma bas- 
kets are especially sought after, and those 
of the Mission Indians are attractive and 
interesting. A Mission Indian weaver is 
shown in Fig. 2. In Oregon there are the 
Wascoes, Klickitats, Klamaths, etc., and in 
Washington, the Chehalis, Makahs, Skoko- 
mish, Yakimas, etc. In British Columbia 
the Thompson River Indians make fine 
basketry, and a good collection of their work 
is to be found in the American Museum of 
Natural History in New York. In Alaska 
the Chilkahts, Haidas and others make 
excellent baskets, and the Aleuts of Attu 
Island do as fine work as is to be found in 
the world. 

A satisfactory collection should possess 
typical baskets of all these various peoples. 
None are exactly alike; most of them have 
marked and distinctive peculiarities; all are 
full of human interest and fascination. 

Beginning with the Paiutis, they make 
three separate and distinct styles of 
baskets, as well as their pa-bi-chi, or 
baby cradle. Their mush bowls are 
very similar to the work of the Apaches 
and Cahuillas, yet in weave are slightly 
different. Willow or osier, split to the re- 

quired width, and colored or white as desired, 
is used as the wrapping splint. The inner 
coil is composed of yucca, bast, or fiber, 
two or three or more strips according to 
the fineness or coarseness desired. The 
larger the quantity of material inside, the 
thicker and heavier the coil is. The sewing 
passes over the elements of the coil and 
through the upper element of the coil 
below, looping always under the. subjacent 
stitches. The ornamentation is produced 
by working into the fabric various designs 
with strips of martynia, or splints dyed a 
dark brown or a reddish brown. The 
most noted work in mush bowls of the 
Paiutis, however, is not known by their 
name. These are known as "Navaho 
Wedding Baskets" and "Apache Medicine 
Baskets," and may be accepted as the 
highest type of Paiuti weaving found in 
their original habitation, for by contact 
with the Yokuts, the Paiutis of California 
have much improved in artistic skilL 
They are woven as above described, but 
finished on the border in a style peculiar 
to the Paiutis, Navahoes and Havasupais. 
No other weavers make a similar diagonal 
border whip stitch, which I call the "her- 
ring-bone" finish. It is both a beautiful 
and appropriate stitch, and is a distinguish- 
ing mark of the weave of these two peoples. 
The colors are invariably white, black and 
reddish brown. Nearly twenty years ago 
the favorite wife of the last great chief 
of the Paiutis, Winnemucca, gave me 
one of these baskets bowls, and told me 
the meaning of the design. The Paiuti 

Digitized by 


Copyright 1897, by E E. Hail. 


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Indian Basketry 

believes in a lower, or under world, that 
corresponds in its hills and valleys to 
this upper world. These are represented 
in the design. It was from this under 
world that all the Paiutis came, and from 
these have sprung all the races of the earth. 
The means of communication between the 
lower and upper worlds is called Shipapu, 
and is likewise represented in the design 
by the opening. The simple-hearted Indian 
woman sincerely believes that if she closes 

CopyrigH by Qmrgv Wbirtoti Jain a* 



this representation of Shipapu she will 
render it impossible for any more Paiutis 
to be born in this upper world. This is 
the real significance of the design. The 
hole is not left, as so many affirm, that the 
evil spirits may be allowed to escape, but 
is the representation of Shipapu which no 
Indian, even in its symbol, will dare to close. 
These baskets are traded to the Navahoes 
on the south side of the Grand Canyon, and 

by them taken to the Apaches. They gain 
their name "Navaho Wedding Baskets" 
from the fact that in all important and dis- 
tinguished marriages of this wild and noma- 
dic people the Shaman, who is called upon 
to seek the blessing of the " People of the 
Shadows" upon the young couple, demands 
one of these baskets. When brought it is 
filled with corn meal mush prepared by the 
bride's mother or nearest elder female rela- 
tives. Then the Shaman sprinkles the blue 
pollen of the larkspur upon the por- 
ridge so as to divide it into four parts ; 
and calling for the bride, who up to 
this time has been hidden under her 
mother's blanket, he takes her hand 
and that of the groom. Seating the 
bride on the west side of the hogan, 
he puts the groom before her with the 
basket of mush between them. An 
olla of water is then brought and 
groom and bride each pour water 
over the other's hands, after which 
the groom, with thumb and fingers, 
takes a pinch of mush from the point 
where the pollen touches the edge of 
the basket on the east. He eats it 
while the bride does the same. Then, 
in succession, he and she take pinches 
from the north, west, south and center 
of the basket, and when the center 
pinch is eaten the ceremony is com- 
plete and the youth and maid are 
man and wife. 

The common Paiuti carrying bas- 
kets and seed-roasting trays are 
coarsely woven. The warp twigs are 
made to open out and new ones are 
added as the basket enlarges. The 
weft splints are carried around in 
pairs and twined around two of these 
warp twigs so as to produce a twilled 
effect, somewhat after the fashion of 
the work of the Haidas and Clallams. 
Their basket water bottles, or tusjeh, 
as they are called by the Navahoes, are 
striking specimens of adaptability to 
environment. Wandering over trackless 
deserts, often miles away from water, a 
carrying vessel was needed for the precious 
element that would withstand more than 
ordinary risks of breakage. The white 
man's canteen of zinc is not so well adapted 
for desert uses as is the Paiuti tusjeh. 
With two horsehair lugs woven into the 
side, a thong of buckskin passed through 
these and over the saddle, fastens it so that 

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Indian Basketry 


it can safely be carried. Should it fall there 
is no danger of its being broken. Horses 
may run away, fall, kick, and the tusjeh 
be in the heart of the difficulty and it 
will withstand all strains and resist all 
pressures. The shape is almost uniform; 
rounded at the bottom so that it can easily 
be rested in the sand, bellying out and re- 
treating to the neck, which is wider at the 
Up than at the point of junction with the 

weavers is Dat-so-la-lee, a full-blooded In- 
dian, sixty years of age, whose work is won- 
derful in its shape, symbolization and weave. 
Though heavy and plump, her delicacy of 
touch, artistic skill and poetical conception 
excite admiration. Her hand is symmetric- 
ally perfect, her fingers plump and tapering, 
and her nails beautiful filberts. She is fully 
conscious of the sensations and emotions 
her work arouses in the hearts of connois- 


body. It is coated with pinion gum. The 
weave is very coarse and of the coiled order, 
with a neat wrap stitch on the rim. 

The Washoes make a basket similar in 
weave to the Paiutis and which can be dif- 
ferentiated only in that the colors used are 
more varied and the designs or symbols 
more diverse, and, generally, the weave is 
much finer. The queen of the Washoe 

seurs. During the past three years she has 
produced sixteen baskets with sixteen 
stitches to the inch; three baskets with 
twenty stitches to the inch, and four baskets 
with thirty stitches to the inch. Her white 
splints are made solely of willow. A willow 
shoot is split into from twelve to twenty- 
four splints, with the teeth and fingernails. 
The finer the stitch desired the greater the 

Digitized by 



Indian Basketry 

number of splints from the shoot. Only 
those portions of the fiber immediately over 
the pith and under the bark are used. They 
are all then made of uniform size by scrap- 
ing with a piece of glass. The warp, or in- 
side of the coil, is generally composed of two 
thin willows stripped of the bark. For 
colors the red bark of the mountain birch, 
and the dark root of a large fern that grows 
in the foothills of the Sierras are used. So 
exquisite is Dat-so-la-lee's work that her bas- 
kets have brought fabulous prices, ranging 
from $150 to $250. Three of her recent 
creations are valued respectively at $600, 
$800 and $1,500. 

The Hopituh, or Moki, are the makers of 
sacred meal trays of striking design and 
coloring. Of these there are two distinct 
types, the yucca or amole, made at the 
three villages of the middle mesa — Mash- 


ongnavi, Shipauluvi and Shimopavi, and 
the willow, made at Oraibi, on the western 
mesa. In Fig. 5 is represented Kuchye- 
ampsi, the finest weaver of the former type 
among the Hopi, though she is here shown 
making baskets rather than plaques or trays. 
The weaving, however, is of exactly the 
same character. The material of the inner 
coil is a native grass called uw-u-shi, some- 
thing like our broom corn. The coil is 
wrapped with splints stripped from the 
leaves of the amole, or soap plant, one of the 
yucca family. These splints are generally 
about one-sixteenth of an inch in width, 
though for finer work they are made smaller. 
The wrapped coil varies from a quarter of an 
inch to an inch in diameter. As the coil 
progresses, each stitch or wrap is caught into 

a stitch of the coil beneath with such uni- 
form exactness that it has the appearance 
of a worm closely coiled up. The native 
colors of the design used to be black, brown, 
yellow, red, and the natural white of the 
yucca, but of late years the aniline dyes 
have been used with the Indian's fondness 
for glaring and incongruous results. The 
designs are multiform, every conceivable 
pattern being worked out. These trays are 
used by the Hopi in their various ceremo- 
nials for the carrying of the "hoddentin," 
or sacred meal. Sprinkling of this meal 
constitutes an important part of all Hopi 
ritual, for the propitiation of the evil powers 
of nature. 

A singular and interesting fact connected 
with these " hoddentin " • or sacred meal 
trays used by the Hopi is that the manner 
of finishing them off reveals the station in 
life of the weaver. There are three 
styles of finish, one, known as the " flowing 
gate/' where the grass of the inner coil 
of the completed basket is allowed to flow 
out as shown in the basket to the left of 
Kuchyeampsi in Fig. 5. The second is 
the "open gate," where the long ends are 
cut off, but still allowed to appear; and the 
third is the "closed gate" where the grass 
is completely covered with the coil splint. 
The first is made by a maiden, the second 
by a married woman capable of bearing 
children, and the third by a barren woman 
or widow. And such is the Hopi faith, 
that a variation of this tribal requirement 
would produce disastrous results. If the 
maiden were to finish off her basket in the 
"closed gate" style, the symbol would 
so affect the reality symbolized that she 
would render herself incapable of the joys 
of maternity, a result to her of most un- 
happy import. 

The Mescalero Apaches of New Mexico 
make a coarse and crude basket which 
has little of value to commend it to any 
but the collector. 

The San Carlos and White Mountain 
Apaches, however, are experts, proud of the 
fineness of their work, poetic in the designs 
they conceive, and accomplished in weaving 
that which they imagine. Their basketry 
is of the coiled order and made generally 
of willow or twigs that are similar. One 
or more willows serve for the inside of the 
coil, and willow splints are wrapped around 
and caught into the coil below. Black and 
white are the main colors, the body of the 

Digitized by 


Indian Basketry 


basket, of course, always being white, and 
the design worked out with black, which 
is generally the pod of the martynia. The 
more skilful weavers model their ware in 
a, variety of shapes, so that one can have 
flat-bottomed bowls, conical bowls, saucers, 
jars of varied forms, bottles with wide 
necks, oval trinket baskets, and the like. 
Fig. 6 was made by a White Mountain Apache 
and is one of the largest baskets in existence. 
It is over forty inches in diameter and 

that of the Havasupais, and yet the ex- 
pert can tell the difference in a moment. 
The finishing-off border stitch of the Hava- 
supai is the herring-bone stitch before de- 
scribed as belonging to the basketry of 
the Paiutis and Navahoes, while that of 
the southern Apaches is an ordinary 
wrapped stitch, a simple coiling around of 
the splint. 

The Pimas and Maricopas make baskets 
similar to those of Paiuti, Havasupai and 


forty-two inches high, and contains fully 
a quarter of a million stitches. It took 
Jatta Louisa, its maker, two years to make, 
and its perfect shape attests her skill and 
patience. Such. baskets were originally used 
as granaries and may still be found doing 
similar service. 

There is little that one can write about 
to differentiate the basketry of the White 
Mountain and San Carlos Apaches from 

Apache, and yet easily distinguishable. 
The work is coarser than that of Hava- 
supai or Apache, and the border stitch is 
generally of a backward and forward kind 
of weave peculiar to these peoples. Their 
designs are striking and varied, the Greek 
fret and circular forms of the Swastika 
being largely represented. 

Fig. 7 is a typical Mission Indian basket 
of flat shape, and is one of the most highly- 

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Indian Basketry 


prized baskets of my collection. It 
is simple, yet beautiful. Its colors are 
white and brown. The design represents 
the evening star and the heavens studded 
with lesser stars. Its maker was Ramona, 
the widow of Juan Diego, the " Alessandro" 
of H. H.'s fascinating romance, " Ramona." 
When I asked Ramona why she made 
that pattern she said in effect : " Sometimes 
I cannot sleep when I lie down ar night. 
I see again that awful man coming over 
the hill with his gun in his hand and I 
hear the shot, as he fired at my husband. 
Then I see him pull his revolver, and hear 
his vile curses, as he shot again and again 
at the dead body. And I look up into 
the sky and my face is wet with my tears 
and I try to think of what the, good padre 
tells me ' that I shall some day go up there 
somewhere and be with Juan again. 1 I 
hope so, for I love the stars, and when I 
begin to think of being up there my sor- 
row ceases and I am soon asleep." 

A very common pattern of the so-called 
Kern and Tulare baskets is made in im- 
itation of the diamond-back rattlesnake. 
When this is worked in appropriate colors 
it is a most striking and pleasing design. 
It is seen in Fig. 8. The makers do not 
always slavishly adhere to any set design, 
and the result is, by and by, a loss of the 
distinctly imitative pattern, and the gain 
of a conventionalized form that, by suc- 
cessive mutations, may lose all resemblance 

to the original. This is seen in 
the St. Andrew's Cross design, 
which is often found on the 
baskets of the Sierra Nevada 
foothills. When you ask the 
weaver the signification of this 
cross pattern she tells you it is 
the rattlesnake design, and yet 
you can see no resemblance be- 
tween the two. Cut the dia- 
mond in half, however, and join 
the two halves together in re- 
verse order and the St. Andrew's 
Cross is formed. 

Of the Pomas many pages of 
this magazine would not more 
than suffice to do justice to the 
skill and dexterity shown by 
their weavers. Figs. 7 and 9 are 
representative baskets. This 
people alone have eleven kinds 
of weave, for each of which they 
have a distinctive name. In 
Fig. 9 the Cuset weave is represented, which, 
of all others, lends itself to grace and beauty. 
The ornamented feather baskets — the so- 
called "Moon" and "Sun" baskets— are of 
Poman make and are Tsai weave, with the 
feathers of the woodpecker, quail and other 
birds cunningly inserted to produce most 
charming color and sheen effects. 

In Fig. 10 are some of the Aleut baskets 
woven by the women of that far-away isle. 
They use a delicate sea grass and make bas- 
ketry that reminds one of the exquisite 
drawn work of the Mexicans. The patterns 
of the baskets on the bottom row are beau- 
tifully embroidered in wool or silk of differ- 
ent colors. The cigar case (middle figure, 
bottom row) is almost as finely woven as a 
piece of grosgrain silk. It is a beautiful 
specimen of the weaver's art, though the 
silk used for embroidering the design is of 
modern colors and is of the dazzling and in- 
harmonious combination that the aborigine 
so delights in. The design represents 
mountains and valleys. The basket on the 
right of the middle row was made on King's 
Island in Behring's Strait. It is of sea 
grass and of the overlap weave, with decor- 
ations in leather. The cover is ingeniously 
made in three terraces so that it reduces in 
size and is crowned with a round knob. 

In a book entitled "Indian Basketry," 
which is just published, I have endeavored 
to present this interesting subject in the 
detail and fulness its interest warrants. 

Digitized by 



By N. L. Jackson 

WRITERS on sport are perhaps more 
prone to assume the role of 
laudator temporis acti than those 
who deal with other subjects. It is one 
of the comforting traits of human nature, 
which doubtless exists to soften the pangs 
of old age, to feel that the youth of the 
present day is inferior to that of the previous 
half-century. Appreciating this fact, it 
behooves those who compare the present 
with the past to carefully examine every 
detail, forming their judgment on facts, 
rather than on fancies, and urging their 
experience to accurately adjust impartial 

It is almost impossible to compare the 
best players of to-day with those of the 
early years of lawn-tennis, because the 
game is, in its essential conditions, vastly 
different from that which was played in 
1877, or even in 1881. Naturally the tactics 
were different when the net was five feet high 
at the posts and three feet three inches in the 
center. Then each player strove to put as 
much "cut" or "screw" on the ball as pos- 
sible, and all played from the back of the 
court. It was Mr. S. W. Gore (no rela- 
tion to Mr. A. W. Gore) who first discov- 
ered the value of volleying against such 
tactics as these, and so well did he apply 
his theory that he won the championship 
of 1877. 

The ancient history of lawn-tennis, 
however, contains little that is interesting 
to modern players until the advent of the 
famous twin brethren, E. and W. Ren- 
shaw, for to them belongs the honor of 
developing the game and proving its real 
worth. And this they did by sheer ability, 
for the old-fashioned players stuck to 
their ideas and refused to believe that the 
base-line could be beaten by the net. 
Many years afterwards the prince of back- 
court players, H. F. Lawford, still adhered 
to the theory that the volleyer should 
always be passed by hard and accurate 
hitting, and it must be admitted that 
the style of play adopted during the last 
two or three years tends to confirm his 
views. But while brilliant volleyers such 
as J. Pirn, E. W. Lewis, H. S. Barlow, 

the Baddeleys and others, followed the 
example set by the Renshaws, it was 
almost generally conceded that all-round 
brilliance with a large dash of volleying 
would defeat the steadiest and strongest 
of base-line play. 

It was only by ocular demonstration 
that the Renshaws, supported by a small 
band of volleyers, including H. Grove, 
E. L. Williams, E. W. Lewis, W. C. Tay- 
lor and C. W. Grinstead, made it uni- 
versally recognized that no player could 
attain the first rank without mastering 
both the volley and hard and accurate 
driving from the base-line, and even Law- 
ford was forced to cultivate volleying 
before he could win the championship. 
The effect of this development was most 
delightful; elevating lawn-tennis, as it 
did, from an affair of more or less dex- 
terity to a game of almost infinite variety, 
in which activity and a good eye are less 
valuable than experience, quickness of 
judgment, steady courage and fertility of 

Between equally matched players of 
any considerable degree of skill, the game 

Champion of Great Britain. 

Digitized by 



Present Status of Lawn-Tennis in England 

becomes a struggle for position. By per- 
sistently driving the ball to the extreme 
corners of the court, each antagonist 
strives to keep the other outside the base- 
line, until a short return gives the oppor- 
tunity for the coup de grace in the shape 
of a smash or an unreachable cross volley. 
To run into the service line after a weak 
or merely defensive stroke is fatal; before 
making any such aggressive movement 
it is necessary to have clearly dispossessed 
your opponent of the attack and to have 
got it into your own hands. •Thus we have 
every style brought into use with quick, 
and sometimes brilliant rallies, in place 
of the tedious rests which were the charac- 
teristics of the old game. 

These were the principles of 1890, and 
in the main they are accepted as correct 
now, although there is a tendency to re- 


vert to base-line play as the safest and 
surest. Some volleyers will tell you that 
the back-court players pass them when- 
ever they run up, or that the perfection 
of lobbing has reduced the value of the net 
play. But these are futile arguments. 
Volleying, to be effective, must be accom- 
panied by equally good play from the base- 
line. Given two players of equal ability 
in ground strokes, he who is the better 
at the net should win easily. W. Renshaw, 
than whom no better player ever held a 
racket, was, in his best days, always will- 
ing to play Lawford, with the volley barred, 
and in the championship matches between 

them he often demonstrated his ability 
to beat the base-liner at his own game. 

It is disadvantageous to the best interests 
of lawn-tennis that any player strong in only 
one department of the game, whether it be 
in volleying or ground strokes, should take a 
pre-eminent position. The ideal player is he 
who can play every stroke, as the Renshaws 
did in their day, and as many players, per- 
haps less effectually, have done since. 

It is only when looking through the list of 
the best players of the present day, and 
comparing it with those of ten or twelve 
years ago, that one realizes how few really 
good all-round performers there are in 
England. Our champion, R. F. Doherty, 
worthily holds pride of place, for he and 
his brother, H. L. Doherty, have carefully 
developed nearly every stroke. W. V. Eaves, 
absent from the courts last year owing to the 
war, is another man not restricted to one 
style, but as against these there are S. H. 
Smith and A. W. Gore, both essentially base- 
line players, who are high up in the first class. 
Gore volleys a little, and is sure both back- 
hand and forehand, but Smith relies chiefly 
on his forehand drive, running round every- 
thing that he possibly can. That such a 
player is almost at the top of the tree seems 
to be a convincing proof that the average 
skill of the first-class player is not so high 
as it was when the best back-court player of 
the day was forced to cultivate volleying 
before he could attain his ambition to be 

The paucity of really good players in 
England was shown when selecting the last 
team to visit America. Far be it from ray- 
desire to detract from the credit due to the 
representatives of the United States for their 
victory in the first international match, but 
it must have been apparent to all that the 
English team was not so strong as it would 
have been a few years ago, even supposing 
that the two best men of that period had 
been unable to play. Among the women 
there is the same falling off, and the same 
absence of promising novices to fill the gaps 
caused by retirements of the older players. 
Just as the Renshaws, and perhaps, Pim, 
are looked upon as the best all-round play- 
ers the game has produced among men, so 
Miss L. Dod stands conspicuous as a player 
whose skill has never been approached by 
any other of her sex. 

When improved records are constantly 
appearing in connection with other sports, 

Digitized by 


Present Status of Lawn-Tennis in England 



it seems strange that lawn tennis is standing 
still, if not retrogressing, and I fear that the 
candid critic must admit a decadence in the 
game, both in the skill of its players, the 
number of its adherents, and its popularity 
with spectators. Having arrived at this 
conclusion, one may well speculate upon the 
cause of this falling away of a game which 
at one time seemed likely to become as much 
a national pastime as is cricket. The prim- 
ary reason is that lawn-tennis became "the 
fashion." It was patronized by the aris- 
tocracy. It was the correct thing to attend 
tournaments, just as it now is to watch polo 
at Ranelagh and Hurlingham, 
and no garden party was com- 
plete without without lawn- 
tennis courts. In this latter 
detail it displaced croquet, which 
had long been the favorite sport 
of the classes. 

While lawn-tennis was in the 
"pat-ball" stage it was enjoyed 
by every* one, but directly the 
expert volley er or the skilful 
player came upon the scene the 
rank and file disappeared. The 
same cause, proficiency on the 
part of the few, which relegated 
croquet to the cool shades of 
neglect, put lawn-tennis out of 

During its earlier years lawn- 
tennis was fortunate in having 
among its leading exponents 
many wealthy men who were 
able to devote not only time, 
but money to the game, but 
when society failed to follow it, 
the gilded youth found other 
sports, and so it happens that 

the aristocracy, in England, no longer flock to 
the tournaments, nor sprinkle their grounds 
with tennis lawns. This is, perhaps, not 
altogether a disadvantage, for it has shown 
conclusively that lawn-tennis has obtained 
such a hold on the populace generally that 
it can never become so nearly dead as cro- 
quet was. Among the masses the demand 
for rackets and balls is as great as ever, but 
as only rich and leisured men can, as a rule, 
obtain that constant first-class practice 
which alone makes' the proficient player, 
there is naturally a falling off in the average 
of skill among the leading players. This 
may, however, be but a passing disadvan- 
tage, for it is probable that the number of 
skilful players will increase so much as to 
put good practice within the reach of all. 
Should this occur, we may, in the course of 
the next ten years, expect to find a player 
so good as to eclipse any previous champion, 
for the masses produce better athletes than 
the classes. 

Summing up the situation, it may be 
accepted as a fact that while lawn-tennis 
has fallen away as a mere social pastime, 
the players are as numerous as ever, and 
the prospects of the game being firmly 
established and of the skill of its chief ex- 
ponents increasing, are as favorable as 


English Woman Champion. 

Digitized by 



Present Status of Lawn-Tennis in England 

ever. At present it is suffering from a 
transition which in no way affects its sta- 
bility, and at no distant date it may again 
be taken up by capricious fashion and be- 
come even more popular than at any time 
during its existence. 

On the Continent of Europe the game 
is making rapid strides, and English and 
American players will soon have to reckon 
with Dutchmen, Belgians, Swedes, Germans 
and, perhaps, Frenchmen. In Holland 
and Belgium, particularly, the standard 
of play is rapidly improving, and had 
the players in these countries a Doherty 
to set them a standard, some of them 
would speedily be in the first rank. 

A few words about the style and skill 
of some of our leading players must con- 


dude this article. First, by right of con- 
quest and by skill, comes the champion, 
R. F. Doherty, whose play is not only 
graceful, but correct, and whose mastery 
of almost every stroke stamps him as an 
all-round player worthy to rank with the 
Renshaws and Pirn, even though he lacks 
the severity that was a conspicuous point 
in their play. In appearance and man- 
ners he approaches the ideal of a cham- 
pion, for he dresses suitably and neatly, 
when in court, and is a sportsman by 
instinct. He was educated at Westmin- 
ster School, afterwards proceeding to Cam- 
bridge University, where he gained his 
"blue" for lawn-tennis. He speedily came 
to the front, winning the championship 

in 1897, and retaining it ever since. R. F. 
Doherty is about "owe half-15" better 
than the next best player — S. H. Smith, 
whose style is vastly different to that 
of the champion. Smith has long been 
a player to be reckoned with chiefly because 
of his activity and a wonderfully strong 
and accurate forehand drive, but it is 
only in recent years that he has taken 
such a very prominent position. 

Since the Renshaws revolutionized the 
game, two so-called base-line players have 
won the championship, viz., H. F. Lawford 
and W. J. Hamilton. The former was 
really a fairly good all-round player 
for, although his style was terribly stiff 
and ugly, he had a strong backhand, and 
he could volley hard and well. W. J. 
Hamilton, like Smith, had a fiendish fore- 
hand drive, but his backhand was safe 
and sure, and his volleys, except those 
taken overhead, were clean and clever. 
Smith, however, is distinctly weak in 
every other department of the game ex- 
cept his forehand driving, and it speaks 
well for his pluck and judgment that he 
should steadily have worked his way to 
the front, although it at the same time 
proves the scarcity of good all-round 
players in England at the present time. 

On last year's form A. W. Gore, an- 
other base-line player but with more va- 
riety than Smith, is entitled to third place, 
although W. V. Eaves and H. L. Doherty, 
not to mention the uncertain H. S. Ma- 
hony, are all better players, but seem to 
be lacking in dash and determination. 
Eaves is wonderfully good all-round, but 
a most disappointing man on the pinch. 
H. L. Doherty has the prettiest style of 
the three, but unfortunately does not en- 
joy the best of health. Mahony is great 
in theory and really very correct in prac- 
tice, but is so uncertain that on one day he 
may be beaten by a third-class player, 
while on another he would vanquish the 
champion. E. D. Black, by steady play, 
has earned a place in the class with the 
trio mentioned, but he does not give one 
the idea of being a finished player. 

H. R. Barrett, who comes in the next 
class, is another man distinguished rather 
for pluck and pertinacity than for skill, 
although he plays an all-round game and 
has no weak spots to be pegged away at. 

On the same mark with him are G. Gre~ 
ville and H. A. Nisbet, both free and easy 

Digitized by 


Present Status of Lawn-Tennis in England 


players, with a thorough knowledge of 
the game. F. L. Riseley, who showed 
great promise as a youngster, has failed 
to fulfil expectations that he would be a 
second Renshaw, but he deserves a place 
with Barrett, as also does E. R. Allen, 
who with his brother "C. G." makes, next 
to the brothers Doherty, the best and 
most consistent pair in the country. D. G. 
Chayter so seldom plays now that it is 
difficult to assign him his true position. 
On a heavy court he is almost unbeatable, 
but dry courts do not suit him. G. W. 
Hillyard, husband of the woman champion, 
is a very powerful player of about the 
same class, but he is very uncertain. After 
these come a string of good, useful men, 
such as C. H. L. Cazalet, C. P. Dixon, 
M. J. G. Ritchie, P. G. Pearson, etc., all 
of whom appear to play as well as the 
champion, but who when pitted against 
the better players invariably show that 
there is something wanting in their game. 
That "something" is usually pace or 
precision, or both. 

A year or two ago it seemed likely that 
women's events would altogether disappear 
from tournament programmes, to such an ex- 
tent had the number of women players de- 
clined. Recently, however, some new blood 
has come to the front, although the honors 
still rest with the older players. During 
the seventeen years that the Ladies' Cham- 
pionship has been in existence, there have 
been only five champions. Miss Maud Wat- 
son, in her day the Renshaw of the women, 
held the title for the first two years. In 
1886 Miss Bingley (now Mrs. Hillyard) dis- 
possessed her of it, and although nearly 
fifteen years have elapsed since that notable 
victory, Mrs. Hillyard is woman champion 
for this year. This is the more surprising, 
seeing that she is by no means a finished 
player, that her service is not of the best, 
and that she is unable to volley. Mrs. 
Hillyard affords another instance of the 
value of judgment, determination, and 
activity in the game. Like S. H. Smith, 
she has a very severe forehand drive, which 
she places admirably, while with either 
forehand or backhand she keeps an excel- 
lent length. Her backhand is ugly but 
sure, while her lobbing is remarkably safe. 
Altogether Mrs. Hillyard has won the cham- 
pionship six times, once more than the in- 
comparable Miss Dod. 

Miss Rice, of Ireland, who won the 
championship in 1890, was an almost un- 
known player, and after her victory she 
retired into oblivion again — a mystery quite 
unique in the annals of lawn-tennis. 

The only other lady to gain an English 
championship is Miss C. Cooper, who has 
divided the honors with Mrs. Hillyard 
during the last six or seven years, having 
held the title three times. Miss Cooper 
has a good service, volleys well both over- 
hand and otherwise, but spoils her back court 
play by putting cut on the ball instead of 
hitting hard and clean, as Mrs. Hillyard does. 
But the best lady player of the last ten years 
(always excepting Miss Dod) has not won 
the English championship. Miss Martin 


is undoubtedly superior to any woman at 
present playing, for she has an excellent ser- 
vice, volleys as well as many men, and with 
as much variety, and she is a strong player 
from the back of the court. All these ad- 
vantages are, however, unfortunately coun- 
terbalanced by a delicate physique, which is 
responsible for her extreme nervousness and 
want of stamina. There are some few others 
working their way to the front, notably 
Miss Robb, who plays a very strong all- 
round game and displays good form, but the 
supply of new players is not so large as it was 
a few years ago, nor such as to encourage 
hopeful views as to the future success of 
women's competitions in open tournaments. 

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By Leonidas Hubbard, Jr. 

LET me say by way of preface that 
Iowa has some thorough sportsmen. 
But these are individuals, and not 
the great body of fishers and shooters. I 
say "fishers and shooters' ' to avoid the 
word " sportsmen," for the latter term would 
be a decided misnomer. The mass of the 
men who handle shotguns, and belong to 
gun clubs, and the Iowa State Sportsmen's 
Association, give one the shivers by their 
very conversation. In my humble opinion 
if Iowa were called in judgment for her 
wretched sportsmanship, as two ancient 
cities of biblical fame were for their sins, the 
result would be a very small exodus of 
righteous ones, a shower of brimstone, and 
a lake as briny and bitter as the Dead Sea. 

One glimpse will serve as an index. Sioux 
City has a gun club, composed of alleged 
sportsmen. It is called the " Soo Gun Club." 
I called on a leading member, and was in- 
formed that Sioux City has more pot-hunters 
than any other city in the world. Are the 
laws openly violated? I asked. The man 
said they were. Why then did not the 
sportsmen do something toward the punish- 
ment of the offenders? But to this there 
was no answer, save that all hated to make 
trouble. Then my informant launched into 
a defense of the law which permits duck 
shooting as late as April 15. There .were 
objections to the law, he said, but then there 
was much in its favor. When he came to 
name the points m its favor he got to the 
statement that there is no shooting of geese 
save in spring. This was the only ghost of 
an excuse he could give in defense of the law, 
and it looked decidedly thin a moment later 
when another gun club man entered the 
room and began conversation with the 
statement that he had killed three geese the 
day before. This was in December. This 
man, I thought, was probably an unwhole- 
some exception to the rule. To get a fair 
specimen I learned the name of the repre- 
sentative whom the "Soo" Club sent last 
year to the meeting of the State Sportsmen's 
Association. This was Mr. H. H. Hauman, 

who is partner in a meat market on Fourth 
street. Mr. Hauman was out, but his sports- 
manship was at least hinted by the fact that 
forty-three quail lay on one of his counters. 
The law provides that no one shall kill any 
quail for traffic, "nor shall any one person, 
firm or corporation have more than twenty- 
five of said game birds in his or their pos- 
session at one time." Other game birds 
were also exposed there for sale. Yet the 
man whose name appears on the door of 
this market was the one chosen to represent 
the gun club of Sioux City in the State 
Sportsmen's Association ! Conversation with 
other local shooters convinced me that Mr 
Hauman was a fit man to represent the 
sportsmanship of this city and this portion 
of Iowa. 

I found Iowa men as a rule making excuses 
for spring shooting, and the main argument 
was the time-worn plea that "everybody 
else is shooting ducks in spring." When 
one has heard this same whimpering excuse 
from Pennsylvania to South Dakota, and 
from Northern Michigan to Arkansas, it 
comes to grate, and one begins to evolve 
ideas on the need of larger souls among the 
men, who stand for sport. In every one 
of these mid-western States there are three 
classes of men who shoot: There are the 
pot-hunters pure and simple; then the 
great body of men who know something of 
sport, and have some of the instincts of 
sportsmanship, but lack the fine markings 
of the thoroughbred. Then come the 
genuine sportsmen, who will have clean, 
pure sport, or none at all. It is of the middle 
class that I am thinking now, and I want to 
leave the immediate needs of Iowa for a 
minute and say a word in regard to this 
whole mid-western region, of which Iowa 
is a good example. There is needed among 
this middle class a mighty awakening. If 
I could prescribe the ideal stimulus, I would 
have each man make a tour of every State. 
Then he would get a bird's eye view of the 
situation, and see matters from another 
view-point than his own narrow little corner. 

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Iowa's Lack of Sportsmanship 

In Ohio, for instance, he would find a law 
that permits spring shooting of ducks, and 
he would hear it excused by his Ohio brethren 
with the statement, " Michigan and Illinois 
shoot, and if they do, why shouldn't we?" 
In Michigan he would hear the same plea: 
"Ohio and Illinois shoot. We won't quit 
unless they do." So say Illinois and so 
Missouri. In Wisconsin he finds a law that 
prohibits spring shooting, but the Wis- 
consin man says: "Michigan and Illinois 
shoot, and if they do we want our law re- 
pealed." Everywhere the plea is the same. 
Nowhere would the traveling sportsman hear 
a defense of spring shooting. Everywhere 
merely this one flimsy excuse. Now, let him 
sit down and think. Every State is refusing 
to do right merely because others do not. 
Nowhere is the mass of sportsmen ready to 
stand out for the right for the right's sake. 
Everyone is patterning his own conduct 
by the conduct of "everybody else," not 
realizing that he is a part of every other 
man's "everybody else," and as such re- 
sponsible to an extent for his neighbor's 

This bird's eye view would show that all 
the States of this region want to save the 
ducks. And what all want to do must be 
within the limits of possibility. It would 
show another fact as well: that something 
radical must be done or the ducks will dis- 
appear. Over this whole central region once 
hovered vast flocks, with millions and mill- 
ions of pigeons. They darkened the sun by 
day, and by night broke their roosting trees 
down by the weight of numbers. Pot-hunters 
with net and gun and snare followed them 
from one end of the land to the other. When 
the flight left Michigan the pot-hunter 
hastened to the telegraph and located the 
flock, perhaps in Pennsylvania, perhaps in 
Illinois. Wherever it was, there he followed. 
Men said the pigeon would never be ex- 
terminated, but now one may travel this 
whole country without meeting a man who 
has for years seen a pigeon. Just now 
mighty flocks of wild fowl come south when 
cold weather begins. Along our northern 
border they are greeted with a volley of shot. 
On and on they go, while from every bit of 
woodland, or from every farmhouse comes 
a storm of lead. Tired out, they circle above 
a lake to light, and, thinking to be safe where 
others of their kind rest, bend downwards 
toward a group of decoys, when, bang, 
bang, bang, and those that do not fall must 

go their way to meet new shots from marsh, 
and blind, and boat. 

One would hope that they might find rest 
among the marshes of the great southern 
gulf. But not so. Thither comes the pot- 
hunter, with his four-gauge or his swivel 
gun, and creeping among the bayous, thinks 
himself a failure if his slaughter does not run 
to more than eight dozen ducks a day. 

Then comes mating season, and northward 
goes the remnant to raise their young. Now, 
-surety this shooting will cease. Surely men 
will respect this period. Surely even the pot- 
hunters will allow a bird to pass, knowing 
that to spare its life now means the return in 
autumn of a brood! But not so; the fire 
continues, and mating ducks fall over every 
mile of the journey from Louisiana to British 
America. This sort of thing cannot last. 
The ducks must in time go the way of the 
pigeons, unless a part of the slaughter is 
stopped. The men who shoot ducks in 
spring are hacking at their own sport. 
When they decline to stop shooting because 
their neighbors will not, they cut off their 
noses to spite the remaining portions of their 
respective physiognomies. What is the 
remedy? Better sportsmanship. Now, the 
most of the so-called sportsmen in these 
States are acting like a lot of small school 
boys. Each gives as excuse for being 
bad, the fact that the rest are bad. What 
we need is a class of sportsmen who do right 
because it is right. Sportsmen who stand 
for something themselves, and are not merely 
wretched imitators of those about them. 
Let Wisconsin stand by her spring duck 
protection because it is right; because the 
sportsman's truest instinct tells him that 
is honest sport ; because, her example will help 
her wabbly, weak-kneed neighbors on the 
south and east. Let Minnesota perfect her 
law, and then, if there be other States whose 
sense of honor is derived from that of its 
neighbors, and is nothing of itself, let them 
pattern after these leaders. 

This is, perhaps, an ideal view. There is 
another view, with a little more of the 
practical in it. This is for some sort of 
interstate work among the sportsmen's 
associations, whereby they may agree upon 
uniform laws. Sportsmanship is develop- 
ing, and there are better sportsmen every 
year. But we cannot expect to transform 
the bulk of the shooters into full-fledged 
sportsmen at a word. However, if the 
larger associations and sportsmen's organi- 

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Iowa's Lack of Sportsmanship 


xations will take the matter up, there is no 
reason why they should not be able to agree 
upon something in the way of a uniform 
system toward which all may work. This 
agreement would give a starting point, and do 
away to some extent with the present blind 
leading of the blind. Such a work toward 
uniformity of game laws would have other 
desirable effects aside from saving the ducks. 
It would do much toward assisting the 
enforcement of existing laws. To-day one 
State will have a law which permits the sale 
of game at all seasons. It is a very bad law, 
under any possible conditions; but under 
those which exist it is peculiarly evil, {"or 
instance, when the quail season has closed 
in Illinois, the game warden will seize a batch 
of the birds brought into some market. 
A man is on hand to say they were killed in 
Missouri. Thus the pot-hunter may kill 
Illinois quail the year around and sell them, 
if he can conceal the fact that they were 
killed in his own State. I mention this need 
of uniform laws, not because the need is 
specially applicable to Iowa, but because it 
is needed in the whole middle West, and 
Iowa conditions serve to suggest the subject. 

This State finds its sport chiefly with 
birds. On the west is the Missouri River with 
plentiful marshes. On the east runs the 
Mississippi. In the north are scattered 
lakes, where wild rice grows. On all of 
these ducks and geese stop in their semi- 
annual migrations. On most of the low 
lands are found also snipe, woodcock and 
kindred game birds. Through the higher 
and more level portions of the State is land 
on which quail abound. Prairie chickens, 
too, are found, though they are not nearly 
so numerous as formerly. Good fishing 
there is for bass and pike and croppies, both 
in the rivers and in the northern lakes. 
Along the northern border are some groups 
of hills, and among these are streams so 
cold and swift that trout thrive. These 
have been planted with trout fry and some 
are beginning to offer good sport. It is on 
tffese marshes, with their water fowl; these 
prairies with their quail and chickens; 
and in these streams and lakes, with their 
abundant fish, that the pot-hunter does his 
deadly work. He is not the pot-hunter of 
Minnesota's wilds, for he does not hunt all 
the year around. He hangs about town most 
of the time, save in the season when game is 
salable. Then he goes forth to slaughter. 

To protect the game and enforce the laws 

is a State game warden, whose expenditures 
are limited to $9,000 a year. As this ap- 
propriation must cover also the expense of 
fish culture and distribution, it is easy to see 
that the warden is handicapped. Lacking 
money for salaried deputies, the warden has 
been obliged to content himself with volun- 
teers, who here, as everywhere else, are 
practically useless. The result has been 
that game slaughter has gone almost un- 
checked. A favorite harvest of the pot- 
hunter comes in the month of August. 
This is the last month of the closed season 
on ducks. The hunters mentioned go to 
the lakes and marshes and make large kills, 
of such water fowl as breed in these regions. 
The sportsmen who follow when the season 
opens find the best sport gone. There is 
now on foot among sportsmen of Des Moines, 
and some few scattered thoroughbreds 
of the smaller towns, a movement toward 
a special protection of these lakes in August. 
Mr. Fred. W. Bicknell, Mr. George W. Mc- 
Cartney and Mr. W. L. Read, all of Des 
Moines, are the promoters of this as well as 
other movements for better game protection. 
They are working for a law requiring every 
hunter to be licensed. The plan is to make 
the license fee one dollar and have the money 
derived from fees go into the game warden's 
funds to be used for a special force of salaried 
deputies during August. The license sys- 
tem it is argued, would cut off the class of 
penniless idlers and small boys, as well as 
furnish money for better policing. Ap- 
parently Iowa has suffered more than most 
of her sisters from the idle class of hunters. 
They have slaughtered her prairie chickens 
and her quail. Here and there farmers have 
taken a hand in the indiscriminate slaughter 
but, in general here, as farther east, there 
is a sentiment among the farmers that favors 
the protection of these birds — a sentiment 
that the idler about town does not feel. 
Here as in Michigan and Ohio this irre- 
sponsible class has brought war between 
farmer and sportsman, with the result that 
the latter is classed as a pot-hunter and or- 
dered off of farms, while the former is con- 
demned as narrow and mean, and accused of 
more than his share of game murder. 

The trinity of sportsmen named above and 
their few followers have experimented to 
some extent with special August protec- 
tion for ducks. A little group has gone 
for a number of years to Twin Lakes, in 
northwestern Iowa for a few days of autumn 

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Iowa's Lack of Sportsmanship 

shooting. Until the past season they have 
never failed to find the lakes stripped of 
such ducks as breed there. Last August 
they made up a purse and hired two 
deputies to police Twin Lakes, with the 
result that three pot-hunters were arrested 
before the season opened, a number of 
others were frightened away, and the duck 
shooting saved. They believe good shoot- 
ing can likewise be saved for all of Iowa's 
lake3 and marshes if the proposed license 
law is passed and protection secured. The 
Iowa Field Trial Club has tried a similar ex- 
periment. It holds a lease to the hunting 
rights of 8,000 acres near Emmetsburg. 
Its birds were invariably slaughtered until 
the club adopted the plan of policing its 
grounds during the late months of summer. 
Now the shooting is fairly good. These 
instances merely serve to show the utter 
inadequacy of Iowa's present game pro- 
tection. It also gives an idea of the passive 
state of the sportsmen's association, which 
calmly looks on and so far as I can learn 
has taken no active steps either to initiate 
a good healthy sentiment for game preser- 
vation or to hold up the hands of the few 
real sportsmen mentioned above, who by 
some strange freak of fate find themselves 
thrown into this home of pot-hunters. 

The fishing in this State has suffered 
no less than has the shooting from bad 
laws and poor enforcement. Seining has 
been practised by the same class that 
does the August shooting. Likewise spear- 
ing, dynamiting and the use of set lines 
have helped destroy the sport. However, 
there is good fishing in many of the lakes 
and larger streams. Bass, pike and crop- 
pies are the chief among Iowa game fishes. 
The location of the State between two 
great rivers adds much to the opportunity 
of the angler. Along the eastern boundary 
men go out upon the Father of Waters 
after bass and pike. There is excellent 
bass fishing that has a keener excitement 
than any found in lakes, for the reason 
that current adds an element of difficulty 
which makes the sport far more absorb- 
ing. Then, too, these rivers are a wonder- 
ful aid to the game warden in his stocking 
of the inland lakes. Every spring sees 
an overflow along the Missouri's banks. 
The bayous, marshes and bits of low ground 
everywhere are covered with water, the 
flood passes and in the muddy pools, left 
on the low land, are thousands of fish. 

Then comes the game warden with a 
special car fitted for the work. His men 
seine the pools and save the fish, which 
otherwise would die. These are carried 
away and distributed through the lakes 
and streams of the interior. This work 
has done wonders in the way of keeping 
up the supply of fish in the lakes where 
seine and gill nets were doing their best 
to make empty waters. If the farmer 
legislators of the State would but waken 
and put a check upon the work of exter- 
mination, permanent fishing of an excellent 
character would be guaranteed. 

Iowa has no large game such as one 
finds in a timbered country. There is 
not a wild deer or bear in the whole State. 
What timber there is resembles a stunted 
second growth and her surface is essentially 
prairie. Once there were many turkeys 
here and a law still defines the season 
when they may be shot, but there are 
very few, if any, left within the whole region. 
Formerly a characteristic of Iowa's out- 
door life was . the coursing practised by 
lovers of horses and hounds, in the north- 
western counties. There were some real 
sportsmen there who brought their love 
for hard rides from the fox-hunting dis- 
tricts of England. But this sport has almost 
if not entirely, disappeared and the indi- 
viduals who made up the coursing set now find 
an occasional bit of sport by going across 
the river and across some more prairie 
to Western Nebraska, where men follow 
the hounds after wolves. But in spite 
of her prairies and her pot-hunters this 
breezy farmer state has her breathing 
spots, where men may find outdoor air 
and cool summer days. These are on the 
lakes along the northern border. Here 
the character of the country partakes just 
a little of that of its neighbor, Minnesota, 
There are hills of a minor sort and beauti- 
ful lakes. The region is attracting many 
resorters who place there their summer 
homes and who make these lakes gay 
with summer merriment. Here, too, come 
sportsmen in the autumn for ducks and 
fish. If Iowa will but protect her game 
and compel the handler of seine and spear 
to emigrate, she will have a charming bit 
of out-of-doors, where men from the East 
would come from July to November, leav- 
ing within the State many times as much 
wealth as it would cost to police the lakes 
and marshes with men who save the game. 

Digitized by 



By^ Henry R. Sutphen 

SEVERAL years ago the bicycle 
suddenly made a prodigious leap 
into public favor, a result largely 
due to the fact that it provided people of 
moderate means with an entirely new and 
fascinating amusement — the exploring of the 
particular locality in which they lived, but 
about which they had usually known little 
or nothing. 

For the natural man, only one means 
of locomotion is available — his legs, and 
their radius of action is necessarily limited. 
Given the use of the four legs of a horse 
and we can of course go much farther 
afield, but the cost is at once tremendously 
increased, thereby placing this mode of 
locomotion out of the reach of the aver- 
age citizen. But the bicycle rider can 
easily compete with the horse in the mat- 
ter of distance covered and the only ex- 
penditure is that of his own strength and 

And so everybody took up bicycle riding 
and enjoyed the novel sensation of becom- 
ing acquainted with the outlying country 




about his home. In short, it is the tour- 
ing capabilities of the bicycle which account 
for its popularity. 

Touring in itself is a pastime of which 
one may never tire, provided only that we 
do not have to work so hard to obtain the 
pleasure as to be unable to enjoy it. And 
to be popular, the cost must be moderate. 

The automobile of to-day offers itself as 
a factor in touring. It cannot be said 
that the ideal has been evolved, but the 
manufacturers have at least put practicable 
machines upon the market and each new 
model shows an improvement upon its 
predecessor. It is the history of the bicycle 
repeated, even in the matter of high prices 


and slow deliveries. But the manufacturers 
have learned something by their experience 
in the bicycle trade, and the development 
of the automobile should be proportionately 

France and Germany have given most of 
their attention to the development of the 
gas engine or hydro-carbon form of power, 
while inventors in England and in the 
United States have worked more particu- 
larly upon the steam and electric types. 
Then there are the imperfectly developed 
alcohol and liquid air motors and half a 
dozen other forms of power that are still 
in the "blue-print" stage. For all practi- 
cal purposes, our choice of a touring 
automobile must be made between the gaso- 
line and the steam carriage. 

Electricity is manifestly out of the ques- 
tion for touring purposes, its radius of 
action being absolutely limited, and its cost 
of operation comparatively high. The same 
objection applies to all similar systems, 
such as the widely exploited liquid air 
motor. The successful touring machine 
must be a prime mover, or one that devel- 
ops its own energy from the raw fuel. 

Digitized by 



Touring in Automobiles 

Gas and steam then are the alternatives, 
and how shall we decide between them? 

Casting up their respective merits and 
demerits, we find that in the matter of first 
cost, the steam automobile has a decided 
advantage. But, on the other hand, the 
hydro-carbon vehicles are much less ex- 
pensive to maintain and operate, and are 
therefore cheaper in the long run. In this 
connection, it may be remarked that the 
figures put forth by the manufacturers, as 
to the cost of operation, are apt to vary 
widely from those obtained by users in 
actual practice. Furthermore, one oper- 
ator may get better and more economical 
results from a given machine than can 
another, presumably of equal intelligence. 
The personal equation enters here. 

Safety is of course a paramount consider- 
ation. Both the steam and hydro-carbon 
systems use the highly inflammable gasoline 
or naphtha as a source of power supply 
but the method of application is different. 
The steam automobile employs a gasoline 
flame to turn the water in the boiler into 
steam. This gasoline or naphtha is carried 
under pressure in the fuel tank, and any 
leak or overflow is liable to start a fire 
which may do great damage to the vehicle, 
and result in serious injury to its occupants. 
In the popular view, it is the boiler that 
is the dangerous part of the steam-driven 
vehicle, but this is erroneous. A tube 
boiler, made by any reputable firm, can- 
not possibly burst, like a shell boiler. The 
most it can do is to blow or burn out a 
tube and a slight leakage of steam is the 
only visible result. 

The hydro-carbon system, too, uses gas 
which is generated from gasoline within 
what is called a carburetor. After being 
mixed with air it is drawn into the engine 
cylinder, compressed and exploded by an 
electric spark. The principle of expansion 
of gas to move a piston is the same as in 
the steam engine. But the gas engine dis- 
penses with the boiler, or rather combines 
boiler and cylinder in one piece. It is 
therefore a one unit motor as opposed to 
the two units, boiler and engine of the 
steam carriage. No flame of fire comes near 
the gasoline itself, but great care must still 
be used in filling the fuel tanks. No system 
that employs gasoline as a fuel or motive 
power can ever be absolutely safe. The gas 
engine with electric ignition reduces the 
danger to a minimum, but it is still there. 

The manufacturers realize this defect and 
inventors are constantly at work trying 
to overcome it. What is particularly 
wanted is a successful kerosene oil burner 
for the steam automobile and the corres- 
ponding development of an internal com- 
bustion motor, using kerosene oil gas as 
its motive power. 

In order to determine the best forms of 
power for long distance touring in England, 
the Automobile Club of Great Britain 
arranged last year for a thousand mile 
endurance run. During this test the hydro- 
carbon system made the best showing on 
the three points of reliability, speed and low 
cost of operation. Following this example 
the Automobile Club of America intends to 
arrange for a five hundred mile endurance 
test run between New York and Buffalo, 
some time during the coming season. This 
test will be open to all vehicles seating two 
people side by side, awards being made 
upon the following basis: Fewest stops, 
greatest carrying capacity in proportion to 
weight, and least cost for repairs. An aver- 
age speed of twelve to fifteen miles an hour 
must be maintained during the entire run. 
This is the sort of experimenting that is 
certain to yield profitable results, both to 
the manufacturer and to the user of motor 
vehicles, and such a test is assuredly of 
more value than a dozen so-called road 
races. If the data for the New York- 
Buffalo test were at hand to-day, the tabu- 
lated results would materially assist the 
intending purchaser in determining which 
form of automobile is most likely to answer 
his purpose for touring on the average 
American roadways. In the absence of 
such data we can only draw our conclusions 
from private experience and theoretical 

With American roads as they are the 
question of construction becomes import- 
ant. The prevailing type of steam vehicles 
is too light to stand hard usage. The 
makers of gasoline machines have more 
generally realized the futility of attempting 
to put heavy motors on bicycle running 
gear and the present type of hydro-carbon 
vehicles is consequently more practical for 
touring use. But there is no reason why 
the steam automobiles should not be built 
to fulfil every requirement. 

In the matter of repairs, the liability to 
breakdowns, and general efficiency, there 
is something to be said for both types. 

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Touring in Automobiles 


Both the steam engine and the hydro- 
carbon motors need careful and intelligent, 
attention, if they are to give the best, or 
even satisfactory results. They are each 
liable to unexpected and annoying break- 
downs, but it is certainly easier to locate 
the source of trouble in a steam engine 
than it is in a gas motor. In the first place, 
the steam engine is more familiar to us, 
both in theory and practice; and secondly, 
the gas engine is complicated by its electrical 
sparking apparatus, and electricity is a notor- 
iously elusive fluid. The man who really 
and thoroughly understands the working 
of the petroleum gas engine must be a well- 

what is the matter with a gas engine, let 
alone repairing it, with no tools at hand 
but a rusty spanner and a bicycle screw- 

In general efficiency, the steam vehicle 
has the advantage in ease of control and 
possesses decidedly greater flexibility of 
operation. The reversing process is perfect, 
since the locomotive link motion is used, 
and the engine can be started by simply 
letting steam into the cylinders. The gas 
engine cannot be reversed, and back motion 
can only be obtained by means of gearing. 
Moreover, the internal combustion motor 
will not start itself from a state of rest. 


equipped mechanical engineer and something 
of an electrician as well. The old dictum 
that " knowledge is power" was never better 
exemplified than in the handling of a hydro- 
carbon motor. On the whole, when a break- 
down occurs, the owner of the steam carriage 
has the better chance of reaching home 
under his own power. Locomotion is pos- 
sible even with smashed water gauges and 
leaky tubes, but the gas engine will not 
run at all if there is anything radically 
wrong with its essential functions. And 
H is often a labor of hours to find out just 

The initial impulse must be given by hand 
or through some auxiliary mechanical device. 
The steam engine's speed can be governed 
with perfect certainty, either by throttling 
or by the cut-off, while the gas motor 
generally works best at a certain high 
normal rate, which must be reduced by 
gearing. Against this, the internal com- 
bustion motor is much less delicate in its fun- 
damental working parts, it works on a one 
unit system as opposed to the two units of 
steam or electricity, and, generally speaking, 
it can do rougher and harder work than 

Digitized by 



Touring in Automobiles 

the steam engine. Moreover, it needs but 
one fuel, gasoline, as against both water 
and gasoline which must be supplied to 
the steam engine. It is true that water 
is used for cooling purposes on all large 
gasoline motors, but the quantity is com- 
paratively small, and its chemical purity 
Is not so important as though it were to 
be used inside a boiler. 

Of course the great difficulty confronting 
the manufacturer is not to make a machine 
that will run, but a machine that anyone 
•can run. So far as possible, it must be 
automatic in operation and above all it 
must be virtually fool-proof. There lies 
the rub. The makers of the steam car- 
riages have been especially ingenious in 
providing automatic governors for their ma- 
chinery. If everything works perfectly, the 
water level, the steam pressure, and the fire 
are all looked after automatically, and the 
operator has only to manage his levers and 
enjoy the scenery. But it is not possible to 
wholly dispense with human intelligence and 
attention, nor even to substitute for it be- 
yond a certain fixed point. The sooner that 
the owner of an automobile gets rid of the 
idea that machinery can be built and run 
on the "you press the button" principle, 
the quicker he is likely to arrive at his 
destination. To the ordinary observer, the 
familiar type of steam automobiles that go 
flying so swiftly and gracefully around our 
streets, appear like very simple machines. 
A sprocket chain and a couple of levers is 
about all that he can see and he vaguely 
concludes that the rest of it is in the box. 
But let him open that box and look within 
and he will see what is virtually a locomo- 
tive engine in miniature, with cylinders, 
valves, link motion and all complete. 
Would he feel himself competent, after read- 
ing a dozen-paged manual of instruction, 
to mount the foot plate of "No. 999" and 
take the "Empire State" through to Al- 
bany? And a locomotive does not have 
to be steered. 

A machine is a machine, whether it is 
employed to peel apples or to supply the 
motive power to a World's Exposition, and 
the best results can only be obtained by a 
thorough knowledge of its powers and an 
intelligent direction of them. To be a suc- 
cessful chauffeur one should be able to take 
his machine apart, clean, inspect and as- 
semble it again. The famous French auto- 
mobilists pride themselves upon being prac- 

tical machinists and the little knowledge 
that may come in so usefully on the oc- 
casion of a turn in the park is simply price- 
less when one is really touring. It is folly 
to start away from home unless you thor- 
oughly know your steed. Look at a loco- 
motive engine just after it has hooked on to 
its train and is about to start on a long run 
and you are pretty sure to see a man in 
overalls walking around the big machine 
with an oil can in his hand. One would 
naturally suppose him to be the fireman, 
such a prosaic job as oiling should be be- 
neath the dignity of the engineer. But not 
so; it is the engineer himself and the regu- 
lations especially require that he shall per- 
form this final grooming of his iron steed 
in person. And the reason is that he may 
at the same time thoroughly inspect the all- 
important running gear of the machine. 
The oil cups are not always placed in posi- 
tions of the greatest convenience for the 
oiler's back; in fact, they are often quite 
inconveniently situated, the idea being to 
make sure that certain important working 
parts shall come under the eye of the en- 

There is certainly a happy medium be- 
tween the practice of 'the French engineers, 
who build their automobiles with as much 
machinery as possible in' sight, and that of 
the American manufacturer, who tries to 
put all the working parts into the box. It 
is absurd to pretend that the motor vehicle 
is nothing more than a horseless carriage, 
even to its incongruous and useless dash- 
board, and consequently to ignore the fact 
that it is a real machine. It is equally ridi- 
culous to unnecessarily expose delicate 
working parts to the deteriorating effects of 
dust and weather. The ideal touring auto- 
mobile should be neither a park trap nor a 
road locomotive. 

It is impossible in a general article, to 
give more than the barest outline of what 
the amateur automobilist ought to know 
before he has earned the right to call him- 
self a chauffeur. Accordingly no attempt 
has been made to discuss matters purely 
technical, such as the respective merits of 
two or four cycle gas engines, the mysteries 
of the "jump" and "wipe" spark, differ- 
entials, "flash" boilers and the like. These 
things the layman must learn from prac- 
tical and sometimes bitter experience. 
But some essential points in practice may 
be briefly noted. Brakes are a part of the 

Digitized by 


Touring in Automobiles 






construction that should be carefully looked 
after. The French law requires that every 
motor car must be fitted with at least two 
brakes, one of which must work directly 
upon the rim of the wheel. Of course, the 
latter would only be used in emergencies, 
as it is apt to injure the tire or even to strip 
it entirely from the wheel. But a shoe- 
brake upon the circumference of the drive 
wheels is the most powerful brake that can 
be devised and it is better to lose a set of 
tires than to be smashed up altogether. 
Speaking of wheels, brings up the question 
of wood versus wire. The later practice 
seems to be in favor of the wood wheel for 
medium and heavy-weight carriages. Its 
strength and elasticity are greater, it is not 
so liable to deterioration, and it is easier to 
keep clean. The tubular steel wheel is still 
a third type, but it is not in general use as 
yet. In a touring automobile, it is an ob- 
vious advantage to have all four wheels of 
the same size, as then the one extra tire car- 
ried will fit in any place. 

Three or four wheels? The advocates of 
the three wheeler claim lighter draught, 
easier steering and greater flexibility in 
withstanding severe strains. On the other 
hand, the four wheels afford much greater 
stability and the general verdict is decidedly 
in their favor. In this connection it may 
be said that a low center of gravity is essen- 
tial in any automobile intended for work 
over rough roads. The absurdly high elec- 
tric stanhopes, for example, are only fitted 
for park use and ate none too safe there. A 
high carriage is absolutely unsuited for tour- 
ing, for remember that you no longer have 
the weight and mobility of the horse to bal- 
ance the imperfectly adjusted load. 

In the use of the steam carriage it is 
important to keep the gasoline burner 

clean. The gasoline itself should be strained 
before being run into the fuel tank as any 
foreign matter will quickly clog the fire- 
holes. The manufacturers all advise the 
use of "soft ,jr water in the boiler. Other- 
wise chemical action is set up that quickly 
shortens the boiler's life. Still better 
results will be obtained by using only dis- 
tilled water, but this is naturally imprac- 
ticable when on a tour. But every farmer's 
wife knows the difference between "soft" 
and "hard" water. The water-glass is of 
course the .chief object of solicitude on the 
part of the steam carriage operator. The 
tell-tale however, is not always accurate, 
and it will not do to place implicit faith in 
its reading. The gasoline level in the fuel 
tank should be looked after with equal 
care and the spanner and oil-can should 
always be at hand to minister to loosened 
nuts and squeaky bearings. Extra large 
fuel and water tajiks are obviously a part 
of any long distance equipment; also a well 
equipped tool box and plenty of extra parts. 
On the question of pneumatic versus solid 
tires, the experience of the French automo- 
bilists should be helpful. To-day ninety- 
eight per cent, of French motor vehicles are 
fitted witn pneumatics, and the solid type 
has virtually disappeared. It has been 
found by experiment that (in France) the 
pneumatic tires cost ten francs less than 
the solid, and wore four months longer. 
Moreover, the life of the motive machinery 
was noticeably prolonged, particularly in the 
case of electric batteries. It was shown by ex- 
periment that twenty-five miles an hour was 
about the limit of safety for a car fitted 
with solid tires and running over a perfect 
road. At higher speeds, the vibration was 
so great that the motor was in imminent 
danger of wrecking itself. The same ma- 

Digitized by 



Touring in Automobiles 

chine with pneumatic tires could be speeded 
up to sixty and seventy miles an hour with 
entire safety. It may be added that only the 
double tube pneumatic is used abroad, the 
American single tube being entirely tabooed. 

The steering mechanism should be care* 
fully designed, for upon its efficiency depends 
the comfort and the safety of the driver. 
A perfect steering device should call for a 
small expenditure of force on the part of 
the operator, and there should be adequate 
provision for taking off and distributing 
shocks due to sudden jars or obstructions 
in the course of the wheels. Moreover, 
it must act quickly so that, if necessary, 
the carriage may be turned within its own 
length. All of these requirements are 
mechanically possible and should be met 
by any good manufacturer. In this coun- 
try the lever is generally used, while the 
continental manufacturers prefer the steer- 
ing wheel. For high speeds, the wheel is 
undoubtedly preferable, and the later Amer- 
ican models show that it is coming into 
favor over here for general use. 

The sparking of gasoline motors is one 
of the minor perplexing problems and there 
are two general systems — dry batteries and 
the magneto or mechanical generation of 
the current. In the use of batteries there 
are frequent difficulties with the insulation, 
owing to careless wiring and as there is no 
way of ascertaining the present degree of 
battery efficiency to guard against a sudden 
giving out, it is necessary to carry along an 
extra set. The magneto system has been 
adopted lately by one of the oldest and 
best known American automobile man- 
ufacturers and as the result of years of ex- 
perimenting with both types. 

In the transmission of the power from 
motor to wheels, gears or belts may be em- 
ployed. Each system has its good and 
weak points, but the solid gears in mesh 
are most in favor with explosive motor 
builders. With a motor, such as the 
steam engine, that can be effectually 
throttled, the difficulty of speed reduction 
virtually disappears. 

In cold weather, freezing up is an unpleas- 
ant contingency, and in this respect the 
gasoline motor has the advantage over the 

steam carriage. With the latter, the water 
should be drawn off whenever the carriage 
is out of commission in the stable, and not 
infrequently during an unusually long wait 
while on the road. With the gasoline 
carriage, there is only the freezing of the 
water in the water-jacket to guard 
against, and this may be done by the addi- 
tion of chemical compounds. Calcium chlo- 
ride is said to yield exceptionally favorable 

The ideal engine for automobile, and 
indeed any form of power work, would be 
the rotary, but the successful motor of that 
type has yet to appear. Parsons has 
succeeded in making his steam turbine 
motors applicable to certain types of 
marine construction, but the reciprocating 
engine still holds its own elsewhere. In- 
numerable patents have been taken out 
for rotary engines, but not one has proven 
itself commercially available. As compared 
to reciprocating motors, the rotary is either 
too heavy or it is less durable, or less 
economical, and the test of actual practice 
is the only one worth considering. 

It is fortunate that in this country the pop- 
ular interest is rather in the line of touring 
than of racing. The latter is not an avoca- 
tion or a recreation, but a pure game, and 
a mighty expensive one at that. It is the 
twentieth century sport of kings and just as 
much beyond the poor man's purse as is a 
modern cup defender. Some of the suc- 
cessful French racing machines command 
enormous prices, simply on account of 
their triumphs on the road, precisely as 
with a winning race horse. But touring 
is for all, and with the betterment of the 
public highways, it may be pursued at a 
very moderate cost. Already the idea has 
been broached of a national highway from 
ocean to ocean, with subsidiary branches 
in other directions. Just the other day 
the various automobile clubs in the East 
decided to undertake the work of putting 
up sign-boards along the common roads 
of New York and the neighboring States, 
and in general, the automobilists are taking 
up and carrying on the good work started 
and continued by the bicycle riders, for 
the improvement of public highways. 

Digitized by 



By James L. Steele 

LAST December there appeared in 
the New York Sun an innocent- 
looking letter from me on the 
subject of marbles in which I referred 
incidentally to marbles as "mibs," and in 
a few days my breath was nearly taken 
away by the vigorous manner in which 
other correspondents fell to arguing the 
question whether I should have said 
"mibs," or "migs." This controversy 
led to a long series of interesting and 
really valuable letters on marble lore, and 
revealed a widespread interest in the 
subject. The business man left his dates 
and discounts, the broker forgot Wall 
street, the doctor, the lawyer, the republi- 
can, the democrat, and even the good 
housewife, all closed their eyes on the pres- 
ent and let memory carry them back to 

in the ruins of Rome after Nero had fin- 
ished his tune, and undoubtedly little 
Aulus had many a quiet game of "mibs" 
with Lygia and Vinitius when " three-old- 
cat " at ball got tiresome. Old pictures 
and books teach us that the marble, top 
and ball have been universally used as play- 
things for centuries, and it is a logical infer- 
ence to presume that marbles begat bagatelle, 
billiards, ten-pins, golf and kindred games. 
While marbles have been called "mibs,""mib- 
bles," "migs," "miggles," "megs," "daubs," 
"dobes" and "ducks" for several gener- 
ations, away back in the eighteenth century 
they were called "bowls," and the supply 
came almost entirely from the toy man- 
ufacturing section of Germany — princi- 
pally from Nuremberg. Later on, or about 
at the beginning of the nineteenth century, 


the long-ago, when their childhood was in 
flower. While in this blissful reminiscent 
mood they plainly showed that while the 
old oaken bucket may still be dear to our 
hearts, it is not to be compared in endearing 
properties to the marble games of our 
school days. 

The marble and the ball were man- 
kind's earliest playthings, and if we could 
go back to the year 1901 B. C, we might 
see the Chald&an children hunting for 
round pebbles on the beach or for round 
nuts in the woods, with which to play 
games similar to those played with marbles 
to-day. It is said that marbles were found 

a certain kind of hard stone in Saxony 
was found to be particularly well adapted 
to marble manufacturing, and now nearly 
all the common marbles come from Coburg, 
Saxony. The marble mill is a crude but 
effective contrivance. It consists of a 
large millstone into which has been cut 
several concentric, grooves on the upper 
side. The stone from the quarry is broken 
into small cubes and two or three hundred 
of these are placed along the grooves on 
the millstone, and then a hardwood block 
the same size as the millstone is placed 
over it and resting on the little cubes. 
The wooden block is made to revolve, 

Digitized by 



Marble Lore 

while water flows over the millstone, and 
soon the cubes are rolling over and over 
in the grooves until worn into rough little 
spheres. They are then put into stone 
lined barrels which revolve, and friction 
smooths the marbles; while a revolving 
wooden barrel containing emery powder 
polishes them. A plant of ten mills will 
turn out over five thousand marbles a day. 
Such marbles as striped and bull's-eye 
alleys are first painted with their designs 
and then glazed. 

In studying the game of marbles as 
played in this country a generation ago, 
the student will find many interesting and 
amusing features. He will naturally ex- 
pect to find the nomenclature varying in 
different localities; and while this is true 
to a certain extent, it is not as varied as one 
might be led to expect, when the vastness 
of our country is considered. A singular 
feature, however, is that the terms used by 
New York boys were more unlike the gen- 
eral expressions than those of any other one 
section. As, for instance, Massachusetts 
and New Jersey boys said mibs, while New 
Yorkers said migs, and a marble called the 
peewee was well known in all sections ex- 
cept that of New York. The New England 
outfit of names and terms seems to have 
been in general use throughout the country, 
with but little change in distant States. 
Beginning with the cheapest marble the 
names ran about as follows : The " peewee," 
small and made of potash, I believe; " com- 
mie," a clay marble of various colors; "dog- 
gie," a brown clay marble; "twoser" (two 
for a cent), similar to a doggie, but larger; 
and the porcelain marble called a "chinee" 
or "chiny." Then came the "alleys," 
which were made from Saxony stone as a 
rule, and were designated by the following 
choice names: "White alley," "blood al- 
ley," "striped alley," "bull's eye," "pot al- 
ley," and "bob alley." The bob alley was 
also called a " Tom-troller," and was used 
to "bob" with, being larger than the other 
alleys, which were usually employed as 
"snappers" or "shooters." The "cornel- 
ian" and "principia" were marbles of fan- 
ciful designs, and the "crocks," "croaker" 
or "croaken" was a glazed, mottled mar- 
ble well up in the estimation of the players. 
The imitation agates were the " moss agate" 
and the "glass agate" or "glassie," and 
the "real thing" was called the "realer" or 
'real." The realer was ground from gen- 

uine agate, and not all boys possessed them, 
as they cost from fifty cents upwards, and 
a bag full of alleys could be bought for that 
amount. The marble games were many, 
the favorites being the. " ring game," " fat," 
' " Cincinnati," " pots," " bob-on-the-line," 
"breaks," and "chase." The ring game 
was played by drawing a circle. on the 
ground about four feet in diameter and a 
smaller one in the center, say six inches in 
diameter. In the small ring each player 
placed his stake of one or two marbles of a 
kind agreed upon. Standing or kneeling 
at the outer ring, or "taw line," as it was 
called, each player in turn snapped his mar- 
ble at the marbles in the inner ring, the ob- 
ject being to hit a marble and knock it out- 
side the larger ring. If he succeeded the 
marble was his, and he was entitled to an- 
other shot, but if he missed the boy next in 
turn played. Another style of ring game 
was to have but one ring and that about a 
foot in diameter. The marbles were placed 
in the center, and the game was started 
from an imaginary taw line about four feet 
distant from the ring. It was the rule in 
this game to allow the player to play as long 
as his "snapper," "shooter" or "taw," as 
it was variously called, remained inside the 
ring. This led to "babying,", which was 
similar to "nursing" in billiards, the player 
using only force enough to drive the object 
marble outside the ring, but leaving his 
snapper in. 

The game of "fat" was played by first 
drawing a circle, about two feet in diameter, 
and dividing it into quarters with a per- 
pendicular line and a horizontal one pass- 
ing through the centre like cutting a pie. 
If two players were in the game each 
placed a marble on the ring, one at the 
right of the horizontal line and the other 
at the left. If four boys played, the marbles 
were placed on the ring at the ends of 
each cross line, and if more than four were 
in the game the marbles were arranged 
along the ring — one marble for each player. 
Starting from the taw line, which was some 
six or eight feet away, the player aimed 
at the marbles on the ring and continued 
as in the ring game. The second player 
starting from the taw line could aim either 
at the marbles on the ring or at the first 
player's snapper. In case he hit the snap- 
per it was the rule in some localities for 
the owner of said snapper to "fork over" 
all the marbles he may have won in that 

Digitized by 



B. C. 1901. 

Digitized by 



Marble Lore 


- — - jLL uL__ 

" BREAKS. ' 

game to the player hitting him, while in 
other sections it was the custom to return 
these marbles to the ring. " Fat " was some- 
times played with a square divided into 
quarters. "Cincinnati" required an oblong 
ring, otherwise it was similar to the ring 
game. "Pots" necessitated four holes to 
be dug in the ground about the size of 
tea cups. They were in a line and about 
two feet apart, and were usually fashioned 
by twirling around on your boot heel. 
Then a smaller hole, called "purgatory" 
was made some three feet beyond the 
last pot, as the larger holes were called. 
This game was played by snapping the 
marble from one pot to the next in regular 
order, the player earning an extra shot 
every time he made a pot or hit another's 
marble. He who went to purgatory and 
back first won the game. This game much 
resembled croquet in its rules. A similar 
game with three holes was "Duck in a 
hole." "Bob-on-the-line" was like unto 
ring, but in placing the marbles they were 
arranged on a line, and at a distance of 
about ten feet the player "bobbed" at 
them with his "bobber" or " Tom-troller," 
as it was called in some localities. "Bob- 
bing" was defined as a "plumb shot" 
with "no dribbling." That is the bobber 
must strike the marble aimed at before 
it reached the ground. " Dribbling" meant 

" Roley boley" was played with 
a bridge or "rake," which was a 
thin piece of wood about a foot 
long by three inches high. Along 
one edge were cut arches of vary- 
ing widths graduating from an 
arch of generous proportions, say 
two inches wide, down to one 
that would admit a marble of the 
"snapper" size with no side play. 
The largest arch was number one, 
and as they decreased in size the 
numbers increased until the small- 
est hole was reached and num- 
bered ten. The bridge tender or 
banker held the bridge on the 
t ground, and his opponent, at a 

distance of six feet or so, would 
aim to snap his marble through an 
arch. If he succeeded, the banker 
would pay him as many marbles 
of a variety agreed upon as the 
arch he passed indicated. If the 
player missed making an arch 
he forfeited a marble. It was not necessary 
to have ten arches in a bridge, some boys 
using bridges with but six or eight holes, 
and there was one style in which blanks 
figured, every other arch being a zero. 
"Roley boley" was not» unlike playing the 
races in some respects, and the chances 
seemed so good to make that ten arch 
and thus win ten marbles, that the good 
things were just as plentiful in those days 
as in this twentieth century. 

"Breaks" was not exactly a game, but a 
performance. A boy would sink his realer 
into the ground with the top just exposed, 
and his opponent would strive to break it 
by "pegging" his "boss realer" at it. The 
marble that remained intact at the end of 
the bout won the contest. This act of 
breaking put "half moons" in a realer, and 
a realer full of half moons, but not broken, 
was called a "champion." To possess a 
champion was the mib player's highest am- 
bition. The game of "chase," sometimes 
called " followings," was generally played on 
the way home from school, or when two 
boys were going on an errand. It consisted 
simply of each boy in turn snapping at the 
other's marble, each successful shot winning 
a marble. Their idea was to keep the line 
of play in the direction that duty called 
them, but how near they came to it can 
best be told by the mothers who were pa- 
tiently (?) waiting for that pint of yeast. 

Digitized by 


Marble Lore 


The terms used in playing marble games, 
while unintelligible to the uninitiated, seem 
to have survived many wet springs, and 
with but little change were universally used 
from Maine to Texas. Some of the favorite 
ones were "knuckle down," "no inching," 
or "no edging," "spans," "dubs," "thribs," 
" fen dubs," " fen thribs," " fen everything," 
"babying," "histing," and "hunching." 
Fen, or fend, meant to prevent. "Dubs" 
and "thribs" meant two and three, respect- 
ively. Thus if a player in aiming at an ob- 
ject marble hit two, he would shout " dubs!" 
which would entitle him to both marbles, 
but if his opponent first cried "fen dubs!" 
then the player could claim but one marble. 
If a stone or some other obstruction lay in 
the player's way, he could not remove it if 
his adversary shouted "fen everything!" 
before he had a chance to brush it away. 
Inching or edging was advancing the snap- 
per unfairly, either with the hand when 
about to snap, or with the foot when the 
other fellows weren't looking. To span 
meant to advance the snapper the length of 
the hand. Spans were used in playing pots, 
when the player could take his marble out 
of a pot and move it forward a hand's length 
before snapping for the next hole. Hunch- 
ing meant holding the hand too far forward 
when about to play, that is, beyond the 
taw line instead of over it, and histing was 
in opposition to knuckle down. 

Nearly every play was accompanied by 
a " lucky move" that would do credit to the 
crap player of the present day, and the cries 
and shouts qualifying the play, such as 
"knuckle down," "no inching," etc., would 

put an Indian with his whoop to blush. In 
playing bob-on-the-line it was customary 
for the player to hold a marble in his left 
hand and when taking aim tap this marble 
with his bobber for luck. When the excite- 
ment waxed intense and a good shot might 
win the game, he would sometimes tap first 
his knee, then the marble in his left hand, 
and thirdly his nose or chin, chanting the 
while this refrain: 

" One to make ready, two to prepare, 
Three to go slam-a-bang right over there!" 

As a rule the boys carried their marble 
stock in calico bags with puckering strings, 
but the real sporty chaps, the boys who 
"played for keeps," sorted their marbles 
over their clothes, the different varieties in 
different pockets. A boy of this latter class 
when in hard luck, would often keep the 
game waiting while he went through his 
pockets in search of a mib of some kind, 
and failing to raise one would negotiate 
a loan; tendering a trouser's button or his 
lucky horse chestnut, or some other loose 
thing in his pocket, as a sort of promissory 
note to pay when fortune smiled. 

It is possible that the boys of the present 
day are having just as much fun as we 
old boys had a generation ago, but it is 
hard to make us believe it. The games 
of the present era are mostly of an ath- 
letic nature, and while the aim is that 
they shall be of benefit to the growing 
youth, it is a question whether the thing 
is not being overdone, and whether it 
wouldn't be well to encourage games of a 
less robust character, such as marbles, to 
be used in connection with the so-called 




Digitized by 



The Growth of Whist in America 

"manly sports." All boys, the weaklings 
as well as the athletic, can play mibs, and 
the proficiency acquired by some players 
is remarkable, being akin to the skill 
shown by billiard and pool experts. The 
yarns told by old marble players are often 
remarkable too, and should be taken 
with a pinch of salt. Distances, like time, 
grow shorter as we grow older. I recall 
the ball field of my youth and the fact 
that I was one of the few boys who could 
throw a ball "clean acrost" it, and many 
are the big stories I have told about that 
throw. After an absence of some twenty 
years I visited the field and my first im- 
pression was that the old battle ground 

had been cut up into house lots — so insig- 
nificant did it appear. It was the same 
old ground though, and when you hear of 
"sure shots" at twenty feet with Tom- 
trollers you may be sure enthusiasm has, 
as is not unusual, obtained the upper hand 
of fact. 

The marble game is attractive to the 
boys because of the stock on hand, the 
tradings or "swappings," loss and gain, 
and other transactions that appeal to the 
business side of their nature. The game 
requires skill, tact and self-control, and, 
with the fun that is bound to go with it, 
constitutes a pastime that should be well 
toward the top of the youth's list of sports. 


By North Overton Messenger 

" Lo ! Whist becomes a science and our peers 
Deign to turn school boys in their riper years." 
— The Humors of Whist (1743). 

WHEN the King of Westphalia 
stopped Napoleon, who was 
taking up a trick that did not 
belong to him, with the remark, "Sire, 
on ne joue pas id en conquerant" he made 
an observation which may justly be taken 
as the shibboleth of the whist player. 
Certainly the object of whist playing is to 
assert the superiority of intellect and skill 

in a battle in 
which no quar- 
ter is asked or 
given, into which 
no consideration 
can enter other 
than the equa- 
tion of mind, 
and in which not 
even an emperor 
possesses pres- 
tige beyond the 
power to handle 
his cards with 
more ability than 
his opponent. 

~ „ „„„,,. Whist has 

n. b. trist, . . 

op new Orleans. claimed the at- 

Father of the American Game. tention of the 

greatest minds the world has known in the 
past two centuries and to-day it occupies 
the thoughts of people to an extent equaled 
by no other card game. The greatest intel- 
lects in the past have admitted their limita- 
tions in its presence and this generation is 
not likely to conquer all its mysteries, un- 
derstand all its subtleties or sound the full 
depths of its philosophy. Herein lies the 
real fascination of whist — the more it is 
studied the more its possibilities are real- 
ized, the more the mind is piqued to 
endeavor to encompass them. 

The growth of whist in the United States 
is marvelous. Poor indeed is the city, 
from Maine to California, that cannot 
boast its whist clubs, including in their 
membership players of no mean ability, 
who fight battles over the whist tables that 
are as fiercely contested as any struggles 
of diplomacy, business or law in the greater 
affairs of the world. Witness the number 
of teachers in every city who make, many of 
them, independent livelihoods by instruct- 
ing eager aspirants for whist knowledge 
and all of whom are as earnest, as devoted 
and as zealous in their efforts to incul- 
cate the rudiments and advanced branches 
of the science as any university professor 
in his labors in higher education. There 
is no doubt that on every side there is an 

Digitized by 


The Growth of Whist in America 


increasing desire among those who have 
felt the thrill of the first partial under- 
standing of the game to know it and play 
it better; to become a worthier member 
of the guild of whist players, and to exchange 
their attenuated knowledge of principles, 
for a better insight into its science. Fur- 
ther testimony to the popularity of whist 
is borne by the increasing output of litera- 
ture upon- the subject. The booksellers' 
shelves teem with well-considered treatises 
upon it; the daily papers find it profitable 
to devote columns to its expounding; at 
least one periodical in this country is 
published exclusively in the interest of 
whist, and a number of others provide 
special departments for it. 

It is to the credit of Americans, and 
for the glory and honor of the game, that 
in this country, whist, except in one 
modified form, is not made the medium 
for gambling. Recent writers in England 
have deplored the degradation of whist to 

whist is being taken up by women more 
and more every year. There are more 
women's clubs than men's and* many of 
the most brilliant whist players in the 
United States are numbered in their or- 

Until very recent years the old English 
rules prevailed here and the game was a 
standard form of indoor amusement. The 
Fathers were not oblivious to its charms 
and there is evidence that in the grave 
times when the new republic was in its 
formative process a social rubber marked 
the close of many an eventful day. Ben- 
jamin Franklin played a good hand of 
whist, it is said, and during his tour of 
service for the Republic, in France, shared 
in the enthusiasm there prevailing over 
the game. Washington Irving was pas- 
sionately devoted to whist and it served 
in his declining years to brighten his life 
no little. Henry Clay was addicted to 
the whist habit also, and no doubt a closer 

n. P. POSTER, 
Ad Authority. 

Who Developed Duplicate Whist 

An Author. 

gambling ends in that country. Even in 
the early days of straight whist, playing 
for stakes was the rule in England. To-day 
the spread of "bridge" in the clubs abroad 
has given rise to the fear there that the 
game may deteriorate. Not so in our 
land. "Bridge" may be, and is, a favorite 
game for stakes in many clubs, but the fact 
remains that whist as a form of intellectual 
exercise is firmly grounded in the esteem 
of the great mass of card players and 
it may be safely predicted that it will 
continue to be played for its own sake 
and not for money. It is a subject worthy 
of comment also that in this country 

investigation would disclose that ail the 
big-brained men of bygone times enjoyed 
a hand. But until the last quarter of the 
nineteenth century whist had not taken 
an unusual hold upon the esteem of card 
players. It might have been termed the 
game of the classes From the rapidity 
of its growth recently it bid > fair to become 
the game of the masses. 

Undoubtedly one reason for the mar- 
velous spread of whist playing in the 
United States may be found in the impetus 
given the game by the inauguration of 
the system known as "American leads." 
This fact makes it worth while to review 

Digitized by 



The Growth of Whist in America 

the history of the application of that method. 
The basfc principle of the system is the 
indication, by the play, of the number 
and the character of the cards in the suit, 
permitting the partner by deduction and 
inference, to approximate the cards of 
other suits. It is claimed for this method 
that is there is an exchange of information 

trump to prevent a ruff. Lord Bentinck 
conceived the plan of playing two low cards, 
but playing the higher first, his idea being 
to avoid throwing awaym high card. The 
new signal was readily adopted and im- 
mediately passed into general use, although 
there was no lack of those to criticise and 
object to it, only to be forced ultimately 



^^< ■ C 

Editor "WJiist" Magazine. 

Noted Player of Milwaukee. 

Noted Player of California. 

between partners which is legitimate and 
certainly useful, although there has been 
and still is great difference among whist 
players as to the legitimacy of impart- 
ing information. Two men are principally 
responsible for this system. Cavendish 
(the late Mr. Henry Jones, of England), 
one of the most noted whist players of 
the world, and Mr. Nicholas Browse Trist, 
of New Orleans, one of the most famous 
American whist players. Although it can 
not be claimed that the principle of in- 
formatory play originated in their minds, 
they codified and applied the system, and 
they deserve the credit because they made 
it applicable to use, and to be understood 
by any player who would devote to it 
the necessary study. 

Lord Henry Bentinck, an Englishman, 
some time in the early thirties of the last 
century invented the signal for trumps, 
called the "blue peter," referring to a 
signal on shipboard. He was one of a 
group of celebrated players who gathered 
at Graham's coffee house in London, among 
whom it was the custom to feint for a 
trump lead, by playing a high card on the 
opponent's lead, thus giving the impression 
that on the next round a trump can be 
played; the opponent naturally leading a 

to fall into line because of its general use. 
Cavendish was the next to make an 
advance in informatory playing. In his 
games at the County Club, and at the 
"Little Whist School," according to his 
own description, he had proposed that the 
lowest of the sequence, instead of the 
lowest of the suit, should be led from an 
intermediate sequence of three middling 
cards. This led to discussion and argu- 
ment from his whist playing friends which 
only served to spur his analytical mind 
to further thought and investigation. The 
result, through what might be called a 
process of elimination, was the dictum 
that the penultimate of five, whether there 
is an intermediate sequence or not, should 
be led. This was the much-mooted "pen- 
ultimate lead," from which was evolved 
in course of time, reasoning and logic, the 
"American leads." The difference is thus 
described by G. W. Pettes, in his admir- 
able work, American Whist Illustrated: 
"The penultimate of Cavendish advised 
simply that there was a card remaining 
in the hand lower than that led, no matter 
how many higher. The American lead of 
fourth best informs that there are exactly 
three cards higher than the card led, no 
matter how many lower. The second lead 

Digitized by 


The Growth of Whist in America 


from the penultimate play gave no indi- 
cation of the quality or number of the 
high card left. The second lead by the 
American play gives information of both." 
To return to the origination of the sys- 
tem. Cavendish /was in regular cor- 
respondence with Mr. Nicholas Browse 
Trist, of New Orleans, a player who was de- 
voting much thought to the science of whist. 
Mr. Trist, in 1883, suggested a consolida- 
tion and modification of existing leads into 
this one idea ; that in suits where a lead with 
a high card was not warranted by existing 
combinations, the fourth best, counting 
from the head of the suit, should be led. 
The absolute information was thus given 
that there were three cards, higher than the 
one led, remaining in the leader's hand. 
Communicating this suggestion to Caven- 
dish, Mr. Trist was gratified to have it 
promptly approved by that great author- 
ity and later informed that the eminent Dr. 
Pole had also sanctioned the innovation. 
Other suggestions were made by Mr. Trist 
in the same general direction, all of which 
were received by Cavendish, who per- 
fected them into a system. Having lent his 
sanction to the American leads, the name ap- 
plied by Cavendish, he devoted his atten- 

the general definitions of the leads may be 
thus summarized: lead the fourth laest in 
opening the suit with a low card; when 
leaving the head of the suit, lead the re- 
maining fourth best (as subsequently mod- 
ified by Cavendish); lead the greater of 
two indifferent high cards in opening a 
suit of four, and the lesser in opening a suit 
of five. The American leads met with 
strong opposition, at the head of which in 
this country stood Mr. R. F. Foster, than 
whom there has been no more prolific, or 
vigorous writer upon whist philosophy and 
practice. Mr. Foster contended that the 
leads could not of right be termed Amer- 
ican, for their principles had been ex- 
ploited in England ninety years previously; 
he denied that they were scientific or even 
as completely informatory as the old leads, 
and he insisted that they were not harmo- 
nious. In England such players as Mat- 
thias Boyce, R. A. Proctor and J. P. Hewby 
joined him in opposition, and Prof. Proctor 
predicted that their adoption would lead 
to the decline of whist. They were widely 
accepted in this country, however, and in 
1891 the American Whist League formally 
adopted the system applied by Cavendish. 
It has been claimed! and probably with 

of Boston. 

of Toledo, O. 


of Providence 

tion to making them understood and ap- 
preciated by whist players at home and 
abroad. He became a partisan in earnest 
for the new play in the lively discussion 
which immediately ensued. He wrote with- 
out limit, lectured upon it, and finally pub- 
lished a book on the development of whist 
and the American leads. His maxims in 

justice, that the widespread and growing 
popularity of whist in the United States is 
due as much to the organization of the 
American Whist League as to any cause, 
other than the merits of the game itself, 
which to any true lover of whist must al- 
ways be an all-sufficient reason for its popu- 
larity. Twenty-five whist clubs were repre- 

Digitized by 



The Growth of Whist in America 

sented at the first whist congress, which 
assembled in Milwaukee in April, 1891. 
Two acts of that congress have had far- 
reaching effects upon the game in this coun- 
try: first, the formulation of a code of laws 
for the American game, and second, the 
deprecation of whist playing for stakes. 
Within four years the membership of the 
League grew to 134 clubs, located in ninety- 
two cities, with 25,765 members, of whom 
7,208 were whist players. 

•"Duplicate" whist is one of the most 
notable features of the expansion of the 
game in this country. The theory of 
duplicate whist is certainly not original 
to the United States although its improve- 
ment has been brought about by American 
genius. Many references to what must 
have been crude forms of duplicate whist 
are found in old publications. A noted 
English player, Gen. Drayson, born in 
1827, says that in his boyhood he saw his 
father play a form of double dummy, 
which involved the theory of the duplica- 
tion of the play. Cavendish in 1857, told 
of an experiment with duplicate whist by 
the " Little Whist School," which probably 
was the first genuine game, inasmuch as 
it was played for the purpose of testing the 
skill of the players, with the elimination of 
all points of luck, which is the foundation 
principle of duplicate. There are several 
cases on record of the playing of modified 
forms of duplicate in this country, as early 
as 1860. Mr. Trist, in 1882, introduced 
duplicate play in the New Orleans Club, 
of which he was a member, and the first 
inter -club match was played in Philadel- 
phia in 1883. In the earlier games the 
cards held by each player were noted on 
paper as played, and then in the over-play, 
assorted according to that record. In 
1888 the existing method of playing dupli- 
cate whist made its appearance at a game 
played in Glasgow, Scotland, and was the 
idea of Mr. James Allison. He suggested 
that each player, instead of dropping the 
card in the center of the table, should lay 
it face down on the table before him, 
turning the card toward the person who 
took the trick. When the hand was 
played, the cards were gathered in a stack 
in front of each player, the dealer turning 
the trump card face-up. The players then 

changed tables, reversed their positions and 
the hands were replayed. 

This novel plan inspired some Chicago 
players in 1888; with John T. Mitchell at 
their head, to organize a duplicate whist 
club. This started a 1 ' movement which 
spread rapidly in the West, Milwaukee, 
even then a whist center, taking up the 
idea, and duplicate whist clubs were organ- 
ized on every hand, Mr. Mitchell having 
made some improvements in the rules of 
play. It was he who suggested placing 
the players of one team north and south 
at the first table and east and west at the 
second, while the opposing four were 
placed east and west at the first table and 
north and south at the second. The hands 
were passed from table to table on trays 
and the same boards were not played over 
by the same persons. Then came the 
invention of the standard whist tray by 
Cassius M. Paine and James L. Sebring. 
Duplicate whist at this time began to be 
noticed in all the whist books, and in 1894 
the American Whist League adopted rules 
for duplicate playing. The game is more 
popular in the United States than else- 
where, although it is constantly meeting 
with increased favor in foreign countries, 
even England unbending from its old-world 
whist ideas to notice the game approvingly. 

No article on the growth of whist in 
America would be complete without refer- 
ence to the war which is waged so merci- 
lessly between the advocates respectively 
of the "long suit" and "short suit" games, 
but it is not the province of this chapter 
to go into the merits of the case for either 
sjde. Cavendish, Foster, Milton C. Work, 
Street, and Judge Boardman have elucidated 
the principles, the strength and weakness 
of both systems, and after ail, individual 
judgment and preference must rule. It i3 
easy, however, to believe that the con- 
tention will redound ultimately to the 
benefit of whist. William Mill Butler, to 
whom the literature of whist owes a last- 
ing debt, voices this belief when he says: 
"Whist is passing through another stage 
of the evolution so ably described by Pole. 
When the war of the long and short suit 
faction is over we believe it may be safely 
predicted that still better whist will be the 


Digitized by 


By James A. Tyng 

I AM firmly convinced of the desirability 
of the beginner in golf starting with a 
theory the mandates of which should 
be accepted without question; but the point 
to be determined is, whose theory, or what 
theory is to be recommended? 

There are theories and theories. There 
are, for instance, the theories which are the 
exclusive property of the individual or class, 
such as the theory which induces Vardon to 
use his peculiar grip; the theory that advises 
Laidlaw to play all his shots off of his left 
leg; the theories that advocate respectively 
short swings and long swings, short shafts 
and long shafts, light heads and heavy heads, 
and so on ad (almost) infinitum. The family 
being such a large and prolific one, it would 
be quite impossible for the incipient golfer 
to determine for himself beforehand, which 
theory or how many theories it would be 
wise for him to adopt, for the reason that 
they are largely founded on the peculiar 
mental and physical characteristics of the 

Distinguished, however, from these theo- 
ries of the individual or class, is what might 
be called the general theory of the game, 
which is the common property of all, and, 
consequently, is limited in its application to 
general principles, is concerned only with 
fundamentals, and has nothing to do with 
the thousand and one variations of form and 
style, the development of which is due to the 
special peculiarities of the individual player 
or class. If we accept this definition, the 
importance of adopting theory as a prelimi- 
nary to practice is too obvious to need argu- 
ment. It becomes at once a necessary part 
of our equipment. It is our helmet of faith. 
In every stroke there are certain elementary 
principles that are essential to a successful 
result. However widely they may vary in 
their methods, every successful player, con- 
sciously or unconsciously, is governed by 
them. Even the most "practical" player, 
who may think that he is bound by no rules, 
will find in the end that he is dependent upon 
them for whatever success he may attain. 
His struggle may be long and arduous before 
he comes to a realization of this, but sooner 

or later he will be driven to it; and when we 
hear of the trials and tribulations, the grop- 
ings in the dark to which he has subjected 
himself, we cannot but think how much men- 
tal anguish might have been saved him if 
only he had had a chart and had not tried to 
steer his bark by guesswork: for, even if, 
after many shipwrecks, he finally reaches 
port, he will inevitably think with regret of 
the rocks and shoals so needlessly encoun- 
tered. His course at best is bound to be a 
stormy one; the hand of success is stretched 
out to him over no summer sea — and yet, 
others have navigated those seas success- 
fully, and from their experiences have been 
able to draw a rough map of the route which, 
however imperfect, at least shows the prin- 
cipal dangers to be avoided. 

I think it more than probable that I have 
been asked to write this article with the idea, 
that being generally considered a self-made 
"swatter," I would devote the space 
allotted to me to a presentation of the claims 
of practice as being alone worthy of recogni- 
tion; but I must confess, that if in my early 
experience with the game I adopted the 
Dotheboys principle of ' 'going out and doing 
it," it was only because I did not have the 
advantage of professional or other compe- 
tent assistance, and was obliged to rely en- 
tirely on my own efforts for advancement. 
If the lamp of experience did not illumine 
- my pathway it was only because I did not 
happen to have a match about me. I be- 
lieve I found about all the bogs and pitfalls 
there were on the way, and have not yet been 
able to get the mud out of my eyes. 

Casting aside, however, these beautiful 
rhetorical bouquets, we may come down to 
the plain categorical statement of fact : that 
the experience of others ought to be .worth 
something to us, and when that experience 
results in a general agreement as to what 
are the essentials of success, we are taking a 
gambler's chance in seeking a better way. 
Now it may be asked, what are these essen- 
tials, and how are they to be recognized? 
The answer to this is, that an observation 
of the methods of the best players and a 
careful study of the various works on golf 

Digitized by 



Theory and Practice in Golf 

will give us the desired information; will 
reveal to us those basic principles from 
which each particular variety of play is 
evolved. And as we are concerned only 
with that part of the varying methods of 
play on which there is a general agreement, 
we need not be surprised to find how limited 
the field or how few the rules which gov- 
ern it. Six of these rules I call to mind 
as I write. There are others, no doubt, 
though maybe not of equal importance, 
but the following will serve as illustration: 

(1). Keep your eye on the ball. 

(2). Don't hit; sweep the ball away. 

(3). Don't sway your body. 

(4). Let your club be moving at its fast- 
est pace when striking the ball. 

(5). Don't press — and last but not least 

(6). Follow through with your stroke. 

The correctness of the theory which em- 
bodies the above rules, and others of a simi- 
lar character, which can be easily ascer- 
tained by observation and reading, must be 
accepted without question. To allow prac- 
tice to swerve us from a rigid adherence to 
them would be to court immediate disaster. 
This caution should always be borne in 
mind and engraven on the tablets of our 

When, however, we have so assimilated 
the doctrines of this general theory of the 
game that they have become a part of our 
very being, we are then, and then only, it 
seems to me, at liberty to examine the cre- 
dentials of the various other members of 
the theory family. 

In the solution of the problem, if our 
bump of going to extremes is highly devel- 
oped, we shall be likely to adopt one of two 
alternatives. If, on the one hand, we are 
not on speaking terms with precedent, we 
will reject all theories and rely on prac- 
tice exclusively. If, on the other hand, 
we are theorists pure and simple, we will 
make a sort of a grab-bag selection of one or 
more and stick to them through thick and 
thin, regardless of all consequences — and 
whether the state of the last man will be 
worse than that of the first is a question that 
would furnish fine mental exercise for a 
Philadelphia lawyer. Still, on the whole, 
I rather think that the devotee of practice 
would have the better of the argument. 
Practice, unaided by theory, may stumble 
on a good form, but all the practice in the 

world under the guidance of a defective 
theory will never produce blue-ribbon re- 
sults. Of course, there might be a chance 
of our theoretical friend stumbling on a 
proper selection of a complete set of precon- 
ceived theories, but the odds against this 
are too long and life is too short to figure it 
otherwise than as impossible. 

If, however* we are not looking for trouble, 
and do not wish to play "fantastic tricks 
to make the angels weep," we will adopt 
neither of these alternatives: will neither 
cling irrevocably to any theory, which, how- 
ever admirably adapted to the wants of 
others, is worse than useless to ourselves; 
nor refuse to take advantage of the discov- 
eries of those who have already trod the 
path that lies before us: will neither persist 
in a style of play, which, however highly 
it may have recommended itself to us at 
first, is entirely unsuited to our particular 
physical and mental make-up; nor, reject- 
ing the "glad hand" of experience, and 
walling up every avenue leading to success, 
except that of practice, endeavor to work out 
our salvation by our own unaided efforts. 

We should fully realize, and never forget, 
what an important part these physical and 
mental peculiarities should play in govern- 
ing our choice of methods, and have a keen 
appreciation of the fact that a vicious style 
once acquired is a very hard fiend to get 
rid of. As we ourselves are the only ones 
concerned, except in so far as the develop- 
ment of an evil temper consequent upon 
our failures and disappointments may react 
on others, we should be governed entirely 
by expediency. We have no commission 
that I know of, from either theory or 
practice, to preach the narrow gospel of 
exclusiveness. If we are thrown in contact 
with a likely looking member of the theory 
family, the forming of whose acquaintance 
would seem to promise advantage to us, 
let us cultivate him by all means, but let 
us remember that there is no mutuality 
about this friendship. He is our friend 
only for what we can make out of him. 
"Is there anything in it for me?" should 
be our constant query. Let us give him 
a thorough test, and if we find we are not 
receiving any benefit from his acquaintance, 
let us have no hesitation in throwing him 
over. We must never let sentiment or 
obstinacy enter into the case for a minute. 

Digitized by 



By W. H. Johnson 

IT was Monday, proverbially a blue day 
in college circles, and my morning 
classes had done their part to justify 
the proverb. The library had closed for the 
noon hour, but I slipped in with my pass 
key, determined to solace myself for the 
morning's failures with a few pages of Sir 

But the library had been rearranged and 
I was uncertain where to find him. Such 
names as Hegel, Hobbes and Lotze struck 
my eye as I passed along the shelves, but 
the philosophy of Sir Izaak was not of a 
kind to classify him here. Religion and 
theology came next, but Walton mingled 
his religion with his angling, not his angling 
with his religion, and his book belongs to 
the angling hemisphere of his well-rounded 
globe of being, not to the religious. Sociol- 
ogy and politics followed, but the "Compleat 
Angler" was not written to solve the problem 
of feeding the masses, and the wires of the 
politician are too kinky for use in the man- 
ufacture of tackle. I passed to the next al- 
cove, but its contents were philological, and 
Sir Izaak was not concerned to find proto- 
Aryan roots for .the names of his finny 
friends; some aromatic vegetable root, to 
give his bait an alluring scent, was more to 
his taste. A few more unsuccessful at- 
tempts brought me to the department of 
fine arts. Ah, this is the place! What 
art could be finer than the skilful transfer- 
ence of the wily trOut from the depths of 
his shady lurking place to the angler's creel? 
Now that I think of it, I saw the book a few 
weeks ago on this very shelf, decimal num- 
ber 799, at the very point where the fine 
arts pass over intoriiterature. Score a cen- 
ter shot for the much-abused logic of the 
decimal cataloguer. It is a safe guess that 
he has handled the rod himself. But, alas, 
someone has drawn the book, and I am baf- 
fled after all. 

But here is an imposing new cyclopaedia, 
"A Compendium of Human Knowledge 
* * * with Large Additions." Let us 
see what the status of angling is, as the cen- 
tury opens. "Angling differs from fishing 
in that it is practised, not as a means of ob- 
taining a livelihood, but as a source of re- 
creation and refining pleasure." • Truly our 
encyclopaedist begins well. His own hand 
has felt the quiver of the rod. We read on : 
" It implies a certain degree of aesthetic cul- 

ture, coupled with moral and religious sus- 
ceptibility. It is thus pre-eminently the 
scholarly gentleman's pastime, the brain- 
worker's diversion." With what a pompous 
stride we cross the library after reading 
that sentence I What next? "The medita- 
tive, humane, unselfish nature of the an- 
gler is proverbial." Really I am beginning 
to think it my duty to send to the publisher 
a sworn statement that this cyclopaedia is a 
book which no gentleman's library should be 
without. But the angler is proverbial for 
still other virtues, " his regard for the rights 
of others; his moderation in the pursuit of 
his sport." How much better this than 
Leigh Hunt's perverted suggestion about 
some genius "baiting a hook with pickled 
salmon and twitching up old Izaak Walton 
from the banks of the Lea, with the hook 
in his ear." That was but a poor jest on 
Hunt's part, and a recent reviewer should 
not have quoted it seriously in noticing the 
late delightful volume of our American 
Walton, now so fitly domiciled under the 
classic shades which cover our famous 

And then those other clauses about the 
angler's "regard for the rights of others; 
his moderation in the pursuit of his sport!" 
What a triumphant answer to the protest of 
Mrs. Angler that a man with duties to others 
might be more appropriately employed than 
in waking up the family at four o'clock and 
leaving her to dress the little boys unaided, 
while he goes trolling for pickerel. Am I 
not an angler? And would an angler be in- 
considerate of others? Here is the book, 
Mrs. A., read for yourself! But let us 
hear the conclusion of the matter: "An- 
gling may, therefore, be appropriately de- 
fined as a school of virtues, in which, while 
the tendency to introspection and self-exami- 
nation is decided, men learn also lessons of 
wisdom, resignation, forbearance and love." 

Here the technical portion of the article 
began, and I did not care to mar this noble 
introduction by consideration of the par- 
ticular fly which best allures a particular 
fish at each particular season of the year. 
So I closed the book and went home, med- 
itating as to whether the price of a new 
split bamboo could be spared from the sum 
usually allotted to Easter purchases for 
Mrs. Angler without exciting uncomfortable 

Digitized by 



By Stanley Stokes 

A MOST peculiar and extraordinary 
photograph of a wild animal was 
secured near Denver, Col., a short 
time ago under interesting circumstances. 
In the vicinity of Shawnee Lodge, a sum- 
mer resort in the Platte River canon, about 
thirty-five miles from Denver, is a wild and 
almost inaccessible area known as Lost 
Park, a spot rarely visited by hunters or any 
one. It was discovered that a large bear 
of the Silvertip variety homed in the park, 
and upon several occasions he had sallied 
forth on mischief bent. 

First, the place of a ranchman named 
Gibbs was visited, and there the bear 
attacked a herd of cows, killing one. Eat- 
ing what was wanted of the carcase, the 
bear disappeared, and its trail was followed 
by the ranch owner to a ridge sloping into 
the park. There the hunt was abandoned 
on account of the roughness of the country. 

One morning, a few days afterwards, 
the bear showed up at another ranch, 
nearly frightening a woman to death. 
She had stepped to the back door of the 
ranch house, when a scream of fright 

brought her husband to her side just in 
time to see the bear backing away from 
an overturned barrel which was kept 
standing near the steps, for the surplus 
matter from the kitchen. Growling sav- 
agely the animal turned, snarling, vic- 
iously chewing a mouthful of its hastily 
snatched breakfast, and hastened to a 
wagon road, shuffling up a trail leading 
over a mountain into Lost Park. 

As it happened, W. R. McFadden, a 
Denver taxidermist, who had been gath- 
ering wild animal photographs in the neigh- 
borhood, had stopped at the ranch house 
over night, and had just loaded a kodak 
for the day's work when the cry of the 
woman brought him to the doorway with 
kodak still in hand. He instantly took a 
snapshot at bruin, with the result shown 
by the accompanying photograph. 

In sportsmen's circles it is considered 
peculiar from the fact that the bear was 
so large; because while the smaller species 
frequently haunt farm neighborhoods, the 
Silvertip, like the grizzly, rarely deserts 
the forests. 

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By Caspar Whitney 

This is the time of the year when sportsmen do not kill wild fowl. It is also the season when it is 
unlawful to kill or to have in possession "quail" (partridge) , grouse, woodcock, plover or venison. Restau- 
rants which serve this game are liable to legal prosecution and fine, apd people who eat it abet the work 
of the game butchers, and defeat the efforts sportsmen throughout the country are making to provide 
needful protection for our game birds and animals. 



in Game 

Perhaps no opponent has so 
stubbornly resisted the pro- 
gress of protective legislation, 
as the sentiment among a 
large number of people, that 
game laws are made for the 
especial benefit of the comparatively few who 
shoot or fish. It is a feeling to which the half 
enlightened especially, have clung with mad- 
dening and obstinate tenacity; and only 
within very recent years has there been 
an awakening to the common and vital inter- 
est, which the effective protection of wild 
bird and animal and fish life has for us all, 
irrespective of class, trade or residence. It 
would be a pity if anything should come 
now to check this educational development 
so happily beginning. And yet, I fear 
such a possibility, unless some of our super- 
enthusiastic friends succumb to the entreat- 
ies of the more discerning if less noisy 
laborers in the cause. Just now a fever for 
prohibiting the sale of dead game birds is 
raging among some thoughtless, though no 
doubt well meaning, sportsmen; and while 
no impression may be left upon State legis- 
lation, yet the irrational demand is sure to 
once again raise that dreaded cry among 
the people, that ' 'game laws are for the fav- 
ored few." No reader of this magazine 
will, I fancy, question my sportsmanship, or 
doubt my interest in game protection, or 
my devotion to its furtherance; and I affirm, 
as my deliberate and honest belief, that 
prohibiting the sale of dead game birds is 
neither necessary for their effective protec- 
tion in life, nor, likely to have a salutary 
influence upon the broad question of game 
protection. It is the suggestion of a fanatic, 
who sees only immediate and superficial 
and local results; he must needs go deeper 
in his studies of sociology and of economics. 
The game law problem is not one to be 

mastered off hand by an emulsion carry- 
ing six parts enthusiasm and two parts 



While ft 


Obviously the practical time to 
protect game birds, animals and 
fish is while they are in the en- 
joyment of their life and useful- 
ness; having been killed, what 
matters the method of their bodies disposal? 
The cause of protection is affected not a bit, 
whether, for example, quail are sold or given 
away, or are eaten by the man who shot them. 
The assertion that game cannot be effect- 
ively protected except by forbidding its 
sale, is as misleading as the assumption 
that prohibition will, per se, supply ade- 
quate protection. So much for logic. 
And it seems such a waste of time and of 
effort and so great a hazard of the game's 
fortune to set out upon this goose chase 
after the shadow, when the substance is 
within our reach. The protection of our 
game is a question of considerable economic 
importance; it is relevant and vital, and 
concerns all the people of this great coun- 
try, for its influence throughout our indus- 
trial life is far reaching. And protection 
may be assured if the substance of the 
following suggestions were to become law 
in the United States. 

(1). Game protected, under penalty of 
heavy fine, during its mating and breeding 

(2.) Close seasons, during which game is 
protected, uniformly fixed throughout the 

(3.) Game not possessed or sold during 
close season, no matter whence it comes. 
It might be well, however, to permit the 
importation, during close season, of foreign 
birds the identity of which is easily distin- 
guishable and unmistakable. 

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(4.) Number of birds or animals or fish 
that may be killed by one individual, lim- 

(5.) Exportation of dead game from one 
State to another prohibited. 

(6.) Gun license exacted. 

If a code of such laws were established 
in every State, there would be no doubt of 
all game receiving ample protection. It is 
the simplest and most enduring method 
and one that would appeal alike to all classes. 


PmhtMH ^° f° r k*d the s*! 6 °f game will 
00 not bring it the absolute protec- 
tion fancied, while on the other 
I htUti band it will distinctly raise anew 
Legislation. ^ ^ q Ue8t i on f c i aa8 legisla- 
tion. It would tend to a division of interest 
and of opinion, and make general support of 
any effective measure utterly out of the ques- 
tion. Prohibiting the sale of game is quite 
as impossible as prohibiting the sale of 
liquor — and equally as unwise. High license 
and strong, rational protection serve the pur- 
pose better. There must be fairness in game 
legislation otherwise it will fail, and deserves 
to fail. No class more than another has a God- 
given right to enjoy the game of this country, 
either in its pursuit or in its consumption. 
And that u precisely what the proposed 
prohibition suggests. We need less hysteria 
and personal exploitation and more of com- 
mon sense in this game law question. At 
the present moment prohibiting the sale of 
game appears to be a fad, which a few ener- 
getic gentlemen are endeavoring to thrust 
upon us. Here in New York we are having 
the somewhat entertaining exhibition of 
inconsistency in an effort making to pro- 
hibit the sale of grouse, woodcock and quail 
-»-while the slaughter of ducks during the 
spring mating season continues unabated! 

H , f Excellent progress is making over 
*—&*** the country pretty generally in 
^ ns effective game legislation and the 
PWtf <*L ou ^ 00 ^ appears more hopeful than 
on the opening of any previous 
season. There is not the speed of progress 
we might wish ; but the average mortal moves 
slowly where his immediate personal interests 
are not concerned. The most important two 
questions before the country are (1) to stop 
the killing of game during its breeding 
season, and (2) to provide refuges where it 
may at will seek perpetual immunity 
from the hunter. The first is purely a 

question depending upon State legislation, 
and I advise sportsmen to address them- 
selves diligently to this issue. 

Michigan sportsmen have petitioned their 
legislature to prohibit the spring shooting 
of wild fowl and reduce the number of deer 
permitted one gun. Wisconsin shooters 
are petitioning their legislature to repeal 
the State law prohibiting spring shooting! 
This helps to explain other remarkable 
exhibitions with which Wisconsin has pro- 
'Vided us. 

Montana has a new game law, which 
among other excellent provisions forbids 
the killing of cow elk and limits the daily 
bird bag to twenty of any species. 

Missouri has a new and much improved 
law. Maine has wisely repealed the law 
which permitted one deer to be killed in 
September for food. 

Washington has made a three year close 
season on its quail and has limited the bird 
bag to fifteen a day, except ducks, of which 
twenty-five may be killed. 

The California legislature has just passed 
a law which has long been needed in the 
Golden State, where bird slaughter has been 
carried on without cessation for so long 
that it is a wonder any birds remain. The 
new law forbids any one to kill or have in 
possession at one time more than twenty- 
five birds or fifty ducks. That is generous 
enough — in all conscience. The Californian 
is generous to a fault. A spring law is 
still needed however. Quebec has just 
reduced the number of moose, caribou and 
deer allowed to a hunter in one season, to 
one each of the first two and two of deer. 
Abolition of spring duck shooting was not 
accorded though the season was shortened 
six weeks — to March 1st. 

And so the good work goes on. 

In Africa, where there is sorry need in- 
deed of game protection, little of practical 
value appears to be given the fast decreas- 
ing fauna; so rapidly has the elephant 
disappeared that, for sporting purposes, 
he may be said to no longer exist in all of 
that vast country lying south of the Zam- 
besi. Early in the year a convention was 
held in London, with representatives from 
Great Britain, Germany, Spain, Belgium, 
France, Italy and Portugal, for the purpose 
of entering into some agreement to protect 
the game in Africa. Resolutions and regu- 
lations were elaborately drawn, but the 
movement appears to have got no farther. 

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Certainly the shooting license must be less 
generous if good is to result. 

Apropos of England, it is interesting to 
note that cordite is losing its popularity, 
and that the adoption of a different kind 
of smokeless powder is in contemplation. 
The Boer war has been convincing in show- 
ing that for military purposes, less nitro- 
glycerine and more gun cotton is desirable. 


Governor Odell (New York) 

O effraction*. fa ' \ < **? rve ' I f**? ,g COn " 

^^ gratulations at Albany on 

the passage of his bill creating a Forest, Fish 
and Game Commission of three members, 
to replace the Forest Preserve Board and 
the Commissioners of Forestry, Fish and 
Game. But congratulations, it seems to 
me, are not in order until we have had 
some proof of its working under the newly 
appointed commissioners, Messrs. De Witt 
C. Middleton, of Watertown, to serve four 
years on salary, Timothy L. Woodruff, of 
Brooklyn, and Charles H. Babcock, of Roch- * 
ester, to serve two years without pay. 
For this is a bill of great potentiality for 
good or ill, according to the disposition of 
the commissioners. Mr. Middleton, who 
was a member of Mr. Austin Wadsworth's 
praiseworthy commission, we know; and 
feel confident of his loyalty to State inter- 
ests; Messrs. Woodruff and Babcock, hith- 
erto have been so engrossed in personal 
pursuits as to have failed to reveal either 
eligibility or fitness for the custodianship 
of the State's game and forestry interests. 
I trust at the end of the year we may 
know them as we know their associate and 
say of them as I have just said of him. 


It is a great pleasure to be able 
to announce that the new 
P md rowing association, fathered 
pleating* k v a number of ex-university 
oarsmen, is making fine progress. I have 
no doubt that in another year we shall have 
finally achieved a regatta week, which, in 
many ways, will correspond to the English 
Henley week. The course will without 
doubt be at New London; there is no other 
fitting location; besides which it is gradually 
being generally recognized as the only 
desirable one for college boat racing. Penn- 
sylvania and Cornell will, I believe, be row- 
ing on the Thames inside of three years and 
they ought to be there now, and would be 
were it not for a foolish idea about ' follow- 

ing" Harvard and Yale. Having so little 
boating, it is a shame that our two college 
regattas should be so widely separated. 
What a splendid week of sport and of re- 
unions we should have if all the rowing 
universities held their races during one 
week at New London. 

The new rowing association will be a 
great boon to American amateur boating; - 
it should have the unqualified support of 
college men. 

• tation* ^ ne ^^ e News editorially 

.^ laments that a ' 'mutual feel- 

.. At ing of trust cannot exist be- 
tween universities to prevent 
the bad element of professionalism from 
representation on the athletic teams, with- 
out barring estimable characters who have 
come to college with the best of intentions, 
but who are branded college professionals 
forever because they have previously either 
unwittingly or by reason of their station in 
life (italics mine) broken the rules of ama- 
teur etiquette." 

Although I confess to not seeing the con- 
nection between the ethics of amateur 
sport and a student's "station in life," yet 
I subscribe to this lengthy lament, for I 
catch the spirit of the writer's protest and 
with him deplore that so much rule making 
is needful to keep college authorities and 
young men honest in their sport. But I 
wish to say to this undergraduate editor 
that if his lament is published as a semi- 
official utterance of his university, it meets 
with no sympathy. 

Yale's old rules, the ones which for so 
long stood for the boat club, were quite 
sufficient, had they been interpreted in a 
spirit to preserve inviolate the ethical 
standard of Yale sport — the Yale sport 
standard of several years ago, not of the 
last two years. But within two years 
Yale's standard has been lowered, Yale's 
rules have not been interpreted in the 
proper spirit, and Yale teams this year will 
probably contain seven men who would 
be disqualified by the rules obtaining at , 
Harvard, Pennsylvania and Princeton. That 
will be a pleasing reflection for Yale men 
when they watch their athletes perform this 
season. Had Yale pursued the old spirit, 
the worthy spirit of the game for the 
game's sake, no objection would have been 
raised to her lack of detailed rules. But 
within two years she has possessed neither 
the spirit nor the rules; naturally the latter 

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are demanded by those other colleges 
with whom her teams come in contact. 

Gffat hi Yale's new rules bring her 

^ somewhat more nearly up to 

A^<^\ date in the university athletic 

Athleticism* • . « .. , • 

legislation made imperative, 

alas! by modern methods and the stress of 
competitive sport. The summer nine player, 
the man who exchanges his baseball skill 
for his hotel keep, is for the first time de- 
barred from Yale teams; a one year resi- 
dence rule is demanded of an entering 
athlete who has represented another col- 
lege. The new rule concerning a dropped 
student is not so good as the old, for the 
new one gives the faculty discretionary 
powers — and Yale's faculty recently has not 
given evidence of having the kind of interest 
that may be trusted with such power. 

But the one particular rule which at 
Yale most seriously needed revision, because 
it is the direction in which most frequent 
offense has been committed, is that con- 
cerning tho eligibility of professional school 
men to athletics. In this respect Yale had 
as guide that most excellent Providence 
Code of which Pennsylvania, Harvard, Cor- 
nell and Columbia have adopted the prin- 
ciples. Yet in her late revision Yale omits to 
exact as a requisite to athletic competition, 
during a professional school man's first year, 
an entrance examination equivalent to the 
entrance examination for the college depart- 

At Yale, if he has not competed at another 
college, a man may enter the Law or Medi- 
cal school without passing an examination, 
enter athletics, and leave the college when 
he has tired of them, or his fkst examination 
has disclosed his class room deficiencies. 
Thus men like Spraeker — who failed in his 
examinations at another college, subse- 
quently to become enrolled, without exami- 
nation, as a Yale student — work a great 
injustice upon the athletes of other colleges, 
where examinations and classroom standing 
are insisted upon. Another case, even more 
picturesque and illustrative of how these 
things work at Yale, was that of Beck, who 
having left one department of the univer- 
sity, and because of it been declared in- 
eligble to athletics, entered the Medical school 
without an examination and was declared 
eligible. If this is not athleticism at the 
expense of scholarship, I would like to 
know what it is. Yale would better take 

another turn at those new rules, which, 
not going into effect until autumn spare 
her ineligible men for current needs. 

Yet Professors Richards (Yale), Fine 
(Princeton), and Smalley (Syracuse), voted 
Beck eligible and thus outweighed the 
remaining two members of the Faculty 
Committee of the Intercollegiate Athletic 
Association, Professors Hollis (Harvard) 
and Pepper (Pennsylvania), who very prop- 
erly declared him ineligible. This action 
seems to my mind one of the most hopeless- 
indications of a tendency to permit the 
desires of and friendliness for an institution 
to weigh against the merits of a case — and 
such a flagrant case! No wonder that 
interest in the strictly competitive feature 
of games is lessening and that out-of-door, 
country-living and sport-loving people, are, 
more and more, devoting themselves to 
the purely recreative side of sport. 

_ Very closely associated with the 

°^ e wholesome conduct of their 
p ° sport, is the responsibility which 

mp the larger universities undoubt- 
ededly share nolens volens, of setting an 
example to the college world. No argument 
is so frequently offered western and south- 
ern college faculties by their students, in 
extenuation of athletic frailty; as the one 
which can point to an Eastern college where 
similar sin is licensed. Thus Hale's notori- 
ously post-graduate football course at Yale, 
and immediate departure from college on 
close of the football season, has brought me 
by actual count seven letters from western 
faculty members wishing to know if such 
methods of strengthening football teams 
are usual and commended in the East. 

Not only is good example desirable, but 
the universities should insist on the smaller 
colleges with whom they play maintaining 
an ethical standard equal to that of the 
Providence Code. If the excellent and gen- 
eral work of reforming abuses at our univer- 
sities is to have far reaching results, I feel 
very strongly, the necessity for the larger 
colleges compelling the smaller institutions 
to clean house — as, for example, Pennsyl- 
vania demanded of Lafayette, and Cornell 
of Syracuse. I believe, too, that this same 
influence should be exerted over the schools, 
where now, too often, young athletes are 
corrupted by the importunities of rival 
university captains. It is the constant 
solicitation, carried on by small colleges 

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and some of the universities, to secure 
athletes, which is creating a feeling among 
many young men throughout the country 
that the possession of athletic ability will 
at least ease their way through college. 
Such sentiment is productive of a low moral 
tone, and undesirable from every point of 

The college football player needs shaking 
into place. 

The Intercollegiate Athletic 
tt^u ^ jTL Association at its last meet- 
^il!/ m £ P 1188 ^ an excellent rule 

Sentimcnt * which aims at colleges like 
Yale and Virginia that permit men to com- 
pete who have entered departments requir- 
ing no examination: 

" No one shall represent any college or uni- 
versity at the annual field meeting who has 
been expelled, suspended or dropped from his 
class into a lower class, or from a first year 
•class out of his college or university, or who^ 
not being in good standing in one department, 
has transferred to another, or who has not 
passed entrance examination equivalent to 
those required for admission into academic or 
.scientific courses, until he shall have completed 
one calendar year's work, and obtained a sat- 
isfactory standing in the examinations on a 
full year's work, or has been permitted by his 
college or university to regain the class or 
-department from which he was dropped, or 
has transferred." 

Nothing was done, however, to fit the case 
of men who return after having been out of 
•college for a year or more, perhaps in busi- 
ness; so that Sheldon (Yale) and Baxter and 
Tewksbury (Penn.) are eligible to compete 
next May. But Pennsylvania of its own 
accord has debarred Baxter — a worthy 
exhibition of true regard for ethics (because 
Baxter would have been a sure point win- 
ner) — and there is a chance that the senti- 
ment of his own university will keep Tewks- 
bury also from competing. I wish I had 
space to quote in full two splendid under- 
graduate editorials on this question, from 
The Pennsylvanian and The Red and Blue. 
But here is the sentiment apropos of Tewks- 
bury and Baxter: The Pennsyltxmian says, 
"Behind all the rules and technicalities, 
however, there are the higher interests of 
Pennsylvania. Viewed in the light of these 
interests, we are opposed to the eligibility 
of both men. We should heartily . . . 
support a . . . rule preventing a graduate 
. returning and becoming a member of an 
athletic team. ... to win should not be 
the main object in athletic contests." 

And again — this from The Red and Blue — 
"We hold it a privilege to represent one's 
university, and not a right attached to matri- 
culation. They should have an affirmative 
and not merely a negative function. The 
question concerning every candidate should 
be ' is he worthy to represent Pennsylvania? ' 
. . . and although by such ruling a defeat . 
might occasionally be suffered, yet the name 
of the university would remain untarnished, 
which is far more important than winning 
an Intercollegiate . . . championship." 
If all the college papers would preach that 
kind of doctrine to the undergraduates, we 
should have a student sentiment intol- 
erant of athletes not strictly representative 
of college sport in its highest sense. 

With no reflection intended on the per- 
sonal character of the individuals, I am yet 
opposed to the playing of Tewksbury and 
Baxter (Penn.), and Sheldon, Beck and 
Spraeker (Yale) as a tacit declaration in 
favor of technical eligibility at the expense 
of the principles of true sport 

t» jt.1t Although there are those who 
L . « think a more liberal policy 

coif a*. J *" ** p 1 ™* 1 Z ith no 

harmful results, yet, it .seems 
to me, that the denial to allied membership 
in the U. S. Golf Association of the Toledo 
and the Van Cortlandt golf clubs was both 
sound and fair. And this is said in full 
appreciation of the excellent quality of 
membership of those clubs, and of the good 
that this kind of club is doing the game at 
large. But neither of these is a club in the 
sense of having its own links; both use the 
public course of their respective cities. 
Now while the organization of such clubs 
should be encouraged in every possible way, 
because they tend to increase public inter- 
est and uphold the etiquette of the game — 
yet it would be obviously unfair to give 
them the same legislative privileges as clubs 
owning their own home and links. And it 
is of course apparent that a national associa- 
tion must, in order to be assured of either 
character or perpetuity, be an organization 
of proprietors. 

The establishment of public golf courses 
has been, and continues, the most gratifying 
development of the game in America. There 
are now quite a number of regularly organ- 
ized clubs using public links; the most active 
being the Van Cortlandt Club (New York), 
Boston Golf Club, using Franklin Park, 

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Sunset Park Golf Club (Brooklyn) and the 
Ottawa Park Club (Toledo). How many- 
public courses there are in the country, I 
have not been able to accurately learn, but 
the park lands of at least Chicago, San 
Francisco, Indianapolis, Baltimore and Syr- 
acuse have already provided for the game, 
and similar plans are laid for Philadelphia, 
Rochester and Providence. 

There is no reason why the clubs using 
public links should not organize if they 
desire; though I see no advantage in it. 
The Association is the game's national 
legislative body and can always remain so, 
if it conducts its affairs broad mindedly, 
and with an eye single to the interest of 
American golf. The needs of the public 
links clubs will be amply supplied by their 
accepting the precepts of the U. S. G. A. 

c tf But there is another kind of 

» f ^1 \ golf club which has even less 
Real Estate . * . . «,. * -, . 

A right to allied membership in 

AgenU the U. S. G. A. and yet, which 
in several instances, has nevertheless been 
elected. I refer to the clubs organized 
ostensibly in the interest of golf, but which 
are actually nothing more or less than 
schemes to boom real estate. I do not 
allude to clubs originating as the natural 
development of a given residential com- 
munity or of a colony of summer cottagers; 
but to clubs organized and courses laid 
out for the sole purpose of putting adjoin- 
ing real estate on the market. I know of 
such clubs that have been elected to mem- 
bership in the Association, and have sub- 
sequently dropped quietly out of existence 
with the collapse of their particular real 
estate boom; I know of such a near-by 
club which has recently applied for allied 
membership. I hope the U. S. G. A. is 
equally as well informed concerning its 
true character, if not, I shall be pleased 
to enlighten it. 

—, Are we again this year to 

Gntf Rail ** &ye tne g0 ^ k* 1 ** 8 °^ var * ous 
T makers touted over our club 

courses by players in good stand- 
ing? Sad to relate, golfers who have attained 
to considerable tournament prominence, 
are among this class of offenders; the man 
who accepts balls or clubs from a manu- 
facturer under the understanding that his 
touting is to be the manufacturer's sole 
recompense, is resorting to the smallest 
and therefore the most contemptible form 

of professionalism. Such a man should be 
ruthlessly exposed and expelled the amateur 
ranks, even were he the champion of the 
United States. 

We are awaiting patiently the prom- 
ised investigation of the playing-for-free- 
board-and-transportation golfer; the Flor- 
ida season has but just closed with its 
mugs and alluring entertainment. Has the 
U. S. G. A. committee no report to indicate 
its alertness and its concern for the clean- 
liness of the game? Or were the sports- 
manly assurances of President Robertson's 
inaugural address mere "talk ?" 

t ^ n . *. R looks now as if the sched- 
~ jjr uled championship meant a 

Ch*m fontht revival in intercollegiate 
p p * competitive golf; but I hope, 
for the success of the forthcoming tour- 
nament as well as for the perpetuity of 
undergraduate association in this game, 
that better management will obtain than 
at the last meeting in 1899. The Intercol- 
legiate Golf Association has suffered through 
inefficient management since almost its 
inception; it endured for a year or so, and, 
when it succumbed to the inevitable, a club 
undertook to fulfill its mission, but re- 
ceived no official recognition. 

There seems to be more intelligence in 
Association management this year. The 
championship is to be decided over the 
Atlantic City course during the second 
week of May. Harvard, which has availa- 
ble to her team Messrs. Harry Hollins, 
C. Clark, Jun., C. T. Richardson, G. O. 
Winston, J. G. Averill, and C. R. Hender- 
son—several of these strongest among the 
younger players of to-day — appears to have 
more than an even chance of retaining 
the championship she now holds. But 
Princeton, too, has a formidable combina- 
tion — Messrs. Percy Pjme, 2d, Griswold, 
Cooke, Dahlgren, and Garretson — which is 
the team of last year with only one place 
to fill. Pyne has maintained his form of 
last year and added strength and distance 
to his game, so that, he too, appears to have 
at least an even chance of retaining pres- 
ent honors — the individual championship. 
Both Yale and Columbia in these days of 
^universal golfing are sure to be represented 
by strong teams. There is also the usual 
annual promise that Pennsylvania will send 
a team, but we have heard this so often 
as to be somewhat sceptical Certainly 

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Pennsylvania ought to muster a team; 
there are facilities enough around Phila- 
delphia to supply the golfing requirements 
of half a dozen universities. 

It is equally pleasing to hear of the 
golfing movement among western colleges, 
which has been stirred into life by the 
several dual matches recently arranged. 
Very easily there could be a tournament 
on one of Chicago's splendid courses, for 
the universities of that section; and per- 
haps it might do some praiseworthy mis- 
sionary work in smoothing their manifold 
differences in other athletic lines. 

The Western Association, division of 
the U. S. G. A., is a commendable organi- 
zation on geographical lines, which will 
materially help the local and sectional 

Sincere Some good people, and several 
Wrt New York newspaper editors, 


worked themselves into a state 

of mind the other day over a 
live pigeon trap-shooting tournament on 
Long Island. A stranger in the land might 
have judged, by the commotion and hys- 
terical name calling, that shooting pigeons 
from traps was a most unusual occurrence 
in America; he might also have concluded 
that the "storm of indignant protest" was 
entirely moved by genuine concern for the 
pigeon, and that the noise represented all 
that is being done to substitute clay for live 
pigeons at the traps. In all of which 
premises he would have erred. Shooting 
pigeons is, and has always been, I regret 
to say, common to all sections of this country. 

For years a comparative handful of 
sportsmen have been laboring like dogs in 
harness to disseminate the principles of 
sportsmanship, and to protect our bird and 
wild animal life. The public, and the news- 
papers particularly, never give them assist- 
ance except perchance a convenient axe is 
to be ground. Hence these insincere 
outbursts are distasteful, and certainly no 
more helpful, than silence. 

Steadily, for three or four years, has been 
developing a strong feeling of opposition 
to the unnecessary killing of birds of all 
kinds; and those who keep near these mat- 
ters have recognized a rapidly forming 
sentiment for universal legislation which 
will absolutely prohibit, under heavy pen-* 
alty, the killing at any time or place of 
song or insectivorous or plumage birds, and 
rigidly and uniformly protect game birds 

during their mating and breeding periods. 
Under the latter, pigeons, of course, would 
come. And this is not so much that there 
is cruelty in shooting pigeons from a trap, 
as it is desirable to perpetuate the bird. 
Personally, I do not enjoy live pigeon shoot- 
ing, chiefly because I do not think it is good 
sport, but I am free to confess that the alleged 
cruelty of it is most fancifully overdrawn. 
The percentage of birds that escape the 
boundary line is infinitely small; and for 
the rest, there is no more cruelty than in 
killing chickens for the market; not half so 
much as exhibited in the slaughter of hogs 
or cattle which goes on .daily without 
protest. Clay pigeons make very nearly 
as swift and deceptive a target, and I rather 
expect and hope they may ia time replace 
the live bird at the trap; but that happy 
result is only to be brought about by the 
influence and tireless, unobtrusive work of 
men and women who are sincere. 


Evidently this is to be an 

t x *« « unprecedented international 
International .. . , ., 

-^^ sporting year; there are the 

;£ r ^ yacht races on this side for 
eM * the Americans Cup, theSeawan- 
haka Cup and the Canada 's Cup; while on 
the other side, an American canoe will sail 
for the Royal Canoe Cup, and Pennsylvania 
University will have an eight-oared crew 
at Henley. There is always a chance of 
a cricket eleven coming to Philadelphia 
every season, and some talk is rife o' 
such a trip for 1901 in conjunction with 
several of the leading amateur golfers of 
Great Britain. However that may be, we 
are sure of a visiting lawn tennis team, 
which will include R. F. and H. L. Doherty, 
S. H. Smith and G. W. Hillyard, the first 
two of whom are at the very top, and all of 
whom stand in the front rank of the Eng- 
lish game. Then, too, there is a fair chance 
of an Oxford -Cambridge -Harvard -Yale 
track meeting in New York, unless the 
Englishmen insist that the games be held 
in September, when several of the American 
athletes will have been graduated and 
therefore become ineligible to represent 
their university. The Englishmen's aver- 
sion to our hot July, however, is not 
unnatural, and perhaps is as much, but 
no more, of a handicap than their spring 
weather upon American athletes who have 
competed in London. Why not compro- 
mise on May or the first week in June? . 

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The Sportsman's View-Point 

«_. Nor is this all of international 
R WrU spo^j ^ r we are likely to see at 
jjf^r* Buffalo, during the Pan-Amer- 

P ^L * can Exposition games, and, 
no doubt, in the larger cities, 
some of the great European bicycle riders, 
professional and amateur. Mr. A. G. Batchei- 
der, chairman of the N. C. A. Board of Control, 
is at present in Europe as the authorized 
representative of the Exposition, and is, I 
hear, meeting with much success in gather- 
ing the cream of foreign racers. While hav- 
ing no definite corroborative information to 
that effect, it is yet probable that he 
has secured the promised attendance of 
Jacquelin, the Frenchman and profes- 
sional champion of the world; Arend, the 
German champion; Allegard, the Danish 
champion, Chase and Walters, the famous 
English pace followers; Momo, the Italian 
expert, and Taylore, a Frenchman of great 
speed. If these men all come, as is likely, 
it will make a remarkable international 
meeting, in which America should be in- 
variably successful, except in its encounter 
with Jacquelin, who is a marvelously fast 
man; he has yet, however, to meet the best 
of our professionals. 

It looks as though there would be an un- 
usual amount of racing this year, in both 
amateur and professional ranks, and there 
is no doubt that interest in this side of 
bicycling may be maintained if the sport 
is honestly conducted. Interest slackened 
simply because of the corruption among 
the professionals, and the professionalism 
among the amateurs. There is no doubting 
that honesty is the only enduring policy; 
and this appears to have become generally 
recognized in bicycle circles — now that 
failure has attended other methods. 

At all events we are promised the fastest 
riders and clean sport. 

.. Bicycling in its racing day 

__ l f has had at least its share of 
- **] corrupt management and 
TlfJtL* t dishonest riders, so the pros- 
* pect this year of good sport, 
cleanly conducted, is very pleasing. Per- 
haps no institution has been more closely 
associated with the disagreeable features 
of racing than the International Cycling 
Association, which is just now reported 
to be winding up its affairs in preparation 
for that long journey whence no traveler 
returns. The passing of this legislative 

body will have none other than a salutary 
effect upon the sport, for whatever useful- 
ness it ever had long since departed. 

Its primary objects were : (1) consolida- 
tion of the regulations and rules governing 
the bicycling bodies of the various countries, 
and (2) an annual international champion- 
ship which would bring together the fastest 
men in the world. The objects were com- 
mendable enough, and opportunity abund- 
ant for setting up, both in speed and ethics, 
high international standards which in 
turn would exert a beneficial influence upon 
the game wherever it obtained. But it 
was a forlorn hope from almost the very 
beginning. Inharmony reigned among the 
legislators and dishonesty among riders and 
manufacturers who backed them. 

Really the great difficulty with which the 
Association had to contend, that in fact 
killed the sport in England and France, 
as it did here in America, was the equivocal 
character of the amateur. Those were the 
ruinous days in this country of the Class 
B amateur farce, which a few then promin- 
ent L. A. W. officials of more vanity than 
discernment — not to say sportsmanship — 
forced upon the League. The L. A. W. is 
only now recovering from the wrecking in- 
fluences of that period. Open professional 
racing suffered also since his legitimate field 
was invaded by the "man who rode as an 
"amateur." It has been a case on both 
sides of kill or cure, and I fancy the National 
Cycling Assn. will profit by the experiences 
so abundantly arrayed for its benefit, and 
keep its sport and legislation honest — if it 
does not it will surely go the way of its 

There was never real need of the Inter- 
national Cyclists' Assn., and for that reason 
and because of its turbulent life, I shall 
view its approaching obsequies without 
tearful manifestations; no doubt its pro- 
jectors meant well — but we all know of a 
place where the streets are said to be 
paved with good intentions; so ferry them 
over Father Charon, ferry them over, even 
though they bring no toll. 

*_. . Touring wheelmen, and particu- 
ouring ^y ^ i ar g e number that every 

r^* CC y ear cro8S ^ ne Canadian fron- 

Dutfel! t * er ' w ^ ^ mte rested m lowing 

that the League of American 

Wheelmen is completing a time and 

trouble saving arrangement with the 

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The Sportsman's View-Point 


Dominion custom house authorities. Hith- 
erto there has been a great deal of 
annoyance attendant upon crossing the 
line; deposits have been insisted upon and 
the red tape, incidental to getting back the 
money, so worrisome as to keep bicyclists 
from enjoying Canadian roads and scenery. 
But the scheme now proposed is both 
simple and effective; it is the surrender of 
the L. A. W. membership card at port of 
-entry to be returned to the member on 
his forwarding the indorsement of the 
customs officer at port of exit, that he has 
taken his bicycle out of the country. In 
the absence of such proof in due time the 
L. A. W. secretary will accept the member- 
ship card from the port entry customs 
officer as a just claim for duty upon such 
bicycle. This is practical and most excel- 
lent; it would be money in the pocket of 
•every country to adopt a similar regulation. 

IntemAtiAnal ^ erna P s before the approach- 

^J!**™ 1 *^ ing season is over, we shall 

-_ have a new measurement 

^ ea8afemen rule that will more nearly 

encourage the development of an American 

type which shall be not so much of a 

racing machine and somewhat more of a 

cruiser. There is no doubt of our being 

absolutely possessed of the fever of the 

racing machine; how else could our yacht 

dubs have tolerated without a protest, 

those flimsy 70-footers, of last year, which 

had to be turn-buckled and wire-stayed to 

keep them from falling apart. 

We have no real measurement rule in 
America, and the contemplated revision by 
the New York and other yacht club com- 
mittees is as gratifying as is it needed. 
We must have a rule which to an extent 
embodies measurement of girth. Such a 
one was indeed proposed by the North 
American Union several years ago and re- 
jected by leading clubs, for no discoverable 
good reason. Aside from the desirability of a 
rule taking girth into consideration, in order 
that some embargo may be put upon freak 
racing craft, it is to the interest and life 
of the sport that English and American 
designers do not get too far apart. We 
should be put to our wits ends at present 
to compete with English designers in the 
semi-racer, semi-cruiser type, which the 
new measurement rule of England suggests. 
At the same time yacht racing will not be 
benefited by extreme reforms that tend to 


result in a given type of slow boat, or that 
would place either England or America at 
a disadvantage in international racing. 
Perhaps the new English rule taxes girth 
or the rather lack of it, too heavily. It 
seems a pity now when the agitation is on 
for reform, that the full advantage of our 
international sporting relations cannot be 
used to give us the best of our combined 
experience and intelligence. There is no 
reason why the 
New York Yacht 
Club should not 
invite delegates 
for a convention 
on the question. 
With Messrs. Fife, 
Watson, Herres- 
hoff , Crane and 
Crowninshield, re- 
inforced by such expert Corinthians as Messrs. 
Jamieson, John Hyslop, Butler Duncan, 
Newbury Lawton and others from Boston 
and New York waters, there would be a 
symposium of opinion and experience and 
skill which would result in a measurement 
rule of value. 

And while rule making is in order let 
one be made prohibiting adjustable trusses, 
or insisting upon the sealing up of turn- 
buckles when a boat is officially measured. 
It is unfortunate that such a rule is neces- 
sary — but it is. 

- Meanwhile work progresses on 

SalT* *" the y**^* 3 bu tt din S for mter ~ 
«, national racing. Indeed records 

pfea ^* are being entirely eclipsed in 
rapid construction, and Shamrock II., In- 
dependence, and Constitution, as the Belmont 
syndicate boat has been very happily 
named, are all likely to be in the water by 
the time this number of Outing is pub- 

Illinois, designed by Mr. Crowninshield to 
defend the Canada's Cup, has been launched 
and not equaled expectations in her pre- 
liminary tuning up. The Royal Canadian 
Yacht Club challenger's lines are said to sug- 
gest a much faster boat than any the club 
has championed. 

Of Shamrock II. we hear great tales 
of potential speed and weatherly qualities. 
If her semi-circular steel mast is, as re- 
ported, 148 feet in hight, it will be a sky 
scraper indeed. Columbia's mast was 
134.75 feet high, that of Shamrock I. 128.28 

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The Sportsman's View-Point 

feet. Shamrock IL's boom is to be 112 feet 
long; Columbia 1 s was 108.27 feet. This 
means that the mainsail of the challenger 
will have more hoist and be longer on the 
foot than that of any previous America's 
Cup challenger. It will be remembered 
that the fore triangle of Shamrock I. was 
enormous, much larger than that of Colum- 
bia, and the rigging created adverse criticism. 
In Shamrock II. this has been much reduced. 
The length from the after end of main 
boom to the forward measurement point on 
Shamrock II.'s bow-sprit will be 184.5 feet; 
on Independence 185 feet; on Shamrock /. it 
was 189.13, and on Columbia 181.62. It 
is calculated Shamrock II. will spread 14,041 
square feet of canvas; Shamrock I. used 
13,490 and Columbia 13,135 square feet. 

But Independence is the giant of them 
all. Her mast will reach 150 feet from 
deck to truck, which is the longest ever 
stepped in a sloop; and her club topsail 
head will be 172 feet 7 inches above deck. 
Her boom is 108 feet 5 inches, and her 
proposed sail spread 14,611 square feet. 

It is comforting to be essured of a meet- 
ing between Constitution and Independence 
in the Newport races; perhaps Mr. Lawson 
will even profit by his Abbot-Boralma 
match-making experience, and by hoisting 
on his boat the burgee of some first class 
yacht club, conform with yacht racing as 
he did recently with horse racing traditions. 

«. «. Polo undoubtedly is growing in 
^* favor. There are more players, 

PmJmLis more ^k 8 "^ more tourna- 
rot P ec • ments every year; and the qual- 
ity and training of the ponies show distinct 
improvement. The mediocre pony is now 
really the exception. There is. always the 
danger that the game may become too ex- 
pensive, and thus operate adversely on its 
general popularity; but I doubt not that 
the Association realizes how near to the 
prosperity of the game is the necessity for 
keeping it within the reach of those of 
moderate income. 

Certainly the most gratifying development 
of the last two years has been in the stand- 
ard of individual excellence, and particu- 
larly in team play. It will be a happy day 
for polo when the absence of any one or two 
players does not change the class of a club 
four; and that day seems nearer than ever 
it did. The game is rapidly, indeed, 
becoming independent of its "cracks." 

In team work the champion Dedhams 
have set the pace, and it is a hot one, though 
evidence was not lacking last season to 
show that others are drawing near to Ded- 
ham's standard. There has been little 
development in the direction of new strokes, 
nor is any likely; the old must first be per- 
fected. Men are surer on their game than 
they were a couple of years ago, and accu- 
racy and speed are not uncommon even 
among the middle group of players. The 
one thing most needed to the game's genuine 
and permanent prosperity is the develop- 
ment of club material and of club loyalty. 
Better a team of fair and improving home 
players than one of "cracks" gathered 
from the four quarters; this sort of thing 
is fatal to the development of team play. 
The migratory player should be discoun- 

Dedham is an illustrious example of 
what may be accomplished with raw mate- 
rial that is not remarkable individually con- 
sidered, but has clung together and worked 
for team superiority] 


That was rather an ambitious 

jTr^ thought of the National Asso- 
Y ff* ciation of Amateur Oarsmen 

00 ttn * to enter a. crew for the Grand 
National Challenge Cup at Henley this 
season. And being also amusing, it came to us 
with the relief of a summer shower; for the 
N. A. A. O. has done little in the past twelve 
months to stir 'gladsome feeling. Success 
at the Paris Exhibition regatta appears to 
have turned the heads of some of our local 
oarsmen, who perhaps do not realize that 
the French and Dutch crews they encoun- 
tered at Paris are of no class as compared 
with the Henley average. 

The N. A. A. O. would better keep its 
oarsmen at home and devote energy to 
rehabilitating itself in the esteem of sports- 
men, who will long remember the Rumohr 
and Ten Eyck cases. 

Moreover, it would somewhat puzzle the 
N. A. A. O., I imagine, to get together its 
strongest crew and yet remain within the 
Henley eligibility requirements. Non-col- 
legiate rowing is none too prosperous in 
America, that we can afford to neglect the 
home for foreign waters. There will be glory 
enough for the Association if it succeeds in 
making its next regatta, July 19 and 20, at 
Philadelphia, more thoroughly representa- 
tive than previously has been the case. 

Digitized by 




THE feature of the past season's hockey 
play was the advance throughout the 
United States in the science of the game. It 
is true the Canadian champions, the Ottawas, 
defeated an All-New York team 5 to 1, and 
the N. Y. A. C. 3 to 1. But the standard of 
play in New York, Brooklyn, Philadelphia 
and Pittsburg, was distinctly superior to that 
of previous years. The progress of the dif- 
ferent inter-scholastic associations has also 
been very encouraging. Already they are 
turning out fine players and in the near future 
there will be no necessity to import Canadians. 
The year's honors must be given to the 
Victorias of Winnipeg, who won their games 
at Winnipeg, and later defeated the Sham- 
rocks of Montreal for the Stanley Cup, em- 
blematic of the world's championship. Next 
to them come the Ottawas, of Ottawa, Can- 
ada, the winners of the Canadian Amateur 
Hockey League series. Then the Crescents 
of Brooklyn, champions of the United States, 
and the Wellingtons of Toronto, winners of 
the Ontario Hockey Association series. The 
Pittsburg A. C. team rank next, because of 
their victories in the Western Pennsylvania 
championship. Yale again leads the college 
teams, through her victories over Brown. 


Victoria Hockey Club, Winnipeg, winners of 
Stanley Cup and champions of the world. 

The Victorias won five games straight from 
the Winnipegs, and carried off the Manitoba 
and Northwest Association championship. 


January 29 — Victorias of Winnipeg, 4; Shamrocks of 
Montreal, 3. 
" 31 — Victorias of Winnipeg, 2; Shamrocks of 
• Montreal, 1. 























There are nine senior clubs in this asso- 
ciation, divided into two groups. The Wel- 
lingtons of Toronto, and the Queen's Univer- 
sity of Kingston, were the winners in their 
respective groups. In the play-off for the 
championship, the Wellingtons won both 
games, 3 — l,and 4 — 1. St. George of Toronto 
won the intermediate, and the Peterboro Colts 
won the junior, championships. 



N. Y. A. C 








St. Nicholas 



Hockey Club of N. Y.... 
Quaker (Sty 




Pittsburg A. C 


Duquesne County and A. C. 











One round to be played; winners and sec- 
onds to play off for championship. 




Princeton . . . . 
Pennsylvania . 

















Harvard is not a member of the Intercol- 
legiate Association, but her games with Brown 
and Yale entitle her to a high rank among 
college teams. 

January 23 — Harvard, 1, vs. Brown, 0. 
February 2— Harvard, 9, vs. Brown, 2. 
11— Harvard, 4, vs. Yale, 0. 

Cornell also did some creditable work, jour- 
neying to Philadelphia and defeating Swarth- 
more, Pennsylvania and Princeton t 


The following were the most important inter- 
league matches: 

January 19 — At Pittsburg, Queen's University, of 

Canada, 1, vs. Pittsburg A. C. 0. 
February 2— At Pittsburg, Pittsburg A. C, 1, vs. 

Quaker City, 0. 
March 9 — At Pittsburg, Crescents, Champions of 
American Hookey League, 1, vs. Pitts- 
burg A. C, champions of Western 
Pennsylvania, 0. 
lo — At Pittsburg,- Victorias, of Canada, 6, 
vs. Pittsburg A. C. 2. 
" 22 — At New York, Ottawas, Canadian Cham- 
pions, 3, vs. New York A. C. 1. 
23— At New York, Ottawas, 5, vs. All-New 
York, 1. 


Held at Montreal. 

220 Yards— Won by Fred J. Robson, Royal Canadian 
B. C. Toronto; Larry C. Piper. Y. M. C. A., Toronto, 
second; W. Caldwell Montreal A. A., third. Time. 
20 2-5 seconds. 

One Mile— Won by C. Bellefeuille, Rat-Portage: A. 
E. Pilhie, Montreal A. A., second; James Drury, Mon- 
treal A. A., third. Time, 2 minutes 53 3-5 seconds. 

880 Yards— Won by James Drury, Montreal; W. 
Caldwell Montreal second; F. J. Robson, Toronto, 
third. Time, 1 minute 27 2-5 seconds. 
n Three Miles— Won by Z. P. St. Marie. Montreal; F. R. 
Sagar, New York, second: E. A. Thomas, New York, 
third. Time, 9 minutes 12 seconds. 

Five Miles— Won by E. A. Thomas, New York A. C. ; 
A. E. Pilhie, Montreal second; B. Spencer, Montreal, 
third. Time, 16 minutes 56 2-5 seconds. 


For ice yachting the past winter was the 
most unsatisfactory of the last ten. On the 
Hudson and the Shrewsbury rivers several 
club races were held : but none which decided 
the Championship Challenge pennant for the 
season 1900-1901. 




THERE will be three centers of interest in 
college rowing this spring, instead of two, 
for in addition to the Harvard- Yale series at 
New London and the regatta at Poughkeepsie, 
the Pennsylvania crew will appear at Henley, 
England. The New London regatta will oc- 
cur on June 27th, the races consisting of Var- 
sity eights and fours and Freshman eights. 
The Poughkeepsie races June 28th, 29th, with 
crews from Pennsylvania, Cornell, Columbia, 
Wisconsin, and possibly Georgetown, will 
also include 'varsity fours and eights and' 
Freshman eights. At Henley, the eight-oared 
crew of Pennsylvania, will in all probability, 
include the majority of men who sat in the 
winning boats in 1899 and 1900. 

Y ale has as a nucleus from last year's squad, 
three of the Varsity eight, Capt. Blagden, No. 
7; Cameron, stroke, and Kunzig, No. 4; three 
of the 'varsity four, Lincoln, Mitchell and 
Hooker; and four of the Freshman eight, R. 
Schley, Sargent, Bogue and Trumbull. Fif- 
teen other candidates have been retained in the 
squad at this writing (April 1), all but three 
of whom have had previous experience as 
substitutes, or as members of Yale class crews. 
All three of last year's stroke-oars are in the 
squad, and all the men average well in weight 
and hight. 

Former Capt. Allen, who shares with Tread- 
way, '96, the reputation of being the most 
finished and typical oarsman in Yale's recent 
aquatic history, is to act as head coach. He 
is a man of magnetic qualities, a natural leader, 
and a master of the art as applied at Yale. 
The outlook for a fully representative crew 
seems unusually bright. 

Harvard's prospects, though not poor, do 
not equal Yale's at the outset, not so much 
because of a lack of material, but on account 
of uncertainty as to the coaching. Mr. E. C. 
Storrow's business duties will preclude his 
assumption of the chief responsibility again 
this year, and Capt. Bullard (a Junior who was 
elected in the winter after Capt. Sheafe re- 
signed), is likely to be burdened with some 
of the coaching, in addition to his regular 
duties as captain. 

The leading candidates are five of the 1900 
crew, viz.: H. Bancroft, No. 6; Ladd, No. 5; 
Shuebrick, No. 4; Wood, No. 3; Capt. Bullard, 

No. 2; three of the 1900 four, and all of last 
year's winning Freshman eight. 

It is the general intention at both Harvard 
and Yale to adhere to the policy of 1900, in 
stroke and training methods. In fact the 
principles of the strokes in all the leading 
rowing colleges, in the East at least, differ but 
little, and a man has to make a pretty fine" 
distinction when he undertakes to say, for 
example, that the method in vogue in one 
college gives more power in the leg drive than 
that which a rival employs. Between the 
English and American typical strokes there is 
still an appreciable difference, but the marked 
contrasts which one formerly observed between 
the strokes of the American college crews of 
ten years ago have been very largely removed. 
Concessions, whether deliberate or unconscious, 
have been made all around with the result that 
we are gradually evolving a standard American 
college stroke, with principles common to all 
and differing chiefly in elements of secondary 

1 he interest at Pennsylvania naturally re- 
volves around the coming campaign at Henley, 
where, the memorable victory of the Colum- 
bia four in '78 excepted, American crews 
have invariably failed. 

Pennsylvania's chances to succeed where 
Cornell and Yale failed certainly seem good 
on paper. She has five of the 1900 winning 
eight (J. Gardiner, Flickwir, Davenport, 
Crowther, Allyn), one of the 1900 four (Hen- 
derson) and six of the last Freshman eight. A 
veteran team of any kind often finds it hard 
to maintain a previous high standard, and in 
this lies one great danger, the other being the 
climatic effects. The men are, however, en- 
thusiastic and harmonious ; they have as fine a 
stroke, John Gardiner, as ever sat in a Varsity 
shell, and with proper handling, have the 
material out of which to make an eight of 
winners. After the Henley squad has been 
chosen the remainder will be shaken together 
and the Poughkeepsie crews sorted out. It 
will- be a severe drain on Pennsylvania's re- 
sources and they may, after all, duplicate 
Cornell's experience in 1895, when she tried to 
develop two championship eights and, instead, 
lost both races. 

I he strenuous life is working overtime at 
Cornell this spring so determined are they to 

Digitized by 


The University Outlook 


regain their old standing. With Pennsylvania's 
forces divided, their task should be easier. They 
have lost but two strong 'varsity men of last 
year, Beardslee and Dalzell, and have about 
all of their 1900 Freshman eight and Varsity 
four available, and some more good material 

C^olumbia has passed through the annual 
financial crisis with its demoralizing effects on 
all her athletes, and under Hanlon, the pro- 
fessional, her crew men are hard at work. 
With the passing of her graduate system of 
coaching, Columbia joins her associates in the 
Poughkeepeie regatta in the employment of 
professional coaching. She may secure faster 
crews, although that remains to be seen, for 
Hanlon's experience has been confined hitherto 
to sculling, and he must work out the problem 
of developing an eight for a bruising four-mile 
battle. If he can do it successfully in one 
year he is a wonder. 

The material is hardly equal to last year's. 
Only three or four of the 1900 'varsity are 
back, all of the four and most of the Freshmen 
of last season. Coffin, one of the best of the 
last 'varsity crew, has just entered Yale, and 
is a candidate for the Yale Freshman eight. 


CjRaduation has made the customary ravages 
at all the big colleges, Pennsylvania and 
Princeton suffering more than Yale and Har- 
vard. Pennsylvania has lost Kraenzlein, 
McCracken, Grant, and Remington, who scored 
34 points out of 39, in the championship games 
last year. Of those who remain, McClain and 
W. L. Smith (sprinters), Hare (weights) and 
Bushnell, Bowen and Westney are the best. 
Tewkesbury, who graduated two years ago 
seems keenly to feel the need of further mental 
enrichment, and has re-entered the University. 
Singularly enough he has one more year in 
which he may represent Pennsylvania, and as 
the Intercollegiate Association seemed fearful 
of putting the vigorous individual protests 
of the other colleges into a rule which would 
meet his and similar cases, he will probably 
be heard from in May. Of the new men, 
Anderson, a sprinter from a Western univer- 
sity, seems the most likely to score. 

Princeton has lost Cregan, Jarvis and 
Carroll, who won 15 points out of 25 last May. 
She retains Perry (half mile), Coleman and 
Horton (pole-vaulters), and Serviss (high 
jumper), all of whom are very high-grade 

men. Of the new men DeWitt (weights) and 
Adsit (middle distances) are promising and 
there is also some other material susceptible 
of development. Perry and DeWitt, however, 
are both convalescing from injuries which 
may affect their chances. 

Yale will be aided materially by the presence 
of trainer Murphy. She has lost Johnson and 
Adrian ce (pole vaultere), Blount and Richards 
(sprinters), Smith and Poynter (middle dis- 
tances). She retains Boardman and Dupee 
(sprints), Fincke and J. B. Thomas (hurdles), 
Stillman and Beck (weights), L. M. Thomas 
and Weston (runs), and J. H. Hord (pole- 
vaulter). Of the new men Ingham (sprinter) r 
Franchot (runner), and Davoud (jumper) are 
very good ; and then there are Sheldon, the 
prodigal son of Yale athletics, and Spraker, 
the high jumper, against whom the new In- 
tercollegiate rule should operate, requiring test 
examinations for men admitted on certificate. 
It will be a distinct injustice to the other 
competing colleges if either of these men is 
allowed to compete. 

Harvard loses only Boal (weights), Rice 
(high jumper) and Blakemore (runner), with 
the possibility that Boal, who is now in the 
Law School, may yet come out. Manson 
(sprinter) is an exceptionally good new man, 
and with Hallowell and Willis (hurdles), Rotch r 
Shirk, Daly and Ellis (jumps), Brown and 
Ellis (weights), Haigh and Clerk (sprints), 
Applegate, Foote and Richardson (runs) the 
team should easily equal last year's. Yale 
will be harder to beat, though, because of 
Murphy, and the new material. 

Cornell loses her pole-vaulters, Deming and 
Kinzey, Boynton (hammer), and the "ringer", 
Mathewson, who was placed in the 100 yards 
dash in the "Mott Haven" games, and Berry 
(two mile run). She retains McMeekin and 
Hastings (middle distances), Gallagher (two 
miles), and has one new man of excellent 
ability, viz., Sears (sprinter). 

Columbia loses Long, her only real cham- 
pion, with no entering man to make good the 

Williams has a fine hurdler in Potter; New 
York University a star high jumper in Jones; 
Brown University, a good middle distance 
runner in Hall, and Prinstein has one more 
year at Syracuse. 

Altogether the teams seem more evenly 
matched, and although many of the record 
breakers will be missed, the contests should 
lose nothing in interest. 

Digitized by 



The University Outlook 


When a good team of last year remains 
practically intact its outlook may be said 
to be rosy. Such is the point of view at 
Harvard. Loughiin, fielder, is the only man 
not returned but an equal loss is Fincke, whose 
football season left him unfit for play this year. 
An important addition is Clarkson, pitcher, 
another of the famous baseball family. He has 
had wide experience and will makeStillman lay 
himself out to retain his place as first pitcher. 
The make-up of the team will probably be: 
Reid, captain and catcher; Clarkson, Stillman 
and Kernan, pitchers; Kendall, first; Fincke, 
second; Coolidge, short; Geo. Clarke, third, and 
Wendell and Devens for two outfielders. If 
Kendall should not play, Clarke will go to first 
and Frants or Storey take third. 

X ale has taken the risk which attaches as a 
rule to a pitcher captain and Frank Robertson 
is in charge of the team. Of the 1900 team, 
Hirsch, catcher; Sharpe, first; Guernsey, third, 
and Ward, Cook and Barnwell, outfielders, 
remain. There are two good men out for 
Camp's place at short stop, viz., Craffey and 
O'Rourke. Both field well but Craffey looks 
to be a little the better hitter. For Quinby's 
bag, second, Tobin and Fred. Robertson are 
the chief contestants and are fair men. Wad- 
dell, first base in 1899, is after an outfield place 
and ought to make it. Garvan is a substitute 
pitcher from last year of some possibilities and 
there is a likely Freshman battery in Patton, 
pitcher, and Winslow, catcher. A. T. Wear 
is after his older brother's berth in the outfield 
with a fair chance of success. Altogether 
Yale should have a representative though not 
a record-breaking nine. 

Princeton's class of 1900 carried out some 
star baseball material, the most serious losses 
being the famous battery, Hillebrand and 
Kafer. ' All three outfielders and Hutch- 
inson, third, are also missing. Those who 
remain are Captain Green, Meier, a very high 
class player, Steinwender, second, Pierson and 
Hutchings, all exceptionably good batsmen. 
The Freshman class teems with baseball men 
and among .them is H. H. Hillebrand, thought 
to be as promising as his older brother. Under- 
bill and Stevens are very promising pitchers, 
Cosgrave a brilliant shortstop, Rinehart a 
third baseman who will develop, and Davis 
a fair infielder, poor outfielder and excellent 
batsman. The line up will probably be 
Green, catcher; Underhill and Stevens, pitch- 
ers; Meier, first; Steinwender, second; Cos- 
grave, short; Hutchings, third; Hillebrand, 

Brown and Pierson, outfielders. The team 
is above the average in batting, fully equal to 
it in fielding; the uncertain element is pitching. 

jT ennsylvania starts out with the best pros- 
pects she has had these seven years. She 
loses Orbin, short, and Shape and Huston, 
fielders. The men who remain are Captain 
Flavell, catcher; Leary, Layton and Devlin, 
pitchers; Jones, first; Collier, the best second 
baseman in the colleges; Brown, third, and 
White and Gawthrop, fielders. Of the new 
men, Bennett, catcher, Newman, a former 
Brown fielder, and Whalen, short, are most 
promising. In other words, the losses should 
be made more than good by the new material. 

Brown's prospects seem favorable, although 
an entirely new infield must be built up. Of 
those who remain, Washburn and Whittemore, 
the battery, Captain Clark and Barry, outfield- 
ers, are strongest. Indeed Clark has no supe- 
rior in present college circles. Of the 1900 
substitutes, Wheeler, pitcher, and Abbott, 
fielder, are available, the latter being espe- 
cially desirable. The new material promises 
very well. The team will field well but is not 
likely to bat so heavily as last year's nine. 

In the graduation of Plunkett, pitcher; Ed- 
wards, catcher; Russell and Seaver, outfield- 
ers, and Risley, first, Williams lost more than 
five-ninths of its strength, and it will be un- 
usually difficult for her to repeat last year's 
victories, including the New England Tri-Col- 
lege championship. 

Wf e8Leyan keeps Captain Lufkin, her 
crack pitcher, Inglis, an equally good catcher, 
Anderson and Terrell, who are superior in- 
fielders, and Garman, outfielder. In other 
respects than the battery, the team is no strong- 
er than its chief opponents, Williams and Am- 
herst, but Lufkin and Inglis are enough better 
than their rivals to make Wesleyan's outlook 
for the championship quite bright. 

C^ornell retains most of her nine, notably 
Captain Robertson, first, Costello, Whinnery 
and Lyon. The new material is fair, espe- 
cially Brewster, fielder, but the outlook is not 
better than last season. 

1 he wholesome rivalry between Annapo- 
lis and West Point is to be extended to base- 
ball, the first game being scheduled for May 
18th at Annapolis. The outlook, it must be 
said, favors the Navy which retains six of last 
year's team^ while the Army mourns the loss 
of nearly all of its mainstays, through the 
premature graduation in March of the senior 
or first class. Charles E. Patterson. Vx 


SHOULD a man be asked to pay for the 
privilege of shooting over another man's 
land? I fail to see good reason why he should 
not. The matter rests entirely with the 
owner. He can always invite his friends, 
and most of the time he doesn't want the 
stranger. The day has passed in most of 
this country when a stranger can tramp farm 
lands and woodlands at his own sweet will. 
Privileges were so abused that many erstwhile 
easygoing land owners have been compelled 
to post their property. There is no injustice 
about paying for one's fun, and one need not 
be a capitalist to enjoy a few days of fair sport. 
If one man has a well-stocked cover, I can 
see no reason why another man should not 
pay for the pleasure of raiding it. The preva- 
lent idea that a gunner should be allowed to 
tramp and shoot where he pleases is an ab- 
surdity begotten in older days when condi- 
tions were different. To pay a reasonable 
price would be better for the city man too. 
Twould be cheaper in the long run, for a man 
cannot sell you what he doesn't possess, and 
if you get the sport the price is merely a good 
investment. To go direct to where you could 
be certain of some shooting at a fixed charge, 
would, as a rule, be both cheaper and more 
satisfactory than to go chancing it around 
the country, and perhaps wasting more time 
and money than the man who put a price on 
his shooting demanded. 

1 he makers of our game laws, those for and 
against spring shooting, appear to be some- 
what hazy in regard to the breeding range of 
various ducks which visit New York waters. 
Supporters of spring shooting are wont to 
declare that the ducks breed " in the North," 
presumably meaning to the north of New 
York State. That is only true of certain 
species. Those beauties, the wood duck and 
the blue-wing, and the sturdy old black duck, 
all found safe sanctuaries ki the big marshes 
and waters of the upper part of the -State, and 
in the old days all three were common summer 
residents of Long Island. There is a strong 
probability that, if undisturbed in the spring, 
numbers of the fowl would return to the 
old haunts. Young ducks raised within the 
territory mentioned would be apt to return 
to their birthplace the following spring, and 
nest somewhere in the vicinity. 

1 hb most satisfying, elevating, and as a 
natural consequence, the best thing for the 
rising generation of sportsmen would be the 

effectual quenching of that carnivorous in- 
stinct which is prone to measure the enjoy- 
ment of a day's sport by the amount of slaugh- 
ter. The fishing and shooting for "count," 
the boasting of tremendous bags, the turning 
of pleasure into toil by sweating from dawn 
to dusk that one more bird may be added 
to the total, are all directly opposed to the 
principles of true sportsmanship. Over-in- 
dulgence in slaughter, like the abuse of liquor, 
never fails to bring its own punishment. As 
a couple of drinks a day are only an aggra- 
vation to the confirmed toper, so are a few 
brace of birds to the man who has once ac- 
quired the slaughter habit. Like his fellow 
unfortunate, only a whole lot can satisfy him, 
and when the inevitable blank days and poor 
days come, he is irritated and wholly out of 
tune, and what should be a day of keen de- 
light is debased into a dreariness of discon- 
tent. I have shot continuously for many 
more seasons than I care to reckon, but I take 
no pleasure in recalling the first few seasons 
after skill with the gun had been attained. 
Then the question invariably was, "How 
many did you get?" and I answered boast- 
fully or savagely according to the total of 
kills. In fact, I was entirely at the mercy of 
circumstances. Very fortunately, I took up 
the study of ornithology, and presently the 
"observation habit" asserted itself. Then 
came the real pleasure — the thing that stays 
with you in fair and foul weather, and pro- 
vides the golden memories which defy time. 
The actual bag became merely a secondary 
consideration. Under any ordinary weather 
conditions, the outing was bound to be enjoy- 
able and beneficial. In any event, I limited 
my bag; so a few birds, more or less, made 
small difference. The observation habit pleas- 
antly filled all spare time, and the acquire- 
ment of some morsel of knowledge was in- 
finitely more satisfying than the killing of an 
extra brace of birds. In time it got so that 
the killers would come for information about 
the A B C of their own craft, and some of 
them grasped the point and hit the trail of 
wisdom, too. To my young readers I would 
earnestly say, cultivate a knowledge of the 
wild things by the study of standard works 
and by close observation. The field is rich, 
and its fruits are wondrous pleasant. Mere 
killing is beneath the attention of real men; 
it is not all of shooting to shoot, nor of fishing 
to fish. And let no bull-necked young son 
of Anak run away with the idea that I am too 
"ladylike" in my views, or a gentle, old book- 

Digitized by 



The Game Field 

wise prattler. Of the tribe of Anak I have 
learned a little — that is all. 

One of the most satisfying of a sportsman's 
accomplishments is skill with a pencil, next 
to it, perhaps, skill as a taxidermist. Wlrile 
we, of course, cannot all be clever artists, 
most of us, if we took a little trouble, might 
become fairly good taxidermists. There is 
no mystery about taxidermy, nor for ordinary 
work is there any great difficulty. If a stu- 
dent went no further than the rudimentary 
stage of properly taking off and preserving 
small skins, he would never regret the time 
so spent Half a dozen lessons at most are 
enough, the expense is trifling, while the 
knowledge may some day prove of great 
value. Many a beautiful and perhaps very valu- 
able specimen has been lost because no mem- 
ber of a camping party understood the simple 
process of skinning and preserving. It is an 
excellent plan, when going upon an extended 
trip to carry a small case for possible prizes. 
My own contains a box of arsenic, a roll of 
batting, a sharp knife, a spool of strong thread, 
a paper of coarse needles and a few sheets of 
wrapping paper. With this simple outfit it 
is possible to save the skin of any game bird, 
small mammal, or even a head. An hour or 
so of trouble in camp may preserve something 
which will prove a lasting pleasure, and pos- 
sibly an invaluable contribution to science. 
The outfit is so small and light that it may 
be taken anywhere without too great incon- 

1 he general verdict anent the setter and 
pointer classes at the Westminster show ap- 
pears to be that the average quality was con- 
siderably below the usual high standard. This 
is of greats interest to sportsmen, and they 
need not seek far for the cause. Indiscrimi- 
nate • mating has caused a natural loss of 
"type." In the first place, the field trials put 
a premium upon whirlwind speed for a briefly 
sustained effort. To meet this the trainers 
seek for sprinters, and naturally enough the 
breeders strive to turn out fliers — anything 
that will go like the wind is a possible winner. 
As a result, we find all sorts and conditions of 
dogs, lathy, weedy, any old sort, so long as it 
can sprint. Once a winner, then to the stud 
to rake in a big service fee. It does not matter 
what this dog looks like; type is forgotten. 
He's a winner — we love a winner — let us breed 
to him and get other winners. A man three 
States away has a fine bitch, he reads about 
the winner, and he sends the bitch along. He 
has never seen the dog, knows nothing of his 

conformation, or faults, and like as not the 
bitch has some of those very faults herself. 
Result — puppies with the faults of the parents- 
exaggerated. A wiser selection might have 
produced one or two high-class puppies,* as wise 
mating tends to correct faults upon either side. 
Two snipey parents are very apt to produce 
snipes. It's their type and the blend of the 
blood intensifies it. If two genuine snipe 
begat curlew, or sandhill cranes, or birds of 
Paradise, a pedigree, or a past clearly would 
require ventilation Like begets like, and it 
is much easier to fall away from a standard 
than to approach it. Animals faulty in eon- 
formation frequently are crackajacks in the 
field, but they rarely produce choice puppies. 
On the other hand, animals nearly perfect in 
type may be and should be grand field dogs, 
and capable of perpetuating their beauty and 
hunting qualities. A handsome, good dog is 
a deal better than a homely racing machine, 
but to keep up the quality we must have a 
standard, the more beautiful the type the 
better, and we must also have judges who will 
judge according to the recognized standard, 
and not by personal fancy or a prejudice in 
favor of certain strains. 

Reports from New England go to show that 
the attempted naturalization of the caper- 
cailzie has proved a failure. This is to be 
regretted, for truly it is the king of all grouse 
and a beautiful creature withal. At first 
glance portions of New England would appear 
to be as like the native haunts of the big fellow 
as could well be; yet, with all his northern 
robustness, he has not withstood the trans- 
planting. Something must be the matter with 
the food, the air, or the natives. If the trouble 
be with the latter, the case is not hopeless, but 
if natural conditions are unfavorable, we shall 
at least have learned something. While all 
naturalists would welcome the capercailzie as- 
a grand addition to our feathered game, his 
value as a sporting factor is problematical. 
He would never do for the gun, and stalking 
him with the rifle, sport though it be, would 
hardly appeal to any but the dyed-in-the-wool 
still hunters, or our citizens of Norse blood. 
The Swedish black game, however, seems to 
do well enough in New England. Imported 
birds are reported to have bred there, and it 
is quite possible that this beautiful grouse 
may yet become common in the north country. 
Western sharp-tailed grouse do not thrive 
there. I suspect the native knows why. 
Mongolian pheasants, too, appear to find 
something wrong down East. 

E. W, SANDY8. 

Digitized by VjOOQLC 


AS a result of .the decision of a city magis- 
trate that, according to the legal in- 
terpretation of the bell ordinance, bicycle 
riders need not carry them, some very un- 
desirable conditions are likely to follow. The 
outdoor season is now in full evidence, and it 
is natural to expect that the reckless, care- 
less element, which is always a menace to 
pedestrians, will take advantage of this in- 
terpretation, and become a very disagreeable 
factor. The enforcement of a regulation 
compelling riders to carry bells is in no sense a 
hardship. This reconstruction of the ordi- 
nance which will allow a bicyclist to be within 
the pale of the law if he give notice of his ap- 
proach by bell, whistle, or in fact a verbal 
"Holloa!" or "look out!" is granting riders 
entirely too much scope. Experience with the 
reckless class of wheelmen has proven in the 
past that rigid rules must be enforced in 
order to maintain discipline on the public 
highways. The general public is accustomed 
to the bicycle bell. To-day the ring is fa- 
miliar, indicating readily the approach of a 
rider. The bicycle horn makes an objection- 
able noise, while the wild "look out" cry 
of a rider close upon a pedestrian, or worse, at 
a street crossing, will startle and affright peo- 
ple. The bicycle bell is essential. It has 
taken a very important position in the equip- 
ment of bicyclists and its use should be made 
mandatory. It seems singular that the advo- 
cates of cycling are forced to make such great 
efforts to secure some small hut needful legisla- 
tion at times, while the lawmakers, without 
request, grant such unsolicited and somewhat 
harmful privileges. No careful rider objects 
to carrying a bell. A small gong is in no sense 
in the way when attached to a wheel, and its 
usefulness cannot be disputed. 

I be wisdom of forming a life membership 
class in the League of American Wheelmen is 
decidedly questionable, and its success is ex- 
tremely doubtful. The regular membership 
fees are very nominal, and the suggestion to 
create a life membership class at a cost of $10 
seems ill advised. This project, which is 
probably destined to be passed by the Asso- 
ciation, shows the glaring need of funds. 
Decrease in membership in the past few years 
has reduced the League's finances alarmingly. 
Life membership at $10 may prove alluring 
to a great number of the rank and file of the 
riders who follow the destiny of the organiza- 
tion closely, and they may think they are 
benefitting the association, but in the not 
distant future the L. A. W. may find itself 

compelled to carry and provide for a large life 
membership contingency, who will be pro- 
viding no financial support whatever to the 
current expenses of the organization. 

J\ return of the trade to the support of bi- 
cycle racing means a revival of racing teams; 
the reopening of tracks, and the general pro- 
motion of tournaments. The American Bi- 
cycle Company has decided to appropriate a 
fund for the advancement of cycle racing and 
will maintain professional teams throughout 
the circuit of meets to be held this summer 
and autumn. The movement, if confined to 
the professional class exclusively, will, without 
doubt, work to the interests of the trade. In 
order to maintain purity among the ama- 
teurs greater vigilance will have to be exer- 
cised, for the appearance of this paid ele- 
ment will have an important bearing on 
racing matters. When bicycle racing was 
at its hight in former years, the trade en- 
joyed great prosperity. The introduction of 
trade interests into the sport must be accepted 
as a movement that can work either consid- 
erable harm or great benefit. If the Na- 
tional Cycling Association sees fit to main- 
tain the proper jurisdiction over the trade 
teams, and tolerate no infraction of rules, 
the innovation may be a great success. 
One cannot forget, however, the scandals at- 
tendant on the past history of trade repre- 
sentatives' races. 

Bicycle tourists planning trips for this sea- 
son will act wisely in consulting the routes 
available to them to Buffalo. From nearly 
all sections the run takes in some most inter- 
esting points; passes through delightful coun- 
try, and has the advantage of continuous good 
riding. AH roads will lead to Buffalo this 
year, with the Exposition as an attraction. 
The average competent roadster who can un- 
dertake and carry through a good continuous 
trip will have a direct advantage in visiting 
the fair awheel. It is not unlikely that some 
large touring parties will be organized for it. 

Riders who have ventured on outings into 
the country this spring report that the road 
conditions in New Jersey and on Long Island 
are excellent. The popular resorts of the 
riders outside of the city limits are resuming 
their accustomed activity. What a change in 
life's conditions the bicycle has effected! and 
its touring advantages have only begun to 
be recognized. 

Walter J. Masterso^^^T 
Digitized by VjOUv IC 



IN the February number of this magazine 
I promised to say something about fit- 
ting up a .22, and how to shoot straight with 
it. On no account buy a secondhand rifle 
unless the bore is absolutely spotless and has 
not been emeried out. A .22 is very sensi- 
tive to rust, and will lead badly if pitted. 
There is no cure for a pitted rifle barrel. Fit 
your rifle with Lyman sights. The rear 
sight should have a detachable eye-cup, for 
deliberate target practice. But for hunting, 
or quick-firing practice, remove the eye-cup 
and use only the large aperture. The front 
sight should be a small ivory bead. 

Get a gunsmith to let down your trigger- 
pull to one pound, or even less. Be sure 
that the pull-off is sharp and positive. A 
creeping trigger (one that drags a little, then 
sticks, then goes off unexpectedly) is a thing 
of evil. Men who insist upon a three-pound 
trigger-pull do not, as a rule, know what 
fine marksmanship is. I was amused by a 
very pleasant letter from Mexico commenting 
on my February article, in which the writer, 
who ^has just started a .22 club, asks for a 
sample of the tacks that I spoke of driving at 
fifty feet. He says he can find none large 
enough in Old Mexico. To him, and other 
sceptics, I would say that it is no uncommon 
feat, among riflemen who are really expert, 
to drive a common carpet tack in the center 
of the bullseye three, four, or five times con- 
secutively at fifty feet with a .22, shooting 
offhand. But this is not done with open 
sights, nor with a three-pound trigger-pull. 

Lyman sights, and a light trigger, are as 
advantageous in the field as they are in tar- 
get shooting (though on a repeater the pull 
should not be less than one and a half pounds). 
The men who never miss their deer, etc., 
etc., with buckhorn sights and hard trigger, 
invariably fall down when matched against 
the Lyman and light trigger men at targets. 
Why? Because they can shoot straighter in 
the woods than at targets? Nonsense. The 
man does not live who can shoot straighter 
at a running deer than he can at a stationary 
bullseye planted in the best light, at a meas- 
ured distance for which his gun is sighted. 
These hunters who "never miss in the woods" 
have an exaggerated idea of their own prowess. 
The truth is that they may be good hunters, 

and get their game by supeiior woodcraft, 
and they may be better snap-shots than the 
average; but they are not good all-round 
shots, and their advice on sights, triggers, 
guns and ammunition, is usually worthless. 
If they tried to shoot guns rigged as I have 
described, they would fail miserably at first, 
because they are not used to such things; 
but if they persevered, they would soon find 
their marksmanship improved fifty per cent. 


Now for some more heterodoxy. Begin 
your practice by shooting from muzzle-and- 
elbow rest, instead of offhand. Many old 
hunters will sneer at this. "Go into the 
woods," they will say, "and learn to hit liv- 
ing objects; target shooting is bosh." Well, 
if you follow their advice the result will be 
simply this : it will take you twice as long to 
become a good shot as it would if you began 
at paper targets, over known distances, shoot- 
ing first from rest. In the former case you 
wUl not know why you missed; in the latter 
case you will know every time what is the 

There are two reasons for beginning from 
rest. In the first place, your sights must be 
truly aligned, and regulated "to a knock- 
down " for different distances. An expert can 
do this offhand; but you cannot. Secondly, 
if you begin with offhand shooting, your at- 
tention will be fixed upon the wobbling front 
sight, and, in straining to hold more steadily, 
you will neglect the most important two 
things in rifle shooting, namely : 1. Command 
of the trigger. 2. Avoidance of flinching. No 
man can hold a rifle absolutely still, when 
aiming offhand.* The front sight will wobble 
up and down, and across the bull at different 
angles, in spite of one's best efforts to be 
steady. Command of the trigger means the 
ability to fire at the exact instant that the 
sight touches the mark, and before it has 
swung past it. 

As for flinching: I fancy you laugh at the 
idea of anyone flinching from a .22. It is 
human to flinch, even when snapping an empty 
gun. Your eye fears injury, and must be 
trained to ignore the fall of the hammer. 
Every beginner flinches. I do not mean that 
you will shut both eyes and try to jump out 

* When shooting a heavy target rifle from the "hip rest" position (left hip thrown out, left elbow resting 
upon it, trigger-guard and forearm of rifle resting upon extended thumb ana fingers, weight of body thrown 
upon right leg) there comes a time now and then, in every expert's experience, when he can "hold like a dead 
man." There is no perceptible movement of the front sight, notwithstanding that a wobble of 1/100 inch at the 
mussle would be detected by his eye. The chief difficulty then is to release the trigger; for the marksman's 
whole body is " f rosen." This motionless condition may last two or three seconds. I do not think that it is ever 
experienced when shooting with arm extended. 

trigger; lor tne marks 
I do not think that it i 




of your skin; but I do mean that at the very 
instant of drawing trigger you will blink, or 
give a little nervous start, probably both. 
The shiver may be so trifling that you are 
unconscious of it, but a trained marksman 
standing behind you would see it. No mat- 
ter how trifling that flinch may be, it is fatal 
to accuracy. You must conquer it. The 
easiest way to do so is described below; but, 
in any case it is hard to overcome. Before 
proceeding, I will say that rest shooting is 
not so easy as it looks. Matches have been 
shot from rest for $5,000.00 a side. 


B*QiN at a very short range — say fifty feet. 
The best target is a round black bullseye on a 
white background. For fifty feet the bullseye 
should be of one inch diameter; for one hundred 
feet, two inches; and so on, adding an inch of 
diameter for every fifty feet. A smaller bulls- 
eye strains the eye when a long series of shots 
is fired, and it is more likely to blur, appearing 
like a mere spot without outline, upon which 
you cannot aim accurately. In rest shooting 
it is essential that your elbows, as well as the 
musxle of the rifle, should rest firmly upon 
some rigid support. For the purpose in 
hand, a pile of heavy books on a stiff table 
will do very well. Sit quartering toward 
the target. Adjust the books so that, when 
both elbows are on the table, and the rifle 
is aligned on the target, you will be in a 
comfortable position, without consciously 
craning or bending your neck. Then bring 
the butt of the rifle firmly against the hollow 
between biceps and shoulder. It is a mistake 
to hold the rifle squarely against the shoulder, 
as you would a shotgun, unless you are using 
one that recoils heavily. Bring the rear sight 
within an inch of your eye. Don't be afraid 
of it. Most beginners back off three or four 
inches; then they cannot see clearly. Now 
if you see "all outdoors" through the aper- 
ture, that is just as it should be. It is the chief 
advantage of an aperture sight that you can 
see all around the target. Do not try to 
center your eye in the aperture. Your eye 
will do that itself, instinctively; so pay no 
attention to the rear sight at all. That gives 
you one less thing to worry about. Now aim so 
that the bead of the front sight barely touches 
the extreme lower edge of the bullseye (a 
rifleman would say, "Aim at 6 o'clock," as 
though the bullseye were a clock-dial). Be 
careful not to cant the gun to one side, for that 
would affect its elevation. Draw a medium 
breath, and hold it. Don't be in a hurry. 
" Hurry is the parent of flurry." When you 

can hold steadily on exactly the right spot, 
press (do not jerk) the trigger steadily until 
the rifle is discharged, and continue for a second 
to hold accurately on the bullseye, as though 
you were still aiming. If practicable, I would 
print this advice in letters an inch high; for 
it is the secret of rapid progress in marks- 
manship. It tells you to a certainty where 
the rifle was when it went off. It catches 
you in flinching. It shows whether you 
blinked, swung, or dropped the muzzle. It 
enables you to call your shots. Calling a 
shot means that the rifleman knows just 
where his bullet has struck, and can announce 
its location before the shot is spotted through 
a glass or signaled from the target. On the 
range I have often seen men call their shots 
within an inch or two of where they actually 
struck two hundred yards away. I have seen 
them do this, not once nor twice, but half a 
dozen times in succession; and I have often 
done it myself. This was when shooting 
offhand. If you can call your shots with 
precision, you are already a marksman, even 
though many of the shots be wild. 

Do not imagine that this rest shooting at 
fifty feet is child's play. It is as important to 
you as shooting elephants. You must learn 
one thing at a time, and learn it well; and 
rest shooting enables you to concentrate your 
attention upon that one thing; whereas if you 
began with offhand shooting in the open, at 
unknown distances, and all that, your mind 
would be diverted from one thing to another, 
you would often blame a wild shot upon the 
wrong factor, and you would learn slowly 
indeed. Shooting with a .22 at fifty feet 
involves precisely the same principle as 
shooting ten miles with a cannon, save that 
atmospheric influences may be disregarded. 

"sighting up." 
It is probable that your rifle is not correctly 
sighted. It may shoot to the right or left; too 
high, or too low. Pay no attention to this for 
the time being. Just shoot for a group. When 
you can place ten consecutive shots in a group 
no larger than a nickel, from rest at fifty feet, 
you may "sight up" your rifle. If the gun 
shoots too high, lower the rear sight; if too 
low, raise it. If it shoots to the right, drive 
the front sight a little to the right, and test 
again. Or, if the front sight is properly 
centered on the barrel, as it usually is when 
it comes from the factory, and still you shoot 
to one side, straighten the rear sight by un- 
screwing it a little from the tang and inserting 
a narrow slip of cardboard under that side of 
the base which is opposite to the direction in 


For the Sportsman's Library 

which the gun shoots. Remember this: if 
your gun shoots to one side of the mark, 
either, 1, shift the front sight in the direction 
that the gun is shooting; or 2, tilt the rear 
sight in the opposite direction. 

Having practiced rest shooting until you can 
shoot with confidence, fix up a rest on some out- 
door range that is fairly level for one hundred 
yards, and has a sufficient backstop. Measure 
off (do not pace) twenty-five yards, fifty yards, 
seventy-five yards, and one hundred yards, and 
drive a peg at each. Now sight up your rifle ac- 
curately for each of these distances, on bullseyes 
of one and a half, three, four and one-half and 
six inches diameter, respectively. When sat- 
isfied that you are correct at the first range, 
mark the elevation on the stem of the rear 
sight by scratching it with a knife. Then do 
the same at the other ranges. If your Lyman 
will screw down below the twenty-five yard 

point, withdraw the stem, and insert the little 
pin that comes with it in the small hole at 
bottom of stem. Then file off this pin until 
it is of such length that, when the stem is 
replaced, you cannot screw it down • below 
the twenty-five yard elevation. Twenty-five 
yards is the best "point-blank" for a .22, as 
the cartridge has a high trajectory. 

To understand the meaning of that word 
trajectory, shoot a group at twenty-five yards 
with the sight set for fifty, and note how 
much too high the group is. Then shoot a 
group at seventy-five yards, with sight set 
for fifty, and note how much too low it is. 
Continue this at the other ranges. This b 
information of the utmost importance to a 
hunter; and it can only be learned, for a given 
rifle, by actual tests. 

In a final letter I will say something about 
offhand shooting, and hunting small game. 
Horace Kephabt. 


Riders of Many Lands. By Theodore Ay- 
rault Dodge, Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel U. S. 
Army. Illustrated with numerous drawings 
by Frederic Remington, and from photographs 
of Oriental subjects. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

BESIDES many other qualifications which 
Col. Dodge has for describing " Riders of 
Many Lands," he has himself put a girdle round 
the world on horseback, ridden with all kinds 
and conditions of men, from Mexican vaqueros to 
Arab sheiks; thrown his leg across every spe- 
cies of mount, from a bronco to a bridle bul- 
lock, and discussed horse lore in the great 
marts of Europe and on the Syrian desert. 
Moreover, he has the happy knack of commu- 
nicating to his readers vivid scenic impressions 
no less than sound conclusions based on actual 
knowledge. No phase of horsemanship but 
adds some new point to the sum of his, and his 
reader's knowledge of the horse, and its man- 
agement under saddle. "Riders of Many 
Lands" has had readers in many lands, as the 
call for another edition testifies. The illustra- 
tions by Frederic Remington, are numerous and 
it need scarcely be said, are worthy of the text. 

The Mushroom Book. A popular guide to 
the identification and study of our commoner 
fungi, with special emphasis on the edible 
varieties, by Nina L. Marshall. 

Doubleday, Page & Co. 

OPORT8MEN afield who feel tempted to add 
to their fare the mushroom and other fungi 
would do well to make themselves acquainted 

with the facts and illustrations in this book, 
which enable one with almost absolute cer- 
tainty to distinguish those which are edible 
from those which are poisonous. The descrip- 
tions are in the main scientific, with abundant 
drawings and beautifully colored photographs; 
but woven into the text is the valuable infor- 
mation which will assure the sportsman in the 
woods and fields from any danger from mis- 
takes; and the poisonous fungi are very deadly. 

The Game of Squash 

By Eustace Miles, 
J. F. Taylor <fe Co. 

It is fortunate that the first book of instruc- 
tion on the game of Squash should come from 
the pen of its introducer into this country. 
He has given a thorough explanation of the 
game and all that is needful to play it, with 
diagrams and illustrations. 

The Woodpeckers. By Fannie Hardy Eck- 
strom, with colored illustrations by JLouis A. 
Fuertes. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

On the theory that it is better to know 
one thing well than to know superficially many 
things, this work on the woodpecker is to be 
commended. It is thorough. When you have 
mastered it you have read a plain, pleasantly 
told, yet scientifically accurate story of the 
woodpeckers of America, their habits, their 
homes and their life; not a detail seems miss- 
ing, and the colored illustrations by Mr. 
Fuertes add a life-like beauty to the book. 



THE Seaside Trotting Meeting to be held 
this summer at Brighton Beach Track 
meets with approval from all sides. As a matter 
of fact none of the (thoroughbred) racing asso- 
ciations utilizes the full number of racing days 
allotted to it by the Jockey Club, and it would 
be perfectly practical to inaugurate a series of 
such trotting meetings at Brighton, Gravesend 
and Morris Park, while Sheepshead Bay could 
also afford a grass mile course and a larger 
track for longer dash races. The preliminary 
work of preparing the courses need not be 
either expensive or difficult, and New York 
could then enjoy a regular metropolitan circuit 
of several weeks consecutive trotting, just as 
is now the case with racing. Overtures were 
made some years ago to the Gravesend manage- 
ment for the use of its track for a trotting 
meeting, but nothing came of it. Empire 
Park will never answer as a race course — it is 
inaccessible; the stand directly faces the sun, 
and is almost untenable after one o'clock, 
while the afternoon haze obscures all objects 
on the backstretch; and the stables and other 
arrangements are not practical — but our older 
courses can (and should) furnish ample accom- 
modations for both sports. 

If a big genuine old country fair was held 
at Morris Park it should result in a tremendous 
popular success; and the plant has now all 
necessary ground room, stabling, stands and 
other buildings for the purpose, while its ac- 
cessibility by rail and roads is easy. There 
are thousands and thousands of people in 
and near New York who have never attended 
such an exhibition, and a combined fair, 
cattle, horse and agricultural show of two 
weeks during the fall should prove a bonanza, 
especially with the trotting accessories. 

Apropos of the crying need for originality 
and reform in American trotting methods, 
Mr. Murray Howe has evolved a curious and 
complicated plan of racing which will be tried 
at Memphis, Tenn., this year. All races are 
limited to three heats; first heat, one mile; 
second heat, one and one-eighth miles; third 
heat, half a mile. Winners of first three places 
in first heat get 34 per cent, of the purse; of 
same places in second heat, get 46 per cent. ; of 
same places in third heat get 20 per cent., and 
the horse that wins the most money wins the 
race. Just what good this extraordinary 
scheme is expected to accomplish is not evi- 
dent, but it is very doubtful if any such method 
wiD satisfy; while no good can be done by 
subdividing the distances; catering to the 
sprinters, and yet not helping the real long 

distance horses by making the field "go a 
route." One additional furlong amounts to 
nothing— every field that gets the word goes 
a mile and an eighth at speed now. No race 
track visitors want to be bothered with sums 
in arithmetic as to winners and amounts, and 
all that. They desire quick results, definitely 
and honestly decided; and until the Associa- 
tions provide such contests, and as long as they 
listen to outlandish schemes, which dodge the 
main issue, they must continue to lose time, 
money and reputation. 

1 he annual coaching season is in full swing, 
but we do not seem to be able to render 
coaching genuinely or generally popular in 
America. The reasons are evident. Pas- 
sengers upon a route which is run to a private 
club house do not feel comfortable in their 
quasi-membership, while local road houses 
hardly furnish attractive termini; again the 
average man cannot give up a whole day to 
such a trip, and the average woman will not 
go alone. Prices are too high also, and the 
vehicles are " public" in name only, and hardly 
in fact. New York is sadly handicapped by 
its lack of accessible and picturesque drives, 
and few people care to frequently patronize 
coaches running over dusty and monotonous 

The true sporting spirit is not making the 
advance in America that one would expect 
from the vast increase in our national wealth, 
and the existence in consequence of what is 
really a leisure class. 

American horsemen have generally no idea 
what an extraordinary showing our harness 
horses are making in the show rings of England 
and other countries, or how successfully many 
a nag esteemed hardly up to exhibition form 
here, has met with frequent and regular suc- 
cess over there. It is said that not a few of 
these emigrants are now provided with good 
home-maxie (and hand-made) pedigrees, and 
are proudly pointed out as native products. 
What a wonderfully versatile beast is our 
trotting bred horse! On the track, or lapped 
in heavy leather; on the bridle path, or over 
a country; before the children's trap or on the 
polo field; as a public slave, or as a military 
necessity — you can't put him wrong and he 
always rises to the occasion, be it what it will, 
and Alaska and South Africa with all the inter- 
vening points, testify to his merits and extol 
his virtues. 



WHILE no positive announcements have 
been made of the launching dates for the 
three great yachts now building for the America 
Cup racing, it is probable that all will go into 
the water about the same time, April 20. From 
what is known of their progress, they will be 
fully up to the launching stage by that time, 
and the tides will serve at Boston and Bristol, 
giving plenty of water. The latest news about 
Shamrock II. says she will be launched inside 
of a pontoon built about her, the depth of water 
off the Denny yard being insufficient for her 
great draft, and the attempts at dredging to 
the full depth having failed through the nature 
of the bottom. Thus encased, she can be safely 
floated in a moderate depth of water, the pon- 
toon being removed after she is towed to deep 
water. This method has the advantage of 
screening the under-water body from curious 
eyes, and it is quite likely that the yacht will 
not be seen out of water until she is docked at 
the Erie Basin, Brooklyn, in July. The most 
important statement yet made about her b that 
she will carry a single pole mast in place of the 
lower mast and separate topmast, heretofore 
universally used on all large yachts. The mast 
will be 148 feet from heel to truck, a tapering 
tube of nickel steel plates. This will give a 
stronger, lighter and more effective spar, so 
long as the weather does not call for the housing 
of the topmast, a rare occurrence in cup racing 
off Sandy Hook. 

1 he construction of the Belmont syndicate 
boat Constitution, is now well known, and 
presents some striking novelties. In Vigilant, 
Defender and Columbia, the ordinary metal con- 
struction was used, a series of ribs or frames all 
approximately of the same size, each extending 
from keel to deck and spaced about twenty 
inches apart ; the plating on the outside, a few 
longitudinal stringers, and a large number of 
diagonal braces completing the structure. In 
the new boat a series of web frames is used, 
these being practically solid bulkheads of 
sheet steel, with the centers cut out, leaving 
a rim of about a foot wide. These web 
frames are spaced eighty inches apart, each 
being attached by the usual steel angles to 
the outer plating, and also reinforced by a light 
angle around its inner edge. Between these 
frames are three of the usual angle frames, 
spaced twenty inches apart, and reaching from 
the keel up to the lower part of the flat of the 
bottom, where they stop. The bottom and 

sides above this point in the long spaces be- 
tween the web frames are stiffened by a series 
of longitudinal stringers running the full dis- 
tance from bow to stern, and spaced about 
twenty-three inches apart. The hull plates of 
Tobin bronze are about forty-eight inches wide, 
there being seven st rakes on each side. The 
deck will be of steel plate. This system prom- 
ises a further material reduction of weight over 
Columbia, with such rigidity of structure as 
was conspicuously lacking in the Herreshoff 
seventy-footers of last year. The lead keel is 
in one solid casting outside the hull, as in the 
older boats. Nothing is yet known of the 
model except that it is an improved Columbia, 
there being probably no radical departure. 

1 he Crowninshield-Lawson boat follows the 
usual system of construction as far as frames 
and plating are concerned, but she will be 
stiffened inside by a liberal use of diagonal 
braces of hollow tubing, in the form of a con- 
tinuous vertical fore-and-aft truss from end to 
end, and also of transverse bracing on the 
frames to effect the same end as the web 
frames of the Herreshoff boat. Her deck also 
will be of metal, steel and aluminum. The 
construction presents one novelty, the keel is 
a hollow trough of cast bronze, to which the 
garboard strakes and the heels of the frames 
are riveted, the lead in the form of pigs being 
stowed as closely as possible in this trough, 
and then fine shot being poured in to fill all in- 
terstices. It is expected that Independence will 
require about seventy -five tons as com- 
pared with about ninety tons in the Her- 
reshoff boat. The amount of ballast can be 
easily varied on trial. The yacht will prob- 
ably have the same pole mast rig as Sham- 
rock II., one of wood being now made and 
another of steel being in preparation. She will 
enjoy the distinction of having -two rudders, 
though not using both at the same time. A 
rudder of the ordinary form and construction 
hinged to the sternpost, will be fitted, and 
in addition a spade-shapecb balance rudder 
with the blade raking aft will be fitted in a 
separate rudder tube about the after end of the 
water line. Each is made of a cast bronze 
frame covered with sheet bronze. There is 
some doubt as to the strength and also the 
steering of the balance rudder, so the ordinary 
one will be provided in case the first experiment 

W. P. Stephens. 

Digitized by 




*"THE Seventeenth Annual Show of the 
-■• New England Kennel Club, held in the 
Mechanics' Building, Boston, April 2d-6th; 
was as a show of dogs a grand one. The quality 
was certainly high class and the entries heavy, 
760 being benched, representing 1038 entries, 
as against 398 in 1898, 679 in 1899 and 655 
last year. An innovation in the management 
whereby certain classes were judged at certain 
hours on each day, and the judging extended 
over the whole four days, was a cause of 
great dissatisfaction to exhibitors. Dogs 
judged on the later days were unfairly handi- 
capped by the effect of two, three, and even 
four days of previous confinement and show 
worry, and dogs judged in the evening were, 
•especially where color of the coat entered as 
a factor, judged at a disadvantage. The 
laudable desire of the managements of all 
other shows has been to have the classes 
judged as soon as possible, in order that the 
public might satisfy its natural curiosity to 
study the winners, and purchasers might have 
the longest opportunity to make their selec- 
tions from dogs that had been marked with 
authoritative approval. The only difficulty 
hitherto has been to carry out the judging 
sufficiently quickly. Boston has taken a de- 
liberate step backward by increasing difficul- 

A s to the dogs there seemed to be a marked 
improvement in all the breeds over previous 
years except in setters, and in one or two of 
the other breeds. In fact, it seems as if the 
setter as a show dog is on the downward 
track, and way down too. He must be rescued 
soon or there will be nothing to rescue. It 
was greatly to be regretted that Col. J. E. 
Thayer, of Lancaster, Mass., did not show his 
fine kennel of deerhounds. There was, how- 
ever, a more than good specimen from Penn- 
sylvania. Wolfhounds were well represented 
in number, and the English greyhound class, 
though there were but few, was far and away 
the best that has been seen in six years. Mas- 
tiffs and bloodhounds were greatly improved 
both in number and quality, though Mr. 
Sheubrooke's kennel of St. Bernards was 
greatly missed. Great Danes were well repre- 
sented in quality by the Montebello Kennels 
and by those belonging to Mrs. Sellers, of 
Philadelphia. Foxhounds were twenty^three, 
against eleven of last year, a great compliment 
to the judge, Mr. McGregor. Pointers and 

setters about the same as previous years, both 
in quality and number. Sporting spaniels 
were out in full force with Mr. H. K. Blood- 
good's Mepals Enid at the head of the cocker 
spaniel classes. Some of the finest specimens 
of collies in the country were on exhibition, 
Parkhill Galopin, Emerald Eclipse, Old Hall 
Victoria and Champion Heather Mint among 
the notables. Poodles were perhaps a bit 
better than those of last year while the Old 
English sheepdogs were the same. Dalmatians 
showed an improvement in number only, most 
of them being all wrong in markings. English 
bulldogs were a grand lot with such specimens 
as Rodney Stone, Katerfelto, Lady Dockleaf 
and True Type to keep the judge busy. Bull 
terriers were a nice lot throughout. With the 
exception of Mr. Joseph A. Laurin's recent 
importation, Dumbarton Lass, the Airedales 
were not as well represented as was expected. 
French bulldogs were greater in number and 
finer in quality than last year. 

Ike Boston terrier was certainly the fea- 
ture of the show, with only a few short of 
two hundred entries; a wonderful circumstance 
considering the breed was recognized by the 
American Kennel Club, the governing body 
in this country, only a few years ago. There 
were some rare good ones among them and 
some sales made at long prices. Dachshunds 
and beagles were about the same in number 
as last year. Fox terriers were fewer in num- 
ber, but among them were some very good 
little chaps. Irish terriers were more numer- 
ous than last year, and some rare ones were 
put down in great shape for Mr. W. W. Caswell 
to judge. Although the number of Scottish 
terriers this year was the same as last, the 
quality was in many respects better. Recent 
importations have had much to do with the 
appearance of the exhibit. Some new Welsh 
terriers have made their appearance and if 
all goes well, one of them, Mr. J. F. Denton's 
Mostyn Cymro, may, some day, make a bold 
bid for the special prize for "best terrier in 
the show." In Pomeranians there was a de- 
cided improvement in number, quality and 
type. The toy spaniels seem to be growing* 
greatly in favor and new faces are constantly 
being brought out to please the admirers of 
these little fellows. 

The catalogue was well printed and very 
tastefully gotten up. Taken as a whole, the 
show was a great success in point of dogs and 

Digitized by VjOOQLC 



WITH the exception of Garden City, Lake- 
wood and Atlantic City, little golf has 
been indulged in on the prominent courses. 
In fact moat of them were closed for the greater 
part of the winter season. Green committees 
are beginning to appreciate the great benefit 
their courses obtain by a complete rest, and 
it is only a question of time when this closing 
down will be general on inland courses. Some 
of the links closed this winter have in former 
years remained open all the year, using tem- 
porary putting greens during winter play. But 
nowadays the game demands a good fair 
green, as well as good putting greens, and this 
is impossible unless the course is closed at least 
for several months. Furthermore, putting 
on those so-called temporary greens is not 
calculated to improve play, or for that matter, 
the player's temper; accuracy giving place to 
mere guess work. As for the fair green on 
inland courses during winter, the surface is 
either frozen hard or is too soft and muddy. 
If you are playing under the former conditions 
the putter will be your favorite club, and if 
under the latter, the niblick will be found 
indispensable. This is why so many golfers, 
with whom time is no object, hie themselves 
to the sunny South to hunt the silver cup ; 
there, every day, is a tournament with prizes 
galore; should you fail to land a cup, at least 
always is the certainty of an "honorable 
mention " in the leading dailies! 

Now that Lakewood has again set the ball 
a- rolling, May promises to be a busy month. 
' First of all there is the Inter-city match be- 
tween New York and Philadelphia. This 
fixture which will be played at Philadelphia 
May 4th has become an important annual 
event, and while in former matches the New 
York team has won, yet the margin of holes 
has never been such as to warrant the belief 
that Philadelphia will again go under. At 
the last meeting between the teams, singles 
were played in the morning and four-ball four- 
somes in the afternoon. This new feature was 
voted a distinct success, and in all probability 
will be followed this year. 

The fifth annual Intercollegiate champion- 
ship will begin at the Atlantic City Country 
Club on the 7th, a wise choice, for there, in the 
autumn, will be held the national champion- 
ship, and as a great many of the Varsity men 
will participate in the latter event, the Inter- 
collegiate will make an excellent preliminary 
canter. There have been three open tourna- 

ments at Atlantic City, and each time with 
an excellent field of starters,yet only once has 
85 been beaten, and that by an 83. The course 
is by no means easy and requires long and 
straight play. 

May 22d will see the start of the third annual 
championship of the Metropolitan Golf Asso- 
ciation. This event is second only in import- 
ance to the National, and it may be further 
stated that the M. G. A. has furnished the 
amateur champion of the United States for 
the last three years. Members of clubs in the 
M. G. A. who are rated at a handicap of 10 or 
under are eligible to tee off in the qualifying 
round. The handicaps are decided on a, 
player's average game, and to put the limit at 
10 is, I consider, too high. There is absolutely 
no chance of a player, requiring a half-stroke 
from the scratch men, going through a tourna- 
ment and winning the championship. After 
a careful inspection, the committee chosen 
to select a course for this year's championship 
expressed themselves in favor of the Apawamis 
Club at Rye. This has proved to be a very 
popular selection. The links is one of the 
longest in the country and conveniently situ- 
ated to New York. The club has done wonders 
in the short time at its disposal, and no stone 
is being left unturned to have the course in the 
best of shape for the championship. Mr. 
Walter J. Travis, the present champion, will 
be on hand to defend his title and that he will 
be a hard nut to crack is evidenced by his 
trip South this winter, and by his recent per- 
formance at Lakewood. 

VVith the general improvement of putting 
greens and their increase in size, the wooden 
putter will be found an excellent club for 
approach-putts. When properly handled it 
is the deadliest of clubs. Occasionally players 
may be seen using this club on one or two 
courses around New York, but the practice 
is not at all general. On many of the courses 
in the West, however, it is a favorite club, but 
then, the average western course is in better 
condition than those in the East. The wooden 
putter has not escaped the eye of the inventive 
mind and the very latest in clubs is the alum- 
inum putter. This is an aluminum head 
weighted with lead, and looks exactly in shape 
as the wooden club. The striking face is of 
wood-fibre. What the inventor claims for 
his club I do not know, but if results prove 
anything, they are in favor of the old wooden 
putter. Findlay S. Douglas. 

^s&IVjRi f l e s 



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FREESend your name and address on a postal card for oar 160 page Illustrated catalogue. 


K l M> ! JL ! 'Ms V V '*' '*' '*' V V V TF '*' '*' V 'J. f V V V 'J. 1 ! 1 ! TF V V TF '*' '+' '*' ! * ! *> 

| U. M. C* | 

* World's " Squad " Record at Targets Broken | 

4* At Interstate Park, Queens, L. I., New York, March II, 1901. *ifr 

J* Heikes, Parmalee, Fanning, Crosby and Gilbert ▼ 

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Some Sure m From Proper Fitotl Set potion. 

Farmers select certain food to bring about 
desired results in their animals, but it is not so 
easy a matter with the complex machine called 
man (or more highly organised woman) 

The foot! specialist, however, has been at 
work, and in Grape-Nuts we find 1 food con- 
taming delicate natural particles of Phosphate 
of Potash and larger quantities or albumen. 

These unite in the human body forming the 
peculiar soft substance which fills the cells of 
the brain. Therefore, when one desires to use 
a food directly intended for brain-building- the 
food Grape* Nuts may he depended upon. 

Fortunately it is one of the most delicious 
bits of food used by mankind, the delicate 
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ing character. All prominent papers sell 
Grape-Nuts, made at the pure food factories of 
the Postum Cereal Co,, Ltd,, at Battle Creek, 

qpHERE is nothing 
that so changes 
one's views of life ^s 
a long refreshingly 
cold drink of***** 


after a long, hot game, 
especially if a spiral of 
lemon peel is in the 
glass. It is the most de- 
licious of all ginger 
ales, and it doesn't burn 

U. BOYER'S SONS, 90 Water SL 
U>»r W»ll St.l NEW YORK.*## 











i *C-» .*} 

tarn /i 






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JUNE, 1 

No. 3 



By Owen Wister 

IT so happens that Mr. Roosevelt was busy 
fighting the first time that I ever laid 
eyes on him. This was one afternoon 
in November, 1878. It also so happens 
that the last time I saw him he was — yes, 
fighting is the nearest word to it; for he was 
defending himself against some thirty-nine 
voracious, hostile, and incredulous reporters. 
He was telling them that he did not wish 
to exchange Governor for Vice-President. 
It was easy for any one, save apparently 
the reporters, to see that he meant what he 
said. The contrast between their faces 
and his was something for a bystander to 
remember. His was so entirely genial — 
precisely as it had been twenty-one years 
and seven months earlier. 

That first occasion was at Harvard Col- 
lege, in the gymnasium, the old round 
gymnasium by Quincy street and Memo- 
rial Hall. The fall athletic meeting had 
gathered rather more parents, sisters, and 
admirers, than the building could com- 
fortably hold, to witness the doings of 
their pet undergraduates. And we obscure 
freshmen likewise gazed upon the arena 
from whatever nook in which we had been 
able to stow ourselves. I pass over the 
pole jump and the rest of the events, and 
come at once to Mr. Roosevelt. He was 
a junior then, and entered for (I think) 
the middle-weight sparring. Anyhow, he 
stepped in, suitably stripped and suitably 
covered. His antagonist was a senior, if 
I remember rightly; and this difference of 
classes is of itself always enough to season 
any college contest with an especial spice 

of rivalry. Mr. Roosevelt had ardent 
champions in the audience. A particular 
row of them rises vividly before me at 
this moment. They dwelt not in Boston 
but in its neighborhood. I wonder if in 
present days they ever think of this athletic 
meeting long ago, and what a herald spark 
of light it throws upon Mr. Roosevelt's 
subsequent career ? He and the senior 
sparred for a while, neither one visibly 
outdoing the other, unless perhaps in cool- 
ness; the senior was cooler than Mr. Roose- 
velt. "Time" was called. Mr. Roosevelt, 
hearing it, naturally dropped both aggres- 
sion and defence. But the senior did not 
at once hear it; and before it had come 
home to him that the round was over, 
he had landed a very palpable hit on Mr. 
Roosevelt's nose, which bled immediately 
and copiously. At that sight a hiss rose 
almost fiercely from the onlookers. They 
knew time had been called. But the hiss 
could not have lasted two seconds. Mr. 
Roosevelt turned, or rather whirled round, 
made a gesture of silence, and in the silence 
which resulted, said: "It's all right! it's all 
right! he didn't hear the call." And then, 
with a smile as amiable and hearty as his 
voice had been, he shook his antagonist's 
hand, nodding to him as he did this. A 
huge roar of clapping went up from the 
audience; the bloody nose would have been 
a great card: but a fair game proved a 
greater one. You may imagine what ar- 
dent champions Mr. Roosevelt had during 
the final round. Nobody cared after that 
whether the senior showed the more sci- 

Copyright, 1901, by the Outixg Publishing Company. All rights reserved. 

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Theodore Roosevelt 

ence or not. The judges, if I remember, 
deckled that he did/ 

All this was near a quarter century ago. 
As you know him to-day, do you find Mr. 
Roosevelt changed? Don't you think that 
Wordsworth's remark about the child being 
father of the man has here a happy en- 
dorsement? To me, as I sit facing this 
delicate task of speaking publicly about a 
personal friend, that stormy gust of sym- 
pathy in the gymnasium, that roomful of 
applauding spectators set boiling by the 
warm contagion of generosity, is merely 
the prophetic symbol of the present Ameri- 
can people, rejoicing to watch in the arena 
of our politics one figure at least, who, 
caution or no caution, science or no sci- 
ence, possesses not only the hard shoulder- 
hitting, but the instant sense of honor of 
a gentleman. Does any one dislike the 
word gentleman in this connection? Well, 
that's because he hasn't thought about it 
any further than the politicians have told 
him to think. His mental independence 
has stopped at the line drawn for it by 
the bosses. Very possibly they have trained 
him to repeat with a fair imitation of their 
delicious accent: "The gentleman in poli- 
tics." That is supposed to dismiss the 
subject. I have the fortune to think that 
it doesn't: and we shall return to it pres- 

On the 3d of September, 1900, Mr. Roose- 
velt was in another friendly arena. He 
and the Democratic candidate for President 
were invited to speak at the Auditorium 
in Chicago. You will perceive at once 
that this in its true nature was precisely 
as much a "sporting event" as was the 
match in the Harvard Gymnasium. The 
Chicago managers of Labor Day entertain- 
ments had looked about them for shoulder- 
hitting talkers, and made their selection 
with a view to the highest interest attaina- 
ble. The rules of the game were that the 
speakers should for this occasion leave 
campaign politics behind them, should let 
"Imperialism," and the Philippines, and 
" Honest Money," and all the rest of it go 
unmentioned, and talk about something else. 
Do you remember what happened? The 
rules of the game were broken again, and 
Mr. Roosevelt got another bloody nose. 
"Time" had been called for that day, as 
it had been called during the old sparring 
contest. Mr. Roosevelt had heard it, and 
accordingly dropped aggression and defence, 

and talked of something else. Here comes 
the difference. His antagonist, the Demo- 
cratic candidate, made no mistake about 
"time;" he knew it had been called. But 
he went on hitting. He made as crass 
and wholesale a campaign speech as any 
of his vocal performances had been. It 
was a good smart chance to get in some 
work, you see. Mr. Roosevelt missed this 
good smart chance. Well, his opponent 
may have secured by this proceeding some 
votes; but it estranged a number of peo- 
ple more than anything that he had done 
so far. I was in the West at the time; 
and the comment which the West most 
frequently made about this Auditorium 
match was, that Mr. Roosevelt had played 
a "square game." To-day he is Vice- 
President, and the Democratic candidate 
is — What is he, exactly? 

Now, if you lay these two incidents side 
by side, the gymnasium event and the 
Auditorium event, you find the same Mr. 
Roosevelt in both; he does his fighting on 
the same old plan; whatever else the years 
have wrought upon him for better or for 
worse, he comes out as honorable in Chi- 
cago as he did in Cambridge; the game 
that he plays is "square." And this in- 
stinct to be "square," when it goes with 
a clean, out-of-door sporting and shoulder- 
hitting nature, wins all hearts at sight, 
except of course the hearts of politicians. 
Of them I am not for the moment speak- 
ing. They form a class by themselves; a 
class as distinct from the normal man in 
its morals as albinos are distinct in their 
appearance. Of the effect of this special 
heart-winning quality of Mr. Roosevelt's 
here is one personal experience as an ex- 
ample. It belongs to a time somewhat 
before he had become the national figure 
that he is to-day. It was in November, 
1892. The weather was threatening to be 
cold, and a quantity of snow had already 
fallen in the valley of the Methow. The 
tops of the Cascade Mountains had been 
white for some time. The freight wagon, 
by which most gradual method of trans- 
portation I was seizing a last chance to 
get out to the railroad from the hunting 
country where I had lingered, pulled up 
for some lunch and some rest at a ranch 
known as "Cheval's." It was away up, 
deep among the hills to the north of the 
Columbia river into which the Methow 
flows. Now Cheval was probably not th 
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Theodore Roosevelt 


owner's name; but he was a Frenchman, 
somewhat lately come into that country 
from Medora; and his wife had been, it 
was said, the maid of the lady whom a 
certain French marquis, once famous at 
Medora, had married. Cheval began by 
being pleasant enough. But when I asked 
him if he had ever met Mr. Roosevelt near 

snow, Cheval was almost fierce because I 
would not accept his fur coat to keep me 
warmer when we should be camping at 
night. No trouble about his getting it 
back; the freighter would bring it along 
on his return trip; no matter if that might 
not be soon. 

Do you take in the situation? A freight- 


Medora, he became my friend on the spot. 
Oh, yes, indeed he had known Mr. Roose- 
velt. How was he? Had I seen him 
recently? What was he doing? The ques- 
tions came thick. I told him of the civil 
service commission in Washington; and he 
told me that Mr. Roosevelt liked to shoot 
very much; and that he was "a gentle- 
man, too, every time." And when our 
team was again hitched for us to take up 
our clanking crawl southward through the 

team bound away for indefinite days to 
the railroad across a wilderness where there 
was little population, and the less said of 
that the better; and with this freight-team 
a stranger, a nameless passer-by, whom 
Cheval would never see again, but who 
must positively take Cheval' s fur coat be- 
cause he said he knew Mr. Roosevelt! It 
was not easy to part with my host, leaving 
the coat behind me. You will pronounce 
Cheval impulsive. He certainly was. But 

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Theodore Roosevelt 

this enthusiasm cannot be wholly laid to 
the Gallic temperament. It is, to be sure, 
the only time that a fur coat has been 
offered me on the strength of my alleged 
acquaintance with Mr. Roosevelt; but then 
it is the single occasion upon which I have 
seemed to need one. On other western 
trails, far from the Cascades, when I have 
happened to pass over ground where Mr. 
Roosevelt has also been, a mutual acquain- 
tance with him has produced at once a 
bond between parties who did not previ- 
ously know each other. His name has 
always set the company going. The hunters 
will tell you how he shot something here, 
or how he missed something there; they 
will point you out some particularly shelv- 
ing ledge where they climbed with him, 
recalling his efforts and his perspiration; 
they will quote you some remark he made 
to the cook. And whatever they tell, 
whether in his favor or at his expense — 
and they like no mental pleasure so dearly 
as a tale at your expense — it's all told 
with a zest and a circumstance that leaves 
no doubt of their interest in him. 

Do not imagine that this is because he 
is a notability, and that they would recite 
legends of all notabilities with the same 
graphic unction. He was not much of a 
notability in the days that I speak of. 
They had seen many greater than he. 
Notabilities are a drug in their market. 
Their woods have been full of them for long 
years. Since the Union Pacific's comple- 
tion, traveling specimens of every Euro- 
pean title have been guided by them to 
some place where they could shoot some- 
thing, and then have been led safely home 
from the glorious achievement. Do you 
remember the Grand Duke Alexis, and his 
distinguished suite of foreigners, and how 
one of these was suddenly missing one 
day? It caused great anxiety to the guides. 
A guide rode up to the general in com- 
mand of the expedition, and said: "Please, 
sir, I'd like to take a look over the ridge. 
One of them kings has lost hisself." So 
you see royalty can't surprise them. And 
they are equally placid over conspicuous 
Americans. For the city of Washington 
has emptied senators and secretaries on 
them. And the New York Central has 
poured all Sorts of magnates over them. 
They don't mind. They know both dukes 
and dollars by heart. They welcome the 
magnificent pay, and forget the people, 

unless the people are in themselves worth 
remembering. Mr. Roosevelt was neither 
dukes nor dollars; but they told me his 
remark to the cook with profound appro- 

This approbation has followed in his 
wake from the very first, and he has won 
it from all classes, save two: those who 
want him to do better than he can, and 
those who want him to do worse than he 
will. The first are citizens of the highest 
standards. Their expectations of him have 
been disappointed. They have dropped 
him. It may be hard to answer the bad 
things they say, but it is easy to remind 
them of the good things they omit. Are 
they quite fair? At all events, their view 
is colored by no mean motives. The other 
class are the politicians, the albinos. They 
have not dropped Mr. Roosevelt. He won't 
drop; not even when they make him Vice- 
President. But they would dearly like 
him to drop, because he is not an albino. 
He plays "square." He embarrasses them 
at every turn. They have to swallow 
him, but if you watch them you'll catch 
them making a face over the dose. You 
may catch them, from cabinet ministers 
down to tobacco-slobbering albinos of the 
ward. It's an odd experiment to try, and 
it comes out successful almost always. 
Talk to the car conductor, or the freight 
hand, or any such person, and you'll hear 
him admire Mr. Roosevelt just as the Rocky 
Mountain guides do. Then find a politi- 
cian and lead him on. It need not be a 
Democrat; a Republican does as well. You 
will find his tone is chilly at once; and 
pretty soon he'll say something of this 
sort: "The cowboy business is all very 
well; but there were plenty of good men 
in Cuba besides rough riders." There were 
indeed, plenty. Plenty who distinguished 
themselves, too. Plenty who were better 
soldiers than Mr. Roosevelt. And there 
are, perhaps, people who write better his- 
tories of Cromwell than he does. What 
then does this prove? That his laurels 
are unfairly won? Not at all. It proves 
just what the Rocky Mountains prove; 
that it is not dukes and dollars, but 
the man himself which counts with us, 
and that San Juans and Cromwells have 
nothing whatever to do with Mr. Roose- 
velt's success, except in making his char- 
acter more widely visible to the whole 
American people. 

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Theodore Roosevelt 


It is all perfectly clear, and it all comes 
back to the same thing, the thing we began 
with in the Harvard gymnasium; the 
courage, the frank brotherly consideration, 
and the sense of honor; in one word, the 
all round gentleman. When you find an all 
round gentleman who is public spirited 
and patriotic, you have the very best thing 
our American soil can produce; and the 
American people confess this in their ap- 
proval of Mr. Roosevelt. Do you think 
the American people don't like a gentle- 
man? Do you suppose that they, whose 
hearts are full of sport, who admire game- 
ness in every other species, game dogs, game 
chickens, game horses, stop admiring when 
it comes to a game man? Would it, in 
short, be human nature to value the best 
in every species excepting your own? We 
are all equal, you say? Man alone of all 
the animals doesn't belong to the scheme 
of evolution? Oh no; you know a great 
deal better than that. You know well 
enough what those words meant when they 
were written in the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence. They meant that George Wash- 
ington and the humblest private in his 
ranks had equal rights before the law; that 
they should have equal chances to be as 
happy as they could. Those words said 
equal rights to pursue happindss, didn't 
they? They didn't say George Washing- 
ton and the private were equally happy, 
did they? Any more than they said that 
they were equally tall, or equally strong, 
or equally intellectual. But you see you 
have heard the albinos for years and years 
declaring that we are all equal; one just 
as good as the other; that the private could 
have beaten the British just as well as 
George Washington beat them. For that's 
what the albinos' remark amounts to. 
They go on a little further, about like this: 
All men are equal. Therefore gentlemen 
are inferior. That is the albino logic. 
The truth is, that the albinos are so afraid 
you will find out that gentlemen — game 
men, courageous men, generous and con- 
siderate and honorable men — are more sat- 
isfactory in politics than they themselves 
are, will govern better, will cost you less 
and give you more for your money, and 
will not grow mysteriously rich in office 
as they do, that they have scared you 
with a bogey. They have set up for you 
to laugh at a stuffed figure, labelled "gen- 
tleman." This dummy wears strange 

clothes, walks oddly, speaks oddly, can't 
fight, has thin legs and no voice, and yel- 
low gloves, and squeaks admiring phrases 
about England, and weeps over American 
vulgarity, and is generally too soft to go 
out in the rain without fear of melting. 
There are such people, and the albinos 
tell you that they are "gentlemen." And 
you have indolently sat and believed this 
grand lie, and have never used your mind; 
never asked yourself what George Wash- 
ington was; never remembered that when 
you have seen a generous act or a con- 
siderate and kind act done by somebody 
who wasn't obliged to do it and could 
have been ungenerous and unkind with- 
out risk of being found out, that you have 
exclaimed invariably of such a person: 
"He's a gentleman!" And so our great 
people swallow the albinos whole, swallow 
these moral perverts whom we allow to 
take charge of our affairs, instead of looking 
for more people like Mr. Roosevelt. Do you 
object to the phrase "moral perverts" as 
applied to politicians? Let me give you 
a simple illustration that you have often 
seen. The country needs a certain bill 
passed. Everybody says it ought to be; 
everybody knows it ought to be. The 
party in power which is trying to pass 
the bill is soon to face a general election. 
Therefore the party out of power, which 
hopes to win at that election, defeats the 
bill in order that the party in power may 
not get the credit of passing it. No mat- 
ter about the country. Damn the coun- 
try. It may be bad for the country, but 
it's good politics. That's the whole point 
with the albinos: good politics. And they 
think that in defeating the bill they have 
performed their manifest duty. I have 
taken the simplest instance I can think of; 
and if that is not moral perversion, pray 
inform me what is. 

Are you inclined to retort on me with 
this ancient thing: "Ours is a representative 
government. You cannot expect repre- 
sentatives to be superior to the people 
they represent." There was a time when 
I accepted that precious statement, and 
felt sad to think that the American people 
resembled their politicians. Then it be- 
came my fortune to see something of our 
people and to hear them often say they 
would like better representation. To-day 
this is a very common remark to hear. 
You see, they are beginning to notice 

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The Song of the Gray Nut-Pine 

that most politicians never made a dollar 
in their days until they got an office. And 
this is so unlike the large majority of our 
clever and energetic race, that it brings 
you up with somewhat of a bang against 
that old thing about our representatives 
necessarily representing us. If you have 
accepted that, you have accepted it because 
it is so universally handed round among 
us, like ice-cream at a picnic. You take 
the ice-cream on faith, and now and then 
it poisons you. Well, the truth is a very 
different matter. We are mostly busy and 
responsible; therefore we allow the idle and 

the irresponsible to get into office under our 
noses. And the scientific fact about our 
Republic, as it is now in its great growing 
ferment, is not that we elect our true rep- 
resentatives, but that in a boiling pot the 
scum floats on the surface. The scum is 
the albinos, the moral perverts. Contrasted 
with them Mr. Roosevelt shines, not quite 
alone, but conspicuous. He takes no mean 
advantage of an adversary; he stops when 
"time" is called; he fights "on the square;" 
he is what the West calls a "white man:" 
and that is the true cause of him and his 
great popularity. 


By Elwyn Irving Hoffman 

The boughs of the gray nut-pines are swaying 

In the gentle summer breeze; 
Sighing — swaying — their needles keep playing 

All my heart's old melodies. 
Those mystical tunes that I loved to hear 

In the days of long ago, 
When a child I played where the pine boughs swayed, 

And gathered the nuts below! 

O, that solemn music still is ringing 

Deep down in my heart to-day. 
The pines are swinging; I hear them singing 

Their quaint and curious lay; 
And my heart is flooded with sad, sweet thoughts — 

For long dead dreams that are mine, 
As I hear again, with its deep refrain, 

The song of the gray nut-pine! 

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By F. R. N. Findlay 

OF the many and varied animals 
which once roamed in countless 
herds and troops over the plains 
and forests, plateaus and swamps ot Africa, 
and to-day are but sparsely represented in 
the remotest and, to man, almost inaccessi- 
ble corners of the continent, I think un- 
doubtedly the one that affords the pedes- 
trian hunter the best sport in its pursuit is 
the buffalo (Boscaffer typicus). Its natural 
craftiness and strength, and when wounded, 
its fierce vindictiveness, clearly mark it as 
an animal worthy of the sportsman's 
best effort, and justifies its being placed 
at the head of the list of African sporting 
animals. The sportsman will find his skill, 
stamina and nerve severely taxed in the 
tracking and stalking of an animal so keen 
of scent and so fleet of foot as the buffalo. 
Its eyes and ears are ever on the alert, and 
to great strength and power to inflict in- 
jury are superadded great courage and 
pluck and Reynard's cunning. 

The present habitat of the buffalo in South 
East Africa is hedged in by, and pitted 
with, numberless obstacles and hindrances 
to success, to man's movement, to good 
health, and safety. Swamps — the principal 
home of the mosquito and the hotbed of 
malarial fever — almost impenetrable masses 
of reeds, and grass and dense forest re- 
cesses of thorny scrub, and the dreaded 
tsetse fly, have to be faced and overcome. 
The risks and dangers of buffalo hunting 
can be greatly minimized by studiously 
omitting to follow up the wounded animals; 
but sportsmen will always discountenance 
such a course, as well from humane con- 
siderations as by reason of the increased 
hazard that has to be run. Indeed, he is 
no keen sportsman who, well armed and 
supported by his trusted camarade de 
chasse, does not follow up the blood spoor 
of the stricken buffalo, and stick to it per- 
sistently through swamp, reeds and dense 
bush in the hope that he may come up with 
his wounded quarry. And, if he does, he 
may reckon on sport that will make every 
nerve and fiber in his body tingle with 

•The wreathed plover, called " Keewit " from 
named " Peewit." 

pleasure, that is, if he and his friend suc- 
ceed in avoiding and stopping the sudden 
and fierce charges of their antagonist; for 
once the wounded buffalo is brought to bay 
the chances are it becomes a fight on sight, 
when the only way to stop the charging is 
to kill the buffalo. Out of every ten buf- 
faloes which have been severely wounded 
and have taken to dense cover, nine will 
elect to fight, and will charge, if the sports- 
man persistently follows them; some will 
charge at once on being wounded and fol- 
lowed up; others again retreat several times 
upon the nearer approach of the sportsman 
and then dash suddenly from the dark 
shade of an overhanging bush or other 
obscure position, or unexpected ambush, 
in a last wild charge and determined attack. 

I do not for a moment advocate reck- 
less following up of a wounded buffalo, 
especially when the hunter is alone or ac- 
companied only by a native, which amounts 
practically to the same thing; on the con- 
trary I think no man can be too careful in 
dealing with this crafty animal. Person- 
ally I am, and have resolved always to be, 
very cautious in pursuit of this sport; and 
I would impress on those who intend to 
try their luck that the sooner they realize 
the dangers of their pursuit, the better for 
them. The majority of accidents are, in a 
great measure, due to the foolhardy man- 
ner in which the hunter has rushed after 
the wounded buffalo as if it were a winged 

It is true that by carefully adapting one's 
weapons and mode of attack to suit the 
particular nature and character of the 
quarry, good sport can be had in the at- 
tack and pursuit of a great many animals. 
The wart hog, if he did not find a con- 
venient bear hole to get into, or other fit 
hole such as everywhere dots the African 
veld, would be a formidable animal to 
meet with the short or "jobbing" spear; 
and even the bushpig affords excellent 
sport, as Mr. F. V. Kirby has pointed out 
in his book "In Haunts of Wild Game," if 
you attack it with an "ikempi" or Zulu 

its peculiar cry, just as the English bird is 

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Tracking Buffaloes in Africa 

stabbing assegai as it retreats before the 
noisy beaters. But these animals, and even 
the lion, cannot be compared with the 
African buffalo as a sporting animal. The 
nocturnal habits of the lion, and its dis- 
position to retire to dense cover during the 
day, and the absence of a trackable trail 
in a grass country by which the hunter can 
follow it to its lair, all militate against its 
pursuit, in comparison with that of the 

in places by bush, such as exists in Por- 
tuguese Africa, between the Zambesi and 
Pungwe rivers, the lion is seldom to be en- 
countered by day, and thus, in my mind, 
only ranks second to the buffalo as a sport- 
ing animal. Mr. F. J. Jackson, in his 
article on the buffalo in the "Great and 
Small Game of Africa," says, " Personally, I 
consider it the pluckiest, and when wounded, 
the most cunning and savage of all game 

buffalo. It is true that by watching at a tyat is considered 'dangerous/ 

" kiU" by night some grand sport and excite- 
ment may be had with lions and leopards, 
and it must not for a moment be supposed 
that I wish to raise my voice with those 
who some years ago hurled all manner of 


depreciative remarks at the lion and his 
pluck; on the contrary, I have a most pro- 
found respect and admiration for his strength, 
pluck, beauty, fierceness, and even his 
voice; but his habits are such that in a 

To give some idea of the excitement of 
buffalo shooting and the tracking of 
wounded animals, I may here give an ac- 
count of a day's shooting in Portuguese 
East Africa. The warm, penetrating rays 
of the sun were struggling to 
pierce the dense mist which, 
at eight o'clock still enshrouded 
the whole country, when B. and 
I, accompanied by half a dozen 
"boys/' quitted our camp near 
old Narugwe's kraal, on the 
Pungwe stream, one August 
morning, and set out for the 
Madingue-dingue River, in the 
hope of finding buffaloes in the 
tract of country encircled by that 
river and the Upper Pungwe, 
and known as Monongvia Is- 

An hour's quick walking 
brought us to the Madingue- 
dingue River, on the opposite 
bank of which we could see the 
conical-shaped roofs of some of 
the huts of Tambara's kraal 
snugly ensconced beyond the 
dark shade that was thrown by 
two enormous trees growing on 
the river bank, with stems 
standing out, as it were, like 
giant sentinels. 

Securing the services of two 
young men at this kraal, and 
undertaking to pay them a 
queinta* each if they brought 
us within sight of "buffaloes, we 
followed our guides. For the 
first ten minutes we proceeded along a 
pathway, through dense reeds about eight 
feet high, on the right bank of the stream, 
until another kraal was reached. Then 
we struck away at right angles. One of 

country overgrown by grass and covered our guides was a short, thickset, light- 

*A Portuguese 500 reis silver piece, about the size of half-a-crown and equivalent to 
about 36 cents in American money. 

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Tracking Buffaloes in Africa 


skinned native, with a baboon face, but he 
was a demon for getting over swampy 
ground; the other was tall, good looking, 
of a deeper black, and might have passed 
for a Zulu. The former carried an extra- 
ordinary hippo spear; it had a moderately 
sized blade, but the shaft was many feet 
long, I would not like to say how many — 
in fact, it was a young tree stem, and was 
several inches in diameter — about the size 
of a good-sized boat oar. Later in the 

virgin tract of country, they were taking a 
siesta in an open, grassy spot, devoid of all 
reeds and cover. Leaving our boys, B. and 
I crawled forward, advancing from cover to 
cover until a short one hundred and fifty 
yards separated us from the nearest bull, a 
grand old patriarchal fellow with a pair of 
exceedingly massive, yet short and appar- 
ently well-worn horns. He was lying down 
in the middle of the open patch of short 
grass, his legs doubled under him, as is the 
habit of cattle. To our left, about twenty 
buffaloes, all eows, m far as I could judge, 
and a couple of waterbuck, 
were lying near the edge of 
the open patch about three 

day, while we were stealth- 
ily creeping upon a herd of 
buffaloes, our friend with 
the spear had to be care- 
fully watched and admon- 
ished, for every now and thee up the 
one end would go, and show like a flag 
staff high above the long grass. We ali 
wished that he had left his weapon at home, 
and after a time, I believe., he had his re- 
grets. A grass swamp, with from two to 
three feet of water, was crossed after twenty 
minutes floundering about amongst the 
entwining duckweed, and then we cut the 
fresh spoor and droppings of a single buf- 
falo. At last the welcome word, inyati! (buf- 
falo!), fell from one of our boys, who had 
climbed the topmost branches of a leafless 
dangwe tree. The magic word gave us 
renewed vigor and keenness, and we silently 
tightened our grip on the rifles, and ad- 
vanced in the direction which the wind 
compelled us to take to avoid being scented 
by the game. The grass, from three to 
four feet high, afforded us ample cover 
until we got within three hundred yards of 
the herd. Being but rarely disturbed in this 


hundred yards distant. To our right, some 
two hundred paces away, a dozen cows 
and, I should say, twenty blue wildebeests 
and as many zebra and waterbuck, lay 
or stood about, and beyond the old bull 
were a motley troop of buffaloes, wilde- 
beests, zebras and waterbuck. It was a 
grand sight to see these animals together, 
fearlessly lying in the open during the heat 
of the day; it was specially so to us, real- 
izing, as we did, the practical extermination 
which seems to await these sadly reduced 
herds, the remnant of the almost countless 
hordes that roamed undisturbed before the 
terrible ravages of the rinderpest in 1897 
and 1898 laid thousands low forever. 

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Tracking Buffaloes in Africa 

As I had lately been having some suc- 
cessful sport with buffaloes, it was decided 
that B. should fire the first shot at the bull 
lying broadside on; so, taking a steady aim 
with his 450 express, he touched the trigger. 
The bullet "clapped" loudly, and the 
peaceful scene of a moment before was 
rudely broken. On receiving the shot, 
the bull jumped up and was off. Feeling 
sure that B. had given it a fatal shot, I 
turned my attention to a cow, and got a long- 
distance running shot, but missed, and then 
had a couple of snap shots at a large blue 
wildebeest bull, the nearest animal to me. 

The buffalo had entered the long grass, 
and we found the trail, with here and there 
a small clod of mud, evidently from its 
cloven hoofs, adhering to the grass, and 
farther on a speck of blood. The sight of 
blood was sufficient to make our gun- 
bearers drop ignominiously to the rear, 
and it was only occasionally thenceforth 
that we caught a glimpse of one or other 
of them in a treetop, or that they reminded 
us of their whereabouts by giving voice to 
a warning wail. It was exciting work 
following the trail through the six-foot 
grass, with but here and there a guiding 
speck or streak of blood; the eye alive to 
the least movement in the surrounding 
grass, the ear catching the slightest rustle; 
the muzzle of the rifle held well forward, 
and the twitching forefinger ever ready to 
do its duty; indeed, all the complex ma- 
chinery which constitutes the human frame 
and mind, set on the hair-trigger. It is 
to experience the thrill and aspiration of 
moments, and often many minutes, such as 
these that the sportsman takes to buffalo 
hunting. He knows that his quarry may 
now become his antagonist, and yet he 
knows not where his antagonist is. The 
bull may have beaten round and returned 
to within a yard or two of his blood-stained 
pathway, where, with bated breath, out- 
stretched nose and sullen eyes, he stands 
prepared to carry out his evil intent. His 
naturally ' savage temper becomes more 
violent and irrepressible every moment. 
As he hears the low whispers and slow 
movements of his late aggressors, and as 
sharp, piercing pains rake his whole sys- 
tem, he becomes the very embodiment of 
malignant ferocity, but withal he is patient, 
and will await with fox-like cunning th'j 
favorable moment when, all his pent-up 
rage, strength and speed is to be put into 

one last short, sharp and destructive charge. 
Or he may not have stayed his retreat until 
he has reached those straggling bushes and 
low, broad-leaved palms, interspersed with 
long grass, on that slight rise ahead; or he 
may sweep down upon you from the rear, 
or resort to some other cunning tactics. 
Experience has taught the sportsman to 
advance with exceeding caution; cool judg- 
ment must hold supreme sway. 

Advancing by a series of semi-circular 
short casts, we presently came upon a small 
patch of blood where the buffalo had stood 
for some time, but after proceeding several 
hundred yards farther without encounter- 
ing it, we were begining to think it had gone 
clean off and rejoined the main troop of 
cows, when, on glancing to one side of the 
path, I saw some blood on the spot where 
it had been standing, head on, at right 
angles to the track. Had it remained there, 
I should certainly have been bowled over, 
even had I managed to fire point blank; 
the dark shade and surrounding branches 
would most probably have completely con- 
cealed its black coat and horns until too 
late. With renewed care and vigilance, 
we advanced into the heart of the bush, 
now struggling to force a passage through 
the dense undergrowth on the one side of 
the buffalo's path in order to make a for- 
ward semi-circular cast, and then swarming 
up a thorny acacia tree to reconnoiter the 
immediate vicinity. It was tiring work, 
but full of possibilities. Presently we lost 
the spoor, and whilst beating about to re- 
gain it, there was a sudden bellow, a rush, 
and a crash, and then all was silent for a 
moment. These ominous sounds had come 
from behind a dense mass of almost impene- 
trable bush a dozen yards ahead, and every 
instant we expected to see the buffalo break 
through the barrier and dash at us; we 
stood our ground — B. in an open spot, and 
I within arm's length of a stout palm stem, 
behind which I would, I think, have been 
able to avoid the first rush had the bullets 
from B.'s ten-bore and my Mauser rifle 
failed to stop it. Before long there was 
another rush, and the buffalo passed within 
fifteen yards of us, but out of sight, and 
lumbered away at a heavy, swinging pace 
which seemed to denote that its right fore- 
leg was injured between the knee and the 
shoulder, and "this seemed to be confirmed 
by the hight at which we had found the 
blood on the grass. 

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Tracking Buffaloes in Africa 


After tracing the spoor for some distance 
farther we decided to abandon it, and follow 
the troop, amongst which, one of our boys 
said, he had seen a large bull. I was sorry 
to give up the chase, but the buffalo was 
evidently not very badly wounded; we had 

country imaginable. Just as we reached 
the other side of a dambo, two buffalo bulls 
rushed from a patch of reeds and passed 
close in front of us at a tremendous pace. 
B. and I each got in a hurried shot, and 
our bullets told on the larger of the two. 


already followed it for more than an hour, 
and might be led a considerable distance 
in the opposite direction from that taken 
by the herd. We struck across the veld, 
until we cut the broad trail of the herd, 
which soon led us into a tract of the wildest 

The next instant they had disappeared in 
the long grass, and we heard a distant rush- 
ing and crashing noise as the main troop, 
startled by our shots, broke from a dense 
mass of reeds several hundred yards ahead. 
Hardly had we advanced ten paces into 

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Tracking Buffaloes in Africa 

the long grass, following the spoor of the 
wounded bull, when one of the boys shouted 
from a tree that he could see it, but it 
soon made off again. We had to proceed 
very cautiously, for we found ourselves in 
as bad a bit of jungle and grass as, I think, 
any sportsman has ever followed a wounded 
buffalo into. It was almost impossible to 
advance, except along the track which the 
buffalo had by sheer strength mowed for 
itself through the masses of unfooted bush, 
reeds and grass. When one of us endeav- 
ored to force a passage parallel to the track, 
it was found to be such tiring and slow 
work, and at times one felt so hopelessly 
engulfed in the rank vegetation, so utterly 
unable to avoid a charge, and so cut off 
from his companion, that he soon returned 
to the track. The wounds were evidently 
severe, for the grass and twigs on both sides 
were besprinkled with blood, and here and 
there clots of a darker color were observed, 
leading us to believe that the lungs were 
injured. We had perhaps followed the spoor 
for ten minutes when I found that, beyond 
the five in the magazine of my rifle, I had 
no cartridges with me, so I shouted to my 
boy Galazi to bring the belt he was carrying, 
when we were suddenly startled by the 
buffalo rushing out from behind a dense 
mass of foliage a dozen paces in front of 
us. He disappeared almost immediately. 
I think it was rather lucky that I shouted 
when I did, as we probably would have 
walked on to its very horns, so well con- 
cealed was it in its dark nook. Then fol- 
lowed half an hour of some of the most 
difficult and apparently dangerous track- 
ing I have ever undertaken. We were led 
into the heart of a veritable chaos of trees, 
scrubby bush and stunted palms, inter- 
spersed with coarse, rank grass. We could 
see half a dozen paces ahead of us along the 
course taken by the quarry, and occasion- 
ally farther, but the jungle on both sides 
was impenetrable to the eye, and we real- 
ized that when the momentarily expected 
charge took place, only the one who was 
walking in front would be able to fire. 

Twice we' halted to consider if it was good 
enough to continue the chase, but still we 
advanced until, at last, as the jungle be- 
came more dense than ever, we came to 

the conclusion that it was a mad game 
without dogs, or, as B. rightly summed up 
the situation, "The odds were all in favor 
of the buffalo." Slowly, and even sadly, 
we retraced our steps and joined our boys, 
feeling none too pleased with ourselves; 
but I for one set my teeth and determined 
to secure buffalo meat for our numerous 
following before I turned my face towards 
our distant camp on the Pungwe river — as 
I may add, I did. 

The trail along which we now proceeded 
became broader and more clearly defined, 
another herd having joined the first. For 
the next hour we rapidly followed it. The 
track which sixty to a hundred buffaloes, 
rushing pellmell through the country, in 
a solid phalanx, leave behind them, is truly 
surprising. At one place the herd had cut 
a path fully fifteen yards broad through 
a belt of the tallest and stoutest reeds I 
have ever seen, enabling us to follow at 
a trot. Within an hour of sunset we got 
up to the herd, standing, strangely enough, 
on one of the few open green glades we had 
seen that day. Stalking to within two 
hundred yards of the nearest cow, I took 
a steady aim at a fine old bull with a 
splendid head, and fired. After getting in 
a second shot with my quick-firing Mauser, 
I dropped a cow with a third. As I ran to- 
ward the spot where the bull had entered 
the long grass, the cow jumped up again, 
but having to traverse fully one hundred 
and fifty yards of open country, I was able 
to get in three out of four shots on its hind- 
quarters from a distance of one hundred to 
two hundred and fifty yards, and with a 
dying bellow it fell on reaching the cover. 
I found the bull lying down, evidently 
very sick, and put an end to its sufferings. 
The horns of this old fellow measured three 
feet two inches from elbow to elbow (outside.) 

Fortunately there was a native footpath 
leading to Tambara's, about three miles 
higher up the river. 

We saw several zebra and many water- 
buck en route and hundreds of water birds, 
spur-winged geese, teal, tree ducks, rails, 
spoonbills and beautiful egrets, on a large 
vlei, and by the time we reached Tambara's 
kraal, the short African twilight had passed 
into a dark but starry night. 

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By Frank M. Chapman 

(Author of "Bird Studies with a Camera" etc.) 

"\\ 7 HERE'S your gun?" 

\f \f The question was asked me in 

the smoking compartment of 
an Old Point sleeper, by the ruddy-faced 
owner of a regulation leather case, who had 
just learned that I, like himself, was bound 
for the vicinity of Cape Charles in quest of 
bay birds. 

In reply I pointed to a small camera box 
at my feet. 

"What," said he, "you're not going to 
shoot with that thing?" 

I explained that having satisfied my 
desire for the blood of snipe and plover, I 
was now endeavoring to secure pictures of 
the birds in life, but his comment, "Well, 
I'll be dog-goned," was all too convincing 
evidence that I had not made a convert to 
the cause of camera hunting and I return to 
the subject here in a further attempt to 
explain why I "shoot with that thing." 
We hear much now-a-days about hunting 
with a camera, and all good sportsmen 
endorse without reserve the theory of cam- 
era hunting, but how many of them practice 
it? How many have actually substituted 
the camera for the rifle or shotgun? It is 
true most nature-loving sportsmen add a 
camera to their outfit, but to go a-hunting 
with no other weapon, would be considered 
an extravagance of opportunity. 

Let us, then, discuss the comparative 
merits of the gun and camera with the object 
of learning whether the camera hunter is 
abnormal, or a natural development of man's 
gradual awakening to a sense of kinship 
with the animals below him, which, while 
it does not curb the hunting instinct, stays 
his hand in the killing. In other words, will 
camera hunting increase and killing de- 
crease? Will the day ever come — in ten 
thousand years if you choose — when the 
gun will be as exceptional as the camera is 
now? I take it for granted that even ten 
thousand years will not diminish man's 
instinctive love for the chase. That is a 
common inheritance from ancestors whose 
lives — and consequently ours — depended on 

the successful employment of their ability 
as hunters. Succeeding ages, far from 
dulling, have apparently sharpened this 
innate desire on man's part to match his skill 
against the cunning of a wild creature. Gun 
or camera, therefore, we have as undis- 
puted ground in our argument for the em- 
ployment of either — man's inherent love of 
hunting. This point established, let us 
return to our consideration of the com- 
parative merits of the gun and camera. 

Your true sportsman demands that his 
quarry be worthy his steel. He has no use 
for the apple that falls at his bidding. He 
goes afield primarily to hunt. The killing 
of sleeping ducks, trapped bears and the 
like is, in his eyes, murder in the first 
degree. His trophies are valued, primarily, 
in proportion to the difficulty with which 
they were secured. But if it were only 
hunting he desired he might exchange his 
gun for a camera at once with the certainty 
that he would be the gainer. It is only 
necessary to say that a duck is practically 
out of camera range at a distance of over 
ten yards, to make it plain that the wielder 
of a choke-bore has an advantage over the 
camerist, an advantage that increases as 
the size of the game decreases. Hence it 
follows that the camera hunter must employ 
not only all the sportsman's devices in the 
way of blinds, decoys, etc., but he must add 
to them. The Kearton brothers of England, 
use a stuffed bullock as a kind of "stalking 
horse." The writer is constructing a dis- 
guise which will turn him into a walking 
tree-trunk. Wholly aside from the facts, 
therefore, that the same bird or beast may 
be pursued and bagged repeatedly, and that 
close seasons are unknown to the animal 
photographer, the superiority of the camera 
over the gun so far as hunting is concerned, 
is so obvious, that doubtless only the most 
enthusiastic hunter would prefer the former 
to the latter. Continuing our comparison, 
we pass from the question of hunting to that 
of the object hunted. On the one hand, we 
have as the successful outcome of the chase, 

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The Camera Hunter 

a bag of bob-white, or of grouse, a deer, a 
moose, or other game bird or animal ; on the 
other, a photograph of some wild animal in 
nature. Which is the more desirable? A 
reply to this question forces some definition 
of what constitutes the true type of game 
bird or beast. 

It would probably be generally conceded 
that, other things being equal, wildness and 
consequent difficulty of approach forms the 
most important attribute of a game animal. 
A wild turkey, therefore, wholly apart from 
the matter of size, is better game than a 
grouse. Observe, also, that the same bird 
tamed, domesticated, is transformed from 
game to poultry. So far then as the char- 
acter wildness defines a game animal, the 
advantage in weapons clearly lies with the 
camera, for its limitations enormously ex- 
tend the list of creatures which, under the 
single definition of wildness, could be ranked 
as game. However, the disciple of gun or 
rifle requires that the creature he pursues 
shall not only make demands on his skill 
in pursuit, but that it be of value for food, 
or as a trophy, the possession of which will 
bear witness to his skill afield. 

It should be borne in mind that this is a 
question of true sport we are discussing. 
There are, of course, occasions when the 
pangs of hunger greatly increase the value 
of a hunted animal and at the same time 
the excitement of the chase. But in most 
cases, particularly where birds are concerned, 
comparatively few sportsmen, I venture to 
say, think of toast when they make a 
double on " quail. " If the exhilarating 
influences of a frosty November morning 
cannot raise a man above the level of his 
stomach, better that he go to his butcher 
and buy netted birds than intrude -upon 
the legitimate hunting pleasures of a more 
worthy man. No one would — or, at least, 
should — dispute then that the highest type 
of sportsman does not go afield to supply 
his larder. 

There is still another attribute game must 
possess in addition to edibility, that is, an 
endorsement as game by sportsmen which 
shall make the returning hunter eager to 
display the contents of his bag to his fellows. 
The average man accepts without question 
the current valuation of things, and in his 
own mind rates them accordingly. He 
would find no pleasure, therefore, in ex- 
hibiting a bird which he knew was not con- 
sidered game, no matter how toothsome it 

was or with how much difficulty it was 

After this somewhat detailed analysis of 
what constitutes game, we return to the 
question whether a photograph of a wild 
animal in nature is not more desirable than 
the body of the same animal in death. 
Experience leads me to say that to every 
hunter but a market hunter, or a novice 
who has never killed the animal pictured, 
the photograph would be considered the 
more preferable of the two. No one re- 
gards a satisfactory picture of an animal 
in nature with more interest and enthu- 
siasm than a sportsman. He not only ap- 
preciates the difficulties under which it was 
secured, but it appeals to him as a picture, 
as the best possible substitute for nature 
itself. How frequently one hears sports- 
men say, in describing some experience 
which has brought them unusually near a 
wild animal, "If I'd only had a camera!" 

And unless the animal be one which had 
never fallen to their aim, the chances are 
that under such circumstances the camera, 
if there had been one, would have been used 
in preference to the gun; nor does it require 
a vivid imagination to picture the pride 
with which the resulting picture would be 
exhibited and re-exhibited. Why, then, 
since apparently from every point of 
view the camera is more desirable than 
the gun, is it not used to the exclusion of 
the more destructive weapon? I should 
-say for four reasons: First, the camera is 
too ineffective, too uncertain, and satisfac- 
tory results are secured only with great 
difficulty. Second, wholly aside from the 
question of sport, there is a pleasure to be 
found in successfully using a shotgun or 
rifle which has no comparable counterpart 
in photography until one has acquired com- 
plete command of its technicalities. Third, 
the gun gives immediate results; one hits 
or misses; but the developments of the dark- 
room must be awaited before one can know 
with certainty the outcome of a hunt which 
may have occurred weeks previously. The 
invention of a photographic plate which, 
on exposure, would immediately become a 
negative, so that on the squeezing of bulb 
or pressing of button we should know ex- 
actly and at once what we had secured, 
would give a great impetus to camera 
hunting. Fourth, a wild creature excites 
our curiosity and our acquisitiveness, and 
in the present state of civilization the desire 
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The Camera Hunter 


to possess must be appeased before we 
can hope to substitute the camera for 
the gun. 

The first three objections it is quite pos- 
sible may be removed in our own time by the 
improvements in photographic apparatus, 
the fourth is a far different matter and it 
doubtless will not be overcome until the 
development of our constantly increasing 
interest in nature brings us to terms of such 
intimacy with animal life that by means of 

the old fondness for hunting, and that may 
find a consistent outlet through the camera. 
In the meantime camera hunters may be 
expected to be only those individuals whose 
experience epitomizes the history we have 
ventured to predict for the race. Born 
with 'the hunting instinct they will pass 
through the stone age to that of the sling, 
bow, airgun, and rifle, eventually to develop 
in this paradoxical manner, so intense a love 
for the animals with which they have 


small teaching collections, museums, and 
zoological gardens we shall have learned to 
know the more common members of the 
group or groups of animals in which we are 
interested. Then this desire to know defi- 
nitely, which prompts us to kill, will be grati- 
fied without the shedding of blood and at 
the same time our inherent interest in 
animals will have been so aroused that we 
will recognize our kinship with them and 
in so doing become their protectors, not 
destroyers. There will remain, however, 

become familiar that to kill one would be 
little short of murder. Then they will take 
to the camera. 

In conclusion, it may reasonably be de- 
manded that as an evidence of good faith 
I produce some of the results of my own 
camera hunting. They exist but, I fear, 
are for the greater part not of interest to 
the sportsman, the inclinations of an ornith- 
ologist leading me to pursue all birds with 
equal ardor and thus far few game birds 
have fallen to my lens. 

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By Martha McCulloch Williams 

SPORT has an extra relish when it has 
a tang of vengeance underneath, and 
Joe had a private grudge against 
the whole race of possums — no wonder, 
therefore, that he liked a possum hunt even 
more than a bird hunt. The sly gray- 
coats had not only robbed him, but fooled 
him ever and ever so long. It happened in 
this wise. Joe had a small hen-house set 
up in the orchard, quite apart from his 
mother's. Only the spring before a pos- 
sum had plundered it, sucking eggs with- 
out number, and eating many young chicks. 
But there seemed no way to catch him — 
traps he stepped over, or around, poisoned 
eggs he disdained. The dogs told of his 
presence, but somehow always lost his trail. 
So Joe sat up to watch for him, gun in 
hand, and waited so late that he fell asleep, 
until a great squawking and fluttering among 
the hens with young broods waked him. 
He saw a gray, furry thing slide away, leap 
upon the fence, follow it to the gate, spring 
thence into a black walnut tree growing 
beside it, run along the walnut boughs un- 
til they lapped those of an oak above the 
wood pile, scutter through the oak, and 
down its trunk, and at last disappear under 
the logs. When the posse got him out at 
dawn they found the whole place full of 
shells and feathers and bones. The sly 
rascal had harbored there, right under the 
noses of everybody, choosing a route back 
and forth which the wisest dog could not 

It was early spring, so Joe knew the pos- 
sum's mate had whipped him away from 
the nest. She had just got her young in 
her pouches, and needed all the room her- 
self. Like the mother hawk, she is bigger 
than her mate, and a better fighter. She 
will fight almost anything for her young, 
until they are big enough to run and climb. 
For six weeks after they are born she 
keeps them snug in the pouches under- 
neath her. When she sits up you see their 
funny little heads each side, sticking out 
of the slit between the pouches, or suck- 
ling, very much as pigs suck. After the 
first fortnight they do not stay constantly 
in the pouches. Their eyes open and they 

creep out to play clumsily, but scurry 
back at her first warning grunt. The play- 
spells outside grow longer and longer, but 
still the young possums seek their accus- 
tomed shelter until they grow too big to 
get into it. After that Sis Possum carries 
them another way, all huddled on her 
back, with their tails clinging round her 
tail, which she holds up for the purpose 
over and parallel to her backbone. Thus 
she runs out of the nest with them, or 
blunders about the woods. The nest is in 
either a hollow tree, or log, or stump, or a 
dry cranny in the bluff, or is scratched out 
beneath the floor of a low-set outbuilding. 
It is lined with leaves and grass, and is de- 
serted after one season. 

Sis Possum likes best to fight with a tree 
or a stone at her back, but if she must do 
it on open ground, she half crouches over 
her young family, and strikes out with 
teeth and forefeet. Her teeth are almost 
tusks. That is another point of likeness 
to her cousins, the pigs. Like them, also, 
she is carnivorous if need be — eating birds 
and their eggs, very young rabbits, be- 
sides such small deer as mice and grub- 
worms. To get at the grubs she turns over 
rotting logs with her sharp nose. She also 
roots, pig fashion, for sprouting acorns, and 
nips off mouthfuls of tender grass. Feed- 
ing thus in spring and summer the possum's 
flesh is coarse, rank, tough and stringy, for 
he is a gross and mighty feeder, yet withal 
an epicure; eating many things and much of 
them if he must, eating the best things and 
still more of them, if he may. He divides 
the mulberry crop with the squirrels, but 
he does not care much for green corn. 
Sweet apples tempt him to the orchard, 
and he has a nice taste in blackberries. 
But none of these compare in his mind with 
grapes and persimmons. The earliest of 
these ripen in September. By October pos- 
sums are fairly edible, but it is not until 
November that they reach their prime. 

Possums are fat then — fat as they can 
waddle — and all their flesh is delicate and 
of melting richness. The skin under the 
gray white-tipped hair glows a lively pink, 
like the skin of a young white pig. A 

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A Wicked Brother to the Pig 


possum is never skinned for cooking. In- 
stead, he is rolled in hot ashes, and scraped 
as a pig is scraped. Then he is either 
stuffed with sweet potatoes, and roasted 
whole, or baked with the potatoes in the 
pan all around. The cooking must be 
thorough — the skin crisp enough to crackle 
in the teeth. The taste of a young possum, 
properly fat, freshly caught, and dressed 
before he was fairly cold, is very much that 
of a glorified sucking pig. 

Before the roasting comes the catching, 
consequently the possum hunt. Black 
men are incomparably the best hunters — 
perhaps through the inherited aptitude of 
many generations. Nose makes the pos- 
sum dog. He may be of any breed, or all, 
or none. A setter or pointer which devel- 
ops the possum nose, is hard to beat, but 
it is a ruined dog thereafter for work after 
birds. The very best dogs for possum 
are mongrels of wholly indistinguishable 
antecedents. Some few have rough, wiry 
coats, hinting of terrier blood, others jaws 
of bulldog pattern, and still others ears and 
legs that bespeak a remote hound cross. A 
simple yellow cur may turn out an ideal 
possum dog — so may a fyce, especially a 
bench -legged fyce. But whatever the 
breed, the fact is indisputable — no litter, 
however big it may be, was ever known to 
hold more than one real possum dog. 
"Wrong" was proof enough of that, 
for although, when he and his brother 
"Right" were hunting together, you could 
scarcely distinguish the one from the 
other, Right had no brains whatever. 
He ran anything or nothing, just as the no- 
tion took him, would stand barking half a 
day beside a perfectly sound stump, trying 
to make the world share his belief that 
there was some wonderful beast inside or 
under it, or if he ran a real rabbit, fol- 
lowed it at an easy dilettante trot, his ' 
mouth open, and yawping once in every 
ten yards. A mole hill was quite another 
matter — he ran along it so fast, and barked 
so furiously, he sometimes stumbled over 
his own forelegs, and took a header that 
knocked the breath out of him. Not- 
withstanding, Slow Pete, his master, had 
faith to believe he would make a great dog, 
when he had time to come to himself. 
Since Right was rising two years old, Dan 
and Little Moses laughed at the prediction, 
and scoffed at the bare mention of taking 
Right possum hunting. 

They did not really need any other dog than 
Wrong; but since a barking chorus is jollier 
of nights than a single cry, they tolerated 
Daddy Jim's two dogs, Music and Damsel, 
who at least knew enough to follow Wrong's 
lead. Music was a cur of no degree, Damsel 
had a remote hound-cross; neither was much 
to look at, but both had a place in the 
hearts of their hunting countrymen. It was 
a near thing as to which of them was the 
better; but nobody ever thought of disput- 
ing that after Wrong, the incomparable, the 
pair were the best possum dogs in the 
county. All three knew their business to a 
nicety. They understood what was up, in 
fact, as soon as their masters began splitting 
wood for torches. It was odd to see them then 
crouch at the men's feet, looking up at them 
with pleading eyes, whining a little and beat- 
ing the ground with their tails. Wrong had 
this much of real greatness — he never thought 
himself indispensable. Instead he begged 
as piteously to be taken, as the awkwardest 
and most unkempt puppy of the possum- 
dog brotherhood. Before hunting nights 
Little Moses always gave him extra feed at 
breakfast, with only bread and milk at 
noon, and a hunch of ash-cake for supper. 
He knew a dog must have strength to run 
well, also that he would never run his best 
nor trail his best with an overful stomach. 

Possum hunters have an assembly call 
the same as partridges. It is a keen, 
whooping halloo. Little Moses generally 
raised it, in signal to the rest to gather in 
the road before his cabin. Dan and Joe 
were commonly the first to answer it. Dan 
could outwhoop Little Moses if he tried — 
but when your hunting depends largely 
upon the loan of another fellow's dog, it is 
not the part of wisdom to halloo him down 
at the beginning. A possum dog is gen- 
erally likewise a fine coon dog, so the dogs 
did not know until the hunters laid their 
course what sort of game they were ex- 
pected to follow. Coons abide in the 
woods along the streams. They cannot 
live far away from fresh water, since they 
must first dip into it every morsel they eat. 
If the hunt headed for the creek, that 
meant coons as plain as daylight. If con- 
trariwise, it went toward the old fields, 
and the strip of tangle, possum was the 
word. And then the dogs were glad — so 
glad that they leaped and fawned upon 
their masters, then set off running full tilt, 
and barking in little short happy yelps as 
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A Wicked Brother to the Pig 

they ran. Wrong's bark was his worst 
point. It was shrill, almost whining. 
Damsel had a bell note, Music a loud half- 
roaring voice, not the least bit musical, but 
dependably honest. 

Every experienced black possum hun- 
ter firmly believes luck is at its best 
under a growing moon. That is not 
strange, considering he also believes that 
life and death, and blight and growth, the 
turn of the seasons, wind, sunshine, and 
rain, all depend upon lunar influence. He 
explains that as the moon waxes or wanes, 
so does the scent of the wild creatures. 
Naturally a growing scent leaves a trail 
quickly found and easily followed. If there 
is a color of reason behind his belief, it is 
easy to understand why November hunts 
are so fruitful. The hunter's moon shines 
then, red and fiery at the rising, later a 
shield or a sickle of burnished silver, swim- 
ming slow across a violet velvet sea. It 
rises earlier than any other moon of the 
year. The light of it makes bright the 
fields and woods when it is even a little 
way up the sky. But the thickets are 
densely dark. Torchlight is needed there 
on moonlight nights,, as well as late or early 
when the moon does not shine. Still it 
is bad luck to start out by torchlight. 
After the hunt is a hundred yards away, the 
torches may be lit, it does not so much 
matter. Dan commonly lit his torch, even 
if there was a moon, when they came to the 
fence around the old field. If it had not 
been for the hedgerow you might have 
walked through the rotting rails anywhere. 
The old fields made part of the land that 
had been in chancery. It was all of twenty 
years since a plow had ran in them. Still 
there were many acres clear of everything 
but sedge, yet thickets were plenty, and 
very tall, as were also persimmon trees. 
Grapevines overran the thickets, and not 
one persimmon tree in a dozen was un- 
fruitful. Persimmon trees are male and 
female, but luckily for Brer Possum and 
his congeners, the proportion of unfruitful 
staminate trees to fruitful pistillate ones, 
is less than one to twenty. 

Persimmon trees are, after a sort, sylvan 
immortelles. Nobody ever saw a dead one, 
any more than a dead mule. Cutting down 
and grubbing up does not destroy them. 
They sprout cheerfully from the tiniest tip 
of root, and keep on sprouting from year to 
year, defying even August cutting. As to 

seat the tree is nobly catholic, growing and 
bearing much fruit upon thin land, growing 
more, bearing still more fruit, upon rich. 
It spreads by seeds as well as by sprouts. 
In the sunny, open fields, which it loves- 
passing well, it grows commonly in clumps, 
from five to twenty, though the trunks 
stand well apart. In the woods it grows 
singly, and curiously enough, ripens its 
fruit earlier than when growing in the open. 
There are very many sub-species of it, differ- 
entiated mainly by the several manners of 
fruit. Some trees ripen it early in Septem- 
ber; others keep the acrid puckery tang 
until February. The early trees are often 
bare before frost, covering the ground under- 
neath with their fruit, which is round, 
deeply flattened at either end, of a deep 
tawny yellow, and thickly covered with the 
richest blue bloom. The flowers, green and 
inconspicuous, come out in mid-May all 
along last year's twigs. Sometimes they 
are very many, sometimes very few. By 
their number you can judge the next fall's 
persimmon crop, since every one sets fruit. 
This early-ripe fruit is lusciously sweet and 
juicy. The pulp is near the color of a ripe 
pumpkin's flesh, but a thought more tawny. 
It lies close around the seeds, which are flat, 
satin-smooth and of a light brown, each 
firmly incased in a fleshy skin. A persim- 
mon might indeed be described without 
libel as a rosette of these flat seeds bedded 
in pulp and covered. To the very last the 
seeds keep the puckery quality of the green 
fruit, so in eating it is the part of wisdom 
merely to suck the pulp. Late persimmons 
hang on all winter, and are thus a real god- 
send to the wild things in the time of deep 
snows. The trees grow most commonly 
on poor clay soil, lying high and dry, yet 
reach a fair size for their kind. Persimmon 
trees never grow big; one as much as two 
feet across at the butt is exceptional. The 
late trees bear lavishly, literally loading 
down their twigs with fruit, but the fruit 
is small, not half the size of the early globes, 
yet fuller of seed. It is also dry to mealiness, 
yet well worth eating when picked frozen 
from the tree. Betwixt the early sort and 
the late, there is a constant succession. All 
but the very latest cast their fruit as soon 
as it reaches full ripeness. Wild grapes are 
something the same way. They are divided 
roughly into summer grapes and winter ones, 
though the summer grapes do not ripen until 

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A Wicked Brother to the Pig 


Possums may be depended on to know 
and choose the best feeding ground. Hunt- 
ing luck depends very much upon the hunt- 
ers knowing the same thing. In the old 
field Joe and Dan had the lay of the land by 
heart. The big swale was full of grapes, 
summer and winter ones, not to name crab- 
apples and black haws and persimmons 
thick enough on the higher ground round 
about the swale always to furnish two or 
three trees, fully ripe. So they went straight 

lustily to the dogs: "Hi-yi! hi-yi! Hunt 
him up! Hunt him up, old dog!" The 
crying was spasmodic. There must be in- 
tervals of silence to catch a dog's possible 
opening on the trail. The trail might be 
struck in the unlikeliest place. Brer Pos- 
sum comes and goes almost as crookedly as 
Brer Rabbit. But no matter how crooked 
a line may be, if you take a compass and 
keep drawing circles all over the surface it 
crosses, one circle is sure at least to fall slap 

joe's revenge. 

to it, crossing open breadths of sedge, with 
the dogs running out in leaping circles upon 
either side. Wrong worked majestically 
alone. Music and Damsel kept together as 
though hunting in couple. They were ex- 
cellent comrades, except now and then, 
when it happened Music was taken upon a 
night hunt and Damsel left. All three ran 
deviously, sniffing audibly and visible only 
when they leaped higher than the sedge. 
It came up to the waist, in places even up 
to the shoulders. So the hunters cried 

upon it — hence the tactics of the dogs. 
When Damsel found first, Daddy Jim gave 
a yell at least three miles wide and half a 
mile high. Daddy Jim's dogs stood to him 
for wife, and children, and friends. So the 
others never in the least grudged his tri- 
umph ; Little Moses, indeed, led the whoop- 
ing after him, quite as though Wrong was 
not in the field. Everybody ran pellmell 
after the dogs, all three in cheery full cry. 
Somehow their notes accorded well — partic- 
ularly well when they were undervoiced by 

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A Wicked Brother to the Pig 

lusty yells and whooping. It was a jocund 
rush to the persimmon trees. There often 
the moonshine showed a couple of gray 
gluttons feasting in the very tip. Persim- 
mon trees are ill to climb; they are not only 
distressingly slender, but have few low- 
growing branches. Notwithstanding some- 
body at once went up to shake out the 
feasters. The climber got as near them as 
he dared go, then set the tree rocking, at 
the same time shaking with all his might 
the especial branch to which the possum 
clung. If they were fat — and what Novem- 
ber possum is not? — he easily shook loose 
their foothold, but then the tail came into 
play. A possum's tail is as long as him- 
self, very strong, and hairless for six inches 
from the tip. With this hairless part he 
can grip and cling, wrapping it round and 
round a small bough, and holding fast, though 
the shaking may swing him back and forth 
like a pendulum. Sometimes, if he felt the 
tail-hold slipping, he let go, and made a 
mad leap for a neighboring bough. But 
when at last he was shaken out, or if that 
was impracticable, the tree itself chopped 
down, he lay seemingly dead, eyes shut, 
tail limp, paws limber, a lump of fur and 
flesh, not even stirring at a sniffing dog. 
He did not breathe, indeed, so long as his 
captors stood watching him, but once their 
eyes turned elsewhere, he was up and away 
like a flash. He rarely got the chance, 
though. Somebody either hustled him into 
a stout gunnysack, or slipped his tail into 
the cleft end of a sapling, and swung him 
over the shoulders. A double catch — that 
is, two possums in one tree — was balanced 
at either end of the sapling, and sent joy- 
ously home. A fat possum is too heavy 
to carry uselessly throughout a night hunt; 
how much more, then, two fat possums? 
The beasts were always kept alive, fed and 
often fattened, until wanted for cooking. 
Unless dressed as soon as killed, the flesh 
becomes rank and unpleasant. 

It was odd to see the dogs strike a wild 
cat's track. They ran faster than ever, but 
with bristles up, and a deeper menacing 
note in their barking. Wrong always 
seemed to be protesting — he trailed nothing 
but possums and coons, though he could do 
no less than join in the crying when Music's 
growling note said "Varmint!" 

Toward twelve o'clock, when the moon 
stood high enough to light up tall timber, 
the possum hunt turned into a coon hunt. 

Coons, compared to possums, are lean at 
their fattest, but of a high game flavor, 
savory enough after a surfeit of sweet fat. 
Old man Shack said, u A yearlin' coon that 
hadn't hustled hisself too much, killed when 
the sign was right, skinned with the head 
on, and fixed up nice with pepper and salt, 
an' flour doin's inside, was better'n any wild 
turkey that ever gobbled or strutted"; but 
the old man, it was well known, would eat 
pretty much anything that could be got 
inside an oven, or roasted in the ashes. The 
world lay all enchanted at midnight, with 
the dew crisping into frost under the silver 
moonshine. There were white blurs and 
blotches upon the tree trunks, and a glori- 
ous mottle of light and shadow all over the 
rustling leaves. The dogs ran freer, and 
bayed louder, the whoops were keener and 
more thrilling. Wrong took the lead then 
as of right. No coon ever littered could 
trick his keen nose — not even by springing 
from one tree to another for may be three 
hundred yards before he came to earth, and 
set off at a dead run for his waterside castle. 
Wrong ran leaping, catching the scent in 
air, barking as he ran, his eyes glinting green 
fire. When at last he treed, either at the 
nest or away from it, he was the very 
moral of quivering eagerness until he saw 
the axes out, and somebody building a fire. 
Then he lay down sedately, put his nose 
between his forepaws, but kept his eyes fast 
upon the tree. When the coon was shaken 
out, or the tree came crashing down, Wrong 
was upon his foe in the twinkling of an eye. 
Coons are hard and bitter fighters, turning 
upon their backs as they touch the earth, 
and striking out furiously with teeth and 
claws. But no matter how big and savage 
the coon, nor what a master of fence he 
showed himself, Wrong never let one get 
away. Wrong had both the wit and the art 
to nip Brer Coon betwixt ear and shoul- 
der, whirl him over and finish him with a 
quick crunch at the back of the neck. 
Sometimes when a nest tree came down, 
and a whole coon colony was chopped out 
of the snug grass-lined woody chamber in 
which they had thought to sleep away part 
of the winter, Wrong had to choose betwixt 
old coons and young, and always chose 
those who would put up the best fight. 

Coons hibernate but slightly, sleeping 
commonly from the winter solstice to about 
" Ground Hog day," which is the second of 
February. They nest high in hollows well up 

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A Wicked Brother to the Pig 


the trunks of tall trees. A warm spell in 
January wakes them to sit nodding and 
blinking in the doors of their holes. But 
the sleeping is evidently not to escape 
cold weather, since they run about over 
light, early snows; and if the creeks, at their 
lowest in November, skim over from sudden 
severe weather, the coons often break the 
ice to wash their feet, their faces and their 
breakfast, thus showing themselves the 
cleanliest among nest-making animals. Joe 
had had more than one young coon for a 
pet. They are pretty, intelligent, and full 
of cunning tricks, but very mischievous. 

possum. The yams were dumped right in 
the middle of the fire, covered first with 
embers, then with blazing brands that would 
shortly be coals, and left for half an hour, 
men and dogs the while lying supine upon 
the leaves, feet to the fire, the men telling 
gho3t tales, or hunting stories, or the signs 
and wonders of witch work. Joe listened 
drowsily, watching the moonshine creep, 
the fire shine flicker, until his eyelids shut 
of their own weight. And then he knew 
nothing more until Dan hauled him up 
standing, thrust something hot into his 
hands, and said, loudly: 


Sharp axes with strong and willing arms 
to ply them, bring down very big trees in 
a little while. By time the coon was 
caught, or the colony chopped out, the fire 
was blazing royally, and potato roasting in 
order. Sometimes the potatoes, sweet yel- 
low yams, came out of the gunnysack, or 
the pockets of the hunters. Oftener some- 
body had slipped aside to plunder an out- 
lying patch. Nobody ever objected to such 
plundering. It was accepted, indeed, as 
the sign of good neighborhood; besides, 
the plundered knew their potatoes might 
come back to them in the shape of a fat 

" Wake up, ole son ! Eberybody else done 
eat er hot tater — eben ter de dawgs." 

Going home through the gray small hours 
with cocks crowing all about, the hunters 
often sang. Daddy Jim never sang out loud, 
but droned a low, deep underchord. Most 
of the songs were but snatches. Dan said 
Daddy Jim knew every song that ever was 
made for a night hunt, but wanted to keep 
them all to himself. Little Moses also knew 
songs, and many tales of the animals, but 
he had a fitful memory — it was not once a 
month he could sing anything or tell any- 
thing straight through. 

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By E. W. Sandys 

I BELIEVE that of all our four-footed 
game, great and small, the squirrel 
has afforded the most fun. He is 
the boy's first important quarry, as he is 
the last resource of those still fond of their 
bit of sport, but too old or too enfeebled 
for the rough work necessary in the pursuit 
of big game. And I know many men, too, 
in the sturdy prime of life, who do not hesi- 
tate to say that they prefer a lively day's 
squirrel hunting to trailing any member of 
the deer family. Certain it is that more 
men hunt squirrels than ever seek the ranges 
of the cervidae. The varieties of the squirrel 
family which are deemed worthy of pursuit 
in this country and in Canada number four, 
viz., the gray squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis) , 
the black squirrel (S. niger) y the fox squirrel, 
which I believe scientists regard as a variety 
of the preceding, and the red squirrel (S. 
hudsonicus). The last named is a nuisance, 
and in order to abate a nuisance, he shall 
be first considered. He is a very common 
and remarkably officious little beast, a dan- 
gerous gossip and an intolerable scold. 
Still-hunters hate him as they do the jay, for 
both quite frequently balk the hunter's efforts 
by kicking up such a row at a critical mo- 
ment that every creature within earshot 
knows at once that man, the dreaded, is 
about. The red squirrel is also apt to be 
troublesome in other ways. He is here, 
there and everywhere, about the barns and 
cribs, stealing grain to hide in various 
places, storing nuts in the attic, where he 
persists in running races and clattering 
about when you most want to sleep, and 
he it is who litters your velvet lawn with 
countless fragments of pine and fir cones, 
until what was a sward of beauty looks like 
a swirl of scraps. And all of these might be 
forgiven, as in doing them the creature 
merely follows its natural instincts, but 
there are graver charges against him. Quick, 
alert, beautiful and interesting he may be, 
yet he has a more than sufficiently strong 
dash of evil in his nature. To see him cozily 
hunched up on a limb with his red banderole 
of a tail curled over his back, while he en- 
joys his midday siesta, or when sitting erect 

upon his haunches, after the manner of his 
kind, while his nimble forepaws handle 
cone, nut or other food with truly marvel- 
ous dexterity, one would never suspect him 
of being guilty of any graver crime than 
some trifling petty larceny. Again, as he 
bounds over the ground in graceful speed, 
or rushes along the, to all but him, pre- 
carious footing of a narrow and perhaps 
crooked fence-top, or darts up one tree and 
flings himself to the next in reckless aban- 
don (he is a famous climber and leaper), or 
when he hangs head - down ward on a tree- 
bole and coughs, scolds and swears at you 
in sputtering wrath, as though the torrent 
of his rage ran more freely out of him in 
the inverted position, it is hard to recognize 
in him anything worse than a funny and 
quite desirable small chap. 

But let us step into the orchard. The 
air is vibrant with the woe of robins, the 
wailing of catbirds and the sympathetic 
cries of a host of feathered neighbors. 
Some great sorrow has fallen somewhere 
amid the blooms and perfumes of that 
erstwhile peaceful scene. The cause of it 
sits yonder upon a stub, turning something 
in his ready forepaws; which he calmly 
devours, to the accompaniment of screams 
and frantic protestations by the frenzied 
birds. Something falls to the ground as 
the squirrel moves away. It proves to be 
the blood-stained fragment of a dainty egg- 
shell, and its condition tells that within a 
few days a young bird might have been 
born. Above the lawn towers a sturdy pine, 
the top of which had once been cut off to make 
the tree grow thicker. The flat top of the 
trunk has for years been the chosen nesting- 
place for a pair of beautiful mourning doves. 
Standing near the tree we hear a low cough- 
ing and sputtering which sounds not unlike 
muttered profanity. Mingled with it we 
hear an occasional sharp pat-bat-bat, after 
each repetition of which the profanity 
increases in volume. Peering upward we 
see amid the dense green, one of Nature's 
small tragedies being played in deadly 
earnest. The male dove is firmly braced 
above the two snowy eggs, from which the 

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A Skirmish with the Squirrels 


young will shortly appear if all goes well. 
The dove has one wing raised as a fencer 
holds his free hand, while the other wing is 
softly patting the bird's side. Sticking to 
the tree trunk a few inches below the nest 
is a squirrel intent upon a raid. He has 
watched those eggs since the process of 
incubation began, and he knows right well 
that they are now as he would have them. 
He makes a sudden bounce to intimidate 
the dove, but the bird is brave. Quick as 
a flash the ready wing meets the robber's 
nose with a biff-baff which tells that there 
is considerable force behind it. The blows 
almost knock the squirrel from the trunk, 
and he is compelled to temporarily retreat. 
But although his attacks have been repulsed 
half a dozen times he is by no means done. 
He sidles around the trunk and attempts to 
carry the fortress from* another point, but 
the wary dove is ready for him, and again 
the wing beats him off. This will never 
do, say we, so while one goes for the gun, 
the other keeps watch of the robber's 
movements. Finally, after being driven to 
a proper distance from the tree, the squirrel's 
evil-doing is ended by a storm of small shot, 
and the doves may rest in peace. 

The red squirrel unquestionably destroys 
a great number of the eggs of small birds, 
always preferring those about ready for the 
hatching. He will also devour young birds 
if he can find them within a day or two after 
they have left the shell. I have never 
known him to attack a nest after the young 
had commenced to sprout feathers, but I 
have seen quite enough of his work during 
the earlier stages to warrant his destruction. 
I never shoot him for any other reason, as 
I consider him an altogether too easy quarry 
to afford any sport, while in my opinion his 
wretched little body is not worth bothering 
about for the table. In the case of the 
gray, black and fox squirrels things are 
different. A fat young one of any of these 
varieties is indeed dainty fare — so good that 
it must be tasted to be properly appreciated. 
Nor are the old ones, when in prime condi- 
tion, to be despised, as they only suffer when 
compared with the young, there naturally 
being a slight lack of tenderness and juici- 
ness. Properly shot, dressed and cooked, 
a fat squirrel is about as appetizing a morsel 
as a man would care to taste. 

The gray squirrel is of plump form and 
comparatively short bodied; he carries a 
fine tail which looks not unlike a beautiful 

gray plume. He is not so active as the red 
one, but he is perfectly at home in the trees, 
where as a leaper and climber he is a worthy 
representative of his agile family. But to 
my mind the longer and more slender black 
fellow is the handsomest of all. His coat, 
when in prime condition, shines like satin, 
and his long glossy tail adds to his apparent 
slenderness, and truly is an adornment 
gracefully worn. The black squirrel is a 
fearless climber and a daring leaper, and, 
strange to say, in spite of his color, an 
intense black all over, he is not so easily 
seen after he has once reached the upper 
branches of any ordinary - sized tree. He 
and his gray cousins are wonderfully clever 
at hiding, and they will stick so close to a 
trunk, or lie so flat along a limb, that fre- 
quently they escape observation, or are 
only located by the tip of a tail waving 
in the breeze, or by the erect ears showing 
above their resting place. The chief food 
of these animals consists of nuts, mast and 
other vegetable growths, and they are 
passionately fond of corn, especially when 
the grain is just passing beyond the milky 
stage. At this time, when at all numerous, 
they work considerable damage among the 
corn. I have seen half a dozen blacks fol- 
lowing each other at speed along the top 
of a snake fence, every squirrel carrying a 
dainty ear of corn in his mouth. The 
plunder was borne to the shelter of the 
woods and there devoured at leisure. The 
squirrels would make many trips during a 
day, and a stroll through the cornfield 
would reveal ample evidence of their de- 
structiveness. More than once I have 
heard farmers declare that the black raiders 
had destroyed fully three-fourths of what 
had promised to be a fair crop. This, of 
course, was where the field lay close to a 
wood. I have used both shotgun and 
rifle in the pursuit of this game, and have 
enjoyed fine sport with both. When the 
shotgun was the weapon it never was aimed 
at a crouching squirrel. Sportsmanship 
demanded that the game should be in 
motion when the trigger was pulled. The 
squirrel might be dashing over the ground, 
speeding along a fence-top, a limb, or 
ascending a tree-bole, it was all right so 
long as he was moving. The proudest feat 
of all was to stop one in the air in the middle 
of a leap from one tree to another. This 
required quick and accurate work, and the 
best of shots frequently failed to score a 

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A Skirmish with the Squirrels 

clean kill. A miss in the air and a kill with 
the second barrel as the squirrel raced 
along a limb, very often occurred. 

In days, alas! long since past, we of the 
squirrel brigade were full of tricks to be 
played upon an unsophisticated comrade. 
If a squirrel was lost to sight in a thick- 
foliaged tree, then the wisest course was 
to get the other fellow to pound the trunk 
with a club. When a squirrel was seen 
upon the ground and making good time 
for his favorite tree, then it was good form 
to pursue yelling to excite your friend, and 
as the tree was neared to allow him to out- 
run you a trifle. Of course the squirrel 
went up the far side of the trunk, and your 
comrade, flushed with having out-footed 
you, promptly chased around the tree to 
get a shot, whereupon the squirrel, being 
unable to count, at once shifted around 
to your side and offered an easy mark as it 
cannot climb straight upward too fast for 
even a moderate shot. When certain that a 
squirrel was hidden in the upper foliage, or 
upon some limb, and all pounding and 
shouting had failed to move him, the last 
resort was to fire one barrel into the densest 
part of the tree, and then to stop the game 
with the second. Unless the squirrel had 
actually holed, this seldom failed to start 
him. For some unknown reason the supply 
of black squirrels varied curiously. One 
season they would be found in great num- 
bers. I once drove seven up a single dead 
tree which stood in a cornfield, and a year 
later I might not see one in a long day's 
tramp. The country folk had a saying that 
black squirrels were plentiful every seven 
years. I will not vouch for the correctness 
of this, but I know that after the army of 
squirrels had disappeared, they were not 
again numerous until some years had 
elapsed. I never rightly understood their 
migrations, but I have seen large numbers 
of them moving through the woods, as 
though bound upon some well understood 
mission. I have killed plenty of them in 
one bit of woods and a few days later found 
not one upon the same ground, while the 
next bit of woods in the direction of the 
general movement would furnish the best 
of sport. 

The successful squirrel hunter was the 
envy of his youthful associates. I ranked 
high, possibly because I had a much better 
gun than any of my comrades. I used to 
sally forth with a narrow strap buckled 

about my waist. When I got a squirrel I 
would slit his hind leg under the tendon, 
pass the strap through and let him hang. 
When the bag was large, I invariably took 
the longest route through the streets, too. 
There were many negroes in our town. They 
loved "squrl" and were always hunting 
when the game was to be had. A large 
percentage of them were good hunters, too ; 
they thoroughly understood the habits of 
their quarry, and they, of course, possessed 
that natural lazy patience so characteristic 
of their race. They carried, as a rule, very 
long-barreled single shotguns, of about 
fourteen or sixteen gauge, while the am- 
munition was in the old-fashioned horn 
and pouch, or perhaps more frequently in 
bottles of suitable size. Every one of these 
quaint old guns was surely the best ever 
made, and their owners had all sorts of 
names for them, such as "Long Maria/' 
"Sweet Honey," "Wild Frank," "Reachin' 
Sue," and so on. A few of these guns when 
properly loaded, would shoot fairly well, 
but most of them were regular old gaspipes 
which flung the big shot used in all direc- 
tions. Their owners never attempted a 
running shot, but followed a squirrel until 
it had halted in an easy position, and then, 
like as not, the old gun was fired from a rest. 
The fact that every squirrel secured meant 
a dime or more in the hunter's pocket 
will explain the extreme caution exercised. 

The negroes, dyed-in-the-wool pot-hunt- 
ers as they were, not unfrequently fell vic- 
tims to our youthful deviltry. They never 
would give a squirrel a fair chance, and 
they absolutely wouldn't hustle, so we 
did things to them cheerfully and without 
price. To roll -a wad of leaves and tie it 
firmly with a bit of twine is a very simple 
matter; to cut a tail from a dead squirrel 
and affix it to the roll is not too laborious, 
considering the joys it may bring. To 
climb an easy tree and lash the dummy in 
a lofty fork possibly is hardish work, but 
then, when the tail swings good and free, 
the outfit does look so like a squirrel. Thus 
we made and set the "coon-trap." 

And if the "coon" didn't find it, we at- 
tended to everything with a guileless sim- 
plicity which was extremely beautiful. We 
would meet the "coon" and make fair 
speech unto him, show to him our squirrels 
and gradually drift him into the danger 
zone. Ten to one, he'd see the squirrel 
first, too! And then was it not rare, sweet 

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A Skirmish with the Squirrels 


joy to notice how he would manoeuver us 
away from the prize till he had got us good 
and far in spite of our exasperating dawd- 
ling? Then it surely would be "Wa'al, 
good mawnin', gemmon — reckon I'se dun 
gwine dish yere way fur a peece — You'se 
'tirely tew spry fur de ole man dis mawninV , 

And then how we'd leg it till we could 
melt in behind handy trees from which to 
watch the old rascal hustling back to his 
"squrl"! He'd find it, too, all right, and 
before long the roar of the old gaspipe 
would come to our straining ears. Sweet 
was the sound — sweet as would be the purl 
of running water in the desert, or a drift 
of music through an opened gate of Para- 
dise. Only the truly good can under- 

And the "coon" would load and fire 
again and again, while we would keep care- 
ful tabs so that we could tell exactly how fast 
he was feeding the old gaspipe. We could 
picture him fumbling and sweating while 
trying to keep his pop eyes on the quarry. 
At every fresh roar there would be gasping 
snorts of bliss, while we lay on the ground 
and clung to roots and things, lest we be 
bodily transported to where such pleasure 
knows no end. And when at last the final 
silence came — when we knew that shot, 
or powder, or caps had run out! Wow! 
how good it was! — how fair the earth! how 
sweet just to be allowed to live and lie there 
and picture the outraged one going home 
and maybe half knocking the head off the 
first pickaninny that dared to ask — " Did 
yo' git menny squrl?" 

But the cream of squirrel shooting is 
enjoyed by the man who uses a light rifle 
of small caliber and medium power. The 
".22 long" as now turned out by our lead- 
ing makers, is an excellent weapon — in 
fact the best in the world for the purpose. 
I had a single-shot .32, and later a .22, and 
I have enjoyed capital sport with both. 
Neither arm had sufficient range to be 
dangerous to people or stock at a distance, 
while they would throw lead with sur- 
prising accuracy to the tops of the tallest 
trees. Good rifle shots always aimed for the 
squirrel's head, both to add to the diffi- 
culty of the sport and to avoid spoiling 
meat. And be it known that a squirrel's 
head at a range of forty or fifty yards is 
no easy mark. If a reader doubt this let 
him go to the woods for a day, keep all 
empty shells, and at the end of the day 

let him try to make the dead squirrels and 
the empty shells tally. He may be con- 
siderably surprised. Quite frequently a 
squirrel would be discovered lying flat 
upon a large limb, or sticking close to a 
tree-bole. In such cases it was a favorite 
trick to try the "barking" shot — i.e., to 
cause the ball to strike the bark imme- 
diately under the squirrel. If correctly 
done the shock would bounce the squirrel 
from its hold and send it down as dead as 
though the ball had actually touched it. 
This feat of "barking" squirrels has been 
questioned by some doubters, but I have 
seen it done, and have myself done it so 
many times, that I wonder that every squir- 
rel hunter does not know all about it. I 
never attempted it with the .22, so cannot 
speak positively about that arm, but with 
anything of larger caliber, the shot is not 
only practicable, but easy to any one 
skilled in the use of the light rifle at short 
ranges. Vastly more difficult feats are per- 
formed daily in shooting galleries. 

The best of all seasons for the use of the 
rifle is during those brave brown days when 
nuts are ripe, and the most profitable 
hours are immediately after sunrise and 
toward sunset. Then the squirrels are busy 
feeding, and the true still-hunter will find 
much to interest him, even though he 
should fail to bag a head of game. That all 
things come to him who waits is peculiarly 
applicable to this form of sport. There is no 
use in tramping noisily about and looking 
for the game. Sharp eyes and ears see and 
hear you long before your duller faculties 
can locate their owners — the one reliable 
way is to keep still and listen. 

Let us go into this wood where broad- 
leaved hickories, sturdy oaks, scattering 
chestnuts, towering elms and fine beeches 
and maples are mingled in fair proportion. 
Tread lightly here, 'tis squirrel-haunted 
ground, and let us seat ourselves upon yon- 
der mossy log well within the shadow of 
the woods. The one large pool — all the 
sun has left of the creek — gleams placidly 
beside us as its surface catches the first 
golden light which tells us the day has well 
begun and promises fair for the sport. 
The woods are strangely quiet. A myster- 
ious silence broods over everything, and 
silent - footed shadows creep from tree to 
tree. Now and then a whisper of bird 
music tinkles faintly far away, only to 
quickly die and render the solemn stillness 
Digitized by VjOOQ IC 


A Skirmish with the Squirrels 

the more impressive. We wait — and wait. 
Noiseless shafts of golden light flash 
through loopholes in the dome of foliage and 
start mimic fires among the fallen leaves. 
We breathe the sweet woodsy airs, and 
feel within us something of the holy calm 
which seems to have brought the entire 
scene under its soothing spell. 

Spat! We involuntarily start, for the 
sound seemed to rip the stillness like a pis- 
tol shot. Was it a large drop of water 
falling fair upon a broad leaf, or was it ? 

Spat — spat! There it is again, and this 
time followed by a soft rustling of leaves 
in that hickory thirty feet away. The spell 
is broken; the witchery of woodlands has 
lost its subtle charm, for the hunter's blood 
leaps in response to the sounds which tell 
that the game is afoot. A distant barking 
elicits a louder, nearer reply, and soon 
sounds of busy life are heard upon every 
hand. A fragment of nutshell falls pat- 
tering through the leaves and strikes the 
ground in plain view, and small branches 
almost overhead rustle and sway. Pres- 
ently the little rifle is pointed upward and 
remains for a moment as steady as though 
held in a vise. Then a sharp report, a 
momentary violent agitation among the 
leaves, a succession of crashes, a heavy 
thump upon the ground — and there he lies. 
He is a fat fellow, but a red streak in his 
glossy fur shows that the ball passed 
through his neck, a full inch from the spot 
aimed at. But the view was none too 
clear and no meat was spoiled. Rustling 
of leaves and branches are heard in several 
directions, for the rifle, although small, has 
a spiteful tongue, and the timorous game 
has moved away a bit. In the distance a 
swift shape is traversing a fallen tree, but 
we had better remain quietly where we are, 
as there may be another hiding in our tree. 
Moments pass and at last a leaf rustles 
faintly. There! See — upon that long limb 
stretching toward the maples. With high- 
arched back and head in bold relief, he 
pauses to measure the leap. The other 
rifle comes to position, dwells a moment, 
then again the fatal crack. The squirrel 
makes a convulsive spring in the direction 

it had intended taking, but it appears to 
halt in mid-air; then it comes whizzing 
down, turning over and over as it falls. 
The shock was instant death. Not bad 
practice this. 

And so it goes on through three pleasant 
hours. We change position now and then, 
until at last the word has been passed 
around to all the furry people and chances 
become few and far between. Our last 
squirrel is espied running along a rickety 
fence and we watch him closely. He halts, 
hesitates, then drops upon the ground, 
where for a time he sits erect while he takes 
careful observations. When he is satisfied 
that the coast is clear, he moves toward the 
pool in a series of hesitating leaps, inter- 
rupted by many cautious pauses for ex- 
amination of the surroundings. He at last 
leaps to a small snag which projects a few 
inches above the water. He forms a pretty 
picture as he sits with his ebon plume of a 
tail curling gracefully above him, while his 
inverted image is sharply distinct in the water 
below. It is indeed a fair chance at forty 
yards, yet at the sound of the rifle a cascade 
of white water leaps into the air and the 
thoroughly frightened squirrel darts to the 
nearest tree. In his haste he has chosen 
an isolated shelter, far beyond leaping dis- 
tance from its nearest neighbor. And now 
for a lively windup. The tree is healthy 
and tall; there is not a hole in it, and the 
game's sole chance is to climb to the loftiest 
twig that will bear his weight. There he 
is, at the very top, swaying to and fro upon 
a support no thicker than a lead pencil, 
while his tail flutters free and adds to the 
difficulty of the mark. Five times the 
small rifles hail him and the lead buzzes 
past, maybe almost ruffling his fur. A 
sixth shot is better timed and a small black 
ball starts earthward, gaining velocity and 
bulk as it comes, until it strikes the earth 
with a thump which might be heard many 
yards, as it rebounds a yard into the air. 
Now let us seek home for a late breakfast 
for the cup of coffee at starting has long 
since lost its good influence. We may try 
again toward evening, for there are plenty 
of squirrels left. 

Digitized by 



By James S. Mitchel 

IT is indeed strange, if not perplexing, 
that in a generation of keen, pro- 
gressive competition and scientific 
training, records in athletics created thirty, 
forty and even fifty years ago should still 
defy all efforts to lower them. In cycling 


and swimming each successive year sees a 
new crop of records, which, perhaps, the 
figures of the following year will supplant; 
but in many other branches of physical ex- 
ercise records of our grandfathers days 
still linger. A few long-standing ones, it is 
true, have vanished within recent years, 
but they were more or less on the technical 
order, and, compared with the ones remain- 
ing, insignificant. 

Undoubtedly the most noted character 
of bygone athletic days was Louis Bennett, 
or, to use his more familiar pseudonym, 
" Deerfoot," who has but recently died. 
He was a full-blood Seneca Indian, who, 
after astonishing everybody in this country 
by his marvelous speed and stamina, went 

to England, where his racing caused the 
greatest enthusiasm. His name and speed 
were not the only things Deerfoot intro- 
duced to the Britons. He stepped on his 
mark attired in the gala costume of his na- 
tion, and loped along in his native moccasins 
at a pace before which opponents and rec- 
ords went down ignominiously. With his 
head-dress of eagle feathers crowning wiry 
black hair and the stolid features of his race, 
he strode around the tracks with the un- 
wavering persistency of a brave on a hot 
trail, and covered mile after mile with an 
elasticity and endurance that defied fatigue. 
His greatest achievement was at London, 
England, April 3, 1863. Leaving the rec- 
ords behind him at eleven miles, he con- 
tinued on for another mile at the same un- 
abated gait, and completed the twelve miles 
in 1 hour 2 minutes 2J seconds. The 
nearest approach since to these figures is 
1 hour 2 minutes 43 seconds, made by Sidney 
Thomas at Stamford Bridge, London, Oc- 
tober 22, 1892. In the exact hour Deerfoot 
covered 11 miles 970 yards, and only two 
athletes have ever surpassed the perform- 
ance — namely, F. E. Bacon, 11 miles 1243 
yards, in 1897, and Harry Watkins, 1 1 miles 
1,286 yards, in 1899. 

Contemporary with Deerfoot was "Bill" 
Lang, and the year 1863 saw him, like the 
Indian, in the zenith of his prowess. He 
was born at London, England, on December 
22, 1838, and was what local nomenclature 
termed a "Cockney." At Manchester, on 
July 18, 1863, he ran a mile and a quarter 
in 5 minutes 35i seconds, time which has 
never been approached nearer than 5 min- 
utes 38 4-5 seconds, by T. P. Conneff, at 
Bergen Point, N. J., in 1895. W. G. George 
ran the distance in 5 minutes 44 seconds, in 
1882, and similar figures are recorded of 
J. Kibblewhite, in 1890. Two weeks after 
having established his mile-and-a-quarter 
record, Lang covered two miles in 9 minutes 
11 J seconds. The only runner since to get 
within measurable distance of this was 
W. G. George, with 9 minutes 17 2-5 seconds, 
in 1884. Again in the same year, on Oc- 
tober 30, 1863, Lang still further encroached 
on established figures by running a mile at 

Digitized by VjOOQLC 


Athletic Giants of the Past 


Newmarket in 4 minutes, 2 seconds. The 
course was straightaway and partly down- 
hill, however, so that the performance has 
no place on the record tables. It is claimed 
that Lang subsequently ran the mile in 4 
minutes even, on the Hammersmith road, 
bu£ the conditions were again questionable, 
and the record has simply merged into a 

Another giant pedestrian of that eventful 
year was "Jack " White. He had few equals 
at any distance from a mile to ten, while at 
all the intermediate distances he reigned 
supreme. His figures for three and four 
miles have only recently been altered, and 
his records for six and seven miles are still 
emblazoned on the scroll of fame. Any 
man who has ever trained for distance 
running knows the difficulty of covering 
two miles inside of ten minutes; about a 
dozen have continued this gait for three 
miles; the favored ones who have sus- 
tained the pace through the fourth mile 
can be counted on the fingers of one hand, 
but beyond five miles only one mortal is 
on record as keeping within the even time, 
and that is " Jack " White. The feat was per- 

formed at Hackney-Wick, England, May 11, 
1863, when White ran seven miles in 34 
minuted 45 seconds. These figures of 
thirty-seven years ago have not since been 
altered, and perhaps their exceptional merit 
can best be shown by contrast with the 
times of Sid Thomas, the world's greatest 
amateur, nearly thirty years later. 


White, "29 min. 50 sec. 34 min. 45 sec. 
Thomas, 30 " 17* " 35 " 36J " 

Xo man has ever beaten George Seward's 
wonderful time of 19 J seconds for 200 yards, 
made fifty-three years ago; E. H. Pelling f 
of the London A. C, is credited with 19 2-5 
seconds, but official investigation revealed 
the fact that a veritable hurricane blew 
against the runner's back, consequently the 
record was rejected. 

Mention of phenomenal sprint races imme- 
diately conjures up the name of Harry 
Hutchens and the oft-discussed question of 
his exact speed for 100 yards. Some close 
students of sprinting claimed he was good 
for 9 3^5 seconds, and would stretch a point 
toward 9J ; the less skeptical even vowed 
he possessed speed to carry him over that 
space of ground in 9 1-5 seconds. However 
vague this assertion may appear, there is 
little reason to doubt that Hutchens was 
faster than any man, amateur or profes- 
sional, who ever lived; and no better proof 
could be furnished towards the establish- 
ment of this claim than a story told the 
writer, several years ago, by the late L. E. 
Myers. It appears when Myers first 
visited England he trained for awhile at 
Stoke-on-Trent, and, by coincidence, Hutch- 
ens happened to be " doing a bit of work " 
at the same place. Prior to his departure 
from America, " Lon," as Myers was famil- 
iarly called, was given a ten-second record 
for the hundred yards, and, as he said him- 
self, it made him so confident that he was 
of an opinion that he could defeat Hutchens. 
So one day he challenged the ex-Sheffielder 
to run him a hundred level for a basket of 
wine. "All right, Yank," said Hutchens, 
"but in order to make it more interesting, 
I'll give you four yards' start. You'll want 
it badly long before you finish." Of course, 
Myers scouted the proposition, saying he 
did not need a yard from the best man on 
earth. After some persuasion, however, 
Myers accepted the handicap. They start- 
ed, and to Myers' consternation, Hutchens, 
running in his straight-leg style like a 

Digitized by 


Athletic Giants of the Past 


pacer, drew level at the sixty-yard mark, 
and for the remaining forty yards the Eng- 
lishman gained two additional yards on the 
American. Allowing that Myers could 
negotiate the hundred in ten seconds, this 
race meant that Hutchens was, with track 
and weather conditions favorable, capable 
of 9 2-5 at his best. In the Sheffield handi- 
cap of 1882 he started from scratch and ran 
131 J yards in 12} seconds, which means 
something like eight yards better than even 
time. His thirty seconds for 300 yards at 
Edinburgh, January 2, 1884, still holds the 
premier place on the record books. This 
was in the " New Year's Handicap," on the 
old Powderhall grounds. Eighteen runners 
faced the starter with Hutchens alone on 
the scratch mark. The track was soft and 
sloppy, from a slight fall of snow which en- 
veloped " Auld Reekie " the night previous. 
Nevertheless, Hutchens got through his 
field like a deer through a frightened flock 
of sheep, and won by several yards to spare. 
An eye witness says that he was twice jos- 
tled to the edge of the track, and that he 
must have ran at least seven or eight yards 
more than the stipulated distance. Other 
remarkable performances of Hutchens, 
which, like the foregoing, are likely to re- 
main intact for many years, are: 150 yards 
in 14£ seconds; 140 yards in 14 seconds, 
against a stiff breeze, and 13 J seconds, run- 
ning in the .opposite direction. A runner 
named W. G. Scarlet at Newmarket, Eng- 
land, in 1841, had previously accomplished 
the same results. 

Of all the performances, whether amateur 
or professional, the one most likely to stand 
against the assaults of time is 4 minutes 
12} seconds for the mile, by W. G. George, 
at Lillie Bridge, London, Monday, August 
23, 1886. The writer was amongst a crowd 
of about 2,000 enthusiasts who watched the 
race, which was the first of a series of three, 
between the Englishman and William Cum- 
mings, a Scotch professional. Cummings 
won the toss and chose the inside position, 
but, at the crack of the pistol, George jumped 
away and assumed the lead with the Scotch- 
man trailing about two yards behind. Thus 
they ran to the quarter, which was covered 
in 58$ seconds. They maintained the same ■ 
position to the half-mile, the time being 
2 minutes 2 seconds. Facing the three- 
quarter mark, Cummings spurted and went 
to the front, his time being 3 minutes 7f 
seconds. The spurt was no feeler, but in 

dead earnest. Cummings tore along, with 
George a yard and a half behind. Going 
up the back stretch, the leader increased 
the pace, but rounding the last bend, amidst 
a roar from the crowd, George drew level, 
and with a splendid burst of speed on 
entering the homestretch took the lead. 
About a hundred yards from the finish 
Cummings tottered and fell, exhausted, and 
George finished alone the greatest mile ever 
run by mortal man.. 

Amateur runners have made more head- 
way against records than professionals; 
still, several records of a quarter of a cen- 
tury are too much for the men of the present. 
It is nineteen years since L. E. Myers made 
his marvelous record of 2 minutes 13 sec- 
onds for 1,000 yards, and even such cracks 
as Kilpatrick, Lutyens, Dohm, Cross and 
Cummings, the professional, have failed to 
lower it. In the heavyweight department 
the harness lift of 3,239 pounds by the late 
and lamented William B. Curtis still re- 
mains unequaled, and may for years to 
come; as may the one-hand throw of 131 
feet 4 inches with a sixteen-pound hammer 
— 3 feet 6 inches handle — by Maurice Davin. 
This feat was accomplished at Lansdowne 
Road, Dublin, in 1876. 


Digitized by 


By Adele W. Lee. 

THE care of dogs, in the truest sense, 
does not mean coddling and pamp- 
ering. I do not ask such care for 
any dog; for while that treatment may be 
a pleasure to some owners, it is not the dog's 
sphere or for his good. The dog should have 
the consideration at its owner's hands which 
its loyalty and devotion merit, but should 
always be held to the position of a willing, 
obedient servant. Yet how few house dogs 
are really obedient. They are beaten by 
the cook one moment, teased by the small 
boy the next, and then rescued and hugged 
by his big sister. 

A dog, to be a real source of pleasure to 
a household, should have one master from 
whom it takes its orders, and naturally looks 
up to as its ideal. With such a bond of 
sympathy established between owner and 
dog, the latter understands intuitively 
whether it is pleasing its master or not; 
and if the dog is a companion in the full 
sense of the word, physical punishment, 
with even a fairly intelligent specimen, 
is rarely needed. In a close study, cover- 
ing nearly all the breeds of dogs, I have 
found it a very safe rule to follow, to 
chastise only when a dog disobeys wil- 
fully and with full knowledge that he is 
so doing. A dog should take the most severe 
punishment from its master without resent- 
ment; one that growls or shows temper is 
most decidedly not a safe member of any 
household, and should be disposed of forth- 
with. Almost any self-respecting dog will 
resent punishment from a stranger, and we 
cannot blame it very much should it retaliate 
in kind. 

If one is raising a puppy great care should 
be taken to discriminate when it should be 
punished for wilful disobedience, otherwise 
the dog may be ruined for life; and a young 
puppy should never be given a severe whip- 
ping. If it is thoroughly frightened it is 
likely to be permanently cowed in spirit, and 
no amount of petting afterwards can over- 
come it. Of equal importance is a friendly 
pat and word of encouragement when the 
dog does something which pleases us. He 
is not a Clairvoyant ; he takes his cue from his 
master, and, if encouraged, is very apt to 

repeat the pleasing performance. Even if 
the owner shows his approval or disapproval 
simply by talking to the dog, it very soon 
learns to look for those signs, and naturally 
tries to do such things as bring the signs of 

In giving a lesson of obedience never give 
a command unless you are capable of making 
your pupil obey. It may take a great 
amount of time, tact and patience but once 
thoroughly impressed upon the dog's mind, 
any simple command, such as "come," 
or "lie down," need never be given twice, 
unless the pupil is very wilful. Then it 
must be shown who is master. A puppy 
should be taught to come immediately upon 
being called, no matter what he may be 
doing or where he may be going. 

When one buys a dog, one naturally selects 
the breed most nearly suited to one's wants. 
A pet dog, and pet dogs must almost 
necessarily, especially in cold weather, be 
house dogs; a hunting dog, a big fellow 
for a guard and the children, and so on. By 
the nature and characteristics of the breed, 
we must judge our method of caring for them. 

First, in the housing or kenneling: A toy or 
pet dog must have more warmth than an 
outdoor climate affords, for they are very 
sensitive to cold. Almost any of the other 
varieties can be made comfortable out of 
doors or in a barn. If the home is to be 
a dog-house, place it in some sheltered spot, 
and do not follow the old fashion of having 
the door cut in the center of one end, so that 
when the wind is from that direction it blows 
full on to the poor fellow. Cut the door at 
the end of one side, so that no direct draft 
ever blows on the dog. In very cold weather 
tack a piece of carpet over the door, making 
a cut up the center of it. Give your dog out 
of doors a good bed of clean straw, and 
change it at least once a week, oftener in 
very wet weather. 

It has always seemed to me especially 
cruel to keep a dog on chain. Of course, 
everyone does not like dogs, and it is not 
the part of a Samaritan to allow our pleas- 
ure to cause annoyance to our neighbor. 
Still, almost every one has a back yard which 
could be so arranged that their dog could not 

Digitized by VjOOQLC 

The Care of the Dog 


get out, and yet not be chained. If chaining 
becomes absolutely necessary, by all means 
have a trolley chain — that is, a wire run over- 
head made stationary at the ends to posts. 
The longer the chain the better. Have a ring 
on the wire, to which one end of the dog's 
chain can be fastened, the other end of the 
chain being snapped on the dog's collar. 
Have the chain sufficiently long to allow the 
dog to go in and lie down in his kennel in 
comfort. During the summer months be sure 
and provide for some spot for his kennel that 
is shady during the entire day. An excellent 
plan is to have the kennel raised on posts 
high enough from the ground for the dog to 
crawl under. Close the space up all around, 
leaving only a place big enough for the dog to 
go in. This will make a cool retreat, away 
from the flies, which will be most thoroughly 
appreciated by our friend. A dog also likes 
a cool drink ; keep its water out of the direct 
rays of the sun, and replenish it at least three 
times a day in hot weather. 

When flies annoy very much, the ear seems 
to be the favorite spot, and they are often 
bitten until raw. Take oil of citronella one 
part, fish oil five parts, and apply often. No 
flies will come near while this remains on. 
Then there is the ubiquitous flea to be reck- 
oned with in the dog's comfort, and a very 
heavy reckoning it is. Like good house- 
keeping, its mastering is the price of eternal 
vigilance. It is of no use to wash a dog for 
fleas, and hope it to be efficacious. The 
kennel must be thoroughly cleaned also, and 
often whitewashed, making sure that the 
whitewash gets in all the cracks and little 
crevices. Fleas do not breed on the dog, 
but in the kennel and its surroundings; so 
everything must be scrupulously clean. 
When one has once fully succeeded in getting 
rid of these pests, unless the dog is running 
much with other dogs that have them, little 
care is necessary beyond occasionally looking 
over the dog for any stray ones. Many 
firms are selling soaps and liquids that will 
do their work effectually, providing the 
above instructions are followed. 

Many want to know how often a dog 
should be washed? Personally, I do not 
believe in much washing, providing a dog has 
a free run where there is grass. By rolling 
and licking himself, he keeps very clean, and 
the strong disapproval most dogs show of 
bathing proves pretty conclusively that 
nature did not intend it for them. Some 
breeds are, of course, naturally fond of the 

water, and for them nothing is finer in warm 
weather than a good swim. Where I was 
visiting last summer, there was a very bright 
little fox terrier. The family had never been 
able to coax him into the water. He would 
follow them down to the bank, but no 
further. On my arrival he took a great 
fancy to me, and I succeeded in coaxing 
him to go in, coming only a little way at 
first. He finally found nothing was going 
to hurt him, and swam first to one and 
then to another of us, enjoying himself 
thoroughly. This he kept up as often as 
we went in bathing, until one day we took 
a cake of soap, and after a plunge and 
a swim, in which the little terrier joined, 
we began giving him a good shampoo 
with the soap. His disgust was supreme, 
and he showed it by at once going on shore, 
and rubbing and rolling in the grass and 
sand. No amount of coaxing could get 
"Bigot" in again that day. A dog's first 
instinct after a bath is to rub and roll, and 
the more dirt he can rub and roll in the better 
he seems suited. In little house pets, to 
keep away the doggy smell, an occasional 
wash is pleasant to the owner, if not to the 
dog, but once a week is more than ample, 
and it requires considerable care during the 
low temperature season. 

I would like to lay particular stress on 
grooming. That a dog soon learns to love, 
and is as tickled as possible when it sees the 
brushes coming. A daily grooming is con- 
siderably better than much washing. Use a 
good bristle brush — in the larger varieties a 
regular horse brush — then rub with chamois 
skin to give a gloss. For the little pet dogs 
an ordinary hair brush is enough. A comb 
should be used sparingly. Little fellows can 
be put on a table for convenience, but the 
larger ones should be taught to place the 
front feet on a chair, which position makes 
the grooming a much easier matter and saves 
the owner's back. 

We now come to the all important item of 
feeding; and here again we must discriminate 
between the different breeds — between a dog 
having its liberty and one having very little 
exercise. The dog is a carnivorous animal, 
with teeth adapted to tearing and crunch- 
ing its food. Meat is unquestionably their 
principal food in a natural state; but as the 
life and habits are changed and modified 
under domestication, so must also the diet 
be changed to suit existing conditions. 

Dogs from whom much work is expected, 

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The Care of the Dog 

such as hunting dogs, greyhounds or other 
hounds in training, or while running, require 
a gdod meat diet, beef or mutton preferred, 
lean and varied from raw to well cooked. 
Dogs do not easily digest fat, and hence fats 
and greasy-foods should be eschewed. Rice 
is about the very nicest cereal to use in con- 
nection with meat. A pan of well cooked 
rice, with the liquor in which the meat has 
been boiled, and the meat cut fine and mixed 
all through, makes a dish any healthy dog 
will eat with a relish. In feeding meat the 
secret is to mix it thoroughly with the other 
food. The instinct of the dog is to pick out 
all the meat first, often leaving the balance. 
If the meat has been thoroughly boiled, it can 
be squeezed with the hand ail through the 
other food, and so make one "mess" of the 
entire lot. Milk is another most excellent 
food article, and is appreciated by nearly all 
dogs. Of course, puppies require milk, for 
it contains all the elements of nutrition. 
Skimmed milk will answer almost as well as 
fresh, the fat not being an essential for the 

I have had many persons come to me com- 
plaining, "my dog won't eat anything but 
meat; what shall I do?" The method of 
feeding I have already described usually 
solves the problem. Should the dog refuse 
it the first day, or the second day, remove 
the dish after about half an hour, and do not 
offer clear meat. Wait until the dog gets 
hungry enough to eat what you have pre- 
pared. About one-third meat is the correct 
proportion for all large and such medium- 
sized dogs as the terriers. The little house 
pets thrive on less. Tripe is also a most 
excellent food, and is liked by almost all 
dogs. Cut it up and mix in with the rice 
or stale bread, the same as the beef or 

I have been considering the case where the 
table scraps are not sufficient to feed the 
family pets. Where there is sufficient 
nothing is better — vegetables, gravy, bread, 
etc., and the meat mixed up all through. 
Never give your dog sweets. It will like 
them, but it is much better without them. 
Once in a while a little meat fed raw is 
a treat for our charge. The old-womanly 
notion that meat gives a dog distemper 
is a pure vagary of the fancy. Distemper 
is a germ disease, and is no more pro- 

duced by any certain kind of food, than such 
produces scarlet fever in a child. The 
more nearly in perfect physical condi- 
tion a dog is, the less susceptible he is 
to disease. The number of times a day 
a dog should be fed is a moot questior 
but in my experience, I have found two 
meals a day very near meet the require- 
ments. A light breakfast and a full meal 
at night, allowing all the dog will eat 
with a relish. Never leave any food 
around to sour or freeze, it will destroy 
the dog's appetite to have it constantly 
in sight. The two meals a day apply 
to grown dogs. Puppies require three to 
five meals a day. The younger the puppy 
the more often it must be fed. Bones 
are the dog's tooth brush, but beware of 
bones that splinter, such as chicken legs, 
chop bones, etc. They are a constant 
source of danger, their sharp splintered 
points being liable to puncture the intes- 

It is not within the scope of this article 
to touch upon the training of dogs for any 
special purpose, nor their treatment in 
disease, nor their preparation for the pur- 
pose of being shown on the bench for 
competition. For these purposes amateurs 
generally place their dogs in the hands of 
professional handlers, but this is quite un- 
necessary ; for with a little careful observa- 
tion amateurs can master the conditions 
which make or mar a dog's success, and 
can put their dogs into the show ring in as 
good a condition as any professional. It is 
such an added pleasure to know that your 
dog's prize has been partly earned by your 
attention. Compare this with the result in 
a case in which a careless owner sees some 
imported dog, for which he has paid a 
fabulous sum, beaten time and again, 
because by ill-regulated feeding and lack 
of knowledge, the owner has allowed the 
dog to become too fat. Excess of fat is 
more frequently a cause of the failure of 
amateurs' dogs in the show ring than 
excessive leanness ; though that too is a 
pitfall.. The most fatal defect, however, is 
the condition of the dog's coat, or rather 
the want of condition. A careful attention 
to the rules of cleanliness which I have 
already laid down will obviate disappoint- 
ment on this account. 

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fi i 




By Walter Hale 

(Illustrated by the Author) 

IN the old coaching days, there were 
three famous highways leading from 
London to the South, The Brighton 
road should be mentioned first because of 
its popularity with all classes and the speed 
and regularity for which the service on it 
was noted. The other two were to Ports- 
mouth and Southampton respectively, the 

coaches on which took the same road out 
of London, via Putney Heath and Kingston 
to Guildford, where the former branched 
off and ran by way of Godalming to Ports- 
mouth, while the Southampton coach kept 
on through Farnham, Alton and Alresford 
to Winchester. Of the Portsmouth coaches 
the Rocket and Regulator were scheduled for 

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An Old Coaching Road 

good time — the Rocket doing the seventy- 
one miles in nine hours. The Southampton 
road could boast of no record breakers, 
but two famous whips were on this route, 
Pears, who drove the day coach, and Cragnal, 
who took the Eclipse out of Southampton 
and made his trips with the regularity of 

nation, one hundred and eighty-six miles 
away, at eleven-thirty that night. 

The trip from Southampton to London 
over the old coaching road with a bicycle 
as a substitute for the four-wheeler is an ex- 
cellent method of seeing rural England, and 
at the same time enjoying the atmosphere 

OurtyArcf of 

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clock-work. For speed, however, these 
coaches did not compare with the Wonder, 
on the Holyhead road, which covered the 
one hundred and fifty-eight miles to 
Shrewsbury in fifteen hours and three- 
quarters, nor with the Manchester Telegraph, 
which left the Bull and Mouth in London 
at five in the morning and reached its desti- 

of other days. The Dolphin Inn, South- 
ampton, has many of the old coaching 
memories clinging to it. Its cobbled court- 
yard still echoes to the tramp of horses' feet, 
but the blast of the guard's horn no longer 
calls out the neighborhood to welcome the 
arrival of the mail; even a pony trap in 
it commands attention now, while the rum- 

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An Old Coaching Road 


Me of tram-cars and railway vans is a re- 
minder of the passing of the stage coach. 
A bright sunny morning found us on our 
bicycles threading our way through the 
crowded streets and out through the old 
Norman Bar Gate which spans the High 
street. It was all up hill at first, a long 
winding ascent with the typical English 
hedge on either side of the road, and cottages 
and gardens beyond. At last we reached 
the crest of the ridge and could look back 
on the city, with a glimpse of blue be- 
yond, where Southampton Water appeared 
through the smoke. Below, stretching 
away for miles toward the horizon, lay the 
lovely valley of the Itchen with the house- 
tops and spires of Winchester directly 
ahead, the great roof and tower of the 
cathedral showing above the trees. An old 
road-bill announces: " The Rumsey Machine, 
through Winchester, hung on steel springs, 
begins flying on the 3d of April from Lon- 
don to Poole in one day." This was in 
1774, but the picturesque courtyard of the 
Black Swan looks as though the relays 
might still be waiting to rush the 
coach ahead. The Black Swan 
was a famous posting house in 
the thirties, and teams were 
changed here to take the mail on 
to Southampton. The inn has suf- 
fered little through the changing 
times; it is popular with cyclists 
and travelers, and the court-yard 
was filled with carts and traps 
driven in from the country. We 
stopped before the great cathe- 
dral, where children were play- 
ing on the velvety turf and 
among the ancient tombstones. 
Here Canute was buried, and 
Edward the Confessor crowned; 
the gray old building is richer in 
historical interest than any other 
ecclesiastical edifice in England, 
always excepting Westminster Ab- 
bey. There are many other points 
of interest in Winchester, the Col- 
lege of St. Mary Winton, little 
altered since Wykeham's time, 
the old West Gate, a Crom- 
wellian relic, and the tomb of 
Izaak Walton. But the after- 
noon was growing apace, so we 
rode out of the city and over 
Magdalen Hill, from which, on a 
clear day, you can see the Isle 

of Wight on one hand, and as far as the 
Berkshire Hills on the other. 

In the little village of Alresford we stopped 
for a moment and refreshed ourselves in tKe 
smoke-begrimed tap-room of the Dolphin, 
a small hostelry that must have seen cen- 
turies of usefulness. In the old days it 
was a resort for post-boys and stablemen; 
the courtly passengers by the coach and 
the dignified whip would look for a more 
pretentious resort. In the neighborhood 
are Tichborne Park, famous through its 
"claimant/ 1 and a pond built by King 
John to feed a canal. To our amazement, 
shortly after leaving Alresford, we encoun- 
tered a camel blocking the road. A 
highwayman attacking the mail coach 
could not have been more disconcerting in 
his day and generation than was this beast 
to us, fortunately we were not held up, and 
by a detour left the stranger in a strange 
land to enjoy his freedom till the traveling 
circus near by discovered its loss. We 
fairly flew down the long hill that leads 
into Alton, where our day ended with a 

CoxxAytiiJi of V* Lion W LAmk,TftMikbm 


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An Old Coaching Road 

dinner at the Swan, a large white inn with 
a sign boasting the patronage of the Duke 
of Con naught. It accommodated many 
famous people in the coaching days; noble- 
men and country gentry have stopped for a 
substantial luncheon on their travels up or 
down the road. As a sample of what a 
dinner meant to our ancestors, let me quote, 
from Mr. Tristram's delightful coaching 
book, a "Menu at the Sugar Loaf, Dun- 

ten centuries. Now it is known chiefly as 
a hop center and its ales are famous in 
London. We stopped for a moment in the 
morning at the little church, the scene of the 
death of Sir Richard Boles, who with sixty 
Royalists held it against 6,000 Parliamen- 
tarians until overpowered. 

From Alton to Farnham the road is level, 
and with a stiff breeze behind us we made 
quick time. At the Lion and Lamb we 


* Y* (J rt " €n% JQ?£ston. 

stable": "A Boiled Round of Beef^ a 
Roast Loin of Pork; a Roast Aitchbone 
of Beef, and a Boiled Hand of Pork with 
Pease-pudding and Parsnips; a Roast Goose; 
and a Boiled Leg of Mutton." And this 
was to be dealt with in twenty minutes, 
while a new team was put to and the coach 
prepared to continue its speedy journey 
on the Holyhead road! Alton is a small 
place, but its history is traced through 

lunched to our great satisfaction. Like 
many of the inns in the country, the view 
from the rear is the most picturesque, for 
while the street side may be freshly painted 
and covered with garish signs, the old 
chimneys and gables and quaint windows 
at the back remain as they were in coaching 
times, when the courtyard was always the 
busiest place in the neighborhood. We 
had gone but a short distance out of the 
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An Old Coaching Road 


town when the bicycles began to work hard. 
We dismounted, kicked the pedals and 
examined the chains. The operation was 
repeated half a dozen times before we 
looked back and discovered that for two 
miles we had been pushing up a hill so 
beautifully graded that the incline was not 
visible. We were wheeling over the " Hog's 
Back" a chalky ridge that forms part of 
the North Downs. It was a lonely place 
in the old days, and coachmen were wont 
to take it carefully, for the road was tricky 
on stormy nights and highwaymen found 
it a tempting locality to ply their vocation. 
From this crest the view of the country 
for miles around is charming; on one hand 
lies the valley of the Wey, with meadows 
and fields of grain; to the north, far below 
the hillside, is Aldershot Heath with a 
military camp where 20,000 soldiers can 
be accommodated. In 1870:74 when coun- 
try gentlemen hereabouts assisted in the 
revival of interest in coaching, the Aldershot 
was well known on the road and was con- 
sidered one of the best-horsed coaches out of 
London. Down St. Catherine's Hill we 
coasted and nearly came to grief at the 
steep declivity which leads to the bridge over 
the river. The hill was the delight of ven- 
turesome whips and the horror of women 
travelers who stuck their scoop-shovelled 
headgear out of the coach windows 
and besought the guard to apply the 

In Guildford the Portsmouth and 
Southampton roads met. Many a fa- 
mous coachman has pulled his team 
up before the Crown or the White 
Hart and heaved a sigh of relief that 
he had covered Putney Heath and 
avoided an encounter with one Jerry 
Abershawe, a noted highwayman, who 
worked with great profit to himself on 
the Portsmouth road. Jerry was given 
to lifting the passengers 1 valuables and 
then retiring to an inn called the Bald- 
faced Stag, where he spent his spare 
hours in wild carousing. The London- 
Guildford coach still runs daily in the 
season, and with the Brighton, Dork- 
ing, Oxford, Tunbridge and Windsor 
coaches keeps up a service that would 
delight even the celebrated Pears him- 
self. Guildford is a sleepy place now, 
with a picturesque High street, a 
quaint old town hall, and a ruined 
castle that remains a fine example 

of Norman architecture. There are several 
old coaching inns, one the White Lion, we 
found particularly interesting. The un- 
fortunate Duke of Monmouth was lodged 
in the town on his way to London after 
the defeat at Edgemoor. 

We had scarcely started on our road to 
Cobham before rain began to fall, a drizzle 
at first, then in a steady shower that glided 
off our mackintoshes into our boots, and 
made the chains of our bicycles creak. Our 
spirits were raised a bit when we encountered 
a rustic trudging along in the mud, whose 
rain coat was made from a gunny sack with 
holes cut out for the arms. As we neared 
him we saw in large red letters that had 
begun to run, "Best Flour XXXX Min- 
neapolis, Minn., U. S. A." When an Eng- 
lishman dons a garment of American manu- 
facture we are making strides. It was 
near Cobham, on the heath, that Mr. and 
Mrs. Samuel Pepys lost their way, the just 
deserts of Mrs. Samuel Pepys, for suspicion 
prompted her to take the journey with her 
spouse. In 1668 trips to Guildford meant 
a merry evening, and though Mr. Samuel 
Pepys claimed to have been called there on 
official business, vanities of the flesh were 
as frequent then as they are to-day and wives 
as knowing. There is little of interest in 
Cobham now except the White Lion, a 

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An Old Coaching Road 

fine relic of coaching days. The village is 
away from the world and barely breathing, 
but Scotch and soda were obtainable and 
as grateful to us as must have been the 
rum and milk with which passengers on the 
Regulator and the Hero were wont to brace 
themselves for the journey on to London. 

The sun was out again, and though the 
coach road goes on to Esher, we made a 
detour and rolled over the white road to 
Hampton Court: the palace which was the 
downfall of the great Cardinal Wolsey. It 
is perhaps best known the world over to- 
day as the scene of a picture that has 
traveled wide and far, "The Happy Days 
of Charles the First " ; but probably it has 
brought more happiness, in the past century, 
to the millions of the public who have en- 
joyed the beauties of its Thames-side scenery, 
its gardens, its galleries of paintings, its 
wonderful old grape-vine and its hundred 
other attractions, than it ever did to the 
Cardinal who built it, or the King whose 
favorite home it was. From there it was a 
short jaunt to Kingston, the end of our long 
day's ride. Kingston has fallen from its 
high estate; at one time it justified its name, 
Kingstown, for within its metes and bounds 
kings were proclaimed and crowned. It 

long remained an important link in the old 
coaching chain from London southward. 
Very little of antiquity is left, its old 
inn, the Castle, was long since destroyed. 
But the Griffen takes its place and retains 
the traditions and the ale of old days. We 
were royally entertained there on roast beef 
and Yorkshire pudding, and later walked 
near the river bank in the long English 
twilight. Passengers on the day coaches, 
Rocket, Regulator or Hero and Light Post 
coach leaving London early in the morning, 
breakfasted at Kingston after crossing 
Putney Heath, where every now and again 
they might have seen a grave-looking pro- 
cession of principals, seconds and leeches 
going out in the early dawn to settle an 
affair of honor; the heath was famous as a 
duelling ground besides being a rendez- 
vous for highwaymen. The distance to 
London is about twelve miles, but the 
character of the country is lost and the 
great city has stamped its personality on 
the dwellings and inns that thickly border 
the road. The chimera of the stage coach 
and the atmosphere of its day left us, and 
as we sped along in the morning, riding into 
the yellow fog, we talked of hansom cabs 
and modern hotels. 

"\A*t Gftle "Winckrater 

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By W. H. Rowe 

THE love of the thoroughbred race- 
horse is deep in the heart of the 
English people, for the turf has 
been veritably their national pastime for 
centuries. As far back as the time of Henry 
II. (1154-1189), a Canterbury monk gives, 
in his " Description of the City of London," 
a quaint account of "a certain plain field, 
such both in reality and name, Smithfieid 
from a Saxon word, smithy meaning smooth," 
to which were wont to come " a great num- 
ber of persons — earls, barons, knights and a 
swarm of citizens " for the purpose of racing 
horses "both strong and fleet" as distin- 
guished from the "common horses," these 
latter being ordered "to withdraw out of 
the way" when a race was run. 

The turf in England possesses a marked 
advantage over that of any other existing 
nation, not only by reason of the antiquity 
of the sport, as so graphically demonstrated 
by the literary curio I have quoted, but 
also by reason of the permanency of its in- 
stitutions for very considerably more than 
a century. The American finds that com- 
paratively chaotic conditions have prevailed 
in his own country up to a very recent 
date. In a majority of the decades of the 
nineteenth century the sport of horse-racing 
was conducted here upon virtually no defi- 
nite lines. Each race-course was tacitly a 
law unto itself, and such a thing as a settled 
policy of turf government was absolutely 
unknown. Then, too, American chronolo- 
gies of turf affairs were relatively imperfect. 
Records of races, it is true, were fairly well 

preserved in what are known as the " early 
days," but it is exceedingly significant that 
our Stud Book should not have been launched 
until such a comparatively recent date as 
1868. Even then its compiler simply claimed 
that it was "as accurate as was possible, 
from the mass of chaotic material the sub- 
ject afforded, to frame an American Stud 

In England, however, radically different 
conditions obtain. The Racing Calendar 
has so long been an official chronicle of the 
sport that it may be obtained in complete 
sets from 1773! The early publications of 
the Stud Book bore the dates of 1791, 1803 
and 1808, and so thoroughly was the ground 
then covered that the revised edition of 
volume I. (published in 1891, after years of 
labor in verifying the former records in the 
light of data which had been discovered 
during the long stretch of intervening years) 
upset none of the traditions — so to speak — 
of English blood-stock. 

A leading feature of the English turf's 
permanency, however, is to be found in the 
long career of its Jockey Club as a central- 
ized governing power over the general poli- 
cies and administrations of the various race- 
courses. Such a body should be composed 
exclusively of men whose connection with 
the turf is in no way open to the slightest 
suspicion of necessity. Racing has most 
aptly been styled "the Sport of Kings," 
and in its ideality should possess upon its 
boards no prominent actors who are not in 
control of incomes sufficient to make the 

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The English Turf 

expenses of the maintenance of a racing 
stable come under the head of recreation or 
amusement. The English Jockey Club, 
as a parent governing body, is as near a 
realization of the ideal as one could well 
imagine, and its firm grip upon the racing 
situation in England is a remarkable evi- 
dence of the strength of its personality as 
well as of the success of its gubernatorial 
efforts in the past decades. Its virtual lack 
of professionalism has caused its rulings to 
be accepted without that spirit of caviling 
so naturally awakened by the dictum of an 
authority which is open to the suspicion of 
"having an axe to grind," and it is abso- 
lutely certain that the prevailing conditions 

St. Leger was virtually inaugurated in 1776. 
This trio of great three-year-old prizes may 
therefore be said to be as old as the inde- 
pendence of the United States, and the 
English breeders have evinced thorough 
wisdom by basing their operations in the 
main upon these results. Then, too, the 
Jockey Club has encouraged the sport by 
frequent race meetings in each year at in- 
comparable Newmarket, popularly known 
as "turf headquarters," where hundreds of 
horses are regularly trained for their races 
at that and other courses. Newmarket is 
an epitome in stone of the history of the 
English turf, telling really more of its an- 
tiquity than the meager evidence in the 


in America would be considerably better 
were our race-courses, however widely sepa- 
rated by the topography of the country, 
brought under the parent control of just 
such a national body as is the Jockey Club 
of the East. 

The English turf is to-day unprecedent- 
edly strong, popular and successful, whether 
viewed from the sentimental or statistical 
standpoint. In a word, it to-day repre- 
sents the survival of policies and rulings 
which the experiences of generations — if not 
centuries — have proved to be the best. 
The sport has been constantly pruned and 
fostered. Great classic races have stood 
out like beacon lights, by which progress 
might best be measured. Those famous 
Epsom fixtures, the Derby and the Oaks, 
have respectively been decided annually 
since 1780 and 1779, while the Doncaster 

books, because its old and magnificent 
houses of early times indicate the existence 
of racing centuries before the o