Chapter XXI: Part II (4)

Mr. Jefferson did not lose his interest in agricultural pursuits while he was a member of the Washington administration. He made frequent trips to Monticello, and directed the operations of his farmers, laborers, and other workmen. In June, 1790, he writes from New York to one of his daughters: “We did not have peas or asparagus here until the 8th day of this month. On the same day I heard the first whip-poor-will whistle. Swallows and martins appeared here on the 21st of April. When did they appear with you, and when had you peas and strawberries and whip-poor-wills in Virginia? Take notice, hereafter, whether the whip-poor-wills always come with the strawberries and peas.” When Mr. Jefferson retired from the Washington Cabinet he immediately began to repair the damages his long absence had caused on his estate. He then owned 10,000 acres of land, of which 2,000 were under cultivation, but they had been sadly mismanaged by his overseers. All the cleared land was divided into nearly four equal parts, each containing about 280 acres. These were subdivided into fields of about forty acres in extent, separated from one another by rows of peach-trees, 1,151 of which were planted by him in one year alone. He had 154 slaves, 249 cattle, 390 hogs, 5 mules, and 34 horses, 9 of which were required for the use of his household. To quote his own words at this time, he gave himself up “to his family, his farms and his books.” His farming operations were conducted on the most approved scientific principles, and the first threshing-machine seen in Virginia was on his estate. But in a short time his election to the Vice-Presidency recalled him to the political arena, and “the rocks and wilds” of Monticello were once more abandoned. Four years, and he became President. The young capital, Washington, was then slowly assuming the form and appearance of a town, if not of a city. Jefferson, who, as Secretary of State at Philadelphia, had supervised the plan of its streets and the architecture of its public buildings, took a keen delight in the work of building and beautifying it. One of his biographers, writing shortly after his death in 1826, says: “Almost everything that is beautiful in the artificial scenery of Washington is due to the taste and industry of Mr. Jefferson. He planted its walks with trees and strewed its gardens with flowers. He was rarely seen returning from his daily excursions on horseback without bringing some branches of tree or shrub, or bunch of flowers, for the embellishment of the infant capital. He was familiar with every tree and plant, from the oak of the forest to the meanest flower of the valley. The willow-oak was among his favorite trees, and he was often seen standing on his horse gathering the acorns from this tree. He had it in view to raise a nursery of them, which, when large enough to give shade, should be made to adorn the walks of all the avenues in the city. In the meantime he planted them with the Lombardy poplar, being of the most sudden growth, contented that, though he could not enjoy their shade, his successors would. Those who have stood on the western portico of the Capitol and looked down the long avenue of a mile in length to the President’s house, have been struck with the beautiful colonnade of trees which adorns the whole distance on either side. They were all planted under the direction of Mr. Jefferson, who joined in the task with his own hands. He always lamented the spirit of extermination which had swept off the noblest forest trees that overspread Capitol Hill, extending down to the banks of the Tiber and the banks of the Potomac. He meant to have converted the grounds into extensive parks and gardens. ‘The loss is irreparable,’ said he to a European traveler, ‘nor can the evil be prevented. When I have seen such depredations I have wished for a moment to be a despot, that, in the possession of absolute power, I might enforce the preservation of these valuable groves. Washington might have boasted one of the noblest parks and most beautiful walks attached to any city in the world.’” The Washington of even 1830 has long since passed away. Where the long line of shade-trees from the Capitol to the President’s house stood, the parallel rails of the street-cars have long been laid, while the stream of classic name has been inclosed in brick and stone, and made to serve the ignoble purpose of a great drainage conduit. Jefferson’s dream of a beautiful capital has been realized, however; and could he return to it he would not find much to condemn in its avenues and parks except some of the statues that disfigure them.

Mr. Jefferson’s long political service came to an end in March, 1809, and with it his final retirement to Monticello. He was then sixty-six years of age. The journey to his home was one long triumphal procession, the inhabitants of every town and village through which he passed welcoming him with complimentary addresses and resolutions. He had been forty years in the service of the public. His intellectual powers were undecayed and his bodily health good. Seventeen years of life were yet before him. The restoration of his property was his first care. His lands were not in a compact body, and a great deal of riding to and fro was necessary. One of the principal farms was in Bedford County, more than a day’s journey from Monticello, and he usually spent six or seven weeks there every year. In private as well as in public life, Mr. Jefferson had made it a rule to be out of bed with the sun, and to transact a large amount of business before breakfast. To this rule he adhered even in his old age. In a letter to ex-President Adams, in 1820, he says: “I can walk but little, but I ride six or eight miles a day without fatigue; and, within a few days, I shall endeavor to visit my other home, after a twelvemonths’ absence from it. Our University, four miles distant, gives me frequent exercise, and the oftener as I direct its architecture.” The building and equipment of the University of Virginia was the crowning work of Mr. Jefferson’s life. He visited it nearly every day, and when compelled to remain at home, watched the workmen through a spyglass from his veranda. The usual routine of his life at this period is thus described by one of his biographers: “He rose with the sun. From that time to breakfast, and often until noon, he was in his cabinet, chiefly employed in epistolary correspondence. From breakfast, or noon at the latest, to dinner he was engaged in his workshops, his garden, or on horseback among his farms. From dinner to dark he gave to society and recreation with his neighbors and friends; and from candle-light to bed-time he devoted himself to reading and study.” A granddaughter has left us this picture of him in the last years of his life: “He loved farming and gardening, the fields, the orchards, and the asparagus beds. Of flowers he was very fond. I remember the planting of the first hyacinths and tulips. The precious roots were added to the earth under his own eye, with a crowd of happy young faces of his grandchildren clustered around to see the process and inquire anxiously the name of each separate deposit. In the morning, immediately after breakfast, he used to visit his flower-beds and gardens.” His retirement was invaded by a multitude of admirers and curiosity seekers, whose entertainment became so great a drain upon his resources that, coupled with other financial losses, he became deeply involved in pecuniary difficulties. His creditors grew clamorous, and he was compelled to ask the Legislature permission to dispose of his property by lottery. The scheme embraced three great prizes, namely, Monticello, valued at $71,000; the Shadwell Mills, adjoining it, $30,000, and the Albemarle estate at $11,500. Public attention having been thus called to his distress, meetings were held in nearly all the principal cities of the Union, and a large sum of money was subscribed for his benefit. But his life was now drawing to a close, and he experienced very little relief from these voluntary offerings. In the summer of 1826 he became very feeble, and he died on the 4th of July, at ten minutes to one o’clock, “the day on which he prayed that he might be permitted to depart.” Fifty years had passed away since the great Declaration had been given to the world, and the political independence of the Thirteen Colonies proclaimed. Away in distant Quincy, noble old John Adams died almost at the same hour, thanking God that “Thomas Jefferson still lives.”

MAN’S THREE FOLLIES.

A woman said to sage Voltaire:
“You men are really famous
For just three follies: they’re your share;
For more than three you blame us.

“Man never waits for fruit to fall,
But shakes the tree or beats it;
While woman, in no haste at all,
When fruit has ripened--eats it.

“Men rush to war, defying fate,
And fight as if for pleasure;
When death would come, if men would wait,
And take them at his leisure.

“Man follows woman: foolish chase,
For if he only knew her,
And would but turn from her fair face,
He need not thus pursue her.

“If she once thought man meant retreat,
All scruples she would swallow;
Grass would not grow beneath her feet,
So quickly would she follow.

“We’re not afraid this truth to tell
To men who oft deceive us
We’ve learned their ways, and we know well
That they will not believe us.

“Man will not, cannot turn away
From the fair face of woman;
Her sceptre she will always sway--
At least while man is human!”

_Egbert L. Bangs._

THE LADIES’ EASTERN TRICYCLE TOUR.

FROM THE MERRIMAC TO NAUMKEAG.

BY DAISIE.

“Ohne Hast” was our motto as, in the month of October, we cycled from the banks of the Merrimac to old Naumkeag. We borrowed but one-half of Goethe’s motto, for we did not care to add the “Ohne Rast,” and live up to it. He gets much out of a cycle tour who wheels leisurely through the country, for he exerts himself far less than does the pedestrian or the equestrian; he sees no less of what is around and about him, and he travels farther in a given time. There are those who derive no pleasure from cycling unless they rush along, bent only on making quick time between points; but this idea has never animated the ladies who yearly wander awheel along the rocky coast of Northern Massachusetts.

“The Ladies’ Annual Tricycle Tour to the North Shore of Massachusetts” is our rather cumbersome but all-inclusive title, and under it we have had four very delightful outings. This tour was evolved during the fall of 1885 from the mind of Miss Minna C. Smith, then on the editorial staff of ~Outing~, and the first tour was carried out under her direction, and became the subject of an article in this magazine at that time--(the Ladies’ Tour to Kettle Cove, vol. vii., p. 431). Minna’s first idea was a tour for ladies alone; but she very soon discovered that the ladies would not go without their husbands and sweethearts, and it occurred to her mind, also, that the masculines would be very handy in screwing up loose nuts, or repairing damages to the machines. And so it was a mixed company that first essayed to run awheel from Middlesex Fells to Kettle Cove. And it has come about that ladies with gentlemen have composed all the succeeding tours, three in number, though the ladies have always been in the majority, and the rule that no gentleman can participate unless he is escort to a lady has been rigidly adhered to. The gentlemen pay for the privilege of attending the tour by arranging all the details and liquidating the bills, and find their reward in the supreme satisfaction of which the ladies give evidence in look and manner. Before I tell you how we went and what we did, let me invite your attention to our itinerary.

Wednesday, October 3d.--By train from Boston to Newburyport--special car to carry our cycles. Night at the Wolfe Tavern.

Thursday, October 4th.--Ride from Newburyport to Gloucester, thirty miles. Through Newbury, Rowley, Ipswich, Essex Woods, Manchester-by-the-Sea, Magnolia, and Gloucester.

Friday, October 5th.--Around Cape Ann, through Rockport, Lanesville, Annisquam, Riverdale, West Gloucester, and Gloucester.

Saturday, October 6th.--A forenoon at Magnolia. In the afternoon, ride to Salem, through Manchester-by-the-Sea, Beverly Farms, Beverly, and Salem.

Sunday, October 7th.--A forenoon at Nahant, dinner at Lynn, and the homeward ride in the afternoon.

There were twenty-four of us in all. Eight wives assisted their husbands in pedaling eight tandems. Two pairs of girls propelled two tandems. The veteran and his wife rode a tandem bicycle. One young lady rode a single tricycle. One solitary gentleman rode a bicycle.

Our tandem bicycle was a seven-days’ wonder for the rustics on the route, and they viewed it with open-eyed astonishment. They never expected to see a lady on a bicycle, and they could hardly believe what their eyes told them.

There were some who protested against travel by rail on any part of a cycle tour, and spurned the idea of going to Newburyport in this way. They were allowed to exercise their own sweet wills, so four of the tourists wheeled forty miles to the rendezvous the day before the start. We were quartered at the Wolfe Tavern, in front of which hung a sign placed there in the last century, and bearing a portrait of General Wolfe. It was an ugly daub, but interesting and attractive, nevertheless. Hector thought it strange that a tavern should encourage the presence of a “wolf at the door,” and suggested that the landlord would have our assistance to drive him away when we came to pay our bills, or “pay the shot,” as he put it.

Newburyport is a quaint old place, and on every hand are to be seen suggestions of bygone days in the forms of a gambrel-roof house, a colonial door, or the more common outside steps which follow the front lines of the house and take one in at the front door by a turn. Here is the mansion house of Lord Timothy Dexter, who sent a cargo of warming-pans to the West Indies and made a large sum of money, not by selling them for bed-warming purposes, but for the use to which the natives quickly turned them of dipping up molasses from the vats. It is told, also, of this eccentric individual, that he had a mock funeral pass through the streets while he himself occupied the coffin, which was carried in a hearse. The picture of his great house, in front of which is a high fence with huge posts, each post a pedestal for a statue, has become familiar in cheap prints.

Hector and I were up early and strolling through the town. Our riding suits attracted no little attention, but one gets used to being stared at after cycling experiences of a few months. Gentlemen in knee-breeches are no uncommon sight in these days of tennis, baseball and cycling, but legs clad in knee-breeches appearing below an overcoat suggest an inharmonious grouping of garments, and I do not wonder that they provoke a smile. We made straight for the cemetery, of course, for in these quaint old places the cemetery is always interesting. We found it hard-by the jail, and I thought their juxtaposition not inappropriate. We read many epitaphs written a century ago, and could not but smile at the queer ideas expressed.

The natives turned out in force to see us start. They had possibly seen ladies ride tricycles before, but a large party like this, and one couple on a tandem bicycle, was a decided novelty. Good Mother Nature was kind to us on this the first day of our tour. She had been frowning for weeks before and sending down rain, rain, till we began to think we should have to tour in an ark instead of awheel. The gentlemen forgot what a glorious riding year lay behind them, and I heard many remarks more emphatic than polite. The frown on the face of the heavens changed to a smile the night before the eventful day, and we started our wheels toward Gloucester under pleasant skies. Molly was our pacemaker, while I staid behind to help along the laggards and to signal Molly in case of accident, and the Doctor’s wife looked after the drag which conveyed our luggage and a few spare machines. We had a whistle code which nobody took the trouble to learn, and our rules were very strict, though nobody seemed to pay much regard to them. Six miles an hour was the pace cut out by Molly, and this did not violate the motto, “Ohne Hast,” except in the minds of the horses on the drag. Do we mind the hills? Bless you, no! If the hill has a good hard surface we do not mind it nearly so much as we do a level, sandy stretch.

It were useless to attempt to tell the delight of a tricycle ride through a pleasant country, where Nature invites the eye to dwell upon her charms, where the roads are firm and smooth, when the whole body tingles with exhilaration born of quickened circulation and speedy movement through the air. To experience is to know. The half cannot be told.

We left the old town behind us and soon came to the river Parker (don’t call it Parker River in the presence of a Newburyporter). On the farther bank we were greeted by an old resident, who gave us apples to eat and entertained us with stories of the old house in which he lives, which, by the way, is the homestead of the Poor family, of which the noted Ben. Perley Poor and our friend are members. To-day we see Cape Ann under its rural aspect; tomorrow we shall see the bold shore and the open sea.

A boy shouts after the gentleman from New York: “Say, mister, your wheel’s goin’ round,” and the man from Manhattan nearly falls off his wheel from the effect of this very new joke.

At Bean’s Crossing we stopped for a drink of cold water at the well, and, if you will believe it, many of the ladies preferred to drink from the old oaken bucket, and spurned the drinking-cups gallantly offered by the gentlemen. The bucket was clean, however, without a suspicion of dirty moss on it. The ride through Essex woods was a poem in cycling. The summer residents have bought up large tracts of land in these woods and perpetuated this beautiful driveway. The road-bed is good, and one passes under arching trees for miles seeing nowhere any disturbance of nature due to the hand of man, save only the path he is traveling. Drink in this scene if you can, and garnish it with the glory of the autumnal foliage.

Just before we entered the woods we were met by the Poet and the Artist, who rode over from Gloucester to meet us and escort us on our way. They approached us down-hill, as we ascended. Just before we came up to them they performed a most artistic header in full sight of the party, which we all enjoyed, after we had discovered they had come out of it without injury. The poet dived through the air and alighted on the grass many feet in front of the machine, while the artist found himself under the machine, which illustrated the total depravity of inanimate things by jumping on him and pinning him to the sod. At Ipswich we drank again. Every pump is patronized by cycling tourists, and I dare not estimate the number of glasses of spring water that are consumed on a trip of this kind. Let me say that our tourists are teetotalers. I know this, because I heard one of the gentlemen say, after we had drunk from our fourth or fifth spring the first day, “I never saw such a lot of teetotal drinkers as cyclers are.”

Just out of Ipswich there was a breakdown. The Doctor’s axle yielded to his tremendously powerful pedaling, and a wrecked machine was cast upon the road. Here came in the usefulness of the drag with its cargo of spare machines. The wreck was taken on board and new machines were soon under the castaway crew.

Dinner was taken in picnic style, under the trees, in a nook of the Essex Woods, and ham sandwiches, chicken and eggs were washed down with water from a neighboring spring. At four ~P. M.~ we drew up in front of the Pavilion, at Gloucester. Then came the discussion over the distance. ’Tis with our cyclometers as with our watches, none go just alike, yet each believes his own. Some told us we had ridden thirty-two miles, others said thirty. My fatigue indicated a ride of a short distance, my hunger pointed to figures much larger than any cyclometer told.

That night there was music and dancing in the parlor. To see that merry company, who would think they had pedaled their “go-carts” over thirty miles of good, bad, and indifferent roads during the day? Molly favored the company with a number of recitations, the Doctor’s wife read an original poem which teemed with personalities, and Mrs. Manhattan played while we danced. We slept the sleep of the innocent that night, lulled to slumber by the breakers on the beach, just beneath our windows.

The second day is always the most important of the tour, for on it we circle Cape Ann. The road runs out of Gloucester at the north, belts the cape, and returns to Gloucester again from the west. Cape Ann projects into Massachusetts Bay, as though nature had given a great nose to the Old Commonwealth. The road follows the shore-line northward, then turns inland, and takes the visitor through a country of hills to the starting-point. I cannot believe that money or material wealth in any form could tempt a cycler to travel this road if it were not for the scenery. The length of the belt is only fifteen miles, but experienced riders suffer more fatigue in traveling these, than forty miles of ordinary roads would bring. A Boston newspaper pronounced it, a few years ago, an unfit road for ladies to ride over. And yet we have conquered it four times. Hill succeeds hill in constant succession, and sandy surfaces make the levels hard to ride upon. But we must pay for the good things of this life, and we cannot have Cape Ann scenery without compensation.

Twenty of us responded to the call of the pacemaker at nine o’clock Friday morning, and the drag was in position. Hector presented a pretty spectacle this morning behind the white wings of a dove which ornamented his tandem. The Doctor’s wife was suspected of this trick, perpetrated to show her appreciation of the way in which Hector sang his favorite song of “White Wings” for the entertainment of the company. If Hector’s beauty ranked with his inability to sing he would be another Adonis. The tourists were well avenged for the peace-destroying notes that had been forced upon them, for every shrill-voiced boy on the road that day--and we met several groups just let loose from school--saluted the decorated machine with the chorus of the well-worn song.

We went out of Gloucester with bright colors to the fore--on the cheeks of the ladies. Leaving Gloucester, we passed the old stone barn at Beaver Dam, then to Rockport, where we spent a pleasant half-hour at the quarries, looking down from the stone bridge that carries the roadway over the cut, into the great depths with the palisaded sides of still unquarried granite. Some of the great blocks but recently taken out were said to be twenty-five feet long and twenty tons in weight. We took the statement on faith, for we had neither measuring rod nor scales. A native took us to see a curio that is shown to visitors. A schooner ran into a sloop. The jibboom of the former went clear through the mast of the sloop and staid there. The mast with its unceremonious visitor lies upon the wharf to excite the wonder of those who behold it. “His Grace the Duke” cracked a very poor joke when he spoke of the masterly stroke of the schooner, and one man said that schooners had run into him without any such effect.

We were doing more walking than riding, for there are more hills than levels in that district, and many hills make pedestrianism a charm. Pigeon Cove came next in view. We saw several flights of ducks, but no pigeons hereabouts. Here, on the extreme easterly point of Cape Ann, we halted for lunch. An accommodating innkeeper, who had closed his hostelry, and who was the sole occupant except his family, kindly loaned us a table and the use of his range for the making of coffee. Molly made the coffee, and proved herself an artist in beverages.

After dinner we strolled and climbed upon the rocks which were piled up upon the point. Great slabs of granite that weighed ten, fifteen, and even twenty tons, were shown us, and we were asked to believe that they were thrown up by the sea, or moved rods away from their former positions by the gale of March, 1888. It was a great tax upon our credulity to view these massive stones and accept the tales that were told of the sport which the waves had made with them. The landlady showed an ugly and repulsive horned toad that had recently been sent her from California. It was still alive, and several of the ladies were courageous enough to take it in their hands, though the general verdict was, “Ugh!”

Leaving Pigeon Cove behind us, we rode on to Folly Cove. Here the scene is altogether different. The cove is surrounded by high land, from which we looked down upon white-capped waters and saw white-winged plyers of the deep in the middle ground and on the horizon, while just beneath us fishermen were tending their nets, and lobster-catchers in dories were hauling in their pots.

At Annisquam we visited the great boulder. Near the summit of a great hill lies this mass of rock, not less than fifty feet in height and width. Who put it there? Let the icebergs tell the story in scratches on its side. A few venturesome ones, who were shod with rubber, climbed to the top, and the photographer snapped his shutter and caught us as we stood about the rock. Off in the distance is Coffin’s Beach. Two schooners are on the sands, one at low-water mark, and the other far above the waters. They were thrown up there from the sea by the gale of last March, and they wait for the sands to engulf them. It will not pay to save them, so slowly but surely they are sinking into the sands, and before many months they will have gone down out of sight.

The Veteran brought pickled limes for our entertainment on the road. There should have been a few left when we got to the boulder, so one of the young ladies clambered into the drag to refresh herself, and soon had the box in her lap. There was a screech from the drag and a rush of the gentlemen toward it. When the maiden opened the box, she had found, not pickled limes, but the horned toad from California, who winked his ugly eyes at her as daylight was let in upon him. It appeared that the Doctor’s wife had begged him from the landlady at Pigeon Cove and without our knowledge had made him one of the party. He went with us to the end, and the ladies soon gained courage enough to feed him with flies.

We were back at Gloucester at half-past four. Then, after dinner, we had more fun in the parlor during the evening, more song and more story. Does anybody say we ought to have been tired after our long and difficult ride? Bless you, we never think of being tired on these tours.

Saturday morning brought clouded skies. Out upon you, Mother Nature, for marring our tour! It never yet rained on our touring days, then why spoil the record? Weatherwise natives told us that it would not rain long, and said that fair weather was ahead. Hector sententiously remarked: “He who rides a cycle needs no reins.” We started for Magnolia in a drizzle, and in a drizzle we did the place. Our wheels were housed at Willow Cottage, and the tourists strolled over to Rafe’s Chasm. It was a good day for surf studies, and the chasm is the ideal place for this. The waters rush up into the great cleft and come tumbling back white with anger, the waves beat upon the rocks, and the spray is sent high in air. We looked at the iron cross erected to the memory of Martha Marvin, who was washed into the sea from these rocks a few years ago; and lying right before us was Norman’s Woe, whereon the schooner _Hesperus_ was wrecked.

Meantime the heavens put on a thicker coat of gray, foreboding trouble ahead for any who should dare venture unprotected beneath them. Two o’clock was our hour for starting, but at that time the rain was falling in torrents. No matter; let us drive on. It will not hurt us to get wet, for our work will keep us warm. Let me choose between a high wind and a rain-storm and I will take the rain in every case, and so think all cyclers. Keep the body warm by quick action on the wheel, change clothing at the end of the ride, and rub yourself well with a coarse towel, and there is no evil effect from a ducking of this kind.

We rode twelve miles to Salem. The roads were heavy, and we had to take the sidewalks wherever we could, without paying any regard to the law prohibiting sidewalk riding, for the blue-coated guardian of the peace could never be so cruel as to arrest ladies for riding on the sidewalk when the mud was six inches deep. It was: Go at your own pace now; no matter about precedence. The word was: Get to Salem as quick as you can! It was a race warm-bathward, as Miss Rives would say. The tandem bicycle reached the hotel first of all, but close behind were the Misses K---- on their tandem. Good English and Scotch blood flows in the veins of these two young ladies, and they have the brawn and sinew to put their machine over the road faster than many of the gentlemen care to ride. We must have presented a ludicrous sight as we passed through the villages drenched with rain and dropping water from every projection. “Why don’t you drop it and run?” called out a youngster after us as we hurried onward. When we came to the river, Hector suggested that we should ride through it, “for,” said he, “we can’t get any wetter than we are, and the experience will be novel.” Declining the suggestion, we took the bridge. Only the week before they had celebrated the centennial anniversary of the structure--old Beverly Bridge--and we wondered if ever a stranger company had crossed from shore to shore than this rain-drenched party of cyclists. The Doctor’s wife tired of riding in the rain before half the journey was completed, and she found a way to take solid comfort and keep dry. She got into the drag and left her husband to pedal a double-seated machine alone, but taking pity on him shortly, she threw him a rope and an umbrella. The rope he attached to the machine and the umbrella was raised for shelter. Thus was he towed along, to the delight of the small boys who witnessed the peculiar spectacle. Salem was kind to us. Warm fires were ready, and soon we were in dry clothing, with our wet garments hanging before the fires. Thus was marred the afternoon of our third day.

We held a council of war in the parlor, and decided that the tour should continue if the morning proved fair, otherwise it was to be considered at an end. Morning came, and the rain was still falling. We bade farewell to each other, and sought our homes as each deemed best. A few of the more reckless riders mounted their wheels for another ride in the rain, but this time home was their destination. Many went home by train, and a few remained at Salem to await fair weather.

Thus ended the fourth North Shore tour of the ladies. We had two glorious days and much pleasant experience. We had one half-day of rare enjoyment on the rocks at Magnolia, and the monotony of our delight was relieved by our cycle bath. They were red-letter days for us all. Ye who tour by rail, by boat, or by carriage, know not one half the delight one gets on the wheel. If you would be convinced of this, come with us next year when we embark on the fifth annual tour.

A LOVE LETTER.

Here is her note. See how the courier pen,
All dizzy with delight, went zigzag down
The road that leads to Eros’ happy town!
See, here a steady pace; and here again
A sudden forward bound, as if, just then,
Her heart beat faster for the precious noun
That brought him near! and there, to match a frown,
A wavy course, as if doubt blurred his ken.

So, ever nearer to the self-same spot,
Bearing the message of my sweetheart true,
Her courier went rejoicing in his lot
To have for heavens eyes of tender blue:
Ah, Heart of mine! see, here’s a tiny blot--
A cloud for him--a tender tear for you.

_Frank Dempster Sherman._

THE PAST CRICKET SEASON.

~The~ visit of the team of Irish amateur cricketers to the United States this past season resulted in affording further proof of the fact that Philadelphia is the home of cricket on this side of the Atlantic. While the Irish gentlemen had almost a walk-over in competing with the resident English cricketers of Canada, and were successful without difficulty against the selected teams of Boston and New York--though Boston gave them quite a close push--in Philadelphia alone were they opposed by elevens of native American cricketers only, whom they found their match. The success of the Philadelphia gentlemen in winning both of their games with the Irish visitors should encourage them to get up another team of American amateurs to cross the Atlantic again in 1889.

* * * * *

~A noteworthy~ fact in local cricket this past season was that the old St. George cricket field was once more the scene of a match between elevens of the St. George and Manhattan clubs. The members of the St. George Cricket Club have of late years become so absorbed in lawn tennis that they have sadly neglected the old, manly English game of cricket, which was the basis of their organization over thirty odd years ago.

~Henry Chadwick.~

* * * * *

IN THE FOOTBALL FIELD.

~For~ years before the adoption of the game of football in America our autumn season had no sport distinctively its own. Baseball dragged out a lingering existence as the hands grew numb in the frosty air. Boating shivered along into November in sweaters, but its life was frozen. Until the advent of football many of our best athletes, finding nothing to train for, strayed away from the strict regimen and early hours to the seductive tobacco and beer and all-night cards. Nor did they always return, for many refused to tear themselves away when the spring came, while still others, after the first few days of effort in the warm May weather, were so overcome with the longing for the flesh-pots that they would fall out of the ranks, never again to reappear. The athletes of to-day have an autumn sport the equal of any in enjoyment and the superior in helping symmetrical development. Nor is this the sole attraction. There is the generalship of a sport with room for all the planning of a real campaign. Its tactics are but half developed, and every year adds some new strategies.

The season of 1888 brought in a change of rules whereby there is a marked increase in the liberty allowed to comrades assisting a runner. Formerly the amount of aid they might render to one of their own men when he had the ball was so small that it was seldom attempted except in a crowd. The practice was to have all this done under the cover of the rushing and surging line of forwards, and at the time of the snap-back only. This led to many complications as the amount of interference grew gradually greater, owing to the leniency of umpires, until last season, when the play of all the teams in the field was characterized by the most marked and deliberate holding in the rush-line, oftentimes a runner was given an absolutely clean path through the forwards by having these opponents dragged out of the way by the men in front of him. Such was the state of affairs that the question of the day bade fair to become whether or not all the rushers could not be held so that the backs and halves would be the only ones left to tackle. This line of development was manifestly a bad one. Every move in that direction increased the personal contact of players who did not have the ball in their possession. It is and has been a noticeable fact in the history of the game in this country that whenever a rule has been passed which admitted of an increase in the liberty of laying hands upon a man who had not the ball, we have had a greater amount of “squabbling and slugging.” It seemed best, therefore to the Graduate Committee, who last year made the rules, to put forward changes which should effectually end this hand-slapping, pushing, and holding in the rush-line. In doing this, however, they wished to put no check upon what seemed by no means an objectionable feature, namely, assisting a runner by going alongside him and acting as an obstacle in the path of those advancing to tackle him.

The rules were altered accordingly, and the alteration has marked a decided advance in the sport. It has made the game more open by increasing the chances of a successful run. Nothing so delights the spectators as a long run. So keen is the excitement that it cannot be pent up, but must out, and while the partisans of the side against whom the run is being made stand holding their breath in fear lest the runner reach the goal, his sympathizers are crying out encouragement to him from all sides, and when at last he is brought to earth by some determined tackler, the sympathizing shouts are in their turn fairly drowned by the yell of exultation which goes up from the throats of the other party. While the kicking game is always a beautiful one to watch, it can never equal in excitement a game where long runs are made. The tedious game is the one which was played when the rules admitted of what was known as the “block game”--that is, where the ball was never advanced more than a yard without a “down,” and all the playing was in the centre. This style has fortunately been completely eliminated by the rules. The change of rules this year has again demonstrated the fact that the game is steadily advancing, and that every year brings it nearer and nearer that point of perfection so earnestly sought after by all its steadfast disciples, for no sport has more hearty, whole-souled followers, nor is there any so richly deserving them.

~Walter C. Camp.~

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COLLEGE SPORTS.

~The~ limited time which students have had since their return from the summer vacation to indulge in their favorite pastimes, has not been productive of any achievements worthy of special mention. Many noted athletes were graduated in the class of ’88, and the Freshmen have hardly had the opportunity to show their mettle. To be sure, those semi-barbarous struggles known as rushes have taken place, and in many cases sophomoric dignity has had to suffer from freshman zeal, but such practices are frowned upon by college authorities and upper classmen. Very often serious injuries are inflicted, and what good is accomplished? None whatever. Want of organization always seriously interferes with the success of the new comers, and the frantic struggle, continued often for hours, to gain possession of and hold a two-foot cane can scarcely be called sport. Much better, because more satisfactory, are the class games of baseball and football. Here the freshmen are not so handicapped, because many of the men who go to college have received excellent preliminary training in the preparatory schools, and furthermore, these contests develop material for the college teams. Thus class feeling serves to call attention to and bring out men who can reflect honor to the college they represent in intercollegiate sports. A word with regard to these.

It is the opinion of many noted educators that such contests are detrimental to good scholarship. In the first place, the few who participate in them do not fairly represent the athletic development of their respective colleges. The majority of students, after a week or two of enthusiasm for sport immediately after college has begun, do not go near the gymnasium, and can hardly be said to take any interest in sport at all. Again, it is claimed that when the time for the holding of these contests approaches, studies are neglected, because interests centre in the success of the teams.

The readers of ~Outing~ will be interested to learn the result of an investigation recently made at Cornell of the records of men who engaged in intercollegiate sports since the opening of the college. The result showed that the average scholarship of each man who rowed in the crews was 70 per cent., that of baseball players 73 per cent., and that of track athletes 76 per cent., a standard of 70 per cent. being necessary to graduate: 54 per cent. of all these men graduated, which is 7 per cent. above the University percentage of graduation. According to these figures, general scholarship does not suffer from intercollegiate contests, provided they are kept within reasonable limits. The standing in scholarship of noted athletes from Yale, Harvard and Princeton also shows that they are not strangers to hard study, while many of them are honor men and the winners of prizes in special departments of study.

~J. C. Gerndt.~

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DOG CHAT.

~The~ present year will ever be memorable in the history of American “dogdom.” In it the battle between the American Kennel Club and its opponents has been inaugurated. The enforcement of “compulsory registration” in the American Kennel Club Stud Book, finally aroused the long suppressed popular indignation at the manifest incompetency of that body to administer its self-assumed control of kennel matters. The club’s action was, however, in a measure sustained by the brilliant success of the Westminster Kennel Club’s show, which was selected as the lists in which the initial contest of the rival factions was to be fought. So far, so good, for the A. K. C.

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~The~ dog _breeders_ and exhibitors of America, however, have long felt that a body composed of individuals was necessary for the proper guidance of the kennel affairs of the continent, and to guard their interests. The American Kennel Club is a club composed of clubs. The local clubs are almost entirely made up of “dog lovers,” so called--men who own perhaps but one dog, many of them none, and who are utterly ignorant of dog matters in general, with perhaps one or two “prominent” dog-men who hold the reins of power. It will be seen, therefore, that as these few individuals are able to use the club name and influence, should they wish it, in the furtherance of their private ends, a dangerous amount of power is placed in their hands. The large majority of our leading breeders were unattached, many of them living at long distances from the headquarters of local clubs. They were, therefore, without representation in the government of matters canine. To remedy this evil and for the protection of breeders--the A. K. C. having exhibited a criminal want of concern in their interests--the National Dog Club was formed.

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~The~ President, Dr. J. Frank Perry, better known as “Ashmont,” was the prime mover. In May last, acting in accordance with the wishes of many prominent gentlemen, he wrote to about fifty of the best known and most successful breeders and exhibitors in America and in Canada, requesting them to become charter members of a club, the initial meeting of which was to be held during the Boston show in April. Upwards of forty at once assented.

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~At~ first the intention was to limit the membership to fifty; but it was afterwards deemed advisable to make it unlimited. Upwards of one hundred and fifty members are now enrolled, and this number includes a majority of the most prominent and reputable owners of the continent.

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~From~ the outset the infant organization has had to contend against fierce opposition and prejudice, incited by the friends of the older club. But the promoters were not men to be easily turned aside from their purpose, and in consequence of their endeavors the most brilliant success has been achieved.

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~The~ first show under the N. D. Club’s rules was that held by the International Fair Association, at Buffalo, and its enemies tried by every possible means to accomplish its ruin. Not only did they “boycott” the show, but they neglected no course by which they could injure it. Their defeat was a signal one.

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~The~ Buffalo show was the best in the quality of dogs entered of any show ever held outside New York or Boston, and indeed was but little behind those giant rivals. The management, it is true, was execrable; but that cannot be cited against the N. D. C.

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~Honors~ are easy, therefore, between the rival factions, although the fair-minded onlooker cannot but admit that the members of the N. D. C. have set an example by their temperate and gentlemanly behavior in the contest which their rivals by no means followed.

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~Yet~ another National Kennel organization has been born within the year, namely, the Canadian Kennel Club. A meeting of Canadian dog-men was held for the purpose during the London, Ont., Show, and the club was organized with Lord Stanley (Governor-General), Hon. President; Mr. A. Gibson, London (of McEwen & Gibson, the leading collie breeders), president; U. S. Jackson, Toronto (of Bedlington terrier fame), first vice; Mr. M. Baumgarten, Montreal, second vice; Mr. Thos. Johnston, Winnipeg, third vice; Mr. F. C. Wheeler, London, secretary-treasurer; and Mr. C. M. Mills, Brantford (owner of the celebrated Brant Cocker Kennels); Mr. F. H. F. Mercer, Ottawa (invincible in clumber spaniels); Mr. W. B. Wells, Chatham; Mr. W. Hendrie, Hamilton; Mr. J. S. Campbell, Simcoe (widely known for his Gordon setters); Dr. Niven, London (of Gordon setter and spaniel renown); and Mr. F. Mills, Hamilton, executive committee. This array of names, embracing as it does nearly all the most prominent Canuck doggy men, may be taken as a guarantee of success, and I trust the new club will fulfil its fair promise.

~Dogwhip.~

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THE PAST BASEBALL SEASON.

~The~ success of the New York Club in winning the championship of the League for 1888 opens a new era in the contests for the pennant. From 1872 to 1876 the Boston Club held the professional championship. But in 1876, under the auspices of the newly organized National League, the Chicago Club went to the front, and since then that club has almost monopolized pennant honors in the League, Boston winning but three times since 1876, while Providence was successful twice. Now, however, the trophy has come East once more. The struggle was virtually confined to a quintet of the eight competing clubs, viz., the New York, Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia and Boston clubs. Finally the contest for the pennant lay between but three of them, while Pittsburgh, Indianapolis and Washington were tail-enders throughout of the eight competitors.

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“~Four~ times winner” is the honor claimed by the St. Louis Club, the champion winners of 1888 in the American Association. This result was mainly due to the important fact that the St. Louis Club was the only one which presented for the pennant race a well-managed and ably-captained team, all the others being to a greater or less extent merely picked nines of star players. In no season has the fact that team work--alike at the bat and in the field--is the most important element of success in winning championship honors, been more strikingly illustrated than in the race for the American Association championship of 1888.

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~Among~ the many clubs organized for the promotion of healthy outdoor recreation, no feature has been more conducive to the best interests of gentlemanly sports in the metropolitan district than the friendly rivalry between the Staten Island Cricket and Baseball Association and the Staten Island Athletic Club. Both organizations have secured handsome grounds and club-houses. During the past season they have given their members attractive exhibitions of amateur play on their baseball, football, lacrosse and tennis fields. The former club, however, has had an advantage in its cricket team, a game the Athletic Club has not yet developed. The greatest attraction in their field games has been their baseball exhibitions, which have surpassed those of any other amateur organizations in the country except the representatives of Harvard, Yale and Princeton colleges.

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~The~ national game has at last become fashionable as one of the sports at Newport. During the autumn a syndicate of admirers of the game among the Newport cottage residents was formed to purchase a plot of ground and lay out a baseball park to be ready for the season of 1889. A diamond field is to be made and a grand-stand erected. Match games will be played there by the rival college nines of Harvard, Yale and Princeton next summer.

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~The~ Boston ball grounds were the most liberally patronized last season of those only boasting a National League club. The attendance at the Boston-Chicago games during the season alone reached a total of 59,020 people. This shows that it has paid to construct the handsome ball grounds.

~Henry Chadwick.~

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SKATING.

~The~ season of winter sports has opened in a way that promises greater opportunities for indulgence in the fascinations of skating than have been afforded for the last few years. Whether this fair promise will be verified or not remains to be seen, but the enthusiastic skater must have been indulging in pleasurable anticipation of the joys of his favorite pastime.

Great, however, as is the individual enthusiasm in regard to this recreation, there seems to be a lack of concerted effort to give the sport the prominent place which it deserves. In England the prospects of good ice are anxiously watched every season, in order that contests, not only between the great skaters of England may be brought off, but also that international races between such champions as “Fish” Smart, and the pick of the Dutch and Scandinavian skaters, may take place. Considering the very limited chances afforded by English weather, the old country may well be proud of the feats performed by her sons. Why, then, may not America do far greater things? And not only in the professional, or semi-professional field, is there a chance for improvement, but there is a noticeable lack of energy in arranging races between amateurs. Surely skating can be made the vehicle for a winter athletic meeting, when running, jumping, etc., are put out of the question by the severity of the weather. We hope to see during this winter contests of this description taking place.

~Sporting Tramp.~

THE SCIENTIFIC VIEW OF THE CYCLE.

~Wheelmen~ will read with interest the following quotation from Sir Frederick Bramwell’s address to the British Association at Bath, England: