Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

“_O toros_, sons of infants of sin, name of the devil and twelve saints, bowels of St. Iago, can ye not _vamos_, then? It is late. _Vamos_, refuse of the earth, _vamos_!”

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

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

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

II.

I awoke in Palestine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ysleta! _el Americano_.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“_Muchachito!_” she murmured; “_muchachito mio! Ah, carissimo mio! Americano mio!_”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But ’Pache shook his head.

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

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

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

A RAINY DAY.

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

_H. J. Livermore._

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

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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

THE RICHMOND BICYCLE TOURNAMENT.

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

* * * * *

BOWLING.

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

~F. Endicott.~

* * * * *

YACHT RACING RESULTS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~J. C. Summers.~

* * * * *

CANOEING.

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

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

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

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

The racing this year in some ways, was a marked advance over that of last year--the boats of the fleet sailed better. No one has yet equaled R. W. Gibson’s sailing at any A. C. A. meet--that was true science. Butler did the best sailing this year, and showed a knowledge of the finer points in making and rounding buoys without loss of time, headway or a foot. Brokaw sailed wonderfully well and showed pluck in the heavy weather. Where there was luck he had it--as in the cup race, when Butler led, and the wind fell to a breeze best suited for the sails Brokaw had; and again, in the Barney cup race, when he caught up to and passed the _Jabber_ in _If_ by a lucky fluke, _If_ lying becalmed all the time, or nearly so. Brokaw is one of the very few strong men and good paddlers who does any sailing. This fact gave him a chance to accomplish what has never been done before--win the highest possible number of points on the record. He first won the unlimited sailing race (3 miles) in a fleet of thirty-three canoes, twenty-one of which completed the course. He scored ten points for this. Next he won his class paddling race (Class IV.), beating four others. His luck helped him here also. His boat in beam was 29¾ inches, the very lowest limit in the class; but, more than this, both Dr. Rice and Johnson (the best paddlers in the A. C. A.) raced in Class III., so he did not have to meet them. In the combined race (1½ miles paddle, 1½ miles sail) there were six men against him, and he won by strong paddling, quick work in hoisting and stowing sail, and fast sailing with no luck or flukes. Three races, ten points each, thirty points. The second man on the record was E. Knappe (Springfield, Mass.), three races, 16.95 points. The third, fourth and fifth men, all prize winners, got, respectively, 15.50 (Leys, Toronto), 14.60 (Patton, Yonkers), and 13.70 (Quick, Yonkers) for two races each.

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

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

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

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

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

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

~C. Bowyer Vaux.~

* * * * *

THE POLITICS OF CYCLING.

~Outing’s~ mission is to entertain and instruct, to elevate and encourage legitimate outdoor sport and recreation, to the end that the manhood and womanhood of its clientèle may benefit thereby in mind and body.

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Thomas Stevens.~

* * * * *

BASEBALL.

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

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

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

~Henry Chadwick.~

THE OPEN GAME SEASON IN CANADA.

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

PONY RACING.

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

FROM KANSAS ON A WHEEL.

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

MANHATTAN’S VICTORIOUS ATHLETES.

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

THE TRIP OF THE CHICAGO BALL-PLAYERS.

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

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

POLO.

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

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

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

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

RETURNING THE BALL IN LAWN-TENNIS.

A correspondence which has been going on in the columns of the English sporting paper, _Land and Water_, has elicited the following remarks from the editor, which seem to contain such an important point that they are well worth reproduction:

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

THE AMERICA’S CUP ONCE MORE.