The Continuous Military Match (200 yards), with 112 entries, was won by

Major C. H. Gaus, with a score of 46; Sergt. Miles, 2d, 46; W. C. Gomp,

3d, 46.

Standard American Target Match--re-entry, 91 entries--W. C. Gomp, 1st,

79; B. C. Andrews, 2d, 79; J. J. Newbery, 3d, 79; A. Donner, 4th, 79.

Championship Marksmanship Badge, open to members of the National Guard,

New York, was won by Private D. H. Ogden, with the score of 22 at 200

yards, 25 at 500 yards--total 47; Major Gaus, 2d, with 21 at 200 yards,

25 at 500 yards.

Rest Match at 200 yards, 33 entries--S. Schreiber, 1st, 108--possible,

144.

The Stevens Target Pistol Match--distance, 30 yards, open to pistols

and revolvers, 109 entries--Major C. H. Gaus, 85, 1st; M. Roberts, 85,

2d; J. J. Newbery, 82, 3d.

The 2d Separate Company of Binghampton won the 3d Brigade Team Match--a

trophy valued at $100, presented by the State. The same Company also

won the Company Match, $50, presented by the 10th Battalion, N. G. S.

N. Y.

* * * * *

~Mr. J. B. Fellows~, a member of the Massachusetts Rifle

Association, at the range at Walnut Hill, October 13, did some fine

shooting with a single-shot pistol, 22 calibre, at so yards. The

weather conditions were not favorable for big scores. The scores were:

91, 90, 92, 91, 85--total, 449.

* * * * *

~Mr. C. W. Weeks~, President of the Minneapolis (Minn.) Rifle

Club, accomplished some extra fine work with the long range rifle,

October 10, on a very trying day for rifle-shooting. The shooting was

at 800, 900 and 1000 yards, his total of 221 out of a possible 225

being an extremely fine score for such a poor day. His scores were: 800

yards, 73, possible 75; 900 yards, 75, possible 75; 1000 yards, 73,

possible 75--total, 221, possible 225.

* * * * *

~The~ Connecticut National Guard held the annual Brigade

Rifle Tournament at Hartford, October 17. The day was miserable for

rifle-shooting, rain falling nearly all day. The scores made for such

a day were good. The Presentation Sword for the best score made by an

officer in the Regimental Team match, was won by Lieut. Col. C. E.

Thompson, 1st Regiment, with the following score: 28 points at 200

yards--possible 35; 32 points at 500 yards--possible 35.

The enlisted men’s prize, a cabinet, was won by Corporal George Kerr,

4th Regiment, making 31 points at 200 yards--possible 35; 30 points at

500--possible 35.

Sergeant Ripley, of the Hartford City Guard, won the gold badge for

highest score in the Company Team match.

The Regimental Team Match (at 200 and 500 yards, 12 men each, 7 shots

each, man at each range), was won as follows:

200 YDS. 500 YDS. TOTAL.

1st Regiment 326 319 645

2d “ 316 310 626

3d “ 311 293 604

4th “ 307 290 597

5th Battalion 260 194 454

Company Team Match (at 200 and 500 yards, 6 men, 5 shots per man at

each distance), was won as follows:

200 YDS. 500 YDS. TOTAL.

Company K, 1st Regiment 115 117 232

Company C, 4th “ 109 104 213

Company F, 1st “ 113 99 212

Company K, 2d “ 108 98 206

Field and Staff, 1st “ 98 106 204

Company C, 2d “ 109 94 203

Company B, 4th “ 98 101 199

Field and Staff, 2d “ 106 89 195

Company A, 2d “ 97 93 190

Company I, 3d “ 95 91 186

Company D, 2d “ 100 83 183

Company G, 3d “ 93 88 181

TOBOGGAN.

~The~ Essex County Toboggan Club of Orange County elected the

following Board of Governors for the season of 1885-89: John Firth,

T. W. Hall, E. P. Hamilton, Charles T. Minton, Clarence D. Newell,

John H. Sprague, Louis E. Chandler, Dr. T. A. Levy, Dr. G. B. Dowling,

R. G. Hopper, Frank Lyman, D. H. Carstaers, Charles Hendricks, N. B.

Woodworth, and C. F. Whiting.

YACHTING.

~The~ Ohio Yacht Club at its last annual meeting, October 14,

elected the following board of officers Commodore, Geo. H. Ketcham;

vice-commodore, H. R. Klauser; rear-commodore, M. T. Huntley;

secretary, J. E. Gunckel; treasurer, J. M. Kelsey; fleet surgeon, Dr.

J. T. Woods; fleet captain, E. E. Kirk; directors, Geo. H. Ketcham, H.

R. Klauser, J. E. Gunckel, J. M. Kelsey, G. W. Bills, W. H. McLyman,

E. Bateman, Ed. Mitchell, C. E. Curtis; measurer. E. P. Day; regatta

committee, James Dority, Henry Marshall, J. A. Faskins.

* * * * *

~Can~ any of our readers inform us what has become of the

following clubs, and what are their present addresses?

_Canoe_: Cincinnati Canoe Club, Cincinnati, O.; Hub Canoe Club, Boston,

Mass.; Union Canoe Club, Boston, Mass.; Lake George Canoe Club, Lake

George, N. Y.; Philadelphia Canoe Club, Philadelphia; Quaker City Canoe

Club, Philadelphia; Chicago Canoe Club, Chicago, Ill.

_Rifle_: Empire Rifle Club, New York City; Germania Rifle Club, Boston,

Mass.

_Yachting_: Phœnix Yacht Club, Chicago, Ill.

_Cycling_: Port Schuyler Wheelmen, Port Schuyler, N. Y.; Junior

Wheelmen, Washington, D. C.; Clyde Cyclers, Clyde, N. Y.; Clarion

Bicycle Club, Philadelphia; Colorado Bicycle Club, Denver, Col.

_Rod and Gun_: Acme Club, Brooklyn, N. Y.; Independent Club, Montreal,

Can; St. Lawrence Club, Montreal, P. Q., Can.

_Fishing_: “I Don’t Know” Fishing Club, Cincinnati, O.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

[_This department of_ ~Outing~ _is devoted to answers to

correspondents seeking information on subjects appertaining to all

sports._]

_A. L. M., Boston, Mass._--We think that you are wrong in your ideas.

Dr. L. Wolff, of Philadelphia, after speaking of the complete freedom

from ordinary adulteration which he had found in wines and brandy

supplied by the California Vintage Co., of 21 Park Place, N. Y. City,

goes on to say: “I have also determined their alcoholic strength, and

found them to correspond strictly in this respect with the standard

of pure and natural wines. As a native of a wine-producing country, I

consider myself somewhat of a judge of wines, and regard your products

as comparing more than favorably with the wines from abroad.”

* * * * *

_E. M. H., Harrisburg, Pa._--Yes. We have seen some specimens of

absolute novelties in calendars. They are of celluloid, decorated in

artistic designs, and, besides being useful as calendars, will serve

admirably as bric-à-brac ornaments, and are original, pretty, and

inexpensive. They are made by Messrs. Weeks & Campbell, 149 Church

Street, N. Y. City.

* * * * *

_Professor, St. Charles, Mo._--To gain such a knowledge of football as

you desire, your best plan is to obtain copies of the “Book of Rules”

and “Football; How to Coach a Team.” Should you desire to do so, you

can obtain copies through ~Outing~.

* * * * *

_John S., Wilkesbarre, Pa._--The owner of the canoe is the only man who

can furnish you with the required information.

* * * * *

_E. W. C., East Hampton, Mass._--In the opinion of experts, fencing

cannot be learnt without a master; but it would be easier to dispense

with a master after some progress had been made, than before acquiring

the rudiments of the art. It is almost impossible to learn the

parries and attacks without some one showing you how to execute them.

There are no books of any value on fencing in the English language.

The best articles ever published in America on the subject were in

~Outing~ (October, 1887, and February, 1888). All reference to

books in French can be found in the former number. The best “theory”

ever published is that used by the French army, and published by the

Minister of War. It can be obtained on application. But this is a

professor’s book, and would be of little value to a pupil ignorant

of the first rudiments of the art. Professor Rondelle, whose fencing

academy is at No. 106 West 42d Street, and who is the _maître d’armes_

of the Knickerbocker Fencing Club and of the Manhattan Athletic Club,

is now at work on a book on fencing, which, when finished, will be

the most complete, thorough, and interesting book of the kind ever

published.

* * * * *

_A. M. R., Newark, N. J._--For the purpose you mention you can hardly

do better than buy some of Rogers’ groups of statuary. They are

excellent, both in design and treatment.

* * * * *

_J. H. D., Philadelphia._--You say nothing of the present state of

the lawn. We should think that in case you want to refresh an already

well-laid lawn, a slight sprinkling of wood ashes would be better than

soot.

* * * * *

_Doggy, Milwaukee, Wis._--A whippet is now considered a distinct

variety. Originally, it came from a cross between the terrier and

greyhound, possibly the Italian greyhound.

* * * * *

_Choke-Bore, 23d Street, City._--We believe the largest bag ever made

in one day was that on Mr. Lloyd Price’s estate in North Wales in

1885, viz., 5,086 rabbits, 1 grouse, 1 snipe, and 1 woodpigeon. Lord

Walsingham’s big bag of grouse, of which you will find an account in

the Outing Club, is, however, much more remarkable.

* * * * *

_Fox-hunter, Baltimore, Md._--You will find that you can obtain

first-rate riding-boots from R. M. Sheridan, 30 Broad Street, New York

City.

* * * * *

_Medicus, Pittsburgh._--Dogs of large breeds grow until they are about

two years old. You need not, therefore, be perturbed about your puppy,

for he will probably be as large as you can desire.

* * * * *

_Joseph M. R. City._--If you want a dog “as fast as a greyhound” he

must be of that breed, for no other dog is as fast. But for the purpose

you mention, we should think such cross as between a Scotch deerhound

and a Great Dane would suit you.

* * * * *

_Sportsman, Quebec, Can._--The best receipt for making ordinary cloth

goods water-proof is the following, which was used by old Jack Russell,

the noted Devonshire sporting parson. Take alum 6 ozs., sugar of lead 3

ozs.; dissolve this in 12 quarts of boiling water, and let the mixture

stand 6 hours, with an occasional stir. Then strain off the liquid, and

soak the cloth for 48 hours, and dry it in the shade. It is scarcely

necessary to say that the cloth is best treated thus _before_ being

made up into a suit.

* * * * *

_Gymnast, Pittsburgh, Pa._--For a gymnast’s outfit, as well as for all

kinds of gymnastic apparatus, you will do well to apply to Messrs. A.

J. Reach & Co., 1,022 Market Street, Philadelphia.

* * * * *

_Farmer, Westchester Co., N. Y._--The wonderful amount of butter made

from the milk of one cow, as to which you inquire, is the record

of “Shadeland Maud,” one of the Holstein-Friesian herd belonging

to Messrs. Powell Bros., Springboro, Crawford County, Pa. This

extraordinary record has, however, since been eclipsed by their

“Shadeland Boon.”

* * * * *

_Cruiser, Lake George._--You cannot do better than write to the Western

Arms and Cartridge Company, 47 and 49 State Street, Chicago, Ill., for

a catalogue of Douglass’s boats, for which they are agents. You can

purchase from them such a craft as you desire for a very reasonable

sum.

[Illustration:

COPYRIGHTED.

ICE-YACHT “NORTHERN LIGHT,” FEBRUARY 14, 1887.

FROM AN INSTANTANEOUS PHOTOGRAPH BY C. E. SCHAFFER, OF POUGHKEEPSIE, N.

Y.]

~Outing.~

~Vol. XIII.~ JANUARY, 1889. ~No.~ 4.

AMONG THE TAURUS MOUNTAINS.

BY L. B. PLATT.

Quitting the broad highways of travel, it is often refreshing to turn

aside from beaten paths and strike off into new regions, where foot

of tourist and pen of magazine writer have not awakened the sacred

silences, startled the resident deities, and broadcast their treasures

upon the world.

Through such a byway among the mountains of Taurus, in Asia Minor, from

the sea-coast at Mersina, through half-ruined Tarsus, and across the

wide Cilician Plain to the ancient cities of Marash and Aintab we made

our journey.

There were three of us, Gould, a picturesque youth of seventeen

mild summers, with carefully mapped side-whiskers of a style that

had never before invaded that sequestered portion of the world, and

afforded unceasing entertainment to the curious and admiring natives,

Lee, a missionary at Marash, in the interior, and myself, the modest

chronicler of our adventures. With three horses of the light-stepping

Arabian blood, whose native turf is the sharp, loose stones of the

mountains, another of less noble lineage to carry our pack, and an

Armenian servant to run behind, we entered upon the Great Plain of

Cilicia.

Immediately we were upon historic ground. Alexander had been here

before us, wading breast-deep around that rugged promontory in the

distance, beaten by the thundering Mediterranean surges, and sweeping

the plain of his enemies with the velocity and destructiveness of

a cyclone. He had met Darius the Persian here and annihilated his

magnificent array in the world-famous battle of Issus, where “all day

long the noise of battle rolled between the mountains and the (summer)

sea.”

Cicero had been here as Roman Governor of the Province of Cilicia;

had chased the bandit mountaineers into the fastnesses of the hills,

defeating them there and flushing his maiden sword with victory, for

which he ambitiously claimed, but never received, a Roman Triumph.

Antony and Cleopatra had been here, sailing the River Cydnus--the same

Cydnus in whose cold waters Alexander bathed, overheated by the tropic

sun, and almost lost his life. And poor Antony, also overheated, lost

body and soul together by the no less tropic love glances of the

Egyptian Queen. And who could wonder at it, if, as Shakespeare tells

us--

“The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,

Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold;

Purple the sails, and so perfumed that

The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver,

Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made

The water which they beat to follow faster,

As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,

It beggar’d all description: she did lie

In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue--

O’er-picturing that Venus where we see

The fancy outwork nature: on each side her

Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids.

* * * * *

At the helm

A seeming mermaid steers.”

[Illustration: A CARPENTER OF THE TAURUS.]

And here also, on the banks of this same river, swollen and rapid

with the melting snows of Taurus, not far from the sea, is the

forlorn-looking city where Saul of Tarsus was born to the trade of a

tentmaker and the exalted career of the greatest of the Apostles. In

Tarsus, once a free city under the Roman Empire, her coins proudly

stamped “Metropolis,” at one time more illustrious with academies and

schools of philosophy than Athens or Alexandria, the ancient Marseilles

of the Mediterranean, real estate has taken a fearful tumble since Paul

boasted that he was a citizen of “no mean city,” for he “was born in

Tarsus.” Seven thousand squalid inhabitants still cling with amazing

tenacity to life, and carry most of the real estate around with them

as personal property. There is absolutely nothing of interest to be

said of it, for it is not even a ruin. It is the degenerate scion of a

noble ancestry, in “looped and windowed raggedness,” whose only claim

to respectability is the “high connections” of past history; and of

these the most is made, for among other pretensions not the least is

the ancient one, that to this very port the prophet Jonah set sail when

“he entered into a ship of Tarshish and paid the fare thereof.”

Riding leisurely through the suburbs, we are soon in the heart of

the Great Plain. Two hundred and seventy miles from east to west,

sixty-eight in greatest breadth from white-capped sea to snow-capped

mountain, are the vast dimensions of this Cilician prairie. The soil

is as fertile as nature ever made, the rich alluvium of three rivers

constantly depositing itself in thick layers, century after century,

and yet it is a comparative desert, often stricken to death with famine

and calling upon the pitying world for help from starvation. And why is

it? The only sufficient answer is--the Turkish Government!

Our first night we spent in the city of Adana, the present metropolis

of the Plain, a city of 30,000 inhabitants, as geographers tell us,

and, as they do not tell us, of as many mosquitoes to each inhabitant.

We made a careful estimate of them that very night. In fact it was

not without considerable anxiety that we waited to see how many, and

in what condition the survivors would be who would respond to the

breakfast call next morning. For myself, I had thought that that

morning would never come; or, if it did, it would come too late for

me to derive any benefit from it in this present life. I noticed that

the roosters around town seemed to entertain the same opinion. They

started in about midnight with considerable confidence, and once in a

while would all take hold and lift together in one grand crow, and then

settle back disappointed--there was a hitch somewhere, the sun would

not up. In the meantime, a tender regard for the feelings of my readers

would not allow me to attempt any description of our sufferings--only

this, that after exhausting every stratagem I could think of to outwit

the enemy--all to no purpose--I simply threw back the bedclothes in

the madness of despair, and said,“Come on, then, if you want to!” And

they came. They came in ranks and squadrons, wing touching wing, like

Milton’s fallen angels when they went down with whir and rustle and

clatter of stumpy wings into the pit. And as fast as they came I lifted

my hand and slaughtered them--or rather, _thought_ I did.

Then it occurred to me, in my half-asleep condition, that I would

gather up those dead mosquitoes and pile them into a monument, so that

if I should be devoured alive there would at least be something to

mark the spot. But before I could find mosquitoes enough to lay the

corner-stone, I fell asleep. I dreamed I was bodily lifted up on wings

and borne through the air. I passed over island and ocean and continent

and ocean again. And just as I came in sight of my home and saw my

mother on the doorstep, there was an awful crash, and then a groan, and

somebody said, “Great Caesar!” I awoke to see my friend Lee sitting

upright in bed, listening with head bent forward, as if his life

depended on his hearing something--his hands were uplifted and spread

wide. Then there was the feeble first note of a song in the air, and

the hands came together with fearful precision, and I thought, “Well,

that mosquito has sung his doxology any way.” But there was no more

sleep that night, and when the morning came we were a sorry company to

think of starting on a long pilgrimage that day.

[Illustration: A TIN-SMITH’S SHOP.]

All the forenoon we were making preparations for our journey. There

were horses to obtain, and donkeys and saddles and provisions and

servants, so that it was the middle of the afternoon before we were

ready to start. We were going that day’s journey in company with a

small caravan. Now, if a person has never seen a caravan get under way,

he has something still in this world to live for. In the first place,

when the horses and donkeys are brought together, as they were in this

case, into the narrow courtyard of the house to be loaded, it seems to

occur to all of them at once that the proper thing for them to do under

such circumstances is--to kick. And they evidently think that what is

worth doing at all, is worth doing well.

[Illustration: A MOUNTAIN MENDICANT.]

I left my horse standing a moment to run up stairs, and when I

returned, which was at the call of Mr. Lee to “come and hold your

horse,” that animal of mine had made a circuit round that yard, like a

comet round the sun--heels first, and left a clean swath behind him all

the way. And when you add to all this confusion the crying of servants,

the barking and yelping of dogs, the howling of babies, and above all,

the screaming of camels and that excruciating bray of the jackass which

makes you willing to stake all you possess that he can’t do that again

and live through it; why, then you can gather some faint idea of what

the starting of a caravan is on a small scale.

We mounted our horses and marched off in magnificent procession. They

say that the grandest moment in the life of a boy--that moment when

first he feels that there was no hap-hazard about his being born, but

is conscious that he came into this world for a purpose, is when for

the first time he gets on a pair of red-topped boots. They are the

cradle and that is the birthday of all his after greatness. And I think

that it is equally true that the very sublimest and _topmost_ event

in the life of any young man is when, with a belt full of pistols, a

heart bursting with valor and a spur on his heel he puts his foot into

the stirrup and swings himself across the back of a horse. I am ready

to admit that it was so with me. I felt as though somebody ought to

go ahead on the road and let people know that I was coming but that

I wasn’t dangerous and probably wouldn’t hurt anybody. I remembered

that it was the same country where the Apostle Paul had been taken for

Mercury and Barnabas for Jupiter, and I thought that likely enough this

people would take it into their heads that I was the War God, Mars, let

loose upon them and careering through their country breathing fire from

my nostrils and striking out hot lightnings from my horse’s hoofs.

[Illustration: A COUNTRY BELLE.]

I had two pistols; one of them had a barrel about the size of a quill

tooth-pick. But I knew from what experience I had had with that weapon

that all that was necessary would be to find the right man and somebody

to hold him and it would then be only a question of time--I should

certainly kill him. But my other pistol was altogether a different

affair. It was as much too large as the other was too small. It was

somewhere from one to three feet long and extended from my third rib

down to my knee-pan, like a lightning rod down the side of a chimney,

and kept me bolt upright and stiff in my saddle. It was so formidable

that I would not have liked to fire it off without getting behind

something. And I thought that if worse come to worst and we met a

Circassian coming to rob us, I would just hand it over to him and let

him discharge it, and watch and see what became of him.

But there was one member of our party whom I must not forget to

mention, and that was the soldier or military police--the “zabtieh”

as he is called. For the sake of convenience we will call him the

“Government,” because he represents the Government. The advantage of

having him with you is, not so much that he is a kind of traveling

masked battery, concealed mostly by earthworks, nor that he always

provides himself with a fast horse so that in case anything happens

he can turn tail and make off so speedily that the next party going

over the road will not be left without a guide and protector--not so

much either that his gun is likely to be a flint-lock without any

flint in it, as that when you have one of these ornamental gentlemen

traveling in your company, and are attacked and plundered, the Turkish

Government is bound to make good your losses in such a way that your

great grandchildren, if they are healthy and long-lived, will have the

benefit of them. It was this last consideration which determined us

to take a zabtieh. One of the most interesting relics of antiquity,

and almost the only voice out of the past, from this historic plain,

is a simple monument of a single stone with the Latin inscription to

the effect that a certain Roman captain--giving his name--“erects

this pillar to the gods of his native land.” It was the Roman way of

giving vent to homesickness, and this true patriot, stationed on these

inhospitable shores so far from home, has left this pathetic monument

of his longing to return. It is a beautiful tribute to that tender

touch of nature which makes the whole world kin. A good, true heart he

must have buckled under that Roman cuirass. Let us hope that he got his

furlough with full pay.

[Illustration: HADJAM--OR NATIVE BARBER.]

The sun had dropped behind the mountain wall and the moon had taken

his place with scarce diminished radiance when we approached the

long-forgotten town of Mopsuestia. The atmosphere was so clear that we

had seen the town for at least three hours, apparently only just ahead

of us, but it never seemed to come any nearer. In fact, it seemed to be

moving ahead on the road somewhat faster than our party. I tried to

remember whether I had not somewhere read that at a certain season of

the year corresponding with our first of May, the inhabitants of this

country take up their houses on their backs and go off with them to a

new place. But I could not make myself remember anything like that.

[Illustration: ON THE MARCH.]

At last it became dark, and I was glad of it, because I thought that

if those people _were_ really going off with that city, they would

probably want to set it down and rest when night came on, and then we

should have a chance to overtake them.

And now the moonlight had effect upon us and we began to sing. First

our Armenian servant, Crecor, started in. I thought I recognized the

tune and was about to join in, when suddenly it changed to something

else. At first I was sure it was “I need thee every hour”--next minute

it was “Pull for the shore.” And I said: “All right, I would just as

lief sing that.” But before I could pull my diapason and get my mouth

open, it had changed again to “I want to be an angel.” “All right,”

said I, “so do I.” But before I could join with him and be an angel,

he had flown the track and was off again. When at last he wound up and

put on the flourishes with a strain that limped on one leg like “Yankee

Doodle,” and on the other like the “Old Hundredth,” and finally leaped

up into the air and vanished in a heart-rending cry of anguish topped

off by a howl that shook the stars, I did not try to follow him. I

secretly suspected that, no matter how badly he wanted to be an angel,

he never would be until he could make better music than that.

At last we came to the old river Pyramus. As we passed over the ancient

stone bridge, fast falling into ruin, the musical click-clang of our

horses’ hoofs on the archway was echoed back by the swift-running

waters of the river beneath. Each wave of the stream seemed to be

lifting itself to look at us and was struck down again by the arrowy

glance of the moon, shivering and running away to tell the pebbles

along the shore what a strange people with hats on, and even shirts and

pants, they had seen.

But now, right ahead of us loomed up the walls of the hotel where we

were to pass the night. It was by far the most high-toned hotel in the

place--in fact it was the only one. It consisted of four stone walls

about ten feet high without any roof. There was no bed-chamber, no

bed, no carpet, no floor, no light, no fire, nothing to sit down on,

nothing to eat and, so far as we could discover, no proprietor. But

there _was_ a door and it was locked for fear someone might imagine

there was something inside, I suppose, and then go in and steal it;

and by ill-luck someone had gone off with the key. Crecor went off to

hunt it up and soon returned with the clerk of the hotel who ushered

us in, horses and all, through the front door into the parlor. We had

thought of telegraphing ahead to have the best chamber reserved for us,

but were glad that we had saved ourselves that expense. For it happened

that we were the first who registered that night, with the exception

of a donkey and a man and his wife, and so we had the whole range of

the hotel. We selected the corner where there seemed to be the fewest

stones and least rubbish and cleared a place to put up our tent. And

now for something to eat.

[Illustration: CIRCASSIAN MOUNTAINEERS.]

Lee had brought along a chest full of bread, cake, canned goods,

chicken, eggs, etc., so we were well provided with all but the

appetite. We did not any of us want anything after that long, hot,

dusty ride but just a watermelon apiece, and then to go to bed in the

shortest and speediest manner. But to fall asleep was another matter.

How it seemed to my traveling companions I don’t know, but there was

such a horror of desolation about that place, such an awful, oppressive

night-silence that made me think of all that I had ever read in the

Bible about jackals howling in ruined places, hooting owls and

creeping foxes and satyrs crying to their fellows, that I determined

as soon as I struck the bed that if anybody got to sleep before I did

he would have to be lively about it. I wasn’t going to be the last

awake that night, anyway, and so I bent all my energies to the task. I

had heard that if anyone would start slowly and count five hundred, it

would surely put them to sleep. And so I began. I reached four hundred

and fifty, and was just falling off into slumber when it occurred to

me that I had only fifty more to count, and maybe I wouldn’t make it,

and, of course, that excited me and woke me up. I thought that perhaps

I had counted too fast, and concluded to give it another trial. began

more slowly. I kept saying to myself, “Now, not too fast!” and of

course. that kept me awake. I reached 499, and while I was waiting for

something to happen before I said 500, the thought flashed through my

head, “Well now, it seems to me it wasn’t 500 that puts folks to sleep

after all, it was a thousand.” All right, I would try a thousand. I

did. I went on to two thousand, three thousand, five thousand. I

became wrought up. I said to myself, “I’ll do it if it takes forty

thousand. I’ll lie on this bed all night, and all day to-morrow, if

need be, and count a million.” And I believe I would have done it, if

another plan had not happened to occur to me.

[Illustration: A NOMAD MOTHER.]

I had read somewhere that if a person could only get their body into

a certain position, no matter how wide awake they might be, sleep

would immediately follow. I said to myself: “Now, how glad I am that I

happened to think of that.” But, then, I couldn’t remember what that

position was. Never mind, I would try them all, and see if I could

strike it. I had rather a narrow field to operate in, for my iron

bedstead wasn’t wide enough to turn over in without rolling out. And

it wasn’t long enough, so that my feet could not go to bed at the same

time I did. At last I think I must have hit it, for I fell asleep,

and my last thought was, “I’m glad my mother does not know where I am

to-night.”

Strange to say, it had not rained in that country for four solid

months, but that night it rained as though it had been saved up for

our special benefit. It waked us up at midnight. It drove in above

and ran in below. It rolled down the folds of the tent like so many

waterspouts. We all sat up in bed and looked at each other. We wanted

to say something, all of us, but each seemed to be waiting for the

other and wishing he would say it first, until, there being nothing

else to do, Lee carefully gathered together the folds of the tent so

that the water all ran down into his bed (which he didn’t discover

until he laid down again). I put on my overcoat and again crawled into

bed. The last I saw of Gould, he was lying flat on his back holding an

umbrella with both hands, hoisted and spread over him, and trying to

sleep.

Next morning we arose before daylight, called for our hotel bill,

paid it (it was only fifteen cents for the whole company), mounted

our horses and rode out of the front door with a long day’s journey

of forty-five miles before us, a blazing sun above us, and the River

Pyramus flowing by our side. The memory of that day is like one of

those winterbird’s nests swinging on the tree, frozen stiff with

rain and dreary enough, without a warm feather in it or a note of

song. I have a confused recollection of a sun that was unmistakably

hot, a white road that made it hotter, and a desert wind that was

“Hottentotter.” I recollect, too, that I rode a horse that was never

happy unless he was ahead, and I was never happy unless he was behind.

I remember that I carried a sun umbrella, and every time a horse tried

to go ahead of mine he would elevate his hind feet and lift me into the

air, still holding on to my umbrella, until I had all the experience of

going up in a balloon. But I _do_ have a very distinct recollection of

every time I came down again. It seemed to me that that saddle was all

pommel, for though I went up and came down perhaps a hundred times, I

never could land anywhere else.

We passed trains of camels, herds of donkeys, men and women on foot,

and here and there a Mohammedan under the shade of a tree or wall going

through with a gymnastic performance of standing on his head, which is

the way he prefers to say his prayers. On every side was wilderness,

parched and withered, without a spear of grass or a green leaf. But all

things must have an end, and so must our journey. We made up our minds

when we went to bed on the third night that next morning we would get

up at three o’clock and push through, a journey of a day and a half, to

Marash.

And what a morning that was!

We had pitched our tent in a valley, between the high perpendicular

walls of two mountains. The moon rode full overhead and passed along

just on the broken edge of one of them, now leaping a chasm, now

dodging behind a crag, now looking down through a leafy gorge with

a brilliancy of glory such as our moon never attains, except in the

frostiest nights of winter, by the aid of a ground covered with snow.

I was able to read a newspaper with ease. I tried it, holding it off

at a natural distance. I could see distinctly every feature and line

of a photograph of my mother which I took from my inside vest pocket

and gazed at, as I thought possibly for the last time. I could even

see to read my own writing as I penned what I thought might possibly

be my last words. What made me think so was this: We were to start

that morning through a mountain pass infested by robbers. Now, I hope

my readers will meditate on this, and try to be as scared as I was. It

was the same pass in which Mr. Montgomery, of Marash, with a friend,

had been robbed but a short time previous. They had passed a group of

Circassians, the highwaymen of that region, lying by the roadside,

holding their horses and waiting for someone to come along. They had

gone but a short distance when there was a clatter of hoofs around the

bend of the mountain, a flashing of pistol barrels leveled straight at

their heads, and a command to dismount and give over. And there was

nothing else to do. The five Circassians stood over them with knives

and made them empty their pockets and give up their weapons. Then they

took their horses and left them to make the best of their way home on

foot, some twenty or thirty miles across the mountain. And now we were

entering that same pass. And it was night.

We had not gone far, groping our way up the narrow trail in single file

over rough stones, not speaking above a whisper, and wishing that our

horses’ hoofs were shod with velvet, when Lee turned about and said:

“Have you got your shooting-irons ready? We must be pretty near the

place now where Montgomery was robbed.”

Oh dear! I felt awful. I wanted to go back. It wasn’t what I came

for, to be shot down on that cold mountain in the dark by a shirtless

Circassian. The next moment we came where there was a big tree right

ahead of us and oh, horrors! we could hear distinctly the voices

of several men in conversation. At the same time I thought I heard

something in the bushes beside me. Then I was sure of it. Then I saw

it move. Then a man stepped out into the road close to me. I drew my

pistol and held it where he could see the flash of the barrel in the

moonlight.

He stood still and I passed him, turning round in my saddle to keep my

eye on him.

We all had our pistols out and were ready with pale cheeks, and hearts

that thumped like drumsticks.

But we passed by unmolested.

Lee said afterwards that if we had not been well armed and looked so

formidable we should probably have been attacked and robbed. I was glad

that I _looked_ so.

The only other incident of any importance before we reached Marash was

the downfall of the Turkish “Government.” He was riding ahead in grand

style, full of the proud consciousness of having brought us safely

through the mountains, pricking his horse with the sharp corner of the

stirrup, which is used for a spur, and then playfully reining him up

on his haunches, when suddenly, but with the utmost grace, horse and

rider, with pistols and knives and gun, with brown rags and red rags

fluttering in the wind, head down and feet uppermost, went tumbling

over into the bushes. When he appeared again, unhurt but drooping at

both ends like a dog when the boys have just got the pan securely

fastened and are urging him to run, it was a sight that did us all

good. We hadn’t laughed before in three days, and from that moment our

feelings began steadily to improve. At last we came out into the open

plain and ascending a rise of ground, saw in the far distance, hanging

on the side of the mountain like an avalanche which has run half-way

down and stopped in a gorge, the white houses of the city of Marash.

Three hours after we were riding through its streets, climbing up and

up until we reached the high wall surrounding the buildings of the

Mission. We rode in through the gate, and before we could dismount the

missionaries were upon us. They welcomed us so heartily that we could

not have been happier if we had returned home to America.

[Illustration]

CALIFORNIAN LYRICS.

I.

A MORNING TRYST.

The oleander bends its boughs above the running water,

Sing, robins! call, orioles! coo, wild doves, coo!

Ah! the iris skies above her have a less bewildering blue

Than the eyes of the rancher’s daughter.

The oleander shall hear vows above the running water;

Sing, robins! call, orioles! coo, wild doves, coo!

If she choose me for her lover, she shall find me fond and true,

True and fond for the rancher’s daughter.

The oleander swings its blooms above the running water;

Sing, robins! call, orioles! coo, wild doves, coo!

In the clover bees are humming: shall I dare be bold and sue

For the lips of the rancher’s daughter?

The oleander breathes perfumes above the running water;

Sing, robins! call, orioles! coo, wild doves, coo!

Shyly, shyly she is coming while the sun is in the dew

On her path--ah! the rancher’s daughter.

II.

SNOW-WIND.

Down from the stately Sierras, down through our valley of flowers

Sweeps the snow-wind from far summits; the white rose trembles and

cowers;

The red rose flaming beside it, bends quivering and yields

Its homage to the strong wind, rushing on to the green wheat fields.

III.

A PINE-CONE FIRE.

Not two, not three, but twenty! Now half of twenty more--

Huge cones that the kings of the forest, the kings of the forest

bore.

Now, snap and blaze and sparkle, oh, banners of fire that flow

Towards fire of the stars! Glow royally, hearthstone, glow;

Burn, cones, in fiery blossoms. Each crown-like flower disclose

Your petals of coals that drop down in ashes of rose.

_Minna Caroline Smith._

[Illustration]

AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

I.--HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

BY J. MOTT HALLOWELL.

(Continued from page 241.)

ROWING.

A History of the development of boating at Cambridge would in itself

fill a large-sized volume, and would only be a repetition of what has

been often written before. The boating interest of the college dates

its rise from a time long antecedent to that of any other athletic

contests, as we understand them now, and the first intercollegiate

race, in 1852, was rowed more than ten years before Harvard began her

intercollegiate baseball games. At first desultory races with Yale

were rowed, in which Harvard was usually victorious; then the National

Rowing Association of American Colleges was formed, and Harvard

annually sent a crew to the Intercollegiate regatta. About this time

also, 1869, a four-oared crew was sent to England, but was defeated

by six seconds in a four-mile race with Oxford University. Endless

disputes, before and after the races, and the occurrence of many fouls

caused by the large number of entries, at last caused Harvard and Yale

to withdraw in disgust from the National Rowing Association, and in

1878 were begun the annual boat races between the two colleges, rowed

on the Thames at New London. These races are still continued and now

form the only intercollegiate boat races in which the university crew

rows. For seven years Columbia also rowed on the same course, but last

year this race was abandoned. With Yale eleven races have been rowed

over the Thames course, Yale winning six and Harvard five.

Of all athletic training at Cambridge, that for the university crew is

the longest and most trying. Soon after college opens in the fall, the

captain collects a crew of the most promising candidates who are not in

training for football, and begins a little desultory practice on the

river. About the first of December the work begins in earnest and from

then until the Yale race the following June, the candidates for the

crew pursue systematic training. During the winter, social pleasure is

cut down, as the men have to be in bed at an early hour, with possibly

the privilege of sitting up one night in the week. Daily practice is

taken upon the rowing-machines in the gymnasium accompanied by light

chest-weight work and a run out-of-doors. As soon as the ice is off

the river, the crew begins work on the water and soon after goes to

a training table for the rest of the year. Then not only are regular

hours of retiring necessary, but the men must report at eight o’clock

every morning for a short walk before breakfast. This sort of training

accompanied by work on the river, gradually increased in severity,

continues until the last of June, the day of the Yale race.

The Charles River flows within five minutes’ walk of the college yard,

furnishing a fairly good piece of water for practice; and a little

over a mile below the college, it opens into “the basin,” a broad

sheet of water almost two miles in length. On this course are rowed the

class races every May. The three principal rowing events of the year

at Harvard are comprised in these class-races, the Freshman race with

Columbia College and the contest with Yale University.

THE LACROSSE TEAM.

[Illustration: THE LACROSSE TEAM.]

FOOTBALL.

In October, 1872, the first University Football Association was formed

at Harvard. At this time football as a game was but little known in the

United States; a few of the other colleges had formed a league, but the

character of their game was absolutely different from that now played

in America. It was modeled after the English “Association” game, and

was played entirely with the feet; the ball could not be touched by

the hands while the game was in progress, but instead was kicked or

“dribbled” by the player in making his runs. At Harvard the game had a

strong resemblance to our present method, and American football is a

distinct outgrowth of a rough, rushing game as played for some fifty

years on the college campus at Cambridge, a game at first modeled on no

pattern, begun with no rules, but of an irregular, unrestrained growth,

a sort of curious combination of “Association” football as played in

England, and the college rush of those days in which an unlimited use

of the hands and fists was allowed in order to gain possession of the

coveted prize. About the year 1872, however, some Harvard men who had

become acquainted with the English “Rugby” game, seeing the resemblance

between it and the Harvard game, made a careful study of the former,

and recognizing the need of regular rules, adopted a set of rules

peculiarly like the Rugby, but adapted to the method of play then in

vogue at Cambridge.

Thus was evolved a regular game limited by rules which were the

result of a curious combination of three different factors: the

game informally played by “sides” chosen from athletically inclined

students, the rough fights of the Freshman and Sophomore classes in

the annual rush, and lastly the influence of the adapted rules of the

English Rugby game.

[Illustration: THE CREW AT THEIR WINTER WORK.]

In the fall of 1874 Yale issued a call to Princeton, Harvard,

Columbia and Rutgers to form an Intercollegiate Football Association,

but Harvard could not join, because her game was so radically

different from that played at the other colleges. The Yale _Record_

remarked: “Harvard said that her game was so strictly scientific

as to prevent her from ever contending with other colleges whose

games were so entirely devoid of skill.” If Harvard had consented to

join the League, American football to-day would be a very different

game, but she could not have retained her own rules as they were

fundamentally different from those in use at the other four colleges,

and they, naturally wishing to retain their own rules, could have

out-voted her. By her action in refusing to join the League, and her

superiority--principally shown in games against Canadian teams--she

forced first Yale and then the other colleges to adopt the Harvard

game. In 1875 the first Yale-Harvard game was played under the

Rugby Union Rules, practically the same as those used at Cambridge;

and in 1876 the Intercollegiate Football Association was formed

between Harvard, Yale, Columbia and Princeton. The game that Harvard

introduced, Yale and Princeton have since developed.

[Illustration: HARVARD SHOOTING CLUB.]

In 1875 Harvard defeated Yale by four goals and four touch-downs to

nothing. The next year she suffered defeat from Yale by one goal to

three touch-downs, and since that time the Cambridge team has won not

a single Yale game, and only a few from Princeton. The season of 1884

was especially disastrous. In vain the college paper, the _Crimson_,

published semiweekly exhortations to the players to play better

football, and to the undergraduates to take more interest in the team.

The make-up of the eleven was excessively weak, and both the players

and the rest of the undergraduates seemed indifferent concerning

its success, so that at the close of the season it was disgracefully

beaten by Yale and Princeton, and was defeated even by Wesleyan and the

University of Pennsylvania. The undergraduates felt little regret when

the Athletic Committee, who had for a long time been opposed to the

game on account of its brutality as then played, announced that they

considered it “brutal and demoralizing,” and that thereafter Harvard

was forbidden to engage in any Intercollegiate football games. For a

year the rule was enforced, but in 1886 it was reconsidered and Harvard

again took her place in the football arena.

[Illustration: THE CREW’S NEW LONDON QUARTERS.]

That year’s rest was fortunate, for it served as a breathing spell in

which the college could pause and reflect for a brief space, so as to

discern just what the fault was that had sent Harvard to the rear in

football, while she still retained her prominent position in other

games. When in 1886 she was allowed to resume her old position in the

League, she began work with a grim determination to recover her lost

prestige. With comparatively untried material to work upon, Brooks,

’87, the new captain, produced an eleven which was second only to

Princeton and Yale. The record of Captain Holden’s eleven in 1887,

the defeat of Princeton, the game lost to Yale at the New York Polo

Grounds, and the dissatisfaction and dispute over the result, are still

too fresh in the memory to need repetition.

The football played at Cambridge in the last two seasons shows that

Harvard has regained her position as one of the leaders on the football

field. For the seven or eight preceding years, Harvard football had

been nothing more than a weak imitation of the game of Yale and

Princeton. Upon the re-establishment of Harvard in the League, in the

autumn of 1886, the game was first played with a slight attempt at

originality. But the previous decline had been too great to admit of

more than an attempt, and most of the time had to be spent in learning

what the other colleges already knew. In 1887 for the first time in

many years Harvard began the season on an equal footing with Yale and

Princeton, with an equal knowledge of the science of the game and as

clear a perception of what the requirements of the coming year would

be. Instead of tamely imitating the game of the previous year as played

by the two other colleges, she mapped out a plan of work of her own,

and developed a scientific, heavy, rushing game, a system in striking

contrast to the Yale and Princeton style, and entirely different from

the heavy, bull-headed, rushing game as played by all the colleges

six years ago. This style of play had its defects, but it possessed

that which more than counterbalanced them all--it showed that at last

Harvard football was logical and scientific, original in its conception

and systematic in its play, and that the college again had taken her

position as one of the leaders in the development of the American game

of football.

LACROSSE.

Although lacrosse is not a game very generally adopted in this country,

it has been successfully played at Cambridge for nearly ten years.

The Association is but a young brother of the other clubs, having

been formed as late as 1879. It was quickly followed in 1881 by the

formation of the Intercollegiate League, with Harvard as a leading

member, and in 1881, 1882, 1883, 1885, 1886 and 1887 the lacrosse

championship fell to Cambridge, and in two of these years the Oelrich’s

Cup was also secured at the annual tournament in New York. When

lacrosse was first played at Cambridge, fifteen dollars expended for

advertising and policemen, and seven dollars received as gate receipts

was not an unknown experience at a championship game. But successful

teams, and the natural advantages of the game, have gradually extended

its popularity, and now each year the rapidly increasing number of

players attests the growing interest felt by the college.

There are also many other athletic clubs of more or less importance

in the college, which, however, seldom take part in intercollegiate

games--the polo, shooting, canoe and bicycle clubs, and the sparring

association. In tennis, Harvard has furnished some of the leading

players in the country--R. D. Sears, H. A. Taylor, J. S. Clark, P. S.

Sears and Q. A. Shaw; and the extent to which the game is now played

is shown by the fact that, in reply to the questions of the Faculty

athletic committee, out of 1,031 men who replied, over 600 named tennis

as one of their usual forms of outdoor exercise.

FACULTY REGULATION OF ATHLETICS.

In 1882 there entered into Harvard Athletics a new factor, in the shape

of interference with, or rather attempted guidance of, athletics by

the college authorities. With this purpose in view, a committee on

athletics was appointed, consisting of Prof. C. E. Norton, Prof. J. W.

White and Dr. Sargent; a committee which for a time was more discussed,

more abused, and more misunderstood than any other unfortunates who

ever had the complimentary misfortune of being appointed to guide

college athletes into the path they ought to follow. The immediate

cause of its appointment was to prevent several abuses which the

Faculty believed they saw increasing coincidently with the growth of

intercollegiate athletics.

The public sentiment of the undergraduates was favorably inclined

toward the regulating action of the Faculty, and although some of the

overzealous raised an outcry against any interference on the ground

that such would injure their chances of success, the majority and the

more cool-headed undergraduates agreed that some regulation of the

growth of athletics was needed.

The members of the committee were all very strongly of the opinion that

athletics were essential to the highest welfare of the students; but at

the same time they thought they saw tendencies growing which, unless

checked, would be likely to more than offset all the advantages which

were to be gained. They felt that the drift of affairs during the past

few years had been toward the effacement of that clearly defined line

which separates amateur from professional athletics, and that for the

preservation of intercollegiate athletics a strict observance of this

line was necessary. The first step in interfering with the _laissez

faire_ system of athletics was to dismiss the men employed as trainers

by the Athletic Association, and to forbid any “professional” trainer

from appearing on the college grounds. Till that time each would-be

athlete had chosen his own trainer, usually the professional selected

by the H. A. A., but often some professional walker or sprinter who

had no connection with the college. As a result petty disputes arose

among the various trainers, and were continued on the track; and there

was bitter rivalry in obtaining the best runners, in order to secure

the advertisement of having trained a “record” man. Of course, imbued

with this feeling, the trainers neglected the development of the weaker

men who entered into track athletics for the sake of exercise, but

with no hope of breaking a record. It was to remedy this evil that the

committee on athletics forbade professional trainers to appear upon

the college grounds. At the same time, realizing how necessary it was

for the men in training to have some one to look after them, they sent

a request to the corporation that some man might be appointed with a

fixed salary, to have a place in the gymnasium and to act as a trainer

for all the athletes. Their recommendation was accepted, and after a

delay of about a year Mr. J. G. Lothrop was engaged to superintend the

general exercise of all the track men, and also the special work of

those training for the intercollegiate games, and he was installed in

the gymnasium as “assistant in the department of physical science.” The

satisfaction occasioned by this change has borne fruit in the large

number who now work in the gymnasium classes during the winter, the

many candidates for the intercollegiate team of track athletes, and the

brilliant record of the team in annual intercollegiate games.

The second step taken by the committee, in 1882, was to prohibit

the Harvard baseball nine from playing games against professionals.

Previous to this, President Eliot had written to the Faculties of all

the colleges with which the Harvard nine played matches, asking them

whether they would forbid the nines of their respective colleges to

play games with professional clubs in case Harvard took the initiative.

Affirmative answers were received from all except Yale, and she alone

rejected the proposition. Nevertheless, in October, 1882, the Harvard

athletic committee forbade the nine to play further games against

professionals; but the other colleges, instead of adopting the plan,

as, naturally, it was supposed they would, neglected to support the

position taken by Harvard, and up to the present time every college

nine in the country except Harvard is allowed professional practice. At

Cambridge the rule has been strictly enforced since it was adopted in

1882.

If the athletic committee won any favor with the undergraduates by

their successful regulation of track and field athletics, it was all

lost by this baseball regulation. The step was taken with the idea of

drawing a strongly marked line between amateurs and professionals,

thus effectually preventing the professional tendency from increasing

in college athletics; and also to prevent the game from becoming a

monopoly played by a few skilled players, instead of being participated

in by the whole college. It was a measure passed with a good aim,

but nevertheless one which has flown wide of its mark, for its only

practical result has been to heavily handicap the Harvard nine.

When any game in any branch of athletics is successfully played

by a university team, experience shows that greater interest is

always aroused throughout the entire college in that particular

sport; that more “scrub” teams are formed, and a larger number of

undergraduates practise the game, than when they have only a weak,

defeated university team as a model. A higher standard of ’varsity

play may, perhaps, lessen the number of candidates for the team;

but these candidates form only a very small proportion of the

number who incidentally play the game, while the greater enthusiasm

aroused largely increases the number of mediocre players. Thus this

prohibition, besides weakening the nine, besides enforcing more work

on the captain and the team, really defeats the very aim that the

committee had in view, and lessens rather than increases the number of

men who play the game for general recreation.

As regards the anti-professional reason, it is impossible to say

what would be the status of the Harvard nine if this rule had not

been passed. Judging from the other college nines who annually play

professionals for practice, there would be but little difference from

what now exists. The difference, so difficult to discover on the

ball field, exists chiefly in the minds of men whose knowledge of

baseball is derived principally from discussions in the college Faculty

meetings. Although it is difficult to surmise how even there such a

discriminating distinction can be drawn between local unrestrained,

would-be-but-couldn’t-be professionals, and the disciplined league

players; the former eager by any means fair or foul, to score a point

against the “college boys,” the latter playing a practice game simply

as a business matter. The Harvard Faculty, it is presumed, do not

approve of professional sparring as an avocation for students, but they

have not yet forbidden undergraduates to take lessons of competent

teachers, even although the latter may have occasionally fought a

prize-fight; and such lessons are deemed even less contaminating, from

a professional point of view, than would be friendly and unpaid bouts

with celebrated locals who hoped in the future to enter the ring.

The position of the committee towards college football has been unique.

Football in this country is a game still in a state of development, and

the Harvard athletic committee have taken an active part in developing

it in the right direction. In November, 1883, the attention of the

committee was first called to a serious consideration of football.

The game as played that fall was one of the roughest ever played in

the country; and of a kind of roughness where brutality and unfair

play were put at a premium. On Thanksgiving Day, Harvard was scheduled

to play the final championship game with Yale on the Polo Grounds,

New York. Imagine the chagrin and astonishment of the undergraduates

when, on November 22, a letter was received from the committee by R.

M. Appleton, the captain of the eleven, stating that Harvard would not

be allowed to play any more intercollegiate games, until substantial

changes in the rules were made. Some of these rules appeared to the

committee “to allow of no other inference than that the manly spirit

of fair play is not expected to govern the conduct of all players,

but on the contrary, that the spirit of sharpers and roughs has to be

guarded against. The committee believes that the games hotly played

under these rules have already begun to degenerate from a manly, if

rough, sport, into brutal and dangerous contests. They regard this as

a serious misfortune in the interest of the game, which, if played in

a gentlemanly spirit, may be one of the most useful college sports

as a means of physical development. They regret that they did not

give earlier attention to the character of these rules, and thus

earlier come to the conclusion which they have now reached, namely,

that the Harvard eleven cannot be allowed to take part in any further

intercollegiate match games until substantial changes in the rules have

been made.” The objectionable rules were:

Rule 19. The referee shall disqualify any player whom he has _warned

twice for intentional_ off-side play, _intentional_ tackling in touch

or _intentional_ violation of Rule 28.

Rule 28. No kicking, throttling, butting, tripping-up, tackling below

the hips, or striking with closed fists shall be allowed.

Rule 38. No players shall _intentionally_ lay hands upon or interfere

with an opponent unless he has the ball.

In other words, a man could intentionally knock down another player

with a straight blow from the shoulder; he could do it again if he

wished, but not until he had done it the third time could he be

disqualified. It was to this and its practice that the athletic

committee objected. Most of the New York papers sneered at it as

“Harvard delicacy;” while a scatter-brained undergraduate, in an open

letter in the _Crimson_, abused the committee for obliging our eleven

to break its agreement, for robbing the Yale team of some $1,500, its

expected share in the gate-money, and ended by solemnly declaring, “We

sincerely hope that the time will sometime come when our feelings of

honor will have some weight with the Faculty in its decisions.”

That the athletic committee, however, were not irredeemably lost to

all consideration of the honor of the students and were not quite as

prudish or unreasonable as the New York press represented them, was

soon shown by their allowing the game to be played when the respective

captains of the Harvard and Yale teams informed them that the

objectionable rules had been changed. The important changes were that

the referee was allowed to disqualify a player without any previous

warning, and that no more than two disqualified men on either side

should have their places filled by substitutes; also that no player

should lay hands on or interfere with an opponent unless he had the

ball. The game was played, and, as was expected, Harvard was beaten.

The football of the succeeding year was fully as bad as it had been in

1883, and consequently there was a large body among the students ready

to support the athletic committee when, at the close of the season,

they announced that they considered the game as then played to be

brutal and demoralizing, and on this account should request the Faculty

to prohibit Harvard from playing it against other colleges. A short

delay was granted before presenting this report in order to give the

students a chance for a hearing; but no satisfactory results came from

the delay, and in January, 1885, Harvard was forbidden to engage in any

more intercollegiate football contests.

So much has been said and written about this action of the athletic

committee, so much abuse has been heaped by the newspapers on the

“Harvard dudes,” and so much misrepresentation has been spread abroad

concerning the so-called “Harvard daintiness,” that it is only fair,

even at this late date, to consider, for a few moments, what it was

that influenced the committee in their action, and whether this Harvard

daintiness was the result of an unmanly avoidance of the roughness

of the game, or whether it was actuated by a feeling that no sport

encourages true manliness when it has such an alloy of brutality and

unfair play as football had at that period.

The committee had attended the four principal championship games of

the season, and at each of these games they had stationed themselves

in different parts of the field, in order to notice what seemed to be

the objectionable features of the play. Their report says: “In every

one of these games there was brutal fighting with the fists when

the men had to be separated by other players, or by the judges and

referee, or by the bystanders and the police. In addition there were

numerous instances where a single blow was struck, instances that

occurred in every one of the games. A man was felled by a blow in

the face in the Harvard-Princeton game, in the Harvard-Yale game and

in the Yale-Princeton game. In the Wesleyan-Pennsylvania game a man

was thrown unfairly, out of bounds, by an opposing player. Then, as

he was rising, but before he was on his feet, his antagonist turned,

struck him in the face and knocked him down, and returned in triumph

with the ball. In all of the games the manifestations of gentlemanly

spirit were lacking--the spirit that scorns to take an unfair advantage

of an opponent. The teams _played to win_ by fair means or by foul.

If two teams are at all evenly matched, and one plays a gentlemanly

and the other an unfair game, the self-respecting team will always be

beaten.... In the four games which we attended there were but two cases

where a player was punished for brutal or unfair play. In several cases

the team was punished by having a ‘down’ given to the other side, but

only twice was a man disqualified.”

In 1885 an important change was made in the personnel of the committee

by increasing their number from three to five; of the five members two

to be representative undergraduate athletes, one a recent graduate, one

a physician, resident in Boston or in Cambridge, and the director of

the gymnasium, who is also a member of the Faculty. The other colleges,

urged on by a natural spirit of progress in the development of

football, and spurred still further by the public attention which had

been attracted to its abuses, had materially altered its character. The

committee carefully watched it progress as shown in the championship

contests between the other colleges, and after careful consideration,

came to the conclusion that a decided change had taken place; that it

had largely lost its brutality, and, although rough, its roughness was

of a kind that often encouraged a manly spirit; that although still far

from perfect, it was but in a transient stage of development, and that

the new rules, with a few slight exceptions, had proved efficacious in

regard to the evils they sought to remedy. They therefore recommended

that the Faculty should allow Harvard to renew her intercollegiate

games of football. The report was accepted and Harvard was reinstated

in her position in the intercollegiate league.

Since the reinstatement of Harvard into the football league, no

important action has been taken by the athletic committee. The

committee have been much abused, and still more ridiculed, but a calm

survey of the work they have done, however much one may differ with

them on a few measures, must be convincing that they have been needed

as a restraint upon the exceeding growth and concomitant abuses of

athletics, and that their work has usually been successful.

The formation and growth of the different athletic organizations up to

about 1882 formed by itself a distinct period in Harvard athletics;

then began a new period, marked by their curtailment, or, more justly

speaking, the curtailment of what seemed to be their abuses, by Faculty

restrictions. Within the last few years has begun still a third period,

marked by distinctly new athletic action; this is the curtailment by

the students themselves of Harvard participation in intercollegiate

athletics; a feeling that the intercollegiate athletic interests of the

college have become too complicated and too cumbrous, and that action

should be taken to restrain them.

When, in order to win an intercollegiate athletic meeting, it is

necessary, as is the case, not only to send good athletes upon the

field, but also to train good amateur detectives in order to ferret out

unfair entries from other colleges, the time certainly has arrived when

some sharp remedy should be applied. Often, it may be, these unfair

entries are not sought by the college under whose colors they compete,

they may be simply “mug hunters,” attracted by the rich prizes, and

the wide reputation which attaches itself to an intercollegiate

prize-winner; but, nevertheless, such entries are oftener and more

easily made, and are more readily winked at when there are thirteen

colleges and over two hundred entries, than when there are only two

colleges and fifty entries. A clearly drawn distinction between college

and non-college athletics is absolutely essential for the true welfare

of college athletics, and this line it is hard to preserve in any large

intercollegiate league.

Never yet has there been a large intercollegiate league in any

important branch of athletics which has not been productive of bitter

ill-feeling and charges of unfair play. The generous rivalry begun on

the athletic field has far too often borne fruit at the conventions in

underhand combinations worthy only of those political conventions of

which they are cheap imitations, and too often victory on the athletic

field must be preceded by a victory on paper, insignificant, perhaps,

to the uninitiated, but which under its apparently harmless words

conceals the future _coup d’état_ by which victory is to be won. The

defeated team, smarting at the recognition that it has been tricked, is

obliged quietly to submit or be taunted with not having pluck enough to

accept defeat; or else it may carry on a wordy war which no one outside

the college understands, which brings no satisfaction, and which

usually ends in nothing being accomplished. This is followed the next

year very naturally by a sullen determination to return the compliment,

not only on the field but also in the convention. These disputes, this

ill-feeling, this idea that victory even meanly won, is well won,

are real troubles which must be guarded against. They are practical

signs of a partial disappearance of the line which ought to separate

professional from college athletics, and the origin of them is largely

due to the existence of intercollegiate leagues.

No quack medicine in the shape of edicts against what the world

calls “professionals,” will stop this tendency. Such attempts remind

one of the nobleman who, because his son was nightly attacked by

the nightmare, hung all the old women, so-called witches, in his

neighborhood, instead of regulating the boy’s evening diet. Nor can the

trouble be prevented by abolishing all intercollegiate contests. Such

a remedy would be like cutting off a man’s hand in order to extract a

splinter. This plan was proposed last spring in an eccentric report

presented by a majority of the committee on athletics appointed by

the board of overseers, but, nipped in the bud by its own apparent

weakness, it was suffered to pass quietly out of sight. The Faculty,

however, aroused by the fresh importance attached to the subject,

appointed a committee to investigate thoroughly the entire athletic

question; statistics were collected having reference to the general

standing in college of athletic men, and the effect of athletic sports

upon the colleges as a whole; and the conclusion reached was that,

although several abuses still exist, they are greatly overestimated;

that the physical standard of undergraduates has been greatly raised

since the general introduction of athletics; that as a usual thing the

rank of athletic men is higher than the average, and the report ended

by recommending the authorities at once to secure fresh land for new

athletic ground, and to build an addition to the gymnasium. This report

representing--as concerns athletics--the most conservative college in

the country, practically puts an end to the opposition to athletics

as a factor in college life, and recognizes the fact that college

intercollegiate contests will and ought to retain a permanent and

important position in the college world.

Now that the Harvard authorities have at last given official

recognition of the importance and permanency of college athletics, it

is all the more important that these evils arising from intercollegiate

leagues should be driven out of existence. The quickest and only

thorough way of effecting this is for Harvard to withdraw from all

intercollegiate leagues, and to confine her annual championship

contests to Yale alone. There are many other reasons besides those

given in this article why Harvard’s position in intercollegiate

leagues acts as a drag upon her true interests; increased expenses

both in training and traveling attendant upon so many championship

contests; the longer time necessarily spent in preparation for matches

not important in themselves, but which lost by accident would impair

the chances of winning the championship; the element of chance in

determining the winner of the intercollegiate track athletic games,

ever increasing with the admission of so many smaller colleges which

have no hope of ever securing first place. The only solution of

the present athletic problem for Harvard is a withdrawal from the

intercollegiate leagues. As the case now stands, in most branches of

athletics the contest eventually narrows itself down to one final

effort between Yale and Harvard. There is everything to gain and

nothing to lose by the change. The idea is rapidly gaining ground at

Cambridge: a free discussion of it in the college papers has only added

new converts. Dissolution from all athletic leagues, practice games

against the best teams in the country, and championship games with

Yale alone, would cure many of the evils which seem to have attached

themselves to Harvard athletics.

~Note.~--The illustrations of the different groups of

athletic, football, baseball, lacrosse, and other teams in this

series of articles on college athletics, are from photographs by

Pach Brothers, of 841 Broadway.

THE FAUN DANCE.

In gladsome grouping

The fauns come trooping,

With frolic steps and fleet.

The short crisp grasses,

As each one passes,

Rebound beneath his feet.

Now Pan goes trilling

A measure thrilling

With wild ecstatic mirth.

The fauns leap after,

With mad, sweet laughter,

Their footsteps kiss the earth.

The revel hushes

The shy brown thrushes;

They silent sit and peer.

With lithe limbs shining,

With arms entwining,

The fauns leap there, leap here.

The brown feet twinkle,

While harebells tinkle

In tune, with graceful nod.

The sun-flecks racing,

In antic chasing,

Seem dancing on the sod.

Light zephyrs swaying

The boughs, are playing

A soft Æolian air.

The owlet, rousing

From daytime drowsing,

Looks down with sleepy stare.

A cloud stoops o’er them;

Behind, before them

The pattering rain-drops fall.

Then, helter-skelter,

They fly for shelter

Beneath the oak-tree tall.

_M. E. Gorham._

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

MASK AND FOIL FOR LADIES.

BY CHARLES E. CLAY.

[Illustration]

Among the infant nations of the world woman was expected to share

the labors of the field with her lord. The exotic conditions of a

pernicious civilization, as wealth accumulated and luxury grew, imposed

trammels on woman and relegated her to the enervating confinement of

the house in order that she might preserve a more delicate and pleasing

form for the gratification of man returning after the day’s toil. Woman

was, however, originally intended to be a much more competent companion

and helpmate than the selfishness of man will concede.

So long as a community remained pastoral and nomadic, so surely did

woman retain a physical development equal and perfect as that of her

mate. Thus, we find that Atalanta was as fleet of foot as any of her

male companions, and not until she allowed her cupidity to get the

better of her judgment, while striving to secure the golden apples

dropped by Hippomenes during the race, was she vanquished. That woman

was once as skillful as man in the practice and art of venery, was

symbolized by the fact that men did not deem it unworthy to worship a

virgin huntress, and called upon Diana to lend them her knowledge and

support in the chase. That war even claimed their services is evidenced

by Herodotus and other ancient historians; and although the prowess of

the doughty Amazons, who, in order that they might not be impeded in

the use of the bow, mutilated their right breasts, may be in a great

measure mythical, still such testimony goes to prove conclusively that

woman, while perhaps not endowed with the same brute strength as man,

can be his peer in most games, pastimes and recreations that call for

dexterity and quickness of hand, foot and eye.

No one can gainsay the fact that the long-continued seclusion of

our fair sisters from sports and exercises has undoubtedly much

deteriorated the physical stamina of the female race, at least in

civilized countries. They are not capable of undergoing the fatigue,

exertion and exposure nature intended they should; they are the victims

of many ailments that have become hereditary to their sex simply from

inaction. They are not (I am talking now of the upper and leisure

classes of civilized society more especially) in as thoroughly a

healthy physical condition to sustain the burdens of maternity and

its consequent strain upon the system as they ought to be, as it was

intended by nature that they should be, and as they undoubtedly would

be, if healthy exercise was more universally prevalent among the

sex. If any reader doubts this statement he has only to analyze the

statistics of any European nation that bear upon this subject to be

convinced.

Happily, the baneful results of an indoor life of inaction have been

realized before its effects have become ineradicable, and the growing

superiority of the physical development of the Anglo-Saxon over her

Latin sister is due chiefly to the revival of athletic outdoor

exercise among the women of this family. English girls may surely claim

the lead in the good work of athletic regeneration. They are closely

followed by their fair sisters and rivals on this side of the Atlantic,

and both are head and shoulders ahead of the daughters of France,

Germany, and the other Continental nations. I will not waste words

in contrasting the physical condition of the women of the West with

the deplorable state of the sex in the East. It would be an insult to

Christianity.

[Illustration: EN GARDE.

FIRST POSITION. SECOND POSITION.]

I need hardly enumerate the rich catalogue of sports, games and

recreations that claim the attention of our enlightened sisters of

to-day, but this much I will say, that there is not an exercise that

will repay a girl so well, and at the same time rouse her enthusiasm

and enjoyment so thoroughly as the practice of fencing--and in that

term I include the handling of foil, broadsword and single-stick. In

considering the art of fencing in the present article I shall not

attempt to give any instruction in the rudiments or the more finished

evolutions of the science, because, in the first place, to treat only

the principal thrusts and parries would occupy more space than I have

at my command, and in the second, _fencing cannot be learned from the

book_. One lesson from a competent _maitre d’armes_ will effect more

than the perusal of a volume. I shall, however, endeavor to point out

the beneficial results to be reaped from the exercise, to create a

feeling, if possible, that fencing ought really to be an indispensable

necessity of a young lady’s complete physical education, and to offer a

few hints and suggestions as to the best means of learning and enjoying

the art, as well as the proper dress and equipment to be employed.

Fencing, then, may be popularly defined as the art and science of

attack and defense, the weapon used being the foil for pleasure, and

the rapier in a duel of deadly intent. The attack consists of a number

of thrusts, points and lunges, the latter being an extension of the

thrust. The defense is the art of warding off an adversary’s thrusts by

evolutions, termed guards or parries. It is also admissible to advance

the whole body while dealing thrusts or to assist the execution of the

guard by a timely retreat. The participation in this exercise by two

persons is called a “bout,” or a “passage,” with the foils, and when

one line of assailants faces another, fencing two and two, this general

bout is distinguished as an assault of arms.

The exercise will give to the carriage and general poise of the body

a grace, dignity and freedom, with majesty of step and mien to be

attained in a like degree by no other means. Some finniking miss will,

perhaps, venture that dancing and the idiotic steps of deportment

taught by a mincing Frenchman is all the setting up that a young

lady properly brought up should require; but there is just as much

difference in the walk of a young lady who has been well drilled in

a _salle d’armes_ and a dancing-school miss as there is between the

walk of a lithe young panther and a cat stepping over hot bricks. In

fencing, every part of the body is brought into play. The strain on

the wrist, and the rapid movements with the foil work every muscle in

the shoulder and forearm. The quick advance and hasty retreat develop

the lower limbs. The tension of the whole body brings into healthy

action the internal organs. The chest expands, the lungs are quickened

and produce a stronger circulation; the whole frame is invigorated,

hardened, strengthened and braced up. Moreover, exercise with the foils

does not abnormally develop one member, or one set of muscles to the

detriment of others equally important. For, as Captain Nicholas, of

the New York Fencers’ Club, very happily expressed it to me, “fencing

rather places the muscles of the body in the very best position to

perform their several functions to the best advantage.” That some

pastimes, notably lawn tennis, will develop one member to an inordinate

degree, if pursued to excess, is proved by the experience of many of

the fashionable dressmakers, one of whom assured me not long ago, that

since the general craze for tennis among her customers she has found

it necessary to measure _both_ arms and shoulders of her most ardent

tennis-playing _clientèle_, as she finds as much as three to four

inches difference in the deltoid and biceps measurements of the playing

arm. And many of my lady friends have assured me that since taking up

tennis they have found it impossible to put on the right hand the mate

of the glove that snugly fits their left. In fencing this cannot occur,

for the lessons are always given equally with left and right hand

holding the foil.

[Illustration: LOW QUARTE.]

To prove that this healthy exercise is one of the very best means that

can be employed to efface the serious effects to the lungs and heart

involved by a narrow contracted chest and stooping shoulders, let me

instance the experience of one of the young Viennese lady fencers at

present with Professor Hartl’s accomplished troupe, as Fraulein A.

related it to me herself. “Oh, no; it is not at all for the money

that I continue to remain with Professor Hartl, neither did I join

his excellent school in Vienna with the idea of ever going before a

public audience, but I first took up fencing on my doctor’s orders,

and the wonderful results in the improvement of my health from this

training made me loth to quit the exercise.” “You would hardly think,”

said the fraulein, smiling archly at me as I surveyed her plump and

comely figure, “that barely twelve months ago I was so puny and sickly

a creature that I could not rise from my chair nor walk across the

room without assistance. I stooped like a broken-down old woman, my

chest was so hollow and bent inwards that it was pain for me to draw

a breath, and I was troubled all the time with a dry, hacking cough

that was as distressing to my dear mother as it was painful to me. I

had been for months in the doctor’s hands and nothing bettered by his

treatment, though he was one of the leading physicians in Vienna. At

last he told my mother that if I did not mend shortly she would be

childless (for I am her only child), and as a last resource he would

recommend my being sent to Professor Hartl’s fencing school. My mother

was astounded, and demurred; but I, like some drowning wretch catching

at a straw, was bent on going, and carried the day. I was conveyed to

his _salle d’armes_ in a carriage. The professor was very kind and

prescribed a course of exercise as gentle and easily progressive as it

was judicious. In three weeks I could walk, breathe and move my limbs

as well as any of the other girls. Then my lessons with the foil

commenced--very short and very feeble attempts they were at first, I

can tell you, but I grew stronger and heartier every day. I became

straight and strong, my chest became full, and my shoulders humped

no longer. I had such an appetite, too, that my mother was appalled.

Then the professor made arrangements to come to America. The doctor

told me the sea voyage would be most beneficial. My mother reluctantly

consented as I wanted much to see this great country. _Ainsi me voici,

monsieur!_” Pretty conclusive evidence that, I take it, as regards the

benefits of fencing to a weak constitution.

Let us now consider the subject of the most suitable costume to wear

while taking a turn with the foils. In the first place let me say

that, as a general thing, young ladies fashionably dressed in the

prevailing styles are not properly attired even for a walk to do them

any real good from an athletic point of view. The waist is too tightly

laced. The bodice is worn too tight at shoulders and in the sleeves

to give the freedom of play necessary for arms and shoulders, to walk

beneficially. The dresses are “pulled back” to such a degree that

they cramp the forward movement of hip and knee. The abominable shoes,

with a tiny heel, with head no bigger than a dime, planted almost in

the middle of the foot, tilt the body forward in such a manner that it

becomes a miracle why ladies don’t pitch forward more often on their

noses. Besides, this abnormal elevation of the heel throws the whole

weight of the body on the ball and toe of the foot, causes a fearful

strain on the instep and the extensor muscles of the leg, and throws

all the posterior muscles of the calf and ankle out of use.

[Illustration: OCTAVE.]

Such being the case of affairs, my advice to a young lady commencing

to fence would be: Discard all the impedimenta and addenda, especially

the latter, with which you so successfully break “the continuity of

beauty’s lines and curves” on the street. Don a skirt of flannel,

velvet or tweed that is moderately heavy, _i. e._, heavy enough to stay

down without being weighted at the bottom with leads. The skirt should

be amply kilted or plaited to a good broad, strong band, which when

fastened round the waist should act the part of a man’s gymnasium belt.

The plaits, of course, should be made so that they open easily at the

bottom to allow the easy and rapid advance of the leg. The length may

be left to the good taste and judgment of the wearer, only don’t have

it made so long that when extended at your full length in the lunge

the skirt will trail round the heel of the rear foot, for if this is

the case you may be apt to step on the skirt as you recover to the “en

garde” position.

Another style of dress much in vogue, and especially approved by ladies

of the theatrical profession, is the divided skirt. Any one who has

seen pretty Rosina Vokes in this costume will readily recognize that

when properly made and artistically managed it gives the greatest scope

for perfect freedom of action with the acme of grace in movement. But

the plain kilted skirt is the simpler and more natural garment, and I

recommend it to young ladies who practice fencing as an amusement and

occasionally cross foils with their brothers or their male friends.

It is absolutely necessary that the upper portion of the figure should

be well supported, and for this purpose a short underwaist reaching

barely to the waistband of the skirt should be worn. This should be

made of some twilled or ribbed material and laced snugly down the

back, but should not contain whalebone or steel of any kind. I believe

they are known as corset-waists. The ordinary steel corsets extend too

low over the hips and are apt to be inconvenient when lunging. A good,

elastic, silk jersey is the very best thing for a waist. But let it

give ample room under the arms and across the chest. Many girls wear a

simple blouse or sailor jacket, and they are very serviceable; but the

jersey is preferable, inasmuch as it clings closely to the arm and the

foil is not so likely to get caught in the sleeve as is apt to happen

with a sailor-jacket sleeve. Let the throat be bare and wear no collar.

Nothing, in fact, that will come above the neck of the plastron, or

chest shield. Be shod with tennis shoes; they are better than high

boots, because they allow more play to the ankle. If leather soles are

worn it will be well to rub them liberally with some preparation that

will prevent the foot slipping.

The accoutrements necessary are a plastron, or chest shield, mask,

gauntlets, and a foil. The plastron is generally of finely dressed

leather, quilted chamois leather, padded canvas or buckram. All these

equally serve their purpose, which is to protect the chest when

sharply struck with the button of the foil. They are made of various

thicknesses and weights. Those thickly quilted and cotton stuffed, of

course, insure perfect immunity from the blow, but they are ungainly,

heavy-looking coverings, and for ordinary practice, I think a stout

canvas or leather plastron will be found to be all that is required.

They slip over the shoulders on which the straps rest, are cut out

under the armpits, and are buckled at the back or side; if at the side,

better on the left. They should fit closely round the neck and lie

perfectly flat upon the chest.

[Illustration: PRIME.]

In choosing the gauntlets care should be taken to have the fingers,

and especially the thumbs, thoroughly well padded. They should be

perforated in the palm, and the wrist shield should be stiff and extend

half-way up to the elbow. The mask must fit easily and comfortably well

over the head and completely under the chin, protecting as much as

possible the throat as well. The foil should be of best tempered steel

and, for young girls particularly, as light as possible. The French

make the best fencing paraphernalia, and if a young lady wants to get

a thoroughly serviceable equipment, my advice would be to take counsel

with some experienced male fencing friend on the selection, or perhaps

better, to go to one of the leading _maitres d’armes_ and trust him to

get the complete outfit. One caution, and a most serious one I will

emphasize, which every fencer, young or old, expert or tyro, should

always bear in mind, and that is, _never use a foil until you have

thoroughly satisfied yourself that the button is firmly on the point_,

and that it is well covered. Negligence in this important particular

may risk life. I vividly recall an instance that occurred in the class

of Professor Angelo, of London, of which I was a member at the time. We

were awaiting the advent of our teacher, being, as boys are very apt to

be, a little before the appointed hour. Two of my classmates, donning

masks and gauntlets but no plastrons, took their foils and were soon

engaged in a furious bout, all the more earnest because of the keen

rivalry that existed between them. Both were fairly expert fencers, and

thrust and lunge and parry and feint succeeded with lightning rapidity.

Suddenly young C---- received his adversary’s foil full on the chest,

and with a sharp cry of anguish staggered backward, dropping his foil

and falling heavily into a chair: a ghastly pallor overspread his face

and a small red stream of blood trickled slowly from his parted lips.

We hurried to him and hastily divested him of waistcoat and shirt,

which we found stained with blood. We laid bare the chest and found a

nasty livid-looking puncture just above the nipple of the left breast.

The poor boy never spoke again, and before we could summon medical

aid he expired. The cause of this tragedy was found to be that his

opponent’s foil had lost its button; whether it was off before they

engaged or was knocked off during the bout could not be ascertained,

but the moral is easy to point. Never skylark with foils, broadswords

or single-sticks, unless you are thoroughly dressed and prepared for

the bout.

The proper method of holding the foil, as well as the correct position

to assume, I quote from Mr. Van Schaick’s excellent article on fencing

which appeared in ~Outing~ for October, 1887:

The body must be placed so as to present a profile to the adversary.

The right foot forward, the right arm half bent, with the elbow at the

distance of about ten inches from the body, the left foot some twenty

inches behind the right and at right angles to it. The knees bent,

the body erect and well poised on the hips, but a trifle more on the

left than on the right, so as not to interfere with the right leg

when “lunging.” The general position must be such that the shoulders,

the arms and the right leg will have the same direction towards the

adversary; the purpose is to cover the vital parts and facilitate the

lunge. The right arm, half bent, the wrist at the height of the breast,

and the point of the foil at that of the eye. The left hand must be at

the height of the head, the fingers well rounded, the thumb free. The

head erect, looking in the direction of the right shoulder. The eyes

fixed frankly on those of the adversary. The whole posture must be free

and easy.

Advance takes place when the contestants are too far apart; retreat

when too near. In order to advance, carry the right foot forward

without in any way disturbing the position of the body or that of the

sword, and bring immediately the left foot within its proper distance

of the right (twenty inches). In order to retreat, carry the left foot

backwards without in any way disturbing the position of the body or

that of the sword, and bring immediately the right foot within its

proper distance of the left.

The foil must be held so that the hand will take the direction of the

forearm, and the point of the blade will be at the height of the eye.

Hold the foil very firmly only when thrusting or parrying; if you

grasp it tightly during a bout of any length, the muscles of your hand

will become cramped and will prevent your handling the foil with the

necessary delicacy.

The hand can assume three different positions when thrusting or

parrying.

(1.) In _quarte_, where the palm is uppermost.

(2.) In _tierce_, where the knuckles are uppermost.

(3.) And in _six_, where the thumb is uppermost and the fingers are on

the left; this last position is also called _middling_.

And to this article I refer all my young lady readers and fencers, but

recommend you, as he himself would, to go to a master first and study

his instructions as an aid to your maitre’s practical teaching.

There are a number of excellent teachers of fencing in New York. Among

the best will be found Captain Nicholas, of the New York Fencers’ Club;

Mons. Regis Senac, of the New York Athletic Club; Mons. Tronchet, of

the Manhattan A. C., and Mons. Louis Rondell, of the Knickerbocker

Fencing Club. The last two named gentlemen are graduates of the

celebrated French Military Academy, at Joinville-les-Ponts, France,

the highest authority on this subject in the world.

A last point I will make ere I close. Learn fencing, if for no other

reason, at least as an additional means of protection and self-defense

in case of a sudden emergency.

Although you, my fair sisters, may not be called upon to defend

yourselves against the murderous attacks of drunken or lawless

ruffians, yet instances are on record where women have been compelled

literally to fight for the lives of themselves and their children. With

the knowledge and practical experience gained in the _salle d’armes_,

or the friendly bouts with foil and single-stick that helped to while

away a winter afternoon, they have been able to hold their own, nay,

even to come off victorious in a contest in which the stakes were life

against life. I remember an instance of such a nature which, when

told round the jovial mess-table, with clinking glasses and flashing

lights and bursts of jocund laughter, hushed every tongue and caused

the breath to come with panting gasps from breasts suffocating with

feelings of hatred and vengeance.

A gay young subaltern returning to India after his first leave of

absence, brought with him a tall, fair flower of English girlhood,

gathered from a quiet vicarage away in Devonshire. Passing her life in

the free enjoyment of the glorious English air, taking long rambles

o’er fen and field and wold with her father, or joining in the more

hardy sports by flood and field when her brothers were home for the

holidays, she had built up a constitution that defied the weather

and had acquired a freedom of action, a superb grace of deportment

that would have been the envy of the sylvan Diana. She was a perfect

horsewoman, a capital shot with gun and pistol, and could give points

to most of her brothers at pool or billiards. Mrs. K---- had been well

drilled in fencing and single-stick practice, and was passionately fond

of the pastime; often after the early morning parade the young husband

would invite some one or other of his brother officers to their cool

bungalow veranda, where many a lusty bout was fought by the ardent

young swordswoman, while the happy husband laughed merrily at the

discomfiture of his warrior brothers.

But this pleasant scene was soon to change. Rumors of the deadly mutiny

raging in Bengal were brought to the out-of-the-way cantonment. The

swarthy Punjaubees, who a month or two before had paraded so quietly

and calmly, and were so alert to obey orders, came now to drill or

stables with dogged step and sullen brow.

It was an anxious time for every one. The officers were keenly alive

to the volcano on which they trod, yet dared not show any semblance

of fear or mistrust. All ammunition was carefully removed to the

mess-house, and the sabres and lances of the men (for Lieutenant

K----‘s was a cavalry regiment) were only issued for parade, when every

officer carried loaded revolvers and a goodly stock of cartridges. At

last, one morning, the regiment was paraded to attend the funeral of a

young officer who had sickened and died. The men had already drilled

that morning, and as they mustered for the funeral, ominous signs of

disorder and disaffection were rife. With heavy and anxious hearts the

little knot of officers gathered to perform the last sad rites to their

dead comrade. But they were destined never to complete their mournful

task. Just as the adjutant had formed the parade and the officers were

awaiting the coming of the colonel, at a given signal, preconcerted

doubtless, the entire regiment broke ranks and stampeded helter-skelter

over the parade-ground.

The majority of the mutineers hurried to their huts, and gathering

together all their chattels decamped as soon as possible to join

the headquarters of insurgent sepoys. But a band of more desperate

characters, longing to steep their hands in English blood, and eager

to join their revolted brethren with the prestige born of some glaring

deed of butchery, hastened to the colonel’s residence, where the only

two ladies of the regiment were known to be. Most of the officers

were at the bungalow of their deceased comrade, which was situated on

the opposite side of the parade-ground. The adjutant and the officers

on parade retreated, immediately on the outbreak, to the mess-house,

which had been prepared for defense in anticipation of just such an

occurrence. The colonel, coming from the orderly room, took in the

status of affairs and hastened to join the mess-house defenders.

In the meanwhile the ladies had been watching the forming of the

parade from the colonel’s private smoking den, where there was

littered in truly masculine chaos the thousand and one articles with

which a keen sportsman and soldier loves to surround himself--a well

selected battery of rifles and shotguns, half a dozen pig spears,

a varied and choice assortment of hunting-knives, powder-flasks,

bullet moulds, rods and whips, and crops of all descriptions were

everywhere. Hanging in a little more order and by themselves were the

colonel’s military accoutrements, a couple of cavalry sabres, a pair

of pistols, an old sabretache, and an extra set of bits and bridles.

The ladies gazing out from this sportsman’s snuggery saw with a thrill

of horror the stampede, witnessed the hurried retreat of the officers

to the mess-bungalow, and before their dazed senses realized the awful

catastrophe saw some half-dozen yelling sowars making for the house in

which they were. The colonel’s wife, perceiving the peril with which

they were threatened, uttered one piercing shriek and fell fainting on

the floor. But young Mrs. K. was made of sterner stuff. She, too, saw

the danger, but it stirred her to action: Self-reliant and heroic by

nature, she rose grandly to the occasion. No help was to be expected

from the servants. Peons, kitmutgar, syces and chokras all had fled.

But not a moment was to be lost. As she dashed frantically to the

entrance, and as she closed and bolted the teak doors, she heard

menaces that chilled the very marrow in her bones. She flew to every

window and barred the blinds--poor weak defenses at best!--yet the

breaking of them would gain a moment’s respite for her to prepare for

the attack. She then retreated to the room in which the colonel’s wife

still lay as she had fallen. There was no time to care for her. Mrs.

K. took down the heavy cavalry pistols and ascertained with delight

that they were loaded. She next drew the heavy barrack-table in front

of her fallen friend and facing the door. Placing the pistols at hand

on the table, she took down from a peg on the wall the mask with

head protector used for broadsword exercise, and as she adjusted the

cumbrous thing over her bonny waves of golden hair, she thought sadly

of the pleasant bouts she had had with the bluff old gentleman whose

property it was, and how the gallant soldier would puff and blow in his

attempts to make good his cranium against the blows which she rained

with lightning rapidity on each exposed point.

Heavy blows on door and windows cut short her meditations, and

selecting the lighter of the two sabres (made more to wear at dress

parades or levées than actual warfare) the brave girl took up her

position behind the table. The fiends did not keep her waiting long.

The stout old veranda chairs, hurled with the force of battering rams

by the strong arms of the now thoroughly infuriated natives, soon

wrenched the door from its hinges, and with a thundering crash it fell

inwards, creating havoc with the dainty little tables, with their

delicate bric-a-brac. She heard the exulting shout of the troopers and

the tramp of their heavy boots as they scoured the house in search of

their intended victims. With dauntless mien and white lips the young

wife grasped the pistol, and with one short muttered prayer for him she

loved, awaited the supreme moment. A rush--a heavy thud as of bodies

hurled against the door--a smashing of wood, and four burly sowars

tumbled headlong into the room. As the first sepoy with a horrid oath

picked himself hastily up, Mrs. K.’s pistol was discharged within a

dozen feet of the would-be murderer’s breast, and with a choking sob

the ruffian fell backwards. Instantly catching up the second weapon

she fired at the advancing trio. Another howl of anguish told that

the true ball found fatal lodgment. She seized her sabre as the table

was overturned, and found herself hotly assailed by the two surviving

troopers. Skillfully she parried the savage onslaught. With the rage

of baffled demons they plied her with a perfect hailstorm of blows

regardless of method or science. Some she eluded by her activity, some

she caught on the frail blade she wielded, and she felt that some had

wounded her on arm and side. She grew faint and dizzy--a black mist

spread before her darkening eyes. She staggered--reeled--and fell

upon the still unconscious form of Mrs. P. A hoarse shout from behind

arrested the murderers. They turned one moment. It was their last. A

couple of pistol-shots rang out, and the assassins fell dead on the

bodies of their antagonist.

The rescue is easily explained. When the officers perceived the

attack was meant for the colonel’s house, and that the mess-house was

comparatively safe, the colonel, adjutant, and a couple of others

rushed after the attacking mutineers, and arrived in time to turn the

tables on the dastardly cowards. The whole affray, assault, defense,

and vengeance, was enacted in less moments than it takes to read the

account. Mrs. K. recovered after long months of illness, and is now

living among the scenes of her childhood.

[Illustration]

SPORT--PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE.

BY ALEXANDER HUNTER.