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understand little else, and they therefore running inside of second and third base, put the emphasis much too strongly on the thus shortening materially the ground covone feature of winning. An English audi- ered by the runner, became so frequent that ence is not only much less excitable, and now two umpires are employed, when, if the much more experienced, but a technically players could be trusted, only one is neceseducated audience, and the spectators get sary. their enjoyment from a multitude of nice The large proportion of the general pubdetails, and therefore do not have the same lic in America who interest themselves in baleful influence upon the players. the playing of games, labor under the over
In this matter of the influence of the whelming disadvantage of seeing only our spectators I must repeat, even at the risk game of base-ball, and that played by paid of saying the same thing over and over again professionals who are managed by stock in these pages, that neither the English nor companies, whose sole desire is to make the Americans appreciate how much more money out of an exhibition of ball-playing. democratic in these matters as well as in Nothing could be worse. These players many others, is England than America. are not, as the stranger might gather from Englishmen who only know America at the the names of the clubs, as the Chicago, the long range of theory cannot understand New York, the Boston, the Washington what seems like a contradiction; and Club, men from those particular cities. On Americans who are mostly but birds of pas- the contrary, there is a regular traffic in sage in England, do not recognize the truth players by the managers of the clubs, withof it. · There cannot be the slightest doubt out the least attention to what part of the in the mind of the man who knows both country they hail from. They play purely countries, and who has played the games of and simply for their salaries, with no more both countries, that the Englishman is a sectional loyalty than a race horse which far more democratic sportsman than the runs to-day for one owner, and to-morrow American. I mean by that, definitely, that for another. As their living depends upon all classes come far oftener in contact with their success at the game, one can readily one another, especially in the provinces, understand their attitude toward the umthan with us, and are on more friendly pire, toward one another, and toward the and less awkward terms of good fellowship. game. They care no more for the best traTrades-people, school-boys, the squire, the ditions of the game, nor for a sportsmanparson and the noble play together, inter- like attitude in their play, than a terrier est themselves together, and get on together hunting rats. Nothing could be more dein the most wholesome fellowship at crick- bilitating to the morals of sport than the et, boating, hunting and the like. Almost state of things as above described. It is more than anything else this has made Eng- true that cricket in England includes mfany land so homogeneous a nation.
professionals, but no county eleven is This custom is an advantage, in that thus without its contingent of gentlemen players, a very large number of both players and one of whom is always the captain, and the spectators, of whatever class, have not only standard of behavior demanded of, and acseen, but have participated in games, with quiesced in, by both players and spectators, players playing for the love of the game, and is very high. A row on a base-ball field is with a respect for, and a courteous obedi- not uncommon, and a graduated scale of ence to, its best traditions. The butcher fines, to be inflicted upon players by the and the ironmonger would be as quick to umpire, is a necessary weapon of defence in see and reprehend such a trick, let us say, his hands, against insult and even assault; as knocking a man's bails off when he acci- while a disturbance at a cricket match is dentally steps out of his ground, as the practically unheard of. Foot-ball in Engyoung gentleman from Eton. The rule is, land, played by professionals and attended that a man may be thus put out for step- by vast crowds, suffers much as our baseping out of his ground, but unless he per- ball, and rows and assaults are not unsists in stealing ground, there is a higher, common. though unformulated law, which says this I have gone at some length into this matadvantage shall not be taken. In America, ter because the American in the west, at base-ball, on the contrary, the habit of south-west, and south, indeed the American, generally, has little interest in sport; and painting “The Doctor,” for example, and the influential portions of these and prac- see how simple, how quiet, how pathetic tically all communities, except in Massa- are the scenes that appeal to them. It was chusetts and the neighborhood of New to these people first that landscape apYork, where the college graduate is begin- pealed. There is no enthusiasm for mere ning to make his influence felt, cannot, from land and sky, in Greek, or Roman, or Reany similar experience of their own, in the nascent art. It was born here, that parleast realize what a predominating factor ticular love of the land, lifted into poetry sport is, and has been, in this English civi- and painting, through the brush and pen of lization. The Duke of Wellington's dictum Englishmen. The animal virility, which about Eton's effect upon Waterloo sounds will out, and which finds its vent elsewhere in American ears like an exaggerated flat- in political excitement, in pornographic tery of sport. As a matter of fact, it is a literature, and suggestive art, which uncommonplace. There is not the smallest steadies and excites, and culminates here in doubt but that the education, moral and Napoleon, there in Zola, or here in a revophysical, of these Englishmen throughlution, and there in a morbid philosophy, sport, is one of the most saliently distinct seems to be dissipated and calmed in this features of their civilization. You can see moist island, and to lose its feverishness it in their bus and cab-drivers in the man- among these hard-playing islanders. agement of their horses, and from thence The bulk of their art leans to the mild all the way up to their management of the type, as does their literature, and their large variety of races they control in their statesmanship. The effervescent politician colonies. What you see at Lord's, you can or demagogue, whose denunciations are see in Egypt and in India. They play more suspicions, whose promises are dreams, and than they pray, and they spend more upon whose actual achievements are mere rhesport every year than upon either education torical promises to pay, seldom makes or religion. There is no false shame about much headway here, and rarely lasts long. it. On the contrary, there is enthusiastic The turbulent and spectacular journalism, and unabashed interest in all forms of common elsewhere, pecks at the heart of sport, by practically the whole population public interest here largely in vain. Men from highest to lowest. It is looked upon, of whatever class cannot be coached to bein short, as part of the curriculum of edu- lieve that noise and fury, personal attacks cation. One might search a long time to and impudence, are to be trusted, or that find an English Cabinet, one or more of bombastic oratory means real business whose members was not an authority at and level-headed leadership. racing, or fishing, or hunting, or cricket, or The reader has quite mistaken the rowing, and the like. The few who do not meaning of this chapter, however, if on take an actual part, live surrounded by reading it he concludes that the writer inand steeped in, this atmosphere.
tended a eulogy of sport and game-playing, As we have seen, they are not by origin and in particular of English sports and or by temperament a pugnacious race. games and nothing else. This is not at all Their fighting is done generally to preserve the object of the chapter. The intention is the peace, to keep themselves and their to emphasize, strongly, the very large, one land in quiet, however selfish their aim may might even say the disproportionately be.
large, place they occupy in English life, and It is a far cry, perhaps, from playing to to show also that what good they do, and painting, but I never stroll through an Eng- the comparatively little harm they do, are lish art gallery without noting the quiet, the due entirely to the fact that they give in homeliness, the innocence of the scenes some sort a training for life, because as a their native artists choose for their studies. rule they are conducted on sounder lines of Fred. Walker, Dicksee, J. C. Hook, Luke fair play, sanity, and uprightness than anyFildes, Wyllie, Constable, Poynter, Far- where else in the world. quharson, Orchardson, Millais, Holl, Frith, It is not the business of this chapter to Watts, Linnell, and many others; go look discuss the question as to whether a hardat their work, whether a landscape or a drinking, hard-riding, game-playing, outstudy of a situation, like Fildes's pathetic door-loving people will continue to hold their own against such rivals as America, ger. That this worship of, and training of, Germany, and Japan. Personally, I believe the body by playing games seriously and we stand at the parting of the ways, and taking sport seriously has provided them that the student of England and the Eng- with a calmness, steadiness, and fearlessness lish is looking on to-day at the first indica- of character all their own, no one can doubt. tions of the decay of, in many respects, the That these characteristics have made them greatest Empire the world has ever seen. ideal governors of inferior races, no one but The sun that never sets is setting. Noth- perhaps a jealous German will deny; nor ing but a tremendous, almost miraculous, can it be denied, either, that it has kept the wrench can turn our stout, red-cheeked, peace at home, leaving them unharmed and honest, sport-loving John Bull away from practically untouched by the class wars his habits of centuries, to compete with his and modern political philosophies, which virile body against the nervous intelligence have caused grave unrest among the of a scientific age. His game of settlement masses of the people all over the world. on the land, there to raise his crops, there England, at any rate, has kept in view to play, there to live in peace, there to ex- the laudable ambition to bring up her rich pand himself till he occupies his present with the hardness and resourcefulness of the large proportion of it, he has played to per- poor, while we in America have dropped fection. But the nations are playing a new into the vulgarity of bringing up our poor game now, and some of them seem to play to be rich. Not a few of our social sorrows it more brilliantly and more successfully in America are being fostered by a widely than he does. Though one may praise, and advertised, though fortunately small class praise honestly, the game he has played, who, having been recently poor, are trying and the manly way, upon the whole, he to appear anciently rich. At least there is has played it, this need not interfere in the no such thinly veiled hypocrisy, no such least with the conviction that he is being self-conscious social awkwardness in Engcaught up with which means, of course, land. That, at any rate, is not their weakere long left behind-in the far more scien- ness. On the other hand, the easy uncontific game that Germany, Japan, and Amer- sciousness born of great physical vigor and ica are now playing.
great national success is apparently conThat pleasant physical fatigue which soling them with a blind belief that theirs lulls the nerves to sleep, and which is one is the only type of manhood, theirs the only of the most beneficent effects of physical road to national health and prosperity. exercise, may be at work in this case, leav- Alas, there are many indications just now ing Mr. Bull as confident as ever, and that though this is a brave and comfortable pleasantly unconscious of his own dan- creed, it is not comprehensive enough.
By Grace S. H. Tytus
Year upon year I fought for my ideal
This in the past. But now a little child,
Grant, Lord, that from the spaces she left bare
Grant me my child's respect as solė reward,
PASCAL ROCHETTE'S PENANCE
By Elizabeth Shaw Oliver
ILLUSTRATIONS BY WALTER H. EVERETT
TAPHE Curé of St. Fidèle laid ering an eyelid, without moving a muscle,
aside his vestments in the they had sat spellbound in the uncushioned sombre sacristy and re- wooden pews. The Curé, himself, had not viewed his morning achieve- been insensible to the power of his appeal; ment. On this eleventh even now, as he moved mechanically about
Sunday after Trinity he had the sacristy, he was tasting in retrospect the preached a great sermon; a sermon on joys of the orator, looking once more on temperance. His text from the Ephesians: that sea of upturned faces, feeling again “Drunkenness, revelling — they which do men, women and children vibrate at his such things shall not inherit the kingdom lightest touch. None of his parishioners, he of heaven,” had rolled sonorously from the remembered, had borne so strongly the imhigh pulpit to every corner of the crowded press of fear and repentance as Pascal Roparish church. At the plainness of the state- chette, the owner of the village saloon. He ment men had straightened themselves, wo- could not forget the man's big head, with its men had nodded emphatically, and little red-gold beard, its shaggy, unkempt hair, its children had opened their eyes. He had light-blue eyes, which had stood out so preached for fully an hour, but his people's strongly from its fellows that, in the end, attention had not wandered; without quiv- swept along on the tide of his own eloquence, it had seemed that the parish church severe, so eloquent, that the parishioners of held but two beings: himself and the burly St. Fidèle should tremble, and turn them publican. As in flaming sentences he had from their evil ways. All through the pictured the terrors that await those who ig- months of June and July the Curé, his sounore the apostle's warning, he had seen Pas- tane caught high with safety-pins, his hands cal's great face work with emotion, and fi- behind his back, had paced his garden walk, nally, when he had ended his sermon by a casting and recasting his sentences, plandenunciation of all those who, in the pride ning and replanning his climaxes. He was of their hearts, are a stumbling block to their a man who battled seldom, but when once brothers, he had heard the big man weep engaged gave no quarter. aloud.
"C'était terriblement beau your sermon, St. Fidèle had nestled for years among the Monsieur le Curé," said François Lavoie, green encircling hills untroubled by the sor- as he placed the priest's simple midday meal rows of intemperance. Guided gently, but on the bare table in the back room of the firmly, by Monsieur le Ferrière and upheld presbytère. “St. Fidèle talks of nothing by the people, Mayor and Council had vo- else!” ted persistently against license, until, with The Curé smiled. “What will they do?" the building of the new saw-mill and the sub- he said. sequent influx of foreign labor, a party had “Dame, Monsieur!” returned François, arisen which scoffed at such conservatism, shrugging his shoulders, “that is quite anand declared open war on the time-honored other affair!” policy. As the mill interest grew, the radi- The old priest meekly bent his head. Still cal party gained in power, and at the last he could not forget Pascal's face. He felt election, in spite of the Curé and his trusted confident that to one, at least, he had not lieutenants, swept all before it. Philippe preached in vain. Would it be wise, he Coutourière, a mayor shorn of office and mused, to follow up his seeming victory, glory, was forced to give his undivided at- strike while the iron was hot, or to allow the tention to shop-keeping, and Pete Trem- weight of his words to sink unaided into the blay, the boss of the mill, reigned in his man's soul. Eating his boiled meat, he constead.
sidered the matter; but over and above his The first official act of the new govern- solicitude for this erring member of his flock ment had been a reversion of St. Fidèle's floated the assurance that, whatever the retemperance attitude; the village was de- sults, Jean le Ferrière had preached a great clared in favor of license, and Pascal Ro- sermon. Before he went to bed he looked chette, an overgrown farmer with a pirate's out on the stars shining low above the murbeard and a rabbit's brain, opened his sa- muring river and thought once more of his loon between the blacksmith's and the shoe- morning's triumph. Perhaps, after all, his maker's. Here for the last month Pascal eloquence was wasted in this little hill town; had ingeniously plied his trade; his whiskey he must speak to his Bishop; perhaps he blanc, though bad, was cheap. At all times had been created to preach to the wise of day, at all times of night, a half-dozen or rather than to the foolish. more of the villagers could be seen lolling The Curé was in the midst of that first over the long, wooden counter, sipping their sound sleep which is the luxury of rich and petits verres. The old priest, bent on the du- poor alike when a group of men, all more ties of his office, often passed the rough, un- or less under the influence of whiskey blanc, painted building, but never without a sigh, staggered out of Pascal Rochette's bar and for, little by little, he saw the best of his peo- made their zigzag way in the direction of ple drawn into the meshes of Pascal's net. the presbytère. . Drunkenness became an every-day occur “That was a sermon of first-class, never rence, moral standards lowered rapidly. The have I had so much drink for so little," Curé was forced to realize that the hour of hiccoughed Joseph Desbiens, as he pressed secret protest and pleading was over. Har- old Hector Dufour's homespun-clad arm. assed but undaunted, he decided to preach "Monsieur le Curé is a man of talent, we a sermon, not an ordinary Sunday dis- should stop chez lui and tell him of our adcourse--a gentle exposition of the daily du- miration." ties of Christian life—but a denunciation so Dufour, the bent shoemaker, nodded his