that blow." He says in one of those passages of the "Two Noble Kinsmen" which were evidently written by him: This world's a city full of straying streets, It is in these straying streets that Shakspere moves, the obscure labyrinth where man goes blindly, meeting here an ambush, there a precipice, and where he changes fortune from a chance-meeting. There is nothing certain, not one of his characters who could swear to what he will do an hour later. They do not belong to themselves. They are so much the plaything of a higher force that they do not even feel sure of their conscience. "I believe myself passably virtuous," says Hamlet. But who shall explain Hamlet? Hamlet is an enigma. How far was he mad? When is he completely mad? But no one in these plays is quite sane. Lear is out of his senses long before he is demented; Macbeth has hallucinations; Othello sees blood at the first word; Brutus talks to a ghost; that terrible sceptic Richard III. sees visions. Events themselves sometimes seem half crazy. What I have said of "Macbeth" might be said of " Romeo and Juliet," where in five days Juliet sees, loves, marries, dies, and resuscitates, and dies once more. All is falsehood, deceit, bewilderment. This cavalier, it is Rosalind; this page, Imogen; this judge, Portia; this statue, Hermione. One scene in "King Lear" makes Lear (who goes mad from sorrow) and an exile (who pre tends to madness) and a fool (who is mad by profession) all talk together amid the thunder and lightning. We ask ourselves, Where are we? Who are we? Prospero tells us: We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Shakspere saw life as in a dream, and thus he has shown it. Molière saw things in their reality. He went down to the immutable. As for life, in his plays he sees it simple. Only those events happen which happen to all of us. We love, we marry, we have children, we consult the doctor, we die. The other incidents that may occur spring from the shock of character; they can be deducted logically one from the other, and would remain in the control of man if he would but listen to reason. And this is the great moral that can be drawn from Molière: keep your head, and all will go well. His work is as clear as day; hatred of vice shows itself, and the love of truth-no platonic love, but an active love, armed and fighting to the last hour. For Molière is in the thick of the crowd; Shakspere dwells in the Temples of Serenity; he observes, somber at first, peacefully later on; and he gives to our meditation and reflection the immense and painful spectacle of the world, but draws from it no rule, for what rule can be found used in a dream? Perhaps, to finish, it might be said that Shakspere teaches us to think, but that Molière teaches us to live. C. Coquelin. WIT THE MARTENS. WITH the first chills on August heat, In ranks arrayed the martens meet, Their coat of jasper, pearly vest, Leave royal robes without compare: They chirp, yet shiver, thinly dressed, And contemplate a change of air. As prophets, mocking unbelief, Their fluttering feathers are unfurled, To show our sky and earth of right Are but one half the human world. Our hope is but a bird's-eye view, Our race an emigrating band: The way for us will open too, While listening for the last command. C. A. Bartol. BASE-BALL-FOR THE SPECTATOR. HE next generation of Americans will be as thoroughly educated in the technicalities of base-ball as our English cousins are in the intricacies of cricket. Many a man to-day has felt a little defrauded by the increasing space his morning paper gives to the game, and has been inclined to look with disapproval upon the devotion of his boy at school to something apart from his studies. As the present generation of boys become men, however, there will be a softer spot in their hearts for a pastime whose ways they know and whose fascinations they remember. Putting aside for a moment its professional questions, base-ball is for every boy a good, wholesome sport. It brings him out of the close confinement of the school-room. It takes the stoop from his shoulders and puts hard, honest muscle all over his frame. It rests his eyes, strengthens his lungs, and teaches him self-reliance and courage. Every mother ought to rejoice when her boy says he is on his school or college nine. And she would if she knew what he means when he says he is "in training." It means that he is following, with the closest observation, the laws of health. He is free from the taint of dissipation, and is making of himself a clean, strong young man. This training has been made a study, and the results have been handed down through college and school, until every boy now enjoys the advantages. The enforcement, too, of these laws of training is more strict than that of any rules of teacher or faculty, for, instead of surveillance, the boy is bound by his honor to his captain and his fellows. The history of the game is an interesting record of progress and development. Away back in the fifties we find it assuming its first stage as a well-defined sport. Previous to that time there were certain games played with bat and ball, but there were not enough points of similarity to warrant one in attempting to prove or disprove conclusively where the game of base-ball originated. In this early stage the game was chiefly confined to local nines, with here and there a sporadic outbreak of it at the colleges. There were occasional attempts at organization; but while these had existed here and there, an association or league of men making base-ball a profession was unthought of. Men who played ball for a financial consideration had other means of livelihood, and there were no players whose efforts could accumulate a fund sufficient to last through the winter. As the game grew in popular favor it became possible for men to turn it into a money-making venture, and this they did not hesitate to do. The sport had not at that time acquired sufficient strength to withstand the evils dragged into it by those whose sympathies were only with the gambling and pool-selling classes, so that in the sixties the evil of betting. had crept into the sport so much as seriously to compromise its prospects and give it a bad odor among respectable communities. Sold games were a common thing, and many of the journals of that day predicted its speedy downfall. As a notable effort to reinstate the game in popular favor and scotch the betting and selling evil, stands out most prominently the convention held in Philadelphia in December, 1867. An idea of the thoroughness of the effort can be gained from the fact that five hundred clubs were represented. The leading ball clubs during the next year or two were, in the East, the Atlantics of Brooklyn, Athletics of Philadelphia, Unions of Morrisania, and the Mutuals, while the Red Stockings of Cincinnati bore the palm in the West. This latter club made a most successful trip east in 1869, winning all of the twenty-one games played. Such was the enthusiasm produced by these victories that on the return of the club it was met with a perfect ovation, tendered a banquet, and presented with a champion bat. This rather remarkable testimonial was twentyseven feet long and nine inches in diameter. The same nine made another Eastern trip the following season, and met with almost equal success, suffering but one defeat, and that by the Atlantics on the Capitoline grounds. A crowd of ten thousand people assembled to witness this match, and so lost their heads in the excitement as to give the Western men a very unfair reception. The game was not decided at the end of the ninth inning, each club having five runs. The tenth inning was played in a pause of breathless excitement, neither club scoring; but in the eleventh inning, in a perfect bedlam of noise, the Atlantics succeeded in making three runs, while the Red Stockings scored but two. In 1874 American base-ball men made their first foreign trip. The ex-champion Athletics and the champion Bostons crossed the water and played several exhibition games. Their first game was played at Lord's, on Bank Holiday, August 3. This was fifteen years ago, and this year two nines of representative American ball players, after carrying the sport through almost every civilized quarter of the globe, completed their tour by a game at Lord's. The comments of the English papers upon the sport at that time are very amusing. Speaking of the practice before the game, they say: "The larking indulged in by the Americans for ten minutes before the match shows great precision, but after the game commenced returns were not so accurate." Comparing the game with cricket, they admit that the fielding is far better, but ascribe it to the difference in the ball used. By this time the American game had also made a fair stand in Canada, the Maple Leaf Club of Guelph, Ontario, being the most prominent in that region. vokes much hard feeling and occasionally open rebellion, but not as yet a sufficient revolt to overthrow their authority. During the last twenty years the Boston Ball Club has won more than a third of the annual championships, bearing off the honors in seven years. The Chicago Club stands next, with five championships to their credit. The only other club to win more than once has been the Providence nine, which has been successful twice. A study of the records of the League and the Association shows that the contest is closer in the latter-that there is not so great a difference between the records of the first and last clubs. Another feature of the records is of interest as showing the tendency of men to drift in and out of this rather nomadic profession. There are but seven men in the books of 1888 who have played through the twelve years upon one or the other of the League nines. These seven men stand, however, with but one exception, high in the profession, and exhibit the same superiority that tenacity of purpose and experience produce in any calling. The history of college base-ball follows the line of the professional game very closely. At times the college men have been rather more conservative, and have clung to certain rules for a season or two after their abandonment & X In 1876 the National League was formed of eight clubs, containing the very pick and flower of the ball-playing fraternity. This selection was so small when compared with the large number of people anxious to be spectators of ball games that in 1881 the American Association was organized. Until time had demonstrated that there was plenty of room for both, there was bitter rivalry between the two. This was not long lived, and what is known as the National Agreement now unites the two in respectful and harmonious tolerance. Their united power is quite sufficient to govern, with their blacklists, reservations, and contracts, the entire professional ball-playing community. Their rule is tyrannical and pro THE CATCHER. by the professionals. In the end, however, in nearly every instance, they have realized the advantage of the change, and followed the lead set them. In the early days of the sport the collegians coped successfully with the majority of the semi-professionals, but even then, when they were pitted against the strongest, the college nines met with defeat. The first game of note between a college nine and professionals was in the spring of 1868, between Yale and the Unions of Morrisania. The Unions were at that time the champions of the country. The game was intensely exciting. At the end of the fifth inning Yale led, 8 to 4, but by the end of the ninth inning the Unions had tied the score and eventually won the game, 16 to 14. Frequently the score sheets of college nines show excellent fielding, but when these same men are brought to face the sharp, hard hitting of the professional batsmen their errors begin to multiply, and, in an inverse ratio, their hits diminish. The increase of errors is due to the difficulty they find in handling the fast drives of the trained batsmen, and also to the nervousness produced by the knowledge that they must play a quicker game. A professional gets away to first base far more rapidly than a college player, and the first sensation of a college infield on meeting a professional nine is one of hurry. A short-stop or third baseman finds that he has no time to "juggle" the ball and then throw the man out, as he often can do with college runners. The ordinary college pitcher is no match for League or Association batters, and they find an easy prey in him. On the other hand, the skill of the professional pitcher readily balks the attempts of the college batsmen to find the ball, and only the best men handle the stick with any effect. The rest of the nine become nervous over their failure to judge the delivery, and before the end of the game apparently dread to come to the plate for their turn. Perhaps the host of people who understand the game of base-ball thoroughly will forgive a few words of explanation for the sake of those who have never witnessed a match. It may not be uninteresting to try to realize how the game appears for the first time to an outsider. Any comparatively level piece of ground over a hundred yards square will serve for a baseball field. Upon this field is laid out a diamond whose sides measure thirty yards, and whose nearest corner is distant about ninety feet from one end of the field. This corner is marked by a white marble plate a foot square, sunk level with the ground, and called the home base. At the other three corners are canvas bags fifteen inches square, and called, beginning at the right as one looks into the field from the home plate, the first, second, and third bases respectively. The lines from home to first and home to third, indefinitely prolonged, are called the foul lines. The game is played by two sides of nine men each, one of these sides tak ing its turn at the bat while the other side is in the field endeavoring, as provided by certain rules, to retire or put out the side at bat. Each side has nine turns at the bat. The arrangement of the men in the field, with the exception of pitcher and catcher, is in the form of two arcs facing the home plate, whose radii are, roughly speaking, thirty and sixty yards. Forming the arc with the lesser radius are four men called the infielders, and named the first, second, and third basemen, and the short-stop. The latter player stands midway between the second and third basemen. The other arc is composed of the outfielders, and they are named right, center, and left fielders. Inside the diamond, and distant in a straight line in front of the home plate some fifty feet, is the pitcher's position, or box, as it is called. This is a rectangular space five and a half feet by four in which the pitcher is obliged to stand when performing the duty which devolves upon him of delivering the ball to the batsman. The catcher's position is not thus defined, but according as necessity requires he stands either close behind the batsman or, when no runner is on the bases and the batsman has not reached his last strike, some seventy feet back of the plate. When standing thus he simply performs -THE BEGINNING. the duty of returning the ball to the pitcher, as it is unnecessary for him to catch it under these circumstances. The players of the side at the bat take their turn in regular rotation and continue until three of them have been put out by the opponents. This retires the side to the field, and the others come in to the bat. The batsman has a box similar to the pitcher's, in which he must stand when striking at the ball. The batsman becomes a base runner immediately when he has made a "fair hit" (that is, knocked the ball so that it will fall in front of the foul lines); or when he has had "three strikes" (that is, three fair opportunities of hitting the ball); or, finally, when the pitcher has delivered "four balls," none of which have been struck at by the batsman or have passed over the plate at the proper height. In this latter case he is entitled to occupy first base without being put out; in the other cases he is the legitimate prey of the opponents, and his only havens of refuge are the bases, which he must take in regular order, first, second, third, and AN "OUT CURVE home. When he completes this circuit and crosses the home plate without being put out, he scores a run, and the number of runs thus scored in nine innings decides the match. PITCHING A "DROF BALL. A batsman is put out if he hits the ball and the ball be caught by an opponent before touching the ground. A base runner may be put out in any one of the following ways: if, having made a fair hit, the ball be caught by an opponent before touching the ground, or, having touched the ground, be held by a fielder any part of whose person is touching the first base before the runner reaches that base; if, after three strikes, the ball be caught before it touches the ground, or, having touched the ground, be held at first base as above described; and, finally, if he be touched by the ball in the hands of a fielder at any time during his circuit of the bases when he is not touching the base to which he is legally entitled. To provide for the satisfactory conduct of the game, an umpire is agreed upon by the contesting nines, and it is his duty to see that all the provisions of the rules are observed. He is also the judge of good and bad balls, put outs, and runs. Any other question liable to become a point of dispute comes under his jurisdiction. Such are, in general, the laws by which the modern game of base-ball is governed. These laws or rules are the growth of many years, and it is to them and to their annual revision and improvement that the game owes in a large measure its success. There are many technical terms, and a knowledge of these is necessary to a perfect understanding of the game. Every ball that the pitcher delivers to the batsman, and which he does not hit with his bat, is called by the umpire either "a strike" or "a ball." If the batsman attempts to hit it and misses it, it is a strike, whether it passed over the plate at the proper height or not. If the batsman makes no attempt to hit it and it passes over the plate at a height AN OUT CURVE"- THE END. |