did. I threw up my sleeve and showed him my arm;' and the Seraph

stretched out an arm magnificent enough for a statue of Milo. 'I said, There, sir, I'll help you thrash Cambridge, if you like, but train I _won't_ for you or for all the University. I've been captain of the Eton Eight; but I didn't keep my crew on tea and toast. I fattened 'em regularly three times a week on venison and champagne at Christopher's. Very happy to feed yours, too, if you like--game comes down to me every Friday from the Duke's moors; they look uncommonly as if they wanted it! You should have seen his face! Fatten the Eight! He didn't let me do that, of course; but he was very glad of my oar in his rowlocks, and I helped him beat Cambridge without training an hour myself, except so far as rowing hard went.'

"And the Marquis of Rockingham, made thirsty by the recollection, dipped his fair moustaches into a foaming seltzer.

"'Quite right, Seraph!' said Cecil. 'When a man comes up to the weights, looking like a homonunculus after he's been getting every atom of flesh off him like a jockey, he ought to be struck out for the stakes, to my mind.'"

The obvious inference from this is that if we want to avoid looking like "homonunculi" we must acquire dukes as fathers, and get fattened on venison and champagne.

SMOKING.

There are no smokes in training.

STALENESS.

In the practice of almost every crew there comes a period, generally about half way through training, when they begin to show the effects of hard work by a certain lassitude and loss of vigour. This, in fact, is not genuine staleness, but is the half-way house to perfect condition. An experienced coach can always detect the signs of it amongst his men. Their tempers will be short, they will begin to mope about the room, and their general manner will betray languor and listlessness, instead of that brisk cheerfulness that one has a right to expect. Their appetite will decrease, and at meals they will dally with their food instead of consuming it with a hearty zest. If a coach is blind to these signs, and pursues, in spite of them, the scheme of work and diet which he may have laid down at the first, he will probably bring to the post a crew as stale and lifeless as London shrimps. If, however, he grants certain indulgences to those who are most affected; if he lets them lie in bed of a morning, adds a basin of soup to their lunch or dinner, gives them extra liquor, or champagne in place of their ordinary liquor, and eases the work of the crew all round, he will probably find that within three days they will be perfectly brisk and fit again. I remember the case of an Oxford crew which showed the worst symptoms of staleness on a Friday. Saturday to Monday they spent in Brighton, and returned so reinvigorated, that on the following Wednesday they were able in the race to row Cambridge down at Chiswick and win by a length. For extreme cases of what I call genuine staleness, I do not think there is any remedy except complete rest for a period more or less prolonged. I have seen instances of this at Henley amongst University oarsmen, who had had practically no rest since the previous October.

DISCIPLINE.

Not the least important point in the management of a crew lies in the preservation of strict discipline. While they are in the boat and engaged in rowing, no man, except the captain or the cox, should speak a word, unless he is appealed to by the coach. A wise captain, too, when he has a coach in whom he trusts, will content himself with saying very little indeed. To be constantly cursing his crew, or to be shouting directions to them from the boat, not only irritates the other men, but increases all the difficulties of a coach. To "answer back" a coach is a capital offence, which ought to lead to immediate removal from the crew. I can only remember one instance of it in all my experience, and that was promptly followed by a humble apology. Silence, prompt obedience, absolute subordination of the individual self to the collective good of the crew, a quick and hearty willingness in endeavouring to carry out orders or instructions, a cheerful temper when things are going awry, and a constant keenness whether in rowing or paddling--these are model qualities which will go far to make a man a valuable oar. Nothing has so bad an effect upon a crew as the display of moroseness or sullenness on the part of one of its members. If that member should chance to be the captain, the baneful effects are increased tenfold. There are times of inattention and slackness when a coach does well to be angry, and to bring his men sharply back to a knowledge of their duty.

THE COACH.

I cannot deal with this subject at any length, for good coaching is a matter of temperament, sympathy, tact, and intelligence--qualities that cannot be taught. The man who has these necessary qualities, and adds to them a wide experience of rowing, can never go very far wrong in coaching a crew. If a man can once establish between himself and his crew that subtle bond which comes of their conviction that their welfare and success are his chiefest desire, and that everything he says is absolutely right, the rest will be comparatively easy. A few simple hints may, however, be given.

(1) Never nag at your crew, or at an individual. Point out his fault; explain to him as clearly as you can how he ought to correct it, and then leave him alone for a bit. Never weary your men with an incessant stream of talk. Periods of complete silence on your part are very valuable, to you and to the crew.

(2) If you see signs of improvement in a man whom you have been correcting, never fail to tell him so. A little encouragement of this kind has more effect than heavy loads of objurgation.

(3) Rebuke any carelessness very sharply, but always keep strong measures, such as taking a crew back to the start, for really serious emergencies.

(4) Show no partiality, and make as little difference as you can between man and man. It is useful to begin by coaching old hands with some severity. New hands are encouraged by feeling that even a Blue or a Grand Challenge winner is liable to error, and that a coach is not afraid to tackle these eminent men.

(5) Make a gallant effort never to lose your temper with an individual, though loss of temper with a crew as a whole need not always be avoided. When things go wrong in a crew, impress upon each and every man that he is individually responsible for the defects. Every man is probably doing something wrong, and in any case a determined and united attempt to row better can do no harm.

(6) Never tell your men that they are rowing "well," or " better," when these statements are contrary to the truth. The men in the boat can generally feel what is happening as well as you can see it from the bank or the launch, and they are apt to lose confidence in a man who talks smooth things when everything is rough.

(7) Never confuse a man by telling him more than one thing at a time while he is rowing. When the crew has easied you can lecture him and them more at length.

(8) Remember Dr. Warre's rule, that general exhortations, such as "Time," "Beginning," "Smite," "Keep it long," and the like, are to be given at the right moment, not used as mere parrot cries.

(9) Vary the tone of your voice as much as possible.

(10) Vary, if possible, the expressions you use in pointing out and correcting faults.

(11) Always insist on your crew putting on their wraps when they easy after rowing hard.

(12) Never allow men during summer training to stand, sit, or lie about in the full blaze of the sun.

(13) Teach by example as well as by precept. The coach should be able to take his seat in a gig pair, and to show his men practically the style he wishes them to row in, and how their faults may be corrected.

(14) Always remember, while paying attention to the form of individuals, that your main object is to secure uniformity in the crew. Never fail, therefore, to correct faults of time instantly.