Part 3

The light-harness horse has come to be a type of its own. It is distinctly an American type, as distinguished from the English running, or thoroughbred horse, the German and French coach, the Russian Orloff and horses of other nationalities. There is a wide gap, however, between a race horse, whether runner or harness horse, and other breeds, however pure, their blood lines. It is the difference of intelligence, speed, endurance, of lung development, of steel bone. It is the difference between genius and mediocracy--for speed is to the horse what genius is to man.

Whence began this speed--in the English runner, in the American trotter and pacer? Traced back, the sheiks of the desert might tell; they who worshipped the midnight stars, or chased on steeds of fire the wild antelope of the plains, before Abraham came from “Ur of the Chaldees.” Knowing the past now from the present, seeing it so clearly through the glasses of twentieth century science, knowing the laws of the “survival of the fittest,” that land and air and sand and sun make both the physical man as well as the physical horse, we can easily guess what centuries of wild gallops across the desert will do for the horse, supplemented by that natural love of him in his master--that love which brings care and kindness and the exercise of common sense in mating and maternity.

As to the American horse, there are two distinct classes, based on their respective gaits--the trotter and the pacer. In another chapter these respective gaits are fully discussed, their difference shown, their origin and the speed attained by each. This brief history will deal only with the pacing gait, but so closely are these two great gaits related, and so often do the blood lines of trotter and pacer run in parallel columns that it is necessary for a clear explanation of the subject to say a foreword about the trotter, that grand type of beauty, speed and utility, so purely American and so superbly great that the very mention of his name should excite a patriotic glow in the bosom of every American who loves his country and her just fame.

The history of the trotting horse began with Messenger, a gray thoroughbred foaled in 1780, and imported from England to America in May, 1788. He was royally bred for his time, being by Mambrino, son of Engineer, and through both sire and dam he traced to the famous Godolphin Arabian. An old description of him says he was 15-3/4 hands high, with “a large, long head, rather short, straight neck, with wind-pipe and nostrils nearly twice as large as ordinary; low withers, shoulders somewhat upright, but deep and strong; powerful loins and quarters; hocks and knees unusually large, and below them limbs of medium size, but flat and clean and, whether at rest or in motion, always in perfect position.” With this beginning, in 1822, a Norfolk trotter called Bellfounder, who had trotted two miles in six minutes, and had challenged all England to a trot, was imported. It was his daughter in which the strains of Messenger met that produced Hambletonian 10, the head of the trotting type in America, the first great trotting sire of the world, and through him perpetuated by his great sons, such as Geo. Wilkes, Electioneer, Dictator, and their descendants. Through all these years the trotting record has gradually been reduced, first by one great trotter and then another, beginning with the first queen of the trotting turf, Lady Suffolk, and ending with that superb little thing of fire and speed and sweetness, Lou Dillon. Literally, in that century of progress millions of dollars have been spent, not only by thousands of small breeders, but by such financial magnates and great breeders as Vanderbilt, Sanford, Bonner, Backman, Alexander, Forbes, Lawson and others, chiefly in New York, New England, Kentucky and California.

The effect of all this was to create that splendid race of trotters now known all over the world, and to produce a horse capable of trotting a mile in two minutes or better.

But even before the advent of Messenger there had developed in the eastern coast of the Colonies, chiefly in Delaware and Rhode Island, a family of extremely fast pacers known as the Narragansetts, an account of which will be seen a few chapters further on. These horses were small, but game, docile, excellent under the saddle, and used almost exclusively for travel in those early days of pioneer roads. Their speed was marvelous, if the testimony of Rev. Dr. McSparrow, 1721, an English minister who was stationed in the Colonies, may be accepted as proof. This reverend gentleman, writing to a friend in England says that he has seen them pace in races under saddle, going a mile in “a little less than two and a good deal better than three minutes.”

However, for nearly two centuries the pacer never was thought of as a factor in horse development, especially as a race horse until the advent of the Hal family of Tennessee, in the early 70’s, with Little Brown Jug and Mattie Hunter, although the great bloodlines and speed of Pocahontas, James K. Polk and other noted pacers in the early ’40’s ought to have foretold what great possibilities lay in the despised pacing gait. As usual, the rejected stone found itself in the key of the arch, and out of Tennessee, by what some might term chance, but in fact the legitimate product of scientific breeding, of soil, of climate and grass, out of an obscure family of saddle horses, bred with no idea of racing and with never a thought of fame, but taken, like Coriolanus, literally from the plow, this horse is found--the first to go a mile in two minutes or better, and to do almost without price and without effort what the millionaires of horsedom had spent fortunes to do in vain.

This was first accomplished by Star Pointer, at Readville, Mass., September 2, 1897.

Such a family deserves to be perpetuated in history, however brief it may be and unpretentiously written. And I beg the future as well as the present historian not to criticise too closely its style, for in it, as I go along, a hundred fancies will twine themselves with my facts. There is so much about man and horse that is akin. There is so much of human nature in both--there is such a chance for moralizing on their life, their death, their fame, their fortune, their brief days’ strut on the stage of time, their passing out--“and the rest is silence.” And, speaking of fame in both man and horse, is it not all a lottery?

With men she is a sly and uncertain goddess, coming seldom to those who court her, and often to others who care nothing for her, so, in the rearing of race-horses the same uncertainty exists, and matron after matron bred in purple lines may go on throwing quitters and lunkheads year after year, while some obscure dam, whose breeding is barely tolerable, but stamped by nature with a spirit of fire and a soul of steel, sends out from some hithertofore obscure breeders’ farm a race horse that sets a new mark for speed and a new fashion for blood lines.

In a decision, Judge Gaynor, of the Supreme Court of King’s County, New York, in a case against the president of the Gravesend track, where runners are raced, held that horse racing was not a lottery. This may be true within the technical meaning of the term, lottery, but if the honorable court had held that breeding race horses was not a lottery, we have our doubt whether the decision would have met with the unanimous consent of the breeders themselves. And, as we remarked above, fame itself is not more uncertain.

There is so much similarity between man and horse that a student of either will constantly find himself comparing the two. Almost every quality possessed by man has its counterpart, though often in a less degree, in man’s favorite animal, while now and then the master fails to come up to the many excellencies of his beast. A good judge of human nature is invariably a good judge of horses and horse nature. In fact, so well understood is this rule that “horse sense” in man has come to have a definite meaning of its own, and classes the human thus favored with a common sense stronger than usual.

It is almost certain failure for erring man to struggle only to be famous. She never yet came in all her splendor to the impetuous wooer. Like Cleopatra, who secretly tired of the infatuated Anthony, who could not fight at Actium for thoughts of her, and secretly died for love of the young Caesar who heartily despised the character of the ancient Langtry, so also with fame. “God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,” and perhaps knows if he allowed the fools who burn up their lives and their midnight oil seeking to become famous, to become so, their heads would burst with conceit or their own vanity would wreck them. But on the other hand, He often showers on those who honestly fight for right, regardless of consequences, who care more for principle than for worldly honor, and more for truth than for glory, and who do their whole duty regardless of consequences, the greatest fame and honor. The strutting peacock has all he can carry in his gaudy plumage and resplendent feathers. It would have been as much a sacrilege to have added these decorations to either Ulysses S. Grant or Robert E. Lee, as it would have been cruel to deprive John Pope and Robert Tombs of them. And the gap between the pairs is the true distance between fame and feathers.

The wild, reckless and dissipated young rake, who left Rome more to be rid of his creditors than to fight the Gauls, never dreamed of the glory in store for him as he threw the fire of his soul in his work and blazed his way to fame both with a pen and sword--each so resplendently bright that the student of to-day is lost in wonder and admiration as he endeavors to decide on which Caesar’s greatest claim to renown rests. “Here lies one whose name is written on water,” is the epitaph which the poor, gentle, timid Keats begged to have carved on his tomb, begged it as he lay dying from shafts of cruelty and malice. And yet, his fame is as enduring as his art, and that is “a thing of beauty” and “a joy forever.” “What have I done to be worthy of this great honor?” asked Washington, when he heard he was elected the first president of the Republic. Shakespeare was silent, morose, dissatisfied, as all true artists are, with his own work, and judging from the epitaph, which it is said he himself wrote, it appears he was fearful he might not have even a place to rest his bones. And so, the world over. Simplicity is greatness. Truth is fame. Honesty is glory. If you doubt it compare Agricola and Cataline; Washington and Arnold; Paul and Iscariot; Shakespeare and Sheridan.

In the same line of reasoning it is an hundred to one when a breeder, pinning everything on a pedigree, an individuality, or some supposed excellency, ever hits the mark. It is said that the same man once owned Kittrell’s Tom Hal and Copperbottom. The latter he thought was the better horse; the former was ignored. Time has shown, perhaps to his loss, the owner’s error. An exchange recently published a story of how a prospective buyer went to purchase one or two colts. The first was Hambletonian 10, then, I think, a yearling; the second was a horse called Abdallah. He regarded Abdallah the handsomest, the speediest, the best. He spent a good deal of time in his examination, and as they were priced the same, showing that even the owners had not discovered any difference, he finally purchased the Abdallah colt, and, the writer adds, “The first went to fame, the second to a double-tree.”

But some people think horse-breeding is not a lottery. Why, even man-breeding is.

And so the Hal family, thinking not of fame, find it thrust upon them.

(To be Continued.)

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THE LAST HYMN OF THE BILOXI

(The Biloxi, a noble tribe of Indians who lived on the Gulf Coast many centuries ago, were defeated in battle and besieged in their last remaining fortress by an unrelenting enemy. Choosing rather to die in the sea than to be captured and enslaved, they marched out of their gate on a moonlit night, singing a death chant, a stately procession of men, women and children, and continued seaward until the waves swallowed them up. Their enemies stood on the shore and watched them, struck with surprise and admiration. The remains of their last fortress is said to be still standing at Biloxi, Miss., and to this day there is heard a weird music which comes in from the Gulf, oftenest on still, moonlit nights, which the natives call “The Last Hymn of the Biloxi.”)

Over the sea, the silent sea, Faint is the music that comes to me. Pitifully pealing. Silently stealing. Kissing the waves so tenderly.

Starlight above--June--chirrup of crickets-- Fireflies and phantoms of stars in the glow. Corn in the tassel--faint odor of pollen-- Blow! ye soft night winds, our requiem, blow-- Dear land that has known us, no more will ye know.

Over the sea, the moonlit sea, Sad is the music that comes to me. Echoing--dying-- Sobbing--sighing-- Song of a race that would ever be free.

Death in the land--grim death in the battle-- Death--and worse death--for mother and maid. Bravely we fought, but Fate did not favor-- Sons of Biloxi, ye were never afraid-- In caverns of corals our bones shall be laid.

Over the sea, the crooning sea (Weird as the wail of a wraith, to me). Soft as the light dew Falling the night through. Faint as a sea-shell’s lullaby.

Moonlight around--mist, mist on the water-- Mist--’tis the drapery of Death on the deep. White-robed we come--babe, mother and maiden-- Priest--warrior--pity us, sweet sea, and keep-- Dear Sea that has nursed us, in thee let us sleep.

Into the sea, the soothing sea. Singing, they entered, and died to be free. Now, when the echoing wave Sobs o’er their coral grave. It sings the last hymn of the brave Biloxi.

JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE.

Testing and Redeeming Soils

BY H. ALISON WEBSTER.

With the population of the world ever increasing, and the acreage of fertile lands ever decreasing, with the consequent increasing demand for, and decreasing supply of all products of the soil, is not the duty of redeeming worn-out lands, enriching naturally poor lands and preserving the fertility of fertile lands a duty that every land owner owes to posterity? If the results of robbing the soil of its plant foods has already been felt by the farmer, and if such a practice be continued, what will be the condition of the same soil by the time it descends to his great-grandchildren? If the vast majority of the inhabitants of the globe are poor, and scarcely able to provide food and raiment at the present prices, what will be the fate of such a people when prices rise higher and higher, as will be the inevitable result of an inadequate supply? Is confidence the cause of such shameful neglect, or does the farmer lack confidence in the practicability of the results of scientific research? It is true that the great variety of objects in nature are extremely bewildering, and if every farmer were forced to comprehend God’s creations in order to equip himself to cultivate his land intelligently, the soil would continue to get poorer and poorer, as the useful years of a long life would pass in study; but men of science, in the past and present generations, by faithful and noble work, have reduced all to simple facts to be made practicable by the farmer, and there is no longer any excuse for ignorance and neglect. Study the results of the work of these men of science. Put them into practice. Experiment and work with the soil. Study it and find out what it needs, and having found out, supply the right thing in the right way at the right time. It is work, hard work; but the reward is generous. In the words of Mr. Charles Barnard, “Try things and learn, and having learned, do what is right by your soil, and it will return all your labor in full measure, running over, and your children will inherit the land as a well-kept trust and blessing.”

As stated, things have been greatly simplified. Chemists, by thousands of experiments, have found in all sixty-five single separate things they call elements. Seventeen of these elements are in the soil. Out of these seventeen the farmer is obliged to provide only four, as the remaining thirteen, with favorable weather and proper tillage of the soil, will take care of themselves. The four to be provided are nitrogen, potassium, phosphorus and calcium. The first three elements are the most important, as they are plant foods or fertilizers. The last, calcium, or lime, is a stimulant, and serves in the capacity of neutralizing the acids of the soil. Lime is abundant in many soils and in such soils is not needed; but where it is needed it is needed badly and should be supplied. Nitrogen, potassium and phosphorus are the plant foods that are yearly consumed in various quantities by various crops, which are taken away and sold or otherwise disposed of. They are foods absolutely necessary to plant life, and if taken away and never returned, the soil is as certain to become poor and exhausted as the sun is to set in the west. This is the sum and substance of the whole matter. What you take from the soil, you have to replace or suffer loss. Your soil may need one, two, three or all four of the elements. What it requires can be found out by experiment, as will be shown further on. These elements as everyone must know, can be easily obtained at costs varying with, and depending upon, the form in which they are bought, or methods by which they are secured. The all-important thing is to study the soil and prepare it to accept and properly appropriate whatever foods are applied. No fertilizer is insurance against laziness and ignorance. It takes work and intelligence to accomplish any task. Study your soil, and you will appreciate the fact that it has a constitution like yourself, and will get worn out, and sick, and need physic just as you do. After knowing its constitution, you can prescribe and administer the physic it requires. No doctor can prescribe medicine intelligently without knowing the constitution of his patient.

Naturally, though unfortunately, men of science, so far as the farmer is concerned, are quite as intricate in their explanations of the objects of nature, as are the objects themselves. Mr. Charles Bernard in his “Talks About Soils,” published by Funk & Wagnalls, New York, is the first to reduce matters to a practical plane. His explanations and experiments I therefore adopt to simplify and make clear many things which are of unquestionable importance.

The soil having been formed, in the main, by the weathering away of the rocks, its foundation is either sand or clay or both combined. On account of different quantities of sand and clay being found in different soils, and to distinguish one from another, soils have been divided into six classes. These are as follows:

A Light Sand.--This is a soil containing ninety per cent of sand. If it had more sand and less of clay and other matter it would hardly produce any useful plants, and could not fairly be called a soil.

2. A Pure Clay.--This would be a soil in which no sand could be found. A pure clay soil would be wet and cold, and would not be good for our common plants. Such soils are rare: and what is commonly called a pure clay soil is one containing a great excess of clay, and only a little sand or other matter.

3. A Loam.--This is one of the best of all soils. Such a soil contains both sand and clay as well as other matter.

4. A Sandy Loam.--This is a mixture of sand and clay, with more sand than clay.

5. A Clay Loam.--This is a mixture in which there is more clay than sand.

6. A Strong Clay.--This is a clay containing from five to twenty per cent of sand and other matter.

Experiments with Sand and Clay.--Procure a quart of pure sand and spread it out in the sun to dry, and when dry place a small quantity on a spoon, and hold over a hot fire. The heat has no effect upon it. Remove the spoonful of sand from the fire, and it will be found that the sand keeps its heat for a long time. Place a small quantity of sand in a small sieve and pour water over it. The water at first flows away more or less discolored, and presently runs quickly through the sand pure and clean. While wet the sand sticks together slightly. Place it in the air, and it soon dries, and the grains are as loose as before. Place a little of the washed sand in a bottle filled with water. Cork the bottle and shake it up. The sand will move about as long as the water is in motion, but the instant the bottle is at rest, it falls to the bottom, and forms a layer under the clear water. Place some of the sand in an oven or in the sun till perfectly dry. Place three tablespoonfuls of water in a saucer, and then pour carefully into the saucer a cupful of dry sand. It becomes wet around the little heap while still dry at the top; soon the water will begin to creep up the sand and in a short time it is all wet, and remains wet as long as there is water in the saucer.

These experiments show us that sand is not affected by heat, and that it keeps its heat for some time; that water passes through it readily and, if clean, the water passes through pure and clean. When wet it is very slightly sticky, when dry this stickiness disappears completely. In water it sinks the moment the water is at rest. Water rises through it easily by capillary attraction.

Another experiment, taking more time, is to place some clean sand in a flower pot, wet it, and sprinkle fine grass-seeds over it. Place in a warm room and the seeds will soon sprout and send small roots down into the sand.

These experiments show some of the characteristics of all soils composed largely of sand. We observed that sand when heated retains its heat for some time. Any soil having a large proportion of sand, when warmed by the sun will keep the heat after the sun has set or is hid by the clouds. We proved that water would flow quickly through it. A sandy soil is therefore a dry soil, and for this reason favorable to nearly all our useful plants. We saw that water would rise through sand by capillary attraction, which makes sand useful in soil in dry weather to bring water up from a damp subsoil to feed the roots of plants growing in the soil.

However, there are objections to sand. As we saw, it is loose and easily moved about by water. A sandy soil is therefore easily washed away by rains, and, if too sandy, may suffer great injury by washing in heavy storms. Water flows through sand quickly, and if there is no damp subsoil immediately beneath, the soil may get so dry that plants will burn up. The water may also wash down all the light organic matter out of reach of the plants.

We observed that sand is easily moved about. This is important in that all soils where plants are growing must be frequently stirred, to let air come into the soil, and to kill the weeds. A sandy soil is easy to hoe or plow, because the sand is loose. This saves time and money, or work in caring for plants, and is a business advantage.

If you carry out the experiment with seeds planted on sand you will observe that the roots of the young plants easily find their way through the sand in search of food and water. This shows that a soil containing sand is favorable to the growth of plants, because in it their roots spread in every direction.