April, 1921 
FOREST AND STREAM 
159 
lunch on the grounds, which were at 
Epsom Downs, fifteen miles from the 
city. In order to comply with the usage 
and custom of the occasion we wore 
“ ’igh ’iats” and Prince Albert coats. We 
started from the White Horse Inn, in 
Piccadilly, and for fifteen miles we 
formed part of a procession of vehicles 
of every kind and condition from the 
coster-monger’s cart to the royal coach, 
in addition to thousands of pedestrians 
of|both sexes, for it was London’s great 
day, and every one took part a-foot, a- 
horseback or on wheels. 
While there was much chaffing along 
the road, hilarity and good humor were 
mostly in evidence. When about half 
the distance had been “negotiated”, as 
an English friend remarked, we saw 
many of the “hikers” resting under the 
hedges, and farther along the occupants 
of some of the vehicles were regaling 
themselves with refreshments of various 
kinds, and empty bottles and beer kegs 
were lying around. Some of the throng 
were sleeping off the effects of fatigue, 
or maybe too much booze, and it is more 
than likely that a good many failed to 
reach the objective point in time for the 
great event; but they had a good time. 
W HEN we finally arrived at our 
destination we beheld an im- 
mense concourse of men, women 
and children; a perfect pandemonium, 
turmoil and tumult of people of all kinds 
and condition. There were venders of 
race badges and race handkerchiefs; of, 
liquid and solid refreshments; of pipes, 
tobacco and cigarettes; of Jubilee canes, 
Jubilee badges and handkerchiefs, and 
even Jubilee shrimps. Prominent in the 
motley crowd were performing acro- 
bats, jugglers, negro minstrels, trained 
dogs and birds, gypsy fortune tellers 
and boxers who offered to fight any one 
of their weight for a pound. There 
were also Punch and Judy; Aunt Sally 
and her clay pipes, bookmakers and 
fakirs of every description. It was a 
wonderful crowd and a wonderful sight 
as we viewed it from the top of our 
coach, for they jostled, pushed and el- 
bowed their various ways through the 
squirming throng like ants about their 
hill before a summer shower. They pro- 
claimed their purposes or cried their 
wares as they wove in and out 
through the struggling mass of human- 
ity, every one in good humor with him- 
self and his neighbor and evidently more 
interested in the human race than in 
the great horse race about to take place. 
The grand stand was crowded to its 
utmost capacity, as was also the space 
along the homestretch. Finally the 
horses got away amid the wild cheering 
of the vast multitude, but were soon lost 
to view, inasmuch as the race was run 
on turf, and not on a regularly con- 
structed circular track, so that, owing 
to the undulating character of the course, 
the horses were sometimes completely 
out of sight. But at last the eager 
horses came thundering down the home- 
stretch as the air quivered with the wild 
cheers of the excited multitude, when a 
horse named “Merry Monarch” was the 
first to pass under the wire, the winner 
of the greatest event of the year, the 
Derby Stakes, or as they calf it over 
there, the “Darby.” 
O N Whitmonday we had the pleasure 
of witnessing a good exhibition of 
England's national game of 
Cricket. It was well played by both 
sides, and much enthusiasm was shown 
by both players and spectators. There 
was no ill feeling between the rival clubs 
or against the umpire, and everything 
was conducted on the plane of good 
sportsmanship. The vanquished men 
proved themselves good losers by ap- 
plauding their victors. This was as it 
should be. 
For two centuries the English game of 
cricket has been played fairly and 
squarely, school against school, village 
against village, county against county, 
and England against Australia, Canada 
and South Africa, and always on the 
principle of a fair field, no favor, and 
may the best club win. 
What <a sad commentary is that of 
our own National game of baseball, in 
its degeneracy, as evinced in the scandal 
and rascality that has been exposed, as 
I write, in connection with the World’s 
Series of 1919. It has been shown that 
players were bought and sold like sheep 
in the shambles, and their clubs dishon- 
ored and disgraced for filthy, lucre, with- 
out any regard for manhood or hon- 
esty, to say nothing of the great wrong 
done to sportsmanship. 
Among the theaters, Old Drury Lane 
11 and Covent Garden were the first to be 
visited on account of their history and 
old-time associations. At the Savoy we 
attended one of the first presentations 
of Gilbert and Sullivan’s latest opera, 
Ruddigore, which we enjoyed exceeding- 
ly, though for some reason it did not 
take very well in the United States, 
afterward; perhaps it was too English, 
inasmuch as two of the finest and most 
characteristic scenes were to the manner 
born. One was in the baronial hall of 
a castle, the walls of which were hung 
with full-length portraits of the ances- 
try of the family, some clad in armor 
and others in the fashion of later gen- 
erations. The hero of the opera, the 
scion of the house, had not conducted 
himself in accordance with his position. 
Soon after he had entered the apart- 
ment the stage was darkened for a mo- 
ment, and when the lights were again 
turned on his forbears descended from 
their frames, and surrounding him, up- 
braided him for his folly. 
T HE other scene, as I recall it, dis- 
closed the grand double stairway in 
the main hall of the castle, at day- 
break, after the hunt ball, with the 
tenor serenading his sweetheart with 
the song “Queen of My Heart.” After 
this the large doors under the grand 
stairway were thrown open and a full 
pack of fox hounds, with the master of 
the hunt and whippers-in, rushed in, 
and as the guests descended the double 
stairway, clothed in hunting costume, 
the great hall rang with the hunting 
chorus. 
The Alhambra Music Hall was a fa- 
vorite resort, especially for men about 
town, and the performances were al- 
ways first-class and very enjoyable. 
Longworthj and I were present one 
evening and were much pleased when 
an American vocalist, one of the Yeat- 
man sisters, was on the program. She 
sang Henry Carey’s “Sally in Our 
Alley,” a song of the seventeenth cent- 
ury that will never grow old. Miss 
Yeatman was attired in the handsome 
and striking garb of a gallant young 
man of that period, which was very 
becoming to her, and she proved so cap- 
tivating and sang so well that she re- 
ceived several encores and bouquets ga- 
lore. We were delighted with our fair 
countrywoman, and our thoughts were 
with her as she sang: 
“Of all the girls that are so smart. 
There’s none like pretty Sally 1” 
A FTER seeing the principal sights 
of London and vicinity Longworth 
and I went to Liverpool, where 
we were to meet the ship on which 
were Mrs. Longworth and their two 
daughters, who were to tour England 
and Scotland after my return to the 
United States. From Liverpool we 
went to Chester for a few days, and 
after promenading around the old 
Roman wall which encircles the city, 
and rowing on the river Dee, I bade my 
friends good-bye and departed for vari- 
ous parts of Cheshire and Lancashire 
to look up my English cousins. 
Through the courtesy of Mr. R. B. 
Marston, Editor of the Fishing Gazette, 
of London, who was most cordial and 
kind, and of some angler friends I had 
met on the continent, and of my rela- 
tives, I was fortunate to obtain some 
fair trout fishing on certain rivers in 
Lancashire, Yorkshire and Derby- 
shire, also some pike and perch fishing. 
The rivers were quiet and smooth as 
compared with our rugged American 
streams, and were better adapted for 
dry-fly fishing, which was then begin- 
ning to be popular in England. It was 
considered good sport to take a “couple 
of brace” of trout in half a day’s fish- 
ing with the fly, either wet or dry. I 
found' the pike to be the same as our 
own, while the perch differed but little 
either in gameness or appearance. 
While in London and Manchester I 
visited the principal fishing tackle 
shops. I found but few split-bamboo 
rods on sale, as those most in vogue 
were greenheart and natural cane. 
There were no trout rods of less than 
twelve feet in length, and they were 
quite heavy as compared with our own, 
and, in fact, most of them required two 
hands in casting the fly. Since that 
time, however, the English rod makers 
have vied with each other in producing 
shorter and lighter rods, more in ac- 
cordance with the American plan. I 
found nothing especially desirable for 
my own fising except a collapsible land- 
ing-net rim of whalebone, which I pur- 
chased. At the Manchester Jubilee Ex- 
position I found nothing new in the ex- 
hibits of fishing tackle, except in the 
way of single-action reels, which were 
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