T

HE rupturing of the peaceful atmosphere of the Quaker City by the howls of prize-fight fans who assembled to observe the contest between Messrs. Jack Dempsey and 'Gene Tunney has been said to mark an epoch in what was once called the "manly art of self-defense." It is, instead, a mere throwback to the Roman Coliseum, where the populace gathered to slake their thirst for gore. The cries from the usual ringside as repeated over the radio are fit to chill the blood. There is something thrilling in the roar of lions; even the long note of the wolf and the barking of the hyena are not so bad. But this concentration of human voices, expressing as it does the lowest and most brutal of human emotions, an exultant echo of primal ferocity and an utter lack of mercy, will long ring in the ears of those who have listened in. Probably those who join in the savage chorus are unconscious of the horrifying sounds produced in their ecstasy. That there was at Philadelphia a smaller manifestation of this sort than common was probably because the rain chilled the vocalism.

In the noble process of raising the standards of American immorality no uplift has been greater than that of the prize ring. Four Governors, Cabinet officers, public functionaries of all degrees of eminence, and not a few clergymen were among those present. Millionaires were there in vast plenty, in just admiration of one of their class, Mr.

By DON C. SEITZ

Dempsey's modest earnings having long passed the million mark, which represents a little less than half of the gate receipts. All this was different from the days of Tom Cribb and like celebrities who lived in Britain in the long ago. Prize-fighting is a British sport. We inherit it from our main stock. Latins have no use for fists; the Dutch and Germans are too lymphatic. It is an English trait to take "punishment" with pleasure.

My own first memory of prize-fighting rests upon a picture in "Harper's Weekly," drawn by Thomas Nast before I was born, depicting a meeting in England between John C. Heenan, of America, known as "the Benicia Boy," as he hailed from that suburb of San Francisco, and one Tom Sayers. Thomas Nast was sent to England to make the picture by John, James, and Wesley Harper, the worthy Methodist owners of the paper. When it came to hand with the story of the affair, they were a bit staggered, but salvaged both with a headline reading "Brutal and Disgusting Prize Fight." It was all of that. Fighting with bare fists, Heenan was winning when the mob broke through the ring and assailed him. He had a narrow escape and was roughly handled. The "British spirit of fair play" was not very prominent. In my early career as a reporter I came in touch with a number of "heroes" whose names still adorn the panels of fame. I recall seeing together Charles Mitchell, "Jem" Mace, and

Herbert Slade, "the Maori," as he was called from being a half-caste New Zealander. Mace was then a veteran (1883); Slade and Mitchell were in their prime. Both were to go down before the peerless John L. Sullivan, of Boston, pugilist and philosopher. Sullivan was a fast friend of Arthur Brisbane's, and when Brisbane was the New York "Sun's" correspondent in London once refused to box in private before the Prince of Wales unless his friend, "the grandest young American journalist," could be included in the party. The master of ceremonies was aghast, but Sullivan was obdurate and etiquette had to yield to his insistence.

Sullivan was unique. His profits probably passed the million mark, but vanished in champagne. I recall hiring him to "report" the Fitzsimmons-Corbett fight at Denver, whither he went under escort of the "World's" sporting editor, Joseph J. Eakins, and William O. Inglis, our best sporting writer. His journey West in a private car was one of triumphal progress. Whenever stops were made, whether by day or night, great crowds gathered at the depots and would not permit the train to depart until he appeared on the platform and made a little speech, always ending with "Yours truly, John L. Sullivan."

I asked Eakins how J. L. S. stood it. "He bore it all in the manner of a Roman emperor, wearied with adulation but willing to endure it at the public

demand," was his reply. Inglis sat beside Sullivan during the fight and jotted down his observations in shorthand. 'These came over the wire to the "World" office, where Brisbane transformed them into connected form in choice Sullivanese. Fitzsimmon's wife, who was Rose Julian, an Australian gymnast of much pulchritude, sat near by, shrilly calling on "Bob" to kill "Pompadour Jim." Sullivan eyed her mournfully. "That's the influence of women,' he observed when Corbett went down for the last time. "I remember when I was fighting Charley Mitchell in a tent over in France, some fellow stuck his head through the flap and called out, 'Remember your wife and five poor children,' which was a lie, for his father-in-law, 'Pony' Moore, was worth half a million dollars. But what happened? Inside of two minutes he had 'spiked' me through my left foot." The Mitchell fight, as a result, became a draw.

Of the men who went down, one after the other, before the mighty John L., I recall Dominick McCaffrey, a bright and most agreeable young chap. He

I

was a babe in the hands of the big fellow. Fitzsimmons, who crushed Corbett, was a strange, snake-like figure, who kept himself out of harm's way with deft foot-work. He was fearfully freckled. He made his initial repute in demolishing the first Jack Dempsey, who came from Brooklyn and was a nice fellow. Just before the fight Dempsey called at the Brooklyn "Eagle" office. I was the city editor, and talked with him about his plans. Was he going to live East or West? That, he said, would be determined "after this affair with Fitzsimmons." "Ah," I said, "a delicate and difficult affair." "Delicate," he replied, "perhaps, but not difficult." It proved quite otherwise. Fitzsimmons slaughtered him. The fine young fellow went into a decline and soon died. Another office caller was "Jack" McAuliffe, an eminent light-weight, who still survives. He had some grievance. I did not recognize him, and dealt rather curtly with his complaint. When he turned away, the reporters flocked about him. Abe Yager, the office boy, now sporting editor of the paper, pulled his head over the rail surrounding the

city desk and queried, "Would you have dast to have talked to him the way you did if you'd known who he was?" I confess I could not answer satisfactorily.

What is there in human psychology that rejoices in seeing two men pummel each other until their faces drip with blood and one or the other fails to come to the scratch? I did not know. Fighting is a primary human instinct. Lives there a boy who has escaped a conflict? I doubt it if he has reached the sage age of ten. British school stories teem with tales of fistic encounters, and even Thomas Bailey Aldrich's moral bad boy gives a chapter, "I Fight Conway," during which process he acquires a black

eye.

Is the practice manly? I doubt it. There can be no manliness in brutality, yet those of English blood preferred it to the crossing of blades, a Latin amusement, more refined, but much more deadly. So we shall probably keep on building bigger stadiums and charging higher admission to bigger crowds, despite the prayers of churches and the reprehensions of the good.

N the English-speaking worldwhich, if you please, represents no small array of nations, provinces, and proud dependencies among many ancient and revered seats of learning there is but one that holds claim to a general affection. We have worthy schools in America, some of which, like Groton, for instance, are notable for their achievement. Now it is quite conceivable that there are many educated Americans who have never heard of Groton; but every really educated American has not only heard of Rugby, but, in some small way at least, has also felt a little affection for this fine old English school-few though there be of us who have ever seen it!

How marvelous a faculty it is that enables a few gifted mortals, with a deft touch with a direct and honest appeal to our minds or our hearts, or to both-so to mark out some habitation, some bit of landscape, or some small community, that it becomes set apart, a very mecca for pilgrims! And such a place is Rugby-almost, if not quite, alone among schools in this respect. Little

1 Winchester was discussed in The Outlook for September 8; Cheltenham, in the issue of September 15.

By CHARLES K. TAYLOR

did Thomas Hughes realize when he did Thomas Hughes realize when he wrote "Tom Brown" that, not only would he give his beloved Rugby a warm place in the affections of the world, but that he would give to Rugby itself an ideal and an ambition that in no small way have tended to keep Rugby what it is a great and noble school, at once holding fast to fine tradition and reaching forth with open mind for the best aid that modern times can give towards the training and developing of Young England.

And because Rugby is wise, an understanding Head Master greets us at the door when we make our pilgrimage -men from the ends of the earth and of various races. And the two young Americans who went there with me fondly imagined they were the very first to think of bringing with them copies of "Tom Brown" for the "Head" to write his name in; and they learned that only a day or two before an American physician, with but a few hours to spend in England, managed to get to Rugby, enjoy an uproarious meal with the boys, and go rushing on his errand, with a similarly autographed "Tom Brown" fitting snugly in his pocket!

It is highly essential that you should

understand this side of Rugby, for the universal interest and affection have played no small part in developing the fine spirit of the school, strengthening the boys themselves to maintain a standard of character and purpose that is as admirable as it is rare. You must understand all this to understand Rugby.

Enormously desirable as it is, we cannot produce a Thomas Hughes for each one of our schools. We cannot hope to gain for any of our institutions, to order, such a stimulus and support. Nevertheless there may be something of proved value, obvious at Rugby, which may well be worth our while to examine into.

Classroom method, of which I had opportunity to learn but a little, did not seem markedly different from that of Cheltenham, described in a previous article. What I did learn simply confirmed my opinion that we in the United States give far too much time to "recitations" prepared out of class, and far too little time to learning how to study, how to use one's information intelligently, and how to gain a proper attitude toward one's work. Let us, however, look a little into the "prefect" system, and see if there is not something here that we might use to advantage.

In each of the half-dozen English schools we visited much responsibility for the behavior and welfare of the younger boys is placed in the hands of chosen seniors-"sixth-formers"--who in general have no little authority and are supposed to punish energetically, and reasonably, for minor infractions coming under their rather close notice. Some of our schools are endeavoring to develop this kind of senior responsibility; but we are rather too apt to mix in sentimentalistic theories and procedures and bring much of the plan to naught. At Rugby and in other English schools. I was able to talk with the younger boys about it. The Head Master of Rugby presented some illuminating opinions, and his head prefect, the "head of the school," presented the matter from his angle that of an exceedingly able and responsible young man of eighteen or nineteen.

At Rugby the system works well. The authority of the prefects is complete, and not abused. They seem to use to the full, and with effect, the influence both of precept and example.

"We accomplish most, of course, by example," said the head prefect. "What we sixth-formers do the younger lads are most likely to imitate. We make it 'good form' to be decent in language and habit, for instance. We have very little real trouble. We can use force, if necessary, in punishing a boy for persistent offenses. Anything really serious we take to the Head." And these prefects, take note, have under their eyes almost the whole life of the younger boys outside of their classrooms.

Perhaps you are thinking that such a system might be all very well for the younger boy provided the prefects them

The turret door of "the Doctor's " study, which all readers of "Tom Brown" will remember. It looks as though the two young Americans who traveled with Mr. Taylor had a due appreciation of the humor of their English guide

selves are young men of high character and purpose, but that there would most certainly be abuses should they be of inadequate caliber.

"First of all," explained the Head, "no boy may enter the sixth form who does not possess the qualities making for the leadership and character necessary for a prefect. We are rigid in this requirement. All of our sixth-formers are prefects, and responsible for the general behavior of the school, as well as for the behavior of the individual younger boy. And we trust our prefects completely. I never have the slightest hesitation in leaving my house, with its boys, in charge of my prefects should I desire to be elsewhere in the evening. But should a prefect a sixth-former-betray his trust, I do not explain to him how he has done something wrong; he knew all

that in the beginning. I simply tell him that he can no longer remain in the sixth form."

And that erring prefect finds himself either in the fifth form again or out of the school. And, after all, this seems to be a very proper procedure. The world is not gentle with those who evade their responsibilities, and Rugby's great aim is, not to educate a boy merely by stuffing his head with "facts," but to use the whole process of education, including athletics, for the development of high character, leadership, and purpose. And the system works, not only at Rugby, but under similar conditions in the other schools I saw. Boys who are worth anything at all react well to responsibility. Our boys have far too little of it, either in the school or on the athletic field.

The fine tradition of Rugby must help amazingly in the maintaining of the high standards so obvious there. But there are other things besides traditions. Head Master Vaughn, for instance, is not only cognizant of what modern educators are doing along various lines, but is himself thoroughly acquainted with all that has been done in the development of intelligence tests and tests for special capacity.

One might describe the traditional small study where each boy has his own. little castle. I saw "Tom Brown's" and peeped into many others. Or one might enlarge upon the great attention Rugby gives to the teaching of music, for instance. But, next to the pleasant memories of the charming hospitality of that fine old school to the visiting American with his American schoolboy companions, there stands out the impression made by the prefect system, so great a factor in the lives of English schoolboys and so excellently carried on at Rugby.