The evening air was redolent with waffles baked in irons that had given them the square imprint which has come down through the ages as the only orthodox pattern.

No sooner had our friends seated themselves at the tea-table than—­

Quizzle began:  I see, Governor Wiseman, that the races have just come off in England.  What do you think of horse-racing?

Wiseman.—­That has become a very important question for every moralist to answer.  I see that last week England took carriage and horses and went out to Epsom Downs to see the Derby races.  The race was won by Sir George Frederick; that is the name of the successful horse.  All the particulars come by telegraph.  There is much now being done for the turf in this country as well as in England, and these horses are improved year by year.  I wonder if the race of men who frequent these entertainments are as much improved as the horses?  I like horses very much, but I like men better.  So far as we can judge, the horses are getting the best part of these exercises, for they never bet, and always come home sober.  If the horses continue to come up as much as they have, and our sporting friends continue to go down in the same ratio, by an inevitable law of progression we shall after a while have two men going round the course neck and neck, while Dexter and Sir George Frederick are on the judges’ stand deciding which man is the winner.

Quizzle.—­But do you not, Governor Wiseman, believe in out-door sports and recreations?

Yes, said the governor, but it ought to be something that helps a man as well as the brute.  I prefer those recreations that are good both for a man’s body and soul.  We want our entire nature developed.

Two thousand people one morning waited at the depot in Albany for the arrival of the remains of the great pugilist, Heenan.  Then they covered the coffin with immortelles.  No wonder they felt badly.  The poor fellow’s work was done.  He had broken the last nose.  He had knocked out the last tooth.  He had bunged up the last eye.  He had at last himself thrown up the sponge.  The dead hero belonged to the aristocracy of hard-hitters.  If I remember rightly, he drew the first blood in the conflict with one who afterward became one of the rulers of the nation—­the Honorable John Morrissey, member of Congress of the United States and chief gambler at Saratoga.

There is just now an attempt at the glorification of muscle.  The man who can row the swiftest, or strike a ball the farthest, or drop the strongest wrestler is coming to be of more importance.  Strong muscle is a grand thing to have, but everything depends on how you use it.  If Heenan had become a Christian, he would have made a capital professor in Polemic Theology.  If the Harvard or Yale student shall come in from the boat-race and apply his athletic strength to rowing the world out of the breakers, we say “All hail!” to him.  The more physical force a man has, the better; but if Samson finds nothing more useful to do than carrying of gate-posts, his strong muscle is only a nuisance.