upon the water, were no small portion of its charm.  To the west for a score of miles the green-covered earth rose and fell in undulating beauty, and here again the roofs and spires of nearby villages might in fair weather be seen nestling peacefully among the trees.  Due south there was a suggestion of water and some peculiar configuration, which by day seemed to have no significance other than that which attached to the vague outlines of a distant landscape.  By night, however, the soft glow emanating from myriads of lights identified it as the body and length of the merry, night-reveling New York.  Northward the green waves repeated themselves unendingly until they passed into a dim green-blue haze.

Interiorly, as I learned later, this place was most cleverly and sensibly arranged for the purpose for which it was intended.  It was airy and well-appointed, with, on the ground floor, a great gymnasium containing, outside of an alcove at one end where hung four or five punching bags, only medicine balls.  At the other end was an office or receiving-room, baggage or store-room, and locker and dining-room.  To the east at the center extended a wing containing a number of shower-baths, a lounging room and sun parlor.  On the second floor, on either side of a wide airy hall which ran from an immense library, billiard and smoking-room at one end to Culhane’s private suite at the other, were two rows of bedrooms, perhaps a hundred all told, which gave in turn, each one, upon either side, on to the balconies previously mentioned.  These rooms were arranged somewhat like the rooms of a passenger steamer, with its center aisle and its outer decks and doors opening upon it.  In another wing on the ground floor were kitchens, servants’ quarters, and what not else!  Across the immense lawn or campus to the east, four-square to the sanitarium, stood a rather grandiose stable, almost as impressive as the main building.  About the place, and always more or less in evidence, were servants, ostlers, waiting-maids and always a decidedly large company of men of practically all professions, ages, and one might almost say nationalities.  That is as nationalities are represented in America, by first and second generations.

The day I arrived I did not see my prospective host or manager or trainer for an hour or two after I came, being allowed to wait about until the very peculiar temperament which he possessed would permit him to come and see me.  When he did show up, a more savage and yet gentlemanly-looking animal in clothes de rigueur I have never seen.  He was really very princely in build and manner, shapely and grand, like those portraits that have come down to us of Richelieu and the Duc de Guise—­fawn-colored riding trousers, bright red waistcoat, black-and-white check riding coat, brown leather riding boots and leggings with the essential spurs, and a riding quirt.  And yet really, at that moment he reminded me not so much of a man, in his supremely well-tailored riding