termed the complementary, and may be about 100 cubic inches. The four volumes, the residual, the supplementary, the breath, and the complementary, will, according to this estimate, amount to 376 cubic inches. Now it is the resident air-the ever-present residual, and the almost ever-present supplementary-which is alone concerned in the purification of the blood, in the supply of oxygen, and the reception of carbonic acid and vapour. The air of ordinary respiration, the breath, does not at once reach the air-cells, or even the smaller air-tubes. Its presence would be injurious to health and even to life. If it ever chances to get down too far, it makes us cough. There is a progressive intermixture of the fresh air and the resident air, from without, inwards, so that the whole process is gradual. The resident air then is the source from which the blood derives its oxygen, and into which it exhales its carbonic acid and vapour. The advantages of this it would be superfluous to dwell upon here; the action on the blood, instead of being perpetually fluctuating, is continuous and uninterrupted; we are protected against any sudden invasion of cold, hot, or impure air; the air-cells also, instead of being alternately empty and full, are kept always filled, and in this way keep up an equable pressure on the vessels. For these and other reasons we do not breathe to the bottom of our lungs at every breath, but retaining always some 250 cubic inches of resident air, we gradually renew and change it by breathing, by inspiring some twenty-five or twenty-six cubic inches of fresh cold air. This is the normal state of a man not taking any violent exercise. So soon as action begins, so soon as he begins to run or row, his circulation is quickened by the rapid muscular movements, the blood is sent into his lungs at a vastly increased rate, and consequently there is an increased demand for air. Now the novice, when he begins to run, commits the grave mistake of breathing out his resident air: in order to command a range for a deeper inspiration, he reduces his resident air greatly, and he is not able to replace it by the atmospheric air, which is too oxygenous and too cold, so he gets out of breath, and if he cannot by degrees recover a certain proportion of that which he has lost there is nothing for it but to stop. The more experienced man, on the contrary, endeavours to keep all he has got and to add to it by intruding on the complementary space. When he has replaced the small quantity which at the commencement of the muscular action he may have lost, and when he has raised this beyond what it was at starting, by taking in the complementary air also, he is said to have got his "second wind," and he can then go on comfortably for a long period. He tries by practice to attain the art of holding his breath and adding thereto, not the faculty of strong and deep expiration and inspiration. His object is to increase the capacity of his chest, to fill it fuller and keep it full; so that the phrase so often heard in racing stables, when a horse is said to have "taken a gentle pipe-opener," is singularly incorrect, and we should rather try to shut our pipes and keep them shut, or we shall soon arrive at the stage when a man is seen gasping for air, literally like a fish out of water. So far we

have spoken more especially with reference to running. The muscles concerned in propelling the body in this way do not interfere with those of respiration; so that the runner can by practice and care command the latter thoroughly, and run without distress for long periods and distances. But the muscular actions in rowing are altogether different. A great number of the important muscles of the arm are inserted into, or take their origin from, the walls of the chest, and that these may act with full power it is necessary that the chest should be firmly distended with air, that it may support a great pressure, just as we fill our chests with air when we are going to lift a great weight, and retain it during the effort. We cannot then control our respiratory muscles while rowing as we can when running we must at each stroke fill our lungs full, for the benefit of the rowing muscles, and this may have to be done perhaps forty times in a minute. Yet here, practice will enable a man to keep his chest full without letting out his resident air. Though he must breathe at every stroke, yet he may let out a small quantity only, and may fill this up again, so as to keep the full complement of air necessary for aerating his blood without changing a great quantity at each breath. By keeping the chest full for a long period every day, either in running or rowing, it is certain that it will in time gradually expand, and its capacity will be increased. It will accustom itself to the larger demand made upon it, if this demand be made carefully and progressively. As the arm of the blacksmith developes, so will the chest of the runner and oarsman, and his lungs will acquire a facility of keeping a larger quantity of air, both resident and complementary. He will in fact acquire by practice the knack of holding his wind, as it is acquired by many who theoretically know nothing about respiration.

Although it is impossible for men with imperfectly formed or deficient chests to run or row effectively and with safety to themselves, it is not to be forgotten that mere capacity of chest does not necessarily enable a man to do either the one or the other. Many can never acquire the knack; though muscular and athletic, and able to put forth great strength slowly, they cannot do anything which demands rapid respiration; while on the other hand, many excellent runners are long, lean, and narrow, the reverse of athletic. It will be the trainer's duty to instruct the former class in the art of developing the respiratory muscles by exercise of various kinds. Beginning slowly and gradually, he will assign to each a considerable amount of work every day. The quantity of exercise taken at Oxford at the present time by men in preparation for rowing, is, according to Mr. Maclaren, absurdly small, consisting of a walk or run of some fifteen minutes' duration, and less than an hour's rowing. This is not as it should be, or as it used to be some years ago; and it arises probably from the small demand made upon the oarsman by the short Oxford course, the length of which is, in the case of many of the eight-oared boats, considerably less than a mile. If every man had to train for a race over such a course as that from Putney to Mortlake, he would have to set about his preparation in a very different way. The method also in which the pupil

applies his muscular force, in other words, the style, is of the utmost im portance, and must be corrected and imparted by the trainer according to the principles both of physiology and of mechanics. The measure of a perfect style is the ease with which the greatest force is applied to the work done; and upon this mainly depends the respiration. The man of the best wind in running, will, when he commences to row, be quickly out of breath, because he does not know the secret of putting out his strength, and harmonizing the action of his rowing and his respiratory muscles. Were this a treatise upon rowing, much might be said upon the application of force in the propelling of a boat. The rapidity of stroke, the extent of the reach forwards and of the swing backwards, are all fertile topics of dispute, and in the received opinions there was formerly, and probably is now, much that requires correction. Rapidity of stroke is increased beyond all possible efficiency,-increased to a point which cannot be maintained over any but the shortest course. Said an old waterman to Mr. Maclaren at one of the Oxford races last year," The crew that can bucket it the fastest will win the race, if they don't bust." But this rapidity, so far from being more needed in modern boats, is less required, because they do not, like the old-fashioned heavy tubs, stop so soon as the oars are out of the water, but on the contrary they acquire "way" and "shoot," and to give this, great power must be put forth while the oar is in the water, which is not done in the extremely rapid stroke. We recollect watching some few years since the start of the Oxford and Cambridge race at the Putney aqueduct. The Cambridge crew commenced rowing, as it appeared, some four strokes to the Oxford three, and the race might have been pronounced over in a hundred yards. At Hammersmith the Cantabs were exhausted, and at Mortlake were "nowhere." Again, "getting forward" has been inculcated and the swinging back prohibited, until the men are obliged to commence the stroke with the tips of their fingers, and the full weight and power of the body and legs is not brought into play during the half of it. Many celebrated scullers swing a long way back, and so use their bodily weight with great effect; but in an eight-oared boat this is not allowed, and much power is lost.

We have been tempted to leave training and to enter into a disquisition upon rowing. Let us return to our muttons, and see what is to be said on the subject of diet. Unless we criticize at length the marvellous dietetical doctrines of former generations, there is not much to urge on this head. The rules of professional trainers are apparently all derived from the preparation of the horse and his rider. To eat very sparingly, to drink still more sparingly, to live every man strictly according to one and the same regime in weight and measure, are laws which even to the present day have for the most part been little altered. The quantity of food and drink is however, within reasonable limit, of greater importance to the athlete than the quality, as is also the time of meals, and the apportioning of the food to the exercise taken.

It is too much the fashion of the present day to pay exclusive attention

to the chemical composition of the food, and to assign to each of the great divisions a separate work in the maintenance of the animal economy. From the time that Liebig first proclaimed his views, we have heard of nothing but muscle-making, fat-making, and heat-making food. But as man is not a mere muscular machine to be driven like an engine by artificial force, so is he not a chemical retort into which materials are to be thrown for chemical disintegration and combination. The adage that one man's meat is another man's poison holds good in training as elsewhere. The Greeks of old fed their athletes, some on fresh cheese, others on dried figs; later they advanced to beef and pork. In the present day men differ widely, but as a rule, indigestion is the least common of all ailments amongst the young men who contend in English sports, and the strictures they place upon this or that kind of food, are based upon traditions and ideas of what is favourable or unfavourable, not to digestion, but to "wind." As Mr. Maclaren says, "it certainly borders on that step said to be next to the sublime, to see the look of horror and consternation with which men, whose stomachs could digest cast steel, eye a square inch of raspberry tart."

Did space permit, it would be interesting to analyze the systems of different trainers with regard to diet and regimen, some half-dozen of which Mr. Maclaren gives us in a tabular form. The most remarkable limitations are those of vegetables, fresh fruits, and water. So rigidly were the two former classes excluded some few years ago, that the probability is that every man would have suffered from scurvy had his training been prolonged for any considerable time. That fresh vegetables are necessary to the food of man is a fact of experience which cannot be too widely known. Why they are so necessary, is, as a scientific theory, somewhat less certain, and is still a matter of discussion. That modern life is rendered much more healthy by the knowledge of this truth is admitted on all sides. Not only those who go to sea, but every one who dwells on land, stands in need of this essential element of food.

The ordinary every-day diet of young men, cooked in the simplest way, should be their training diet also, excluding those things which are manifestly indigestible, as for example, a quantity of nuts, and that which is innutritious, as twice-cooked meat. The horrible monotony of chops and steaks, steaks and chops, nauseates rather than nourishes. In the good old days chops and steaks were eaten, or rather bolted, raw and blue, and were considered the more nutritious. Now, with the swing of Time's pendulum, reaction has set in, and we are told to eat our chop "well done." Here, as in most other matters, there is no rule specially pertaining to training which cuts off its diet from that of ordinary life. If a man likes his steak blue, let him eat it blue, but do not enforce it. more digestible than raw meat: it saves the life of many an infant who can keep nothing else on its stomach, can digest nothing else; it is a better cure for scurvy than potato or lemon-juice. But it must be masticated, not bolted, and it requires more mastication than well-cooked meat. It is not to be inferred from this that raw meat is recommended as

Nothing is

ordinary diet, but it is worth mentioning, as a fact not generally known, that it can be and is digested, even by a sickly stomach. The quantity of the food is important. The professional trainer thinks he has done nothing for his pupil unless at starting he has largely reduced his weight. "The physicking and preparation for the hard work should occupy the first week," we are told; and violent medicine, violent sweating, and the like, reduce a man's weight quickly enough, as every jockey can testify. This, it is supposed, acts beneficially by getting rid of "internal fat" and "superfluous flesh;" and at the same time the diet is restricted to produce the same result. Positively a man who, when he is doing nothing, cats as much as he can, probably three good meals a day, is called upon to take hard exercise for four or five hours upon a greatly reduced allowance of food. What happens? First of all his fat goes, and there is little of this, either internal or external, in a young man. Then his muscle goes, and he becomes still thinner, which is all very well in the case of a jockey, who must be light at all cost, but in an athlete the very reverse is the object sought to be attained. Nor is this all. Dr. Kane, in his Arctic Explorations, says, "It is a little curious that the effect of a short allow ance of food does not show itself in hunger. The first symptom is a loss of power, often so imperceptibly brought on that it becomes evident only by an accident." The meaning of this is, that the nervous system is not nourished. This want of nerve-power is the explanation of the "low and prostrate condition," the "training off," of which professionals speak. Those who study nervous disorders know that the supply of this power by the metamorphosis of food is their most valuable mode of treatment; and where it is taxed so severely as it is in athletic exercises; an extra, rather than a diminished quantity of food, is imperatively demanded. Nerve force is, it is true, familiarly known and recognized under the titles of "last" and "pluck"-that power of endurance which compensates many a man for deficient bone and muscle; but few care to recollect that this " nerve is not a merely mental affair, or ethereal essence, but is supplied by actual conducting fibres and central cells, by brain substance and nerve substance, which require to be fed, and well fed, by the blood, no less than bone, muscle, and tendon. Trainers have a morbid horror of fat; but it is laid down by physiologists that fatty food contributes largely to the nutrition of the nerve substance, both directly and also indirectly, "by exerting a protective influence over all the albuminous tissues, sparing their consumption or oxidation by its own greater affinity for oxygen." And it is also stated that the presence of fat in the food of man is necessary for assimilation, "and seems essential to every act of tissue formation." We need, therefore, pay no attention to the old tradition that everything fat or greasy is to be shunned as poison by men in training. On the contrary, fat is more wanted by these than by others, and must be supplied in adequate allowance.

There yet remains an important question, that of drink and sudorifics. On this also great confusion exists in men's minds. If we could only, by