The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1895-09-15
RANDOM NOTES.
BY JOHN MCNAuGHT.

Last Sunday we looked forward to the
international yacht race as coming glory,
but to-day we look upon it as an ended
fiasco. The anticipations of National
triumph have closed in som ething like
National disgust. Certainly there are few
people who feel any satisfaction in such
result or any pride in such victory. That
which has come, however, can hardly be
called surprising. AS rule, international
contests OF any kind are unfortunate. In
stead OF engendering mutual friendllness
in the fellowship of good sport, they gen.
crate between the general masses OF the
people mutual irritations and animositles.
The rivalry of sport itself seems about as
much as human nature can bear grace
fully, and when national rivalries are
added to it nature breaks loose and cuts
her usual caper. About the only interna-
tional contest in which there is any real
satisfaction is war, and even in such cases
the satisfaction is apt to be very onesided.
The most interesting single figure in the
contest was the Earl of Dunraven, and it is
around his actions, his motives and his
character that public criticism, excited by
the flasco, will flash most often and most
severely. That much of the condemnation
which has been, or will be, pronounced
upon him may be justifiable goes without
saying, for no man is perfect, and judges
are sometimes right; but / cannot agree
with those who blame him for show
ing surly trace of anger in his defeat, in
stead of taking it easily and bearing it
"Gke gentleman" as the saying is. The
idea that gentleman takes defeat more
easily and with less temper than the COM
mon run of folks is one of the humbugs of
the society we live in. The man who bears
defeat easily is of nature indifferent, I'M
ambitious and unaggressive, and probably
was not resolute for victory when he en-
tered the contest. The strong, dominant
man, resolute to win, does not bear defeat
with patience. The worse his luck the
more he swears and be is never SO pugna-
cious as when he has just been kicked out
the back door.
The oldest, greatest and by all odds the
best heroic poem in the world celebrates
the wrath of man who could not and
would not bear defeat in unmurmuring
sweetness. Achilles, sulking and growl-
ing in his tent, has never been regarded
as an unheroic figure, nor has it ever been
urged to his disadvantage that a milder-
hammered man would not have acted so.
This old Greek is the type of the lighting
men of all ages and all lands. No man OF
that stamp ever lost what he made up his
mind to win, without losing also his tenn
per and showing surly disposition to
defy everything in the universe from tickle
fortune to fixed fate. Nor as a rule is it
long before they begin to fight again.
Whether we find them in high life or low
life, the men whom defeat angers beyond
the point OF patience may always be
counted on to try another battle. Dun
raven has made up his mind to win the
America cup. Thrice has he crossed the
ocean for it, and thrice have his Valkyries
borne him away from the field, defeated
and raging. This time he seems to be
angry all the way through, and we need no
better proof that he will come back again.
1t would certainly be pleasanter for the
rest of US if the hero would only live up to
the rules of sport and never kick when he
loses, and perhaps it would be better for
him also. In world where the paths of
glory lead but to the grave, and where the
noblest hero can hardly hope for a more
animated bust after death than the most
ordinary citizen can enjoy every payday of
his life, it is difficult to see why any one
should strain all his life in overcom-
ing difficulties merely to have monu-
ment built on top of him. "Neither
laughing nor weeping will alter thy case,"
as Carlyle said, and while kicking and
swearing might be helpful as a relief to the
feelings, about the best consolation for
any one who has been defeated in any
thing from yacht race to courtship is to
be found in the old song
We came to the world naked and bare:
We go through it with sorrow and care
We go out ofit-we don't know where.
But if we're thoroughbreds here
Wen be thoroughbreds there.
One of the marked features Of the year
has been the unusually early opening of
the fall season. 1t is not merely that the
heavy rains have come earlier than usual
but that society, generally more regular
than the weather, has been more prompt
than before to turn from summer fashions
to fall styles. The great dry-goods houses
are radiant with new garments, and the
shop-windows glow as if the new era was
to be ushered in with an aurora borealis of
social brilliance. To walk the streets in
these days with sufficient leisure to note
the display of new goods for woman's APP
parel is almost like walking through the
enchanted realms of sunset land. There
are colors loud enough to blow like trum-
pets; but they are sufficiently in accord
with one another to make harmonies fit
for festal music. The observer who gives
even casual study to the forms in which
these marvels of millinery are wrought up
will not long wonder why the season has
been opened so early. 1t will be apparent
at glance that with sleeves so big it was
necessary to open up at once in order to find
room in the year to make way for them.
With the beginning of the fall there
comes from the East strange and un-
wonted lament. The fall season there has
always been the occasion for the display of
one of natures richest and most beautiful
aspects. The swift turning of the green
leaves to hues of red and gold under the
touch of frost has made every wood and
forest Of that section of the country the de-
light OF all lovers of color and the despair