Running Recollections and How to Train

11 well as though it were yesterday. A friend and myself made the journey to Glasgow on the Friday afternoon. I remember this, because we played billiards till four o'clock on the Saturday morning. Two of the people who were in that billiard roomhave since gone the way of all flesh, but a certain gentleman, now connected with the sporting press iu Manchester, was also there, and 1 have no doubt will bear out my statement. I woke later in the morningas fresh as the proverbial daisy, and ate a hearty breakfast. My old trainer, JimmyDuckworth, arrived from Edinburgh shortly after breakfast, and a move was made for Ibrox Park—my oldtraining ground—to take the stiffness outof my legs. Dinner followed—a substantial dinner, I should say, for I was hungry, andI always believe in satisfying the cravings of the innerman. The first event on the programme was the 100 yards. There were three othercompetitors—D. K. M'Culloch, who was then champion of Scotland ; M'Lean, whostyled himself "champion of Egypt"; and W. Kerr, of the West of Scotland Football Club. We got away to a grand start—at least, so the papers said—but I saw nothing of the other three till I had broken the worsted. The 220 yards was a repetition of the sprint,except that I won by two or three yardsmore. The Edinburgh papers declared that Iwon the sprint by eight, andthe 220 by ten yards. The Glasgow Press, however, made the verdict four and five yards, respectively. The 440 yards wasnothing morethan aworrying match, and 1 did my share ofthe worrying. I won; poorold M'Culloch was second for the third time that day. That was a royalnight inEdinburgh !Everybody seemed to go mad. 1 was carried shoulder highfrom the Waver ley