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Rh would abjure the cue altogether and play with his nose.

At first sight the bicycle does not appear to lend itself readily to any abnormal competition. Races, of course, between one-armed and one-legged cyclists are fairly common, but otherwise it is difficult to see how even the most inventive genius could evolve anything really startling in the way of a cycling contest. This, however, is a mere superficial view. At Bradford a couple of years ago an undeniably original match came off between a well-known trick rider and a professional runner. The distance was one mile, and the conditions of the contest were that the cylistcyclist [sic] should ride backwards, while his opponent should walk.

The race resulted in a hollow win for the cyclist, but in an interview after the race the rider confessed that had the distance been another half mile he must have lost, as the unwonted effort of covering so much ground backwards had tired him far more than a straightforward journey of fifty miles. A competition of this kind is not in the least likely to become generally popular, as the number of cyclists who can even wobble a dozen yards backwards, much less ride a mile, is probably limited to a select dozen or so. Independently, too, of the mere mechanical difficulties of steering and balancing, riding backwards calls into play, for some reason or other, an entirely new set of muscles. It is as well to give warning in case any cycling reader of “Cassell’s,” fired with the account of the Bradford match and eager for a new sensation, should attempt to go and do likewise.

As an inventor of absurd contests the late Sir John Astley was almost as distinguished as the Duke of Queensberry. His great forte was arranging races between animals which Nature had apparently made most unsuitable for the purpose. When quartered at Windsor he instituted the only race that ever took place between chickens. This peculiar contest came about in the following way. While on a visit to a friend near Windsor who kept a hen-run Sir John noticed how rapidly the chickens used to scurry to their mother when food was thrown to her. Here was the germ of an idea for a good sporting match, and at mess a few nights afterwards Sir John Astley expounded to his brother officers his plans for the great chicken race.

He had bought from a farmer a hen and a brood of chickens. Each officer was to choose a chicken and mark it with a ribbon so that he could easily recognise it. The chickens were to be placed about fifty yards away from their mother, and whichever of them reached her first in answer to her cackle when food was thrown to her was to be adjudged the winner. Each officer paid a sovereign for the privilege of entering a chicken for this extraordinary race, and the whole of the entrance money was to go to the officer whose colours the winning chicken carried. The “Hen Derby” came off in the barracks at Windsor, and was witnessed by nearly the whole brigade of Guards who travelled down specially from London.

The race was such a success that it was arranged to repeat it in the following week. It might possibly have become a regular fixture, and a racing stable of chickens been added to the attractions of Windsor, if Sir John Astley’s chicken had not won on each occasion with such consummate ease as to create a suspicion among the other competitors. It was then found that in both races Sir John had selected a sturdy young