[Illustration: The fun of the fair--"Whirroo."]

THE WALKING-STICK.

The choice of this useful adjunct is by no means as easy as many people
suppose, for it involves not only a knowledge of the prerequisities--in
the matter of various kinds of woods, etc.--but also an acquaintance
with the situations a man may find himself in, and the uses to which he
may have to put his walking-stick.

First, then, as to the matter of the best wood. There are, roughly
speaking, two headings under which we may class our types of raw
material--strong and stiff wood, such as the oak and the hazel; and
strong and pliable, such as the ash-plant and various kinds of canes.
What one really wants to secure is a sufficient amount of stiffness and
strength to enable one to make an effective hit or longe, without any
chance of snapping, and a degree of pliability and spring combined with
that lightness which makes a stick handy and lively in actual encounter.

The oak has plenty of power and about the right density, but, unless you
get a rather big stick--too big for all-round usefulness,--it is apt to
snap. The hazel is perhaps rather too stiff, and it is certainly too
light, though for this very reason it is _handy_. Then, again, there is
no bending a hazel without a great chance of breaking it. A good strong
ground-ash is not to be despised if cut at the right time, but it is
always apt to split or break. Turning to the rattan-cane, we find a
capital solid cane--almost unbreakable--but with rather _too_ much bend
in it for thrusting, or warding off the rush of a savage dog. The
rattan, too, is very apt to split if by any chance the ferrule comes
off; and when once it has _really_ split you might just as well have a
birch-rod in your hands.

Where, then, shall we look for a stick which combines all the good
qualities and is free from the drawbacks just enumerated? Without the
slightest hesitation I refer you to the Irish blackthorn, which can be
chosen of such convenient size and weight as not to be cumbersome, and
which, if carefully selected, possesses all the strength of the oak,
plus enormous toughness, and a pliability which makes it a truly
charming weapon to work with.

It is a matter of some difficulty to obtain a _real_ blackthorn in
London or any big town. You go into a shop, and they show you a
smart-looking stick which has been peeled and deprived of most of its
knobs, dyed black, and varnished. That is _not_ the genuine