If we should try to trace the rise of the bicycle I imagine that the multitude of queer contrivances which would be brought together could hardly be surpassed by a collection of the flying machines of the world, or of the instruments for producing perpetual motion. Since Von Drais’ draisine of 1817 we have had a series of curious and ingenious inventions, all aiming at the same result—a steel horse which would never tire, which would eat no oats and need no groom, but which, while subject to none of the drawbacks of horseflesh, would carry its owner to his business, on pleasure trips across the country—anywhere and everywhere. Has it been found at last? Truly, it seems so. To our few standard methods of traveling, by steam, by rail, by carriage, by horse, and by foot, we must certainly add by bicycle.

Most people remember the forerunner of the present light and noiseless “wheel,” for it was not until 1865 that the first bicycle—we called it a velocipede then—was brought to America. Every one will remember too the velocipede craze that possessed the whole race of boys, young and old, in 1869-’70. Many a town still contains the shattered remnant of a velocipede rink, which in those days was its most popular place of amusement, and in many a wood-shed, garret or barn loft there is still stowed away the remnant of an old-fashioned velocipede which once made happy a now grown-up-and-gone-away son.

Since those days there has been a decided change in the construction of the machine, the almost clumsy velocipede has become the airy “wheel.” The general structure has not been changed, but improved mechanical work and greater skill in adapting certain points so that they will do more effective work has brought the vehicle to a very high degree of perfection. The bicycle and tricycle in their improved forms are meeting with remarkable success. It is said that there are 30,000 bicyclers in the United States, nearly all having joined the ranks in the past six years, and that these 30,000 have four hundred organized clubs. The national club, called “The League of American Wheelmen,” numbers already 4,000 members, two excellent magazines, Outing and The Wheelman, and several papers are devoted to its interests, and are spreading everywhere information and enthusiasm.

Tricycles are rapidly gaining the favor among ladies that the bicycle already has won among gentlemen. Hundreds of them are in use in the cities, where a common sight on the boulevards and in the parks is a tricycle party of ladies and portly men taking a morning constitutional or an afternoon’s pleasure ride.

So many of our hobbies have their day and die, are popular because some shrewd fellow has made them fashionable that people of good common sense are becoming a little slow in adopting new things. Many are now inquiring about the validity of the bicycle’s claim. Is it as useful, as healthful, as pleasant a steed as avowed? No doubt an unqualified affirmative in answer to this question would be wrong, but that there are many strong points in favor the facts will prove. To fairly test its capabilities one should not take the experience of the first day’s riding, or of a would-be wheelman who is yet in the A B Cs of bicycling. It is an art and must be learned. A novice can not mount and ride away without a few tumbles; he can not at first “take” a curb or, in fact, any obstruction. If he try to use the brake in going down hill he will undoubtedly be thrown overboard and roll instead of wheel to the foot. He will ache and groan over long rides, and if easily discouraged, give up his efforts. But are these results any worse, or even so bad as the results of the first experiences on horseback? What is the bicycle or tricycle worth to the one who can handle it? is the question.

We are accustomed to think of it as useful only on a level where the roads are hard and smooth and unobstructed, but he is a poor wheelman indeed, who can ride only on smooth ground. Any ordinary road, though it may be encumbered by ruts, pebbles, or mud, may be safely traveled. Snowy roads, of course, are hard traveling, but it is recorded of an enthusiastic New Hampshire bicycler that he was on the roads a part of each day during the year 1881. Candidly, it requires an unusual amount of skill and enthusiasm to use a bicycle on snowy or rugged roads for any long distance, although a quite possible task. By far the worst impediment which the “wheel” encounters is a stretch of loose sand, then all momentum is lost by the friction, and to go at all is very hard work; however, there is rarely a road so located that turf or a beaten walk does not lie near, to which the rider may resort. Nor are the hills a disadvantage, unless they are very long and steep. The ordinary grade can be easily mounted, though, as in walking, there is of course a greater degree of exertion required than on the level. The true answer to the question, where the bicycle may be ridden, is: On any road where one can drive safely and pleasantly.

The question of speed is a very important one. Unless something can be gained in point of time it is no advantage to rushing clerks and brokers and students to bicycle their way to business and back; but the fact that something can be gained is a very strong point in favor of the “wheel.” The rate of speed compared with walking is three to one, and the exertion on level ground is but one-third of that of walking. On our steel horse, too, we make better time than on horseback. In a day’s travel the gain is very noticeable. The bicycle will take you four or five times as far as you can walk and twice as far as you can ride on horseback. The real advantage of a mode of travel which exercises and exhilarates, which is less wearisome than walking and which, while it gives as high speed as a horse, yet causes none of the trouble, the possible risk and no expense, is very apparent. This is no whimsical fancy either, but a fact. Many physicians, clergymen and business men are finding it invaluable in their work. A certain physician of high rank has given it as his opinion, that the “bicycle or tricycle can be practically and profitably used by physicians as an adjunct to, or even in place of, the horse; and that it solves, beyond any question, the problem of exercise for a very large class of our patients.” And another writing of its merits, says: “This summer I have turned both my horses out to grass and have trusted to my bicycle alone, doing, on an average, about 50 miles a day. I find I get through my day’s work with less fatigue than on horseback, and without the monotony of driving.” If it will serve the purpose of a doctor it will of any and all busy men.

More important than its practical value is its health giving qualities. It is a veritable cure-all. The pleasure of the exercise, the fine play it gives to the muscles of the upper and lower limbs, and the free exposure to sun and air are the best possible medicines. Ennui, the wretched, worn-out feeling of so many over-worked students, bookkeepers and professional men, dyspepsia and nervousness can have no better prescription than bicycle or tricycle riding. Indeed, of the latter no less an authority than B. W. Richardson, M. D., a famous English physician, says: “I am of the opinion that no exercise for women has ever been discovered that is to them so really useful. Young and middle aged ladies can learn to ride the tricycle with the greatest facility, and they become excellently skillful. The tricycle is, in fact, now with me a not uncommon prescription, and is far more useful than many a dry, formal medicinal one which I have had to write on paper.”

The real enjoyment of the exercise is wonderfully in its favor. No finer sport can be found than the rapid spinning by green fields, through shady woods and along clear streams, lifted so far above the earth that you half believe you are treading air, so still and smoothly your “wheels” carry you. The bounding life that gentle exercise and abundant air and sunshine bring is yours. You seem almost a creature of the air as you whirl along. It is pure, perfect pleasure—the perfection of motion. One feature of bicycle and tricycle riding that commends it to many is the opportunity it offers for delightful summer trips. The bicycle clubs of many cities make daily morning runs of ten or twelve miles into the country, returning in time for a club breakfast at the home of some member—longer trips which occupy a day are common, and a month’s travel through a pleasant country is becoming a very fashionable as well as healthful and inexpensive way of spending a vacation. An English lady and her sister recently made a trip of 470 miles through the pleasant country of South England on tricycles, and declare that they had so pleasant a time they intend to make another tour next year. Indeed, so successful have bicycle and tricycle excursions become that they threaten to rival the railway and steamer.

The expense is of course an important item to most people, and is decidedly in favor of the wheel. As in all goods, the prices vary with quality and finish. The price of a bicycle varies from $7 to $175, of a tricycle from $20 to $240. The medium prices give as durable and useful an instrument as the higher. When once owned there is little more expense—a trifle will be spent in repairs each year, and if desired, there are certain accessories which can be added. New tires are needed about once in four years, and cost about $10 for a fifty-inch bicycle. But there is no feeding nor stalling nor grooming. Your steel horse makes no demands upon your purse, your sympathies, or your time.

What is the bicycle coming to? Certainly to be a very important factor in our civilization. We may expect to see it some day in war—already the mounted orderlies in the Italian army use it. In twenty years, maybe less, we shall all be taking our wedding trips by bicycle, and it may not be wild to suppose that the enterprising wheelman will soon have a highway from New York to San Francisco, and that our summer trips to the Golden Gate or the Atlantic will be via bicycle.

Never, never has one forgotten his pure, right-educating mother. On the blue mountains of our dim childhood, toward which we ever turn and look, stand the mothers, who marked out to us from thence our life; the most blessed age must be forgotten ere we can forget the warmest heart. You wish, O woman! to be ardently loved, and forever, even till death. Be, then, the mothers of your children.—Richter.