Every one walks more or less, but very few understand the principles of scientific walking. The science consists in two things: 1st. How to acquire the longest stride practicable to the physique of the walker; 2d. How to distribute the weight of the body so that the greatest effort shall be made with the least possible exertion.

Many walkers acquire the first part of this science, and some understand the second division of the subject, but very few can combine the two, like O'Leary. For short-distance matches, in which contests up to twenty-five miles are included, the number of scientific walkers is reasonably large, both among professionals and so-called amateurs. They almost all walk on a correct system, similar to that of O'Leary, but inasmuch as their exertions do not last so long a time, they can afford to make them more vigorous. If their stride be no longer, proportionately, than that of O'Leary, the number of steps per minute taken by them is greater, and they cover the ground at a rate that no untrained person can equal without breaking into a trot.

The rate at which the best of them can go is shown by the marvelous feats of Perkins, the English champion, who has the record of a mile walked in six minutes and twenty-three seconds, and eight miles walked in an hour, less fifty-five seconds. Such performances show that Perkins can out-walk any ordinary road-horse going on a trot. Even an amateur of our own country—T. H. Armstrong—has walked seven miles in fifty-six minutes. It is needless to say that no untrained person could equal this, four miles an hour being very sharp walking to most people; and it becomes a matter of interest to know how the professionals do it, and how their walk differs from that of an unskilled man.

The sight of a walking-match does a good deal toward explaining the mystery, and the foregoing cuts will show the main points of difference between the skilled and unskilled pedestrian.

The unskilled amateur, who sets out to walk fast, generally makes several grave mistakes. He leans his body forward, bends his back, lowers his head, swings his arms at full length, and allows his knees to bend. The consequence is that when he is doing his very best his attitude is very much like that in the first cut, depicting the unskilled walker.

There is no question that the poor fellow is doing his best, and very little doubt that he can not last long at the rate he is going.

Contrast with this figure that of the second cut, showing a professional in full stride. You are at full liberty to laugh at the figure, for there is no question that it has strong elements of the ludicrous; but for all that it is not exaggerated, and such attitudes may be seen in every last short-distance match.

Now it is time to note the points of difference between the two men and to show where the professional has the advantage over the other.

First note that a perpendicular line dropped from the center of each man's chest between the shoulders to the ground, and continued upward through his head would represent the line in which his weight falls. Draw such a line and you will find that in the case of the unskilled walker it strikes the ground close to his forward heel, while his head is in advance of it. Consequently he has to support the weight of his head, with all the disadvantage of leverage, by muscular exertion, and the strain must fall on his back.

In the professional, on the other hand, the weight falls on a nearly perpendicular column through the body, which is in balance, striking the ground midway between the points of support—the feet. If the man were to stop just where he is, he is in a position to resist a shove either forward or back. A smart push from behind would infallibly send our unskilled friend on his nose.

Note also that the professional's body, if anything, inclines backward, and think of the reason. Remember that when in rapid motion there is always a strong tendency to fall forward with the upper part of the body, a consequence of its weight and momentum. The balance of the body can therefore be sent a little back of the line which would be proper when standing still, to counteract the force of this momentum.

So much for distribution of weight.

Next note that the professional has both legs straight, and can therefore take a greater stride than any one with bent knees. Note, moreover, that he plants his heel first at the very extremity of his stride, and thus gains on every step the whole length of his foot, for after the heel is planted the toe comes down in advance by its own weight without labor. If he were to point his toe downward, as in the military "goose-step," he would lose all this advantage as soon as the foot was planted.

Our next remark is that whereas the tyro swings his arms full length with open hands the professional clenches his fists and bends his arms double.

With this same action of the arms comes another of the shoulders, which is of great importance. The working of the shoulders in fast walking is a natural and almost ineradicable habit. A fast walker will swing his arms, no matter how he is cautioned. We have seen many a drill master driven to despair by the swinging of arms of a marching squad, after all his cautions. The fact is, the swing is right and the drill master wrong. The faster a man walks, the more his shoulders swing, by an effort of nature to lift the weight of his body from the rear foot and to let it down on the front heel as lightly as possible. The usual way of accomplishing this result is to swing the arm at full length, but this fatigues the walker in two ways: first, by the resistance of the air to the arm, cutting it; second, by the leverage of the hand at the end of the arm, which has to be counteracted by the shoulder muscles. Both these effects are obviated by the simple expedient of bending the arm in proportion to the speed, and clenching the hand. When at top speed, the forearm of the advanced shoulder should be perpendicular, that of the rear shoulder horizontal, and as the speed decreases so should the angle of the arms become less acute. The difference in speed and ease of movement between a walker who holds up his arms and one who lets them swing full length is very striking, and our readers can try for themselves the experiment of walking in both ways, noting the advantage given by holding up the arms. In a race, it is a point that soon tells.

Lastly we must give one special caution with regard to taking the cut for an exactly accurate representation of what a man should do in order to become a fast walker. As the artist has finished the figure, many people might imagine that he had just made a spring from the toes of the left foot, which is in rear. This should not be done, as any weight sent on the toes soon tires out the walker, and although the foot is bent as in the cut, the weight is taken off the toes by working the shoulders. In fact as an English writer has well said, modern professional walking is a series of springs from heel to heel.

There are some other points in scientific walking which require the assistance of diagrams to explain them, and these concern the position of the feet best calculated to secure a long stride at the least expense of physical exertion.

If there is anything in scientific walking that is puzzling to a civilized beginner, it is the things taught him in childhood which he is now compelled to unlearn. A young savage who has never had any lessons in "deportment," walks correctly enough, though he does not generally care to exert himself sufficiently to make good time at that pace, preferring the "dog-trot." But so far as he walks, he always walks correctly, with a hollow back, stepping from heel to heel, his arms bent, his head thrown back, his toes turned in. The civilized boy, on the other hand, has a bad lesson given to him as soon as he can talk. He is told to "turn his toes out."

Now it so happens that if you take two men, equally good walkers, and let one turn his toes out, the other in, the "parrot-toed" man is sure to beat the other in the long run.

The reason for this statement will be made plain by looking at the following cut and reflecting on a few facts in connection therewith.

In the upper figure we have the foot tracks of a man walking with his toes turned out; in the lower one the same foot takes the same stride "parrot-toed." Note that both start with heels on the same line, and that before a step is taken, the man who turns out his toes has lost nearly an inch of forward progress, his toes not touching the same line as that reached by the other, who carries his feet straight. With the close of the first step the difference increases, both parties taking the same stride, measured from toe to toe. The parrot-toed man sets his heel down in advance of the other's heel, and gains a further advantage by the greater reach of his toe at every step.

The gain of the parrot-toed man is thus shown to be constant when both parties use the same exertion, and must always give him the race, other things being equal.

But there is another loss in turning the toes out, which is not less important, and which is shown by the position of the large black spots in the cut. These spots represent the point on which the weight of the body falls in the middle of each stride, and a very important difference will be noted in their position. In the case of the man who turns his toes out, this spot comes under the joint of the great toe, while in the other foot it lies between the second and third toes.

In other words, when a man turns out his toes he places all his weight on a single joint; when he walks parrot-toed it is distributed among five joints. This difference in strain is sure to tell in a long race. It is the experience of many a tramp in moccasins and bare feet that makes the Indians and other wild tribes walk parrot-toed, because any other way would soon lame them. Our civilized stiff-soled boots, by distributing the weight of the body over a large surface, permit us to go on walking in a vicious fashion, as long as we do not have to use much exertion, but when we come to serious pedestrianism, we must return to savage i.e. natural ways, or the strain will tell in lameness, inside of twenty-four hours' work.

The celebrated Indian-painter, George Catlin, gives in his "Travels" a striking instance of the difference of the two systems. He was a large, powerful man, and counted himself a good walker in the old times. Therefore, when, in company with a number of trappers, fur-traders and Indian employes of the Fur Company, he set out for a hundred-and-fifty-mile tramp over the prairie in moccasins, he made up his mind to lead the caravan and outwalk every one.

For the first day he did so, but then found himself lame; and next day, in spite of all he could do, he fell behind inferior men and became a straggler. At the evening camp-fire, the second day, an old trapper noticed his condition and told him the secret of his non-success.

"You are walking in moccasins," said the hunter, "and you must learn to turn in your toes, as the Indians do."

Catlin took the advice, went to the head of the line next day, and had no more trouble in keeping his place.

The moral of the story is obvious. If you wish to last to the end of a match, turn your toes in.