a man of honor and high standing among men. It was a sign of noble, or high breeding. Such was the opinion of the chase across the sea.

But in democratic, free America, when the chase was instituted by the early colonists, they saw to it that no race, no creed, and no caste should claim superiority over their common fellowman, for of all things the oppressed emigrants from England detested it was these things they hated most, and which they had braved the stormy deep to escape. So it was, that the fox hunting sport in America got a democratic start, and it has remained such on down to this time, we are indeed thankful to say.

Perhaps the uninitiated would like for me to describe a typical fox hunt. As nothing would give me more pleasure, being an ardent lover of this sport, I will do so. Those already members of the craft may also find some pleasure and some food for thought in the brief description of the chase given below:

As this is to be a southern chase, the assembled fox hunters, riding their favorite mounts, carry no weapons. Nothing more harmful than a riding whip is in evidence.

A sudden wind from the North the previous night brought a light fall of snow, for snow is quite common in winter in the Blue Grass region of Kentucky. Indeed, quite frequently during the winter months they have snows there as deep as three feet, but more frequently the snowfall is much lighter than that, probably a half-foot being the customary depth.

But this was the first snow of the season, early in December, and, as I have said before, it was a light snow. Still, it was a rather moist one, as most snows are this far South, and during the night had packed down well, so that when a bright day dawned Old Sol looked down upon a world covered by the dazzling white sheen precipitated from the clouds at the Master's bidding. It was indeed a scene of beauty! Nature had fairly outdone herself in thus setting

the scene for one of the greatest fox hunts that had taken place in the annals of local history.

The Master of Hounds quickly called the sportsmen about him to explain to them what was expected of each, for to play the fox hunting game as it should be played they must have rules and regulations to go by, the violation of which would be placed against the record of the hunter or his hounds, depending only upon whom was at fault. And thus when the scores of the different dogs were totaled up, demerits should be credited to those who, unluckily, had earned them, while the merits, of course, were placed to the credit of hounds or hunter acting within the prescribed fraternal law.

And so, with fox hunting, it is much the same in technic as the rules laid down for other outdoor games; for instance, baseball, which has what they call "ground rules." Of course, it takes a radically different set of rules for fox hunting, but they are rules just the same. But here is the greatest difference. In baseball, there often arises con

tentious argument with the umpires over the rules, and frequently we hear of an umpire being run off the field, the players of one side or the other having rebelled against his decision and refused to abide by it. Not so in the rules of fox hunting. Rules in this game are but a matter of form, for all obey the law-a law born and bred in the natural born fox hunter, a law embodying the essence of true sportsmanship, without which there could be no democracy for man, and without that there could be no government for, by, and of the people. Hence this spirit of sportsmanship permeates the very structure of our great Nation. Without it we could not be a free people. A King or a Kaiser would rule over us and we would be but mere slaves.

The Master of Hounds at length gave the signal that opened the chase. Each hunter unleashed his eager dogs, and, with glad cries, that rang out shrill and clear on the frosty morning air, the entire pack bounded off together in search of the spoor of the fox.

A thirty minutes hunt brought the desired results, "Bugle Boy," announcing in a bell-toned voice the fact that he had found the scent or spoor of the fox. Presently, the balance of the pack, one by one, took up the trail until they had all found it and were mouthing a happy chorus all together as they disappeared from the view of the hunters over the brow of the hill.

Swift horses are needed for this work, and swift horses did these hunters possess. So, with whip and spur gently applied, soon they again came in sight of the chase when they reached the hilltop.

The Master of Hounds reined in his charger, hastily took from his satchel that was strapped over one shoulder his field-glass, quickly adjusted it to his optics and scanned all the surrounding country from his point of vantage, trying to locate the whereabouts of Br'er Fox.

He watched the dogs as they noisily sped across the wide valley toward the distant hills, and he surmised that

the fox was very wisely leading them to higher, dryer ground. It was an old head; a fox with a head full of capricious pranks and cute tricks. Looked like it was going to be a hard run, and he thus confided his view to his fellows, who by this time had all drawn rein and were viewing the chase through their own glasses. Must be one of those old reds, they all concluded, and, replacing field glasses in their receptacles, spur and whip were simultaneously applied and with a "Giddap," shouted in unison, the eager party of hunters were again on their way, whither they knew or cared not, nor for how long they would require to bring Mr. Fox to bay or capture.

The frisky Kentucky saddle-horses seemed quite as eager for the chase as did either the hunters or the dogs. Some of them were "feeling their oats" it seemed, for they were buck-jumping and doing all sorts of fancy stunts, but when they came to a rail-fence, which is the usual kind of fence encountered in the Blue Grass State, they always hurdled same neatly and gracefully, without touching the top rail in every case, no matter how high, and when sternly rebuked by the rider they settled down like a bird-dog on point, only kept moving. And when I say moving, it is the intention to suggest speed, for these horses have speed to burn. Fact is, as not a few of my readers, I trust, already know, the Kentucky saddle horse is a marvel for speed, endurance, and staying qualities, just like the foxhounds many of you now own and take pride in exhibiting before your friends on any and all occasions that present themselves.

On and on went the dogs, giving tongue at every leap and bound. On the still, cold morning air rang out the long-drawn, deep, heavy voice of old "Sailor," that old battle-scarred hound that had proven his worth many a time in a fight to the finish with a big fox at the end of a day's chase. It was oft the anticipation of such a finish with old "Sailor" in at the windup of the chase that goaded and en

couraged the riders on, and on, and still on-over weary miles, after Reynard had run clear out of the country, pitting his endurance against that of the dogs and the hunters. In such cases, the sportsmen knew that if they stayed on to the finish they would be amply rewarded by witnessing the mighty combat between the wily fox and Sailor. So this old champion of the chase was a favorite hero. But not all the honors belonged to him, for there was the strident, shrill, high-pitched voice of "Lady Gay," than which there was no dog with more fox sense or with four fleeter legs. It was her we distinctly made out, and others, too, could easily be recognized. Old "Tobe" could be heard mouthing in a squalling voice; "Barney" was giving vent to his feelings by quick, short howls; Old "Bally," was tongueing on track with a voice delightful to the ear of the fox-hunter, and altogether, the high staccatos, and deep heavy bassos-the chorus was blended into perfect harmony, just as though a musical director was there and guiding them, so harmonious and beautiful did the melody sound that morning.

Presently, the dogs entered the hills to the east, and, galloping swiftly across the open valley, the huntsmen were soon entering the hills also.

The fox was, sure enough, leading them to higher ground. Once on the ridge, he began playing tricks on his pursuers by doubling back on his trail, then scampering off in a new direction. But those veteran dogs were not to be fooled. Of course, for a little while, a prank would bother them somewhat, but soon they'd pick up the scent spoor again and continue the pursuit. With our glasses, once we had gained the ridge, the direction the fox was heading was discovered, and all hands knew whither he was travelinghe was making for the den, the location of which every member of the party was aware of, so, in order to keep Reynard from attaining his object, the Master of Hounds commanded all to ride immediately to the den and there await the fox's approach, which would have the effect of keeping him going