and still not have done what he has done, if he had not also had the great advantage of being very closely identified, personally and by descent, with the country in which he lives. There is a story of a traveller who, as he drove down the Genesee Valley, asked his companion every now and then, Whose farm is that?" The usual reply was, "Mr. Wads worth owns that," and it was made to him so often that he remarked presently that if he had as many farms as that man Wadsworth, he would go and live in Rochester. That was the natural American thing to do, but the Wadsworth brothers, the original settlers, did not do it. They stuck to the Genesee Valley. They not only liked to own land there, but they liked to live on it. Their homes have been there for a century. Not their country places, but their homes. Mr. Austin Wadsworth can take his hounds over a great many fields in the Genesee Valley because they belong to him or to his relatives, but over a great many others he rides because he belongs to them. He belongs, that is, to the Genesee Valley, and his neighbors are interested in his hounds and the hunting because they belong to the Genesee Valley too. good many of the resident farmers hunt; there is seldom a meet at which they are not a considerable element; but a good many others who don't hunt themselves take an interest in the hunting, which amounts to more than toleration, and approaches to something like pride. Of course what actual damage is done to fences or crops, or by foxes, is paid for, but it is not an expenditure of money that makes this Hunt possible. It goes because it is at home, and its guests are welcome because they are its guests.

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The Hunt brings a good many people to the Genesee Valley. It was not started, however, for that purpose, but for the diversion of men who were already there. The records tell us that though foxes have been hunted for many years in the valley, and good men and hounds and horses have been engaged in their pursuit, the first regular organization for running them down with hounds was started in the summer of 1876 by Charles Carroll Fitzhugh and William Austin Wadsworth. It was named the "Liv ingston County Hunt." Mr. Wadsworth was M. F. H.; Mr. Fitzhugh was huntsman; and they both were the commit

tee" of this primitive organization. It is recorded that it owned no hounds at first, but hunted with such as it could borrow. They were brought by their masters, and put on as suited them during the run. The first year or two the meetings were kept very quiet; nobody went straight, and many followed in buggies. There were not many hunts, and no record was kept. On one occasion, at least, the fox was shot to encourage the dogs, who, however, would not work together, being unacquainted with each other, and under no discipline whatever. The evolution of a well-disciplined and competent pack and field was gradual. "During the year 1877," says the historian, "an attempt was made to have the huntsman hunt the hounds with less assistance from their owners, but as they did not know him, being kept at home, they were gloriously independent, and hunted themselves to suit themselves."

Owing to the death of Mr. Fitzhugh in 1878 there was no regular hunt that year, but in 1879 the hounds were got together in a kennel at the Homestead at the beginning of the season to get them acquainted with each other and the huntsman (Mr. Wadsworth). But still it appears that the pack was an uncertain quantity, since "there were always a lot of strange dogs in the hunt."

"An attempt was made on one occasion to run a drag of anise, but the hounds would not own it, although it was so strong that the riders could follow. There were three drags. made by dragging a dead fox, and the man that laid it had orders to take down any fence over four feet high, and carry a stick of that length with him."

Opening the season of 1880, the M. F. H. writes:

"This year I started a pack of my own, consisting of Jim, Joe, and three puppies, Stubby, Speckle, and Colonel, of which the last turned out useless, and the former was executed for sheep-murder."

There was still much to be done to get the pack in proper working order; and not the pack only, but the field too, if one may judge from this record of the meet

of October 28th:

came intemperate, rebellious, and undisciplined in their language, causing the M. F. H. to halt and deliver a general lecture on the science of fox-hunting, and especially the great respect and reverence dne all M. F. H.'s; by means of which noble lecture the fox escaped, and finally got into a barn-yard and killed a chicken, and was knocked in the head by the farmer, who subsequently watched us cast around his buildings with pleasure, but kept mum, and afterwards sold the skin for one dollar and seventy cents to pay for the chicken' (which might have been worth twenty-five cents if he had not eaten it). So he

was most happy, having got something for nothing,' which is the honest farmer's ideal, and we hope that the hearers profited by their lecture and were elevated and improved, while the fox deserved to be killed for killing the chicken, and the chicken for tempting the fox, and the dogs to be disappointed for not working harder."

Obviously, to be equal to the situation, ten years ago a master of hounds had need to be a past master of philosophy as well.

But merit had its reward sometimes even in 1880, as ride the record for October 16th, which reads:

"October 6th-Rush Meadow Farm.-.... Ran S. to the big swamp pasture of the Hermitage. Here the fox took to running rings in the thick underbrush, and the field got disgusted and took to cigarettes, nobody staying with the hounds but the M. F. H. Finally killed in a thick cover near the Cushaqua, and the Master kept the brush."

Per tot casus, and by such laborious experiences, the Livingston County Hunt grew and waxed sturdy, until at the meeting in 1881, being full of good works and abounding in vigor, it changed its name, and became the Genesee Valley Hunt.

The records of the Hunt kept by the M. F. H. cover pretty faithfully a decade of fox-hunting, and abound in interesting and amusing passages. In them October 8, 1881, is distinguished as the day when the Genesee Valley Hunt was first honored by the presence of strangers from another hunt, the said strangers being described as "two splendid dudes, members of the Q. C. H.-great swells.”

The sincere fox-hunter's rule as to jumping fences is "anything you must; nothing that you can help." It is a good rule, but one which less scrupulous riders do not always observe; as witness the entry for October 10, 1882, which tells how Th. C., in great form, took an impossible fence side of an open gate.

on

because he didn't come all the way from Buffalo to go through gates.'" November 15, 1882, the meet being at Squakie Hill, the entry contains this passage: "Came man standing in the road, swearing horribly at the top of his voice, and dancing around. Found it was a deaf man who had come out to shoot a fox, and not hearing my dogs, the fox we were after came up behind him and ran between his legs."

The entry for October 6, 1883, alluding evidently to a well-known occurrence, tells of going from one point to another, "and on to Caleb Fridd's, where L. D. R. performed his grand tumbling act in the potato field, which has become a matter of national history." On October 20th, the same year, there were many fence and ditch jumps, and in one of them S.'s groom broke his collar-bone, the only accident that has happened to date with these hounds." Misfortunes seldom come singly. On the way home from this hunt the coach upset at Hampton Corners, and several persons were more or less hurt, but none seriously except J. W. W., who smashed his ankle.' This "J. W. W." seems to have been capable of misconduct as well as of misfortune, for an entry the following year alludes to coming on his land and finding a "barbed wire on the top of his fence--a thing inexcusable in a Dutch market gardener." Another entry for 1884 speaks of the field being led by a farmer's boy on a bareback mule.

Among other measures adopted in the interest of sport at the July meeting in 1885, it was resolved to fine any member five dollars who was caught stealing chickens and laying it to the foxes.' Whence it is possible to realize that if the fox has a true friend anywhere on earth, it is the M. F. II.

Falls,

Not many serious accidents are recorded in the Hunt books. In two cases riders have broken their legs, in three their collar-bones, but arms, ribs, and necks, none at all. The average of serious results from falls is surprisingly small. of course, are common. Some days they seem to become epidemic. In one hunt from Groveland it is recorded that there were 24 riders and 26 falls. Indeed, there were tumbles enough to go around on that occasion, if they had been fairly apportioned. One rider made an unsurpassed record by getting three in a single

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field, as is thus set forth: At the second fence W. A. W. took a header; then gal loping fast over the next field to catch up, went into a woodchuck hole, and took another; before he could get his wind his mare refused, and he 'cut a voluntary,' so sat on a stone and pulled out."

Although the popularity of the Hunt falls off as the air grows chillier and the days get short, the sincere fox-hunter will assure you that winter is the real time to hunt foxes. Then the crops are all in, the cattle and sheep are all housed, and the gates being left open and the fences down, you can ride where you will over your neighbor's land, provided you keep off from his wheat. Then, too, the foxes, profiting by the experience of the autumn, do not hang around and run in rings as they did earlier in the season, but usually break cover straight away for some cover several miles off; so the chances of a run are better. It is a mistake to suppose that snow does not hold scent or make

good galloping. Next to good turf, there is nothing so pleasant to ride on as snow. To be sure, one is liable in January to pop over a fence and land in an unexpected drift, but a roll over in soft snow amounts to nothing, and there are compensations. For one thing, the snow retards the fox and the hounds about as much as it does the horses, and then you can see farther in the bare winter landscape, and hear much farther in the clear winter air. For one who is properly dressed so as not to feel the cold, there is great sport in tracking Reynard's footsteps and reading the record of his tricks. Here in the woods he has followed a sleigh-track, and left it with a great jump to one side that you would not have noticed if the hounds had not picked it out. Here he has run along a fence, or some logs or stones, or a shiny piece of ice, all the time turning and twisting and doubling, and never losing a chance to grab a field-mouse (which is what he lives on),

till we suddenly come on the dry end of a log or a sunny pile of stones, where he has been asleep, and the snuffling hounds break out in loud chorus, and spring forward on the hot scent.

The portion of the Genesee Valley which is hunted is about twenty miles long by six or seven wide. It harbors some forty odd covers, and extends north of Avon and south of Mount Morris, and from Conesus Lake on the east, westward across the Genesee River. Streams running crosswise through this tract to the river or the lake make deep gullies, which foxes affect, and to which it especially edifies them to fly when pursued. The windings of the river make various “oxbows," of which the Big and Little are definitely known by those names, while divers others are anonymous. The river and its tributary creeks are usually fordable, but it happens now and then that after rains, when they are running bank full, a hard-run fox will take to one of them and swim across, followed by the pack and as many riders as have waterproof convictions and water-wise mounts. Wherever a hunt starts, it is seldom long out of sight of the river and the valley, and rarely fails to get down on the flats before it is over. A series of hospitable homes at convenient intervals down the valley make good stopping-places for the weary, the hungry, the lost, and the other wise unfortunate.

By the rules of the club, members are authorized to ride in blue coats and drab waistcoats, and to dine in red coats and white waistcoats. The red coats are actually worn to a mentionable extent, but the blue coat habit has never spread, and you may hunt with the club for a good while without suspecting that it has an authorized out-door costume. Pea-jackets, flannel shirts, breeches, and boots (of ten, horribile dictu! of rubber) are more popular.

Mr. Wadsworth's hounds, originally of native strain, are crossed with blood from Lord Fitzhardinge's, Sir Bache Cunard's, and the Badminton packs, and lately, to improve their "music." which suffered from these admixtures, with Lord Tredegar's. In 1891 there were usually thirteen couples in the pack.

Four institutions that are closely associated with the hunting in the Genesee Valley are the Mount Morris Horse Show, the Hunt Ball, the Point to Point Steeple

chase, and the Fourth of July sports. The Horse Show, under the special supervision of Mr. S. S. Howland, of Belwood, is held on the last Saturday in September, and marks the opening of the hunting season. It attracts all the horsemen in the valley and tributary to it, and many visitors from the world outside. It is the special and particular feast of horse-trading, a business which sustains the same intimate relations to fox-hunting that ship-building does to commerce. The show takes half a day, and is an important social function, involving basket lunches and much good human company, besides very desirable equine associations.

The Hunt Ball is another institution, and develops a great deal of social activity and a number of red coats.

The Point to Point Steeple-chase was supposed to punctuate the latter end of the regular hunting season, but irregular hunting continues long after it whenever the weather admits, which happens, year in and year out, about two days a week during January, February, and March. The Point to Point is a race across country for about four miles. Its conditions change with the season. One year the contestants were taken up a hill, shown a hay-stack of convenient remoteness, and told to ride to it. In 1890 the course was flagged. Last year there was no Point to Point. Its expediency is still under discussion, and the duration of its existence is uncertain.

surer hold is

An institution of much the Fourth of July sports. On the great American anniversary the club holds its midsummer meeting at the Homestead. After lunch there the members compete at the Genesee Fair Grounds in such equestrian contests as tent-pegging, picking up the hat, riding for scarfs, Turks' heads and rings, and the like; and the festive farmer transmogrified into a cavalryman is a sight for gods and men.

Such is the hunting in the Genesee Valley, and if in the exigencies of narration undue space has been given to describing a drag-hunt, the reader is expected to remember that that has been on the lucusa non lucendo principle that a draghunt in the Genesee Valley especially deserves description because it is such a rarity. They only happen in October, and in that month last year there were only three, whereas the October wild-fox hunts numbered seventeen.