Capt.  E.K.  Bradbury, a member of the Cahir Harriers, earned the
     V.C. at Nery, but died from wounds.

     The Grafton Hounds have seventy-six followers with the colors.

     Admiral Sir David Beatty, of North Sea fame, has a hunting box at
     Brooksby Hall, in the Melton Mowbray country.

     Five members of the Crawley and Horsham Hounds have been killed,
     three wounded, and two are missing.

     Quorn fields down to about 30, instead of 300 last season.

     Captain the Honorable R.B.F.  Robertson (Twenty-first Lancers) a
     prisoner of war.  He took over the North Tipperary Hounds in May,
     and, of course, did not get a chance to have any sport.

We now learn that the French authorities have discouraged fox-hunting behind the fighting lines.  So did the Germans.  One day British hounds took up the scent on their own initiative.  The usual followers had bigger game afoot, and were in the thick of an engagement.  The Germans gained ground and occupied the kennels.  When the hounds returned from their chase and challenged the intruders they were shot down one by one.

Such is the lore I had acquired when the motor came for me; whereupon, taking a few sandwiches to sustain me until supper time, I set forth through the night by Ford, for the station at The Plains.

* * * * *

The publication of the larger part of the foregoing chapter on fox hunting, in “Collier’s Weekly,” brought me a number of letters containing hunting anecdotes.

Mr. J.R.  Smith of Martinsville, Virginia, calls my attention to marked difference in character between the red fox and the gray.  The red fox, he says, depends upon his legs to elude the hounds, and will sometimes lead the hunt twenty-five miles from the place where he gets up, but the gray fox depends on cunning, and is more prone to run a few miles and “tack.”

Mr. Smith tells the following story illustrative of the gray fox’s amazing artfulness: 

“We had started a fox on three different occasions,” he writes, “running him a warm chase for about four miles and losing him every time in a sheep pasture.  Finally we stationed a servant in that pasture to see what became of the fox.  We started him again and he took the same route to the pasture.  There the mystery was solved.  The fox jumped on the back of a large ram, which, in fright, ran off about half a mile.  The fox then jumped off and continued his run.  When the hounds came up we urged them on to the point where the fox dismounted, and soon had his brush.”

* * * * *

Another correspondent calls my attention to the fact that, in Virginia, hunting is not merely the sport of the rich, but that the farmers are enthusiastic members of the field—­sometimes at the expense of their cattle and crops.  He relates the following story illustrative of the point of view of the sporting Virginia farmer: