Then the clowns’ carol, the herds of trained elephants and the circus performance that is familiar to the young and old. The ringmaster’s whip cracks merrily; ponies and dogs show the results of patient teaching; slack wire equilibrists, head balancers and daring horizontal bar heroes are innumerable; there are graceful flights upon flying trapeze and swinging rings; living classic statuary pleases the eye; hurdle riding, a hazardous form of equestrianism, gives the audience a thrill; prancing thoroughbreds engage in a cakewalk, and the clowns burlesque it; a crowd of acrobats and jugglers fill the rings simultaneously, while a septette of men and women engage in fancy and trick bicycle riding, and the most intrepid wheelman rides down a ladder which stretches to the dome of the canvas; a performing bear shows almost human intelligence, and some one dressed like a monster rooster evokes general mirth; a young man, standing on the pedals of a single wheel with no support save his nerve, makes his perilous journey up and down a spiral arrangement, which has a curious effect upon the snare drum; an eighteen-year-old girl turns somersaults upon a moving white horse’s back, and the onlookers read that she is the only one of her sex accomplishing the feat. So the show progresses to the rushing hippodrome races, contests between women on fiery thoroughbreds, double standing Roman bareback races, tandem hurdle races, jockey races, pony races with monkey jockeys, clowns in comical competition, and the breath-taking chariot race. It is now that the country crowd perhaps gets a thrill that is denied the New York city audience. In Madison Square Garden the hippodrome track is dry and firm and smooth and true. The country course offers none of these conditions. No time is granted to make it perfect. And so it is that sometimes there is a wild cry from rider or driver, a confused heap of hoofs, legs, wheels and dust, breathless silence from the thousands of onlookers and then, generally, a loud burst of applause as horse and human struggle to their feet, not seriously damaged. The danger of disaster is especially great when the four fleet horses are dashing with the heavy, low Roman chariots. Great skill is required to prevent collision or collapse on the abrupt course; and rough, uneven grounds make serious strain upon the vehicle. The accidents seldom have disastrous endings. I remember vividly when an axle broke in a Pennsylvania town. The woman driver jumped and escaped with a sprained wrist. The band instantly stopped its thumping. The horses, racing madly and unguided to the finish post came to an abrupt standstill. The audience, on a verge of a panic, resumed their seats, marvelling. They did not understand, that as a precautionary measure against just such accidents, the fiery animals are trained to run with the music. They have been taught not to move rapidly until the band begins and to stop whenever its melody ceases.