What a strange thing it is that a certain type of biped called Man should have this chance dominion over all the other creatures! How he has bound them to his service! And of them all no one has suffered as the horse.

He seems more sensitive than the others. No horse has bad habits save man-taught ones. What a score on some far-off Judgment Day has the horse to settle with his master, man! And that is why I like to fuss with horses. I like to try to show them that this relationship can be agreeable to us both. I have no feeling for an outlaw horse, but any horse that has not had unfortunate human relationships too long is worth the experiment.

The horse is a habit-making, habitcontrolled creature. The trick seems to be, so far as my very meagre experience has shown, to teach good habits. And of all the creatures I know man is in some ways the least fitted to teach them. He is vain, imperious, and often cowardly, and that is why a perfect horseman is just a bit more rare than a perfect poet. I have long since given over any ambition to write an epic poem, but I do hope, if life be spared, by patience, humility, and the sternest application to the task, to learn to ride a horse. I doubt my ultimate success, but somehow I feel that if I ever do, in the face of almost insuperable obstacles, both physical and mental, it will be a splendid achievement.

The golden autumn days go by and the first suggestion of real winter comes. We have, however, here and there a day dedicated to the horse.

Such a day dawns. It is the day that with us is devoted, in theory, to the memory of a Genoese sailor, and is made by beneficent legislation a holiday, a day free from the thralldom of office and of school! It has been decided that the morning shall be spent in tasks; there shall be an early lunch, and

then a ride, timed to bring us back through the woods when the sun is low and streams in level golden shafts between the trees.

I seek the stable. Already preparations are afoot. My garb alone is warrant for the news. I watch the horses cleaned. I never watch a workman without a thrill; if only he be a real craftsman, a man who loves his work. And such a one is he who cleans my horses. I can clean a horse, after a fashion, but here is consummate art: free swing of comb and brush following the graceful lines of the creature's body; the softly spoken word to soothe impatience; the low soft whistling sound that none but the elect can manage; the tap of comb on hoof or floor; the fearless, accustomed handling of a horse. A perfect art, and loved, I know, by horse as well as man. What little skill I have in other things I'd gladly trade if I could clean a horse the way this old man does.

The hours lag, but now we meet for lunch. Plans are discussed, our course laid out. We make the meal a mockery and hurry to the stable. No having horses brought round to the door not in our simple life are things like that. We seek them out and make the pleasure greater.

They stand in single file upon the floor, saddled and bridled, waiting our command. Each is covered with a bright plaid cooler; ears are erect; and nervous lips jingle the shining bits.

The Incomparable One is as busily important as if each steed were a prospective Derby winner. We pull off the coolers, each our own. We fold them up and hang them on the rail, and then we drop restraining hitching-ropes and go out single file. No mounting on a slippery stable-floor; we want good gravel, smoothly packed beneath our feet. And then I watch to see if lessons have been learned: three things to do before

you mount. I smile at the Incomparable One, and he smiles too, as little hands seek saddle girths. A gentle tug; they are all right, not loose, not tight. Then the throatlatch is looked at; it must rest light and easy. Then the curb, to see if it be smooth. All is reported right, so then we mount. We feel again a moving creature under us; we feel the gentle lift of smooth, straight legs, and we are off.

I take my place with Two Feet on my right. I notice two links are dropped on her curb chain it is well. One Foot sedately takes her place upon my left; her curb swings loose; no need for a free hand on that side.

We cross the first meadow at a walk. Two Feet capers and frets a bit; she has not learned yet what One Foot knows so well, that we walk this meadow to test the tack, to feel the seat we have, to find the irons, and to learn the mood that horse and rider share to-day. We turn into the next; and now a word, and heads come up and off we trot. A gentle pace, but still enough to bring the breeze to our faces, and now we hear the hoofs, the soft sound of yielding leather, and the click of steel. I look from right to left. Youth still fretful and impatient on my right, so I suggest a little lighter hand, a soothing word; upon the left, Experience trots with even temper and with steady stride.

Before us lies a smooth, ascending swell. I ask if we are ready, irons back, feet forward. Then a gentle pressure of the heel, a rein drawn lightly, and three creatures leap. Youth takes the lead; a word must bring her back. This is no race or steeplechase. So back she comes, but shakes her head and dashes foam upon her shoulder. Experience travels neck and neck with me, a tranquil eye, but nostrils quiver, and I wonder if she is recalling days when this pace was mere play for her. At the brow of the hill we pull up and loosen

rein. Three heads go down a bit; we ease our seats, and I can see the glow in cheeks and eyes that must mean joy and health in future years.

And now a long walk to the woods. We talk of hands and knees, of heels, and of our mounts, each feeling that we ride the very best. And so it goes, walk, trot, and canter. Yes, my friend, that's all. I know it all seems tame to you. We hack, I know, but hacking at its best is all we ever hope or want to do. It is enough. It takes us out; it gives us joy to feel that we can do that much, and day by day we hope to do it better.

And now we reach the woods. The sun is right. We go in single file, with Experience ahead to show the way, and Youth comes next, and Age brings up the rear.

I look ahead at those two little figures. They are learning the hard lessons: constant care, constant thought, the hands, the knee, how often do I speak the word! How hard they try, and how fast they learn! I sometimes think it arrogant to teach; they do as well as I, and better too at times. But now no lessons for the woods entrance. Dry leaves are on the path and squirrels scold and scurry. We shout back and forth, 'Oh, look! See this, and that!' And then a new tremendous enterprise portends; a strange, new path leads none of us knows where. We take it, and we wind and twist. What glorious fun, what adventure! And we shout with glee when it brings us out in well-known pastures far from home.

We turn across the broad acres of a friendly neighbor; a narrow shaded lane invites. A stern sign posted at the gate warns all away, but we are of the elect and enter in. We are under the pine trees now; the needles pave the path. Oh, what a footing! Once more we trot, and almost without sound of hoof we whirl along. Youth is calmer

now; she works with us; she has learned the pace and keeps her stride unbroken. Experience asks for more bridle; she knows where she is, and wants a freer head on the long upgrade that brings us to my neighbor's house.

He sees us and waves his hand. He sits in a great chair upon his lawn. A perfect horseman, he will never ride again, but it is joy to him to see the children come, for to such as they he must pass the torch of gentle sportsmanship. And now the crowning moment comes. We swing into a great field, again my kindly neighbor's, and questioning eyes are turned to mine.

All right, we will - but careful now. I know the ground, it's smooth, without a hole, and yonder is a tiny jump, put there by kindly thought for children. I show the way, and as I turn to watch the others, Experience follows; her stride is easy, every nerve at rest. She takes the tiny jump as part of her day's work and canters up and stops. Youth now comes, pulling just a bit and nervous in her stride. She takes it well, but jumps a foot too high and does not want to stop when she is over. She will learn; when she has learned she will know that half the work will do it just as well.

And now the end. We whirl. We let them go. For one short moment we thunder side by side. We hear the hoofs; we feel the plunging bodies between our knees; we see the foam blown in the wind. The earth glides under us; we seem to fly. How sure the feet, how mighty are the muscles that hurl us forward! And how our hearts beat and how our faces tingle!

Now we turn toward home. Cool horses out, cool horses in, is our rule. We walk side by side and talk of our

adventures. We tell where we were right and where we blundered; how wonderful the horses were; of the beautiful things we saw; of our friends who let us ride over their good land; how to do this and when to do that; all the wonderful minutiae of the greatest sport in the world. We turn down our little avenue; we come home formally and in order.

The Incomparable One is waiting. We dismount, and he takes my horse out of deference to age and general incapacity. My comrades take charge of their own. We have learned it allhow saddles come off and what you do with them; how bridles come off and where to put them; what to do with the horses and why. What a world of fun it is! The sugar is brought, and glistening necks arch and gentle lips fondle the sweet offering lying in the flat palms of little hands. And then to the house, to talk it all over again with the world's most attentive listener.

When bedtime comes I see a light in the stable and go down to find the Incomparable One in the tiny saddleroom. Bridles are still on cleaninghooks; girths wet with pipe clay hung to dry, sponges, soap, and chamois at every hand. He is a busy and a happy

man.

Somehow that last gallop has made me feel a bit more his peer. I recalled one or two things I did rather better than usual. So the talk is once more easy, and for an hour it runs, and I listen well to the quaint, rich talk of a real horseman who loves even such horses as these poor steeds of mine. Shrewd, kindly, brave the old man is, and somehow I feel that his body has been kept young and strong, his soul serene and sweet, by his simple, wholehearted love of horse.

'MAZE-A structure consisting of a network of winding and intercommunicating paths and passages arranged in bewildering complexity, so that without guidance it is difficult to find one's way in it.'-Oxford Dictionary

THE erection of the statue of Alexander Hamilton in front of the main Treasury Building in Washington raises the question who is to occupy the corresponding position in relation to the new Treasury Annex, devoted to the uses of the Internal Revenue Bureau. The action of Congress on the Mellon tax-plan last year suggests that the claims of the present Secretary would not at this time, at least be favorably considered. It may be that, rather than undertake the invidious task of passing on the relative claims of present-day statesmen, such as Representative Volstead and Secretary McAdoo, it would be safer to resort to classical mythology. A dethroned Bacchus is the first idea that suggests itself, but for a Bureau that includes the Income Tax unit as well as the Prohibition unit is there not at least as strong a claim to be made for Dædalus? And it was the same Congress which by the Volstead Act dethroned Bacchus that in its tax law outbuilt Dædalus. In maintaining its supremacy Congress has been at this disadvantage: that the labyrinth of Dædalus was designed only to entoil new victims, none of whom escaped to return and make a second attempt to solve its intricacies, whereas Congress had to prepare for

adventurers who would return year after year. It must be admitted that hitherto Congress has been extraordinarily successful in introducing new complexities with sufficient frequency to preclude any possibility of victims acquiring familiarity with its maze; but is it right to ask or even to permit Congress to continue this effort indefinitely? Should not Congress now attempt to achieve something of the breadth and simplicity of the architecture of Athens, instead of continuing to emulate the complexities of Crete?

Those who are compelled to study the tax maze find in it an extraordinary series of contradictions. One of the most striking is seen in the lengths to which Congress goes on some points to define its purposes and to avoid leaving any discretion to the administrators of the law, and in the enormous range of discretion left to the administration on other points, with utterly inadequate provision made to ensure that such discretion shall be exercised on adequate information and competent advice. Pages of an Act are devoted to explanations on such points as when an organization is a reorganization and when a dividend is not a dividend, and most specific rules are laid down for the guidance of the Commissioner on such matters, yet a brief clause in the Act may be the sole authority of and the sole limitation on the Commissioner in dealing with subjects of vast importance.

That the impossibility of dispensing with discretion in administration is realized by some in Congress, but not by others, is indicated by the following colloquy between members of the Senate Committee investigating the Bureau of Internal Revenue:

SENATOR COUZENS. - But we want to know what the questions are at issue so we can pass a law to cover such cases, instead of leaving it discretionary.

SENATOR ERNST.-I tell you, Senator, you will not be able to pass a law or laws that will cover all the questions that will arise in these cases, even though you pass laws from now until the end of time.

II

In the 1918 Act, in which the rates of tax ran as high as 82.4 per cent on corporations, deductions were authorized for a reasonable allowance for depreciation, based on the value of property at March 1, 1913. This simple clause implied the making or approving by the Commissioner of valuations of practically all the depreciable business property in the United States that was in existence at March 1, 1913: a problem in valuation far greater and of far more immediate and practical effect than the valuation of the railroads, on which the Interstate Commerce Commission and the railroads have spent upwards of ten years and upwards of $100,000,000 without completing the task. A provision for the amortization of the cost of war facilities entailed the even more difficult task of deciding what these facilities would be worth at some time in the future, and under conditions not easily capable of anticipation.

A clause allowing a deduction for depletion of natural resources implied a similar task of valuation as at March 1, 1913, in relation to the entire natural resources of the country; and in the 1921 Act this task was com

plicated by the allowance of a further deduction in determining the taxable income from operations of oil and mining properties, in respect of the appreciation in value resulting from the discovery of minerals in hitherto unproven areas. This allowance not only ran counter to the whole general theory of the law and placed the industries concerned in a specially favored position, but it also created an administrative task of the utmost difficulty.

The discretion given to the Commissioner in regard to methods of valuing inventories involved the decision whether millions of dollars should be accounted for as income in years in which they would be subject to a tax of 50 per cent or more, or in years in which they would be subject to little or no tax.

The burden of dealing with these problems was imposed on a Bureau that had been formed only a few years earlier and had been administering a tax so low-1 or 2 per cent as to be a matter of comparative indifference to taxpayers. Yet Congress created no new machinery to enable the Bureau to cope with its enormously increased burdens and responsibilities.

Not only do these and similar problems in taxation involve in the aggregate billions of dollars, but there are a large number of individual cases in which millions or tens of millions are involved. In such cases the taxpayer can afford to lavish money and skill on the study of every phase of the case, and on the development of a form of presentation that will bring out the strong and minimize or conceal the weak points. Consider for a moment the way in which these cases are finally decided: on the one side the taxpayer with millions at stake, familiar with every strength and weakness of