yourself down into the saddle, and then rising again quickly. But keep trotting! Count how many times you trot around the ring, and mentally pledge yourself to increase the number of circuits at your next lesson. And—"Cluck!"

Sit down in the saddle, Esmeralda! Lean back a little, bring your left knee up against the pommel, keeping the lower part of the leg close against the saddle; keep your right knee in place and your right foot and the lower part of your right leg close to the saddled; guide your horse, but do not otherwise exert yourself. How do you like it? Delightful? Yes, with a good horse it is as delightful as sitting in a rocking-chair, but, if you were a rider of experience, you would not allow your horse to enter upon the gait without permission, but would bring him back to the trot by slightly pulling first the left rein and then the right, a movement which is called sawing the mouth. The poor creature is really not in fault. He heard the cluck given by that complacent-looking man, trotting slowly about, and not knowing how to use his reins and knees in order to go faster, and he said to himself: "She is tired of trotting and wants a rest; so do I," and away he went. If you had been trying to rise, you might have been thrown, for the greatest danger that you will encounter in the school comes from rising while the horse is at a canter. The cadence of the motion is triple, instead of in common time like that of the trot, and you will soon distinguish the difference, but eschew cantering at first. If you once become addicted to it, you will never learn to trot, or even to walk well.

Having had your little warning against clucking, perhaps you will now sympathize with the indignant Englishwoman who, having been almost unseated by a similar mischance, responded, when the clucking cause thereof rode up to say that he was sorry that her horse should behave so: "It wasn't the horse that was in fault, sir; it was a donkey." But now, try a round or two more of trotting, then guide your horse carefully about the ring two or three times, bring him up to the mounting-stand, dismount, and go to the dressing-room. You are rather warm, but not in the least tired, and you have had "such a good time," as you enthusiastically explain to everybody who will listen to you, but as there is much merry chatter going on from behind screens, and as it is all to the same effect, nobody pays much attention, and if you were cross and complaining, everybody would laugh at you. A riding-school is a place from which every woman issues better contented than she entered, and there is no sympathy for grumblers.

Remember to be careful about your wraps, and that you may be able to ride better next time, practice these exercises at home: Place your knees together and heels together, adjust your shoulders, hands, and arms as if you were in the saddle, and sit down as far as possible, while keeping the legs vertical from the knee down. Rise, counting "One," sink again, rise once more at "Two," and continue through three measures, common time. Rest a minute and repeat until you are a little weary. Nothing is gained by doing too much work, but if you do just enough of this between lessons, you cannot possibly grow stiff. When you can do it fairly well, try to do it first on one foot and then on the other, and then bring your right foot in front of your left knee, and, standing on your left foot, assume, as nearly as possibly, the proper position for the saddle, and try to rise in time. You will not find it very difficult, and you will be compelled to keep your heel down while doing it, especially if you put a block about an inch thick under your left tow. You may try doing it while sitting sidewise in a chair, if it be difficult for you to poise yourself on one foot, but a girl who cannot stand thus for some time, long enough to lace her riding boot, for instance, is much too weak for her own good.

Take all your spare minutes for this work, Esmeralda. Bob up and down in all the secluded corners of the house; try to feel the motion in the horse-cars—it will not need much effort in many of them. And if you want to be comfortable in a herdic, sit sidewise and pretend that the seat is a horse. This is Mr. Hurlburt's rule for riding in an Irish "outside car." In short, while taking your first riding-lessons, walk, sit, and think to the tune of

  "One, two, three, four!
    Near the wall,
  Make him trot;
    You cannot fall!"

IV.

  The Horse does not attempt to fly;
  He knows his powers, and so should I.
         Spurgeon.

Wilful will to water, eh, Esmeralda? You are determined to appear in that riding party after your third lesson, and you think that you "will look no worse than a great many others." Undoubtedly, that is true, and more's the pity, but, since you will go, let us make the most of the third lesson, and trust that you will return in a whole piece, like Henry Clay's pie.

You do not see why there is any more danger on the road than in the ring, and you have never been thrown! It would be unkind, in the face of that "never," to remind you that you have been in the saddle precisely twice, and, really, there is no more danger from your incompetency, should it manifest itself on the road, than might arise from its display in the ring, but with your horse it is another matter. Having the whole world before him, why not, he will meditate, speed forth into space, and escape from the hateful creature who jerks on his head so causelessly, making him sigh wearily for the days of his unbroken colthood? He would endure it within doors, because he has noticed that his tormentor gives place to another every hour, and pain may be borne when it is not monotonous; but he remembers that there is no limit to the time during which one human being may impel him along an open road, and he also remembers some very pretty friskings, delightful to himself, but disconcerting to his rider, and he may perform some of them.

Even if he should, he would not unseat a rider well accustomed to school work, but you! You actually rose in the saddle three times in succession, the other day, and where were your elbows and where were your feet when you ceased rising, and long before your steady, quiet mount understood that you desired him to walk?

Your master smiles indulgently when you announce that this is your last practice lesson, and says: "Very well, you shall ride Charlie, to-day, at least for a little while, until some others come in." He himself mounts, moves off a pace or two, one of the assistant masters puts you in the saddle, and before the groom lets Master Charlie's head go, your master says, easily: "Leave his reins pretty long, especially the right one. Put your left knee close against the pommel; don't try to rise until I tell you. Ready. Now."

You feel as if you were in a transformation scene at the theatre. The windows of the ring seem to run into one another, and at very short intervals you catch a glimpse in the mirror of a young woman, in a familiar looking Norfolk jacket, sitting with her elbows as far behind her as if held there by the Austrian plan of running a broomstick in front of the arms and behind the waist.

On and on! You earnestly wish to stop, but are ashamed to say so. Close at your right hand, pace for pace with you, rides your master, keeping up an unbroken fire of brief ejaculation: "Hands a little lower! Arms close to the side!" Shoulders square! Square! Draw your right shoulder backward and upward! Now down with your