of
the republic exist, if its daughters must be in bondage to common
sense and expediency?

Borrow Nell's habit once more, for the criticism to be undergone
on the road is mild compared to that of a gallery of spectators
before whom you must repeatedly pass in review, and who may
select you as the object of their especial scrutiny. Dress at
home, if possible; if not, go to the school early, and array
yourself rapidly, but carefully, for there may be fifty riders
present during the evening, and there will be little room to
spare on the mounting-stand, and no minutes to waste on buttoning
gloves, shortening skirt straps or tightening boot lacings.
Remember all that you have been taught about mounting and
about taking your reins, and think assiduously of it, with a
determination to pay no attention to the gallery. There will be
no spectators on the mounting-stand, and Theodore, who will take
charge of you in the ring, will mount before you do, and when you
have been put in your saddle by one of the masters, and start, he
will take his place on your right, nearer the centre of the ring.
While you are walking your horses slowly about, turning corners
carefully and never ceasing to control your reins, warn him that
when you say, "Centre," he must turn out to the right instantly,
that you also may do so. If possible, you will not pronounce the
word, but will ride as long as the horses canter or trot in time
to the music.

"Do you understand," Theodore asks, "that these horses adjust
their gait to the music?"

"So Nell's friend says."

"Well, I don't believe it. They are good horses, but I don't
believe that they practice circus tricks. Why must I go to the
centre the minute that you bid me? Why couldn't you pull up and
pass out behind me?"

"Because if I did, somebody might ride over me. It is not proper
to stop while on the track."

"Oh-h! How long do they trot or canter at a time? Half an hour?"

"Only a few minutes," you answer, wondering whether Theodore
really supposes that you could canter, much less trot half an
hour, even if stimulated by the music of the spheres.

"That's a pretty rider," he says, as a girl circles lightly past,
sitting fairly well, and rising straight, but with her arms so
much extended that her elbow is the apex of a very obtuse angle,
though her forearms are horizontal. You explain this point to
Theodore, who replies that she looks pretty, and seems to be able
to trot for some time,