protest against being tacked on as a sort
of outside back-stair appendage to the National Gallery, that will
soon want the space we shall be forced to occupy for its own natural
and legitimate expansion. Suggest a site for us--anywhere else. There
is still room on the Embankment. Kensington Palace--is still in the
market. Why not be welcome there? As representatives for all of us, I
subscribe my name hereunder, and remain,

Your obedient servant,
JOSHUA REYNOLDS (late P.R.A.)

* * * * *

[Illustration: MR. JOSKINS BUYS A BOOK ON HORSEBREAKING, AND TRIES HIS HAND.

1. The first thing is to teach the Colt to Lead.

2. Next put on the Bridle, and drive him quietly.

3. After this you may get on his Back.

4. Ride him gently at first, and avoid using the Whip.

5. Make the Pupil understand, firmly but quietly, that you are his Master.

6. Then, after a few Lessons, you will have broken the Colt (or he will have
broken you).]

* * * * *

THE LESSON OF THE SEASON.

[Illustration]

The Season's over; for relief
You're off to scale the Alps;
Say, do you, like some Indian Chief,
Look back and count your scalps?
Does someone rue your broken vows,
And sigh he has to doubt you;
Yet felt withal the week at Cowes
Was quite a blank without you?

Are hearts still broken, as of old,
In this prosaic time,
When love is only given for gold,
And poverty's a crime.
Say, are you conscious of a heart,
And can you feel it beating;
And is it ever sad to part,
And finds a joy in meeting?

The Seasons come, the Seasons go,
With store of good and ill;
Do all men find you cold as snow,
And unresponsive still?
O beautiful enigma, say,
Will love's sublime persistence
Solve for you, in the usual way,
The riddle of existence?

Alas! love is not love to-day,
But just a bargain made,
In cold and calculating way;
And if the price be paid,
A man may win the fairest face,
A maiden tall and queenly,
The daughter of some ancient race,
Who sells herself serenely.

What wonder that the cynic sneers
At such a rule of life;
That, after but a few short years,
Dissension should be rife.
Ah! Lady, you'll avoid heart-ache,
And scorn of bard satiric,
If haply you should deign to take
A lesson from our lyric.

* * * *