easily-raised and almost impalpable dust; and the air and scene together breathe an exhilaration which even the notes of the guards horn are powerless to dash. For we have a guard, and our guard has a horn, and both guard and horn, as might be expected in the turn-out of the agreeable Anglo-maniac who is coaching us, are all that the most exacting orthodoxy of the English road could require, in every respect save one. The result of the combined, yet not always concerted efforts of guard and horn to produce music leaves something to be desired. This, however, is a matter not easy to provide for even in England, where indeed, one often hears less harmonious strains than are just now being wafted on the breeze. There is, perhaps, no musical performer in the world who has more need than the average post-horn player to entreat his audience, in the terms in which a newly-elected Speaker of the House of Commons approaches the Crown or its representative Commission, to "place the most
