A terrific feat of horsemanship is in progress.  A daring rider, mounted on a broad platform, which is borne on the back of a placid horse, is carried on a slow canter around the ring.  He evidently impersonates a member of the horse marines, for he executes elaborate imitations of pulling ropes, reefing and furling sails.  Probably the horse marines reef topsails on horseback.  In the absence of opposing testimony we accept his theory, and are greatly pleased to find that the equestrian sailor finally escapes being wrecked on the lower row of benches, and so meeting a watery grave among the sawdust, while his horse slowly founders beneath him.

I remark to MARGARET, while this daring act of marine horsemanship in progress, that “I hope the horse won’t founder”—­meaning to pun on the latter word.

But I am overheard by a horsey person in the neighborhood, who replies, “That horse hain’t got a symptom of foundering.  LENT keeps his horses in too good condition for that.”

And I to him, in a light and jocose manner—­“LENT keeps them so well fed that they never keep Lent themselves, I suppose.”

But the horsey person does not see my joke,—­thus proving that he shares a dulness of perception that I have too often noticed, even among my friends.  So I mercifully give him one more chance and say:  “I suppose Mr. LENT keeps all the fast horses, so that they never have to keep fast themselves.”  But he gruffly answers, “You think yourself smart, don’t you?  You ain’t, though, and you’d better keep yourself mighty quiet.”  I agree with him in the latter opinion, and relapse into a dignified silence.

Presently the “Antipodal Brothers” begin their fraternal gymnastics.  I again feel the spirit of speculation strong within me, and say to MARGARET, “Why are gymnasts always born in couples?  Why couldn’t the Antipodal Cousins, or the Antipodal Relations by Marriage, break their necks together with as much effect as though they were brothers?  Does the fraternal supply of brotherly gymnastics exist in consequence of a presumed demand for the article by the public?  If so, why does the public make such demand?”

And she answers, “It is a mystery.  Seek not to penetrate it.  That way madness lies.”

Here a conundrum obtrudes itself upon me, and I ask, “Suppose Gen. TERRY had a daughter, why would she necessarily be a delightful puzzle?  Obviously because she would be a Miss TERRY.”

But the horsey person turns round and says, “If you want a head put on you, just keep on talking; so that folks can’t hear the brothers turn a somersault.  You’ll be accommodated; do you understand?”