Well—it is opened—now, Eusebius, I will not particularise the contents. The giver, it is to be presumed, with the patriotic view of encouraging native art, had confined his choice, and had made his selection, entirely from the works of modern English painters and engravers. And do not imagine that I am here about to indulge in any morose and severe criticism, and say, all were bad. On the contrary, the works showed very great artistic skill of both kinds; indeed, the work of the needle and graver exhibited a miraculous power of translation. That the subjects were such as generally give pleasure, cannot be denied; they are widely purchased, go where you will, in every country town as in the metropolis; the printsellers’ windows scarcely exhibit any other. These prints were therefore according to the general taste,—and therefore the Curate must be expected to be highly gratified with his present. Perhaps he was—but he certainly looked puzzled; and the first thing he said was, that he did not know what to do with them. “Are they not framed and glazed?” said Gratian: “hang them up, by all means.” “Yes,” said the bride, delightfully ready to assume the conjugal defence, “but where? You would not have me put the horses and dogs in my boudoir; and the other rooms of our nest have already pictures so out of character that these would only be emblems of disagreement; and I am sure you would not wish to see any thing of that nature here—yet.” But let me, Eusebius, take the order of conversation. GRATIAN.—There is a queen tamer of all animals, and though I would not like to see the Curate’s wife among the monsters, I doubt not she could always charm away any discordance these pictures might give. And look now at the noble face of that honest and well-educated horse. He would be a gentleman of rank among the houyhuhnms. I love his placid face. He reminds me of my old pet bay Peter, and many a mile has he carried his old master that was so fond of him. I have ridden him over gorse and road many a long day. He lived to be upwards of thirty-three, and enjoyed a good bite and annuity, in a fat paddock, the last seven or eight years of his life. AQUILIUS.—Gratian’s benevolence, you see, regulates his tastes: he loves all creatures, but especially the dumb: he speaks to them, and makes eloquent answers for them. You know he has a theory respecting their language. CURATE.—And Gratian is happy therein: I wish I had more taste of this kind, for these things are very beautiful in themselves; they are honest-looking creatures. In that I have been like Berni: “Piacevangli i cavalli Assai, ma si passava del videre, Che modo non avea da comparalli.” LYDIA.—If they are honest, there are some sly ones too. What say you to this law-suit of Landseer’s? I think I could make a pet of the judge.