So allow us to take a little gallop into the Past. To-day we possess filling stations for feeding horse-power to horseless run-abouts—a necessary accessory to the plans of Progress. Their efficiency is undoubted, and their service of the best. But, oh for the scent and somnolence of the oldtime livery stable, where horse-power wore legs in place of wheels! There we found a warmth, physical and metaphysical; there we found colour and atmosphere and individuality. In a stable there was a kind of orderly disorder, the restful restlessness of dormant vitality. There was a scent; an admixture of horse and leather and grease and hay. Voices were hearty and manners were homely. The “office” walls were resplendent with gig lamps and whips and halters, and you took a seat on a bag of chaff; and while you dozed you listened to the munching of animals, the quiet rattle of head-chains, the hollow stamp of a hoof, the rattle of a bucket, punctuated occasionally with the sound (like somebody shaking a blanket) of a horse shaking his hide. It was a somnolent symphony. It is all a memory worth remembering, not because it is almost gone for ever, but because it reminds us that, although we live in hope, Memory is always something to fall back on when reality pushes.