half an-hour's interval, during which time the betting-men, niggers, and refreshment-tent keepers reap little harvests, and then another race and then races and reaping little harvests, by turns, for the rest of the day. No one seemed to know the names of the horses, and no one seemed to want to be informed. We crowded against the ropes when a race was on, and then listened to the niggers.

Getting somewhat tired of all this I wandered to where the carriages were drawn up in lines three or four deep. Here was the scene of Frith, R.A.'s "Derby Day" all over again, the only difference being the many changes in fashionable costume which even the few years since 1858 have brought about. A wandering improvisatore, accompanying himself on a guitar, sings an impromptu song about the peoples around him, not forgetting to bring in the swells, who seem to be rather flattered than otherwise at such somewhat questionable notoriety; for their names are associated with most mysterious "goings on." His wife collects the coppers and indulges in music-hall melodies, her favourite ones being "A Motto for every Man," and "The Calico Printer's Clerk," which I hear her sing at least a dozen times each during the day. Racing, like love and poverty, levels all. Gentlemen, who would swear at a beggar who might ask for a halfpenny, are here seen clinking champagne glasses with niggers, gipsies, or any roughs who choose to loaf around their carriages. Subject for an artist with moral tendencies: ragged men and women leaning against carriages, drinking expensive wines, out of rarely cut glasses, and talking to elegantlydressed ladies and gentlemen, as if they all moved in the same society.

Picture the Second: The same scene. Winter. Ground covered with snow, and rain and mist falling. Ragged men and women-more ragged and dirty than ever-wending their weary way to the nearest workhouse, the only hope, in their present miserable state, being the prospect of a meal of toke and skilly. Question for a Political Economist: If the worth of the wine which such people drink like water at races and such places were only given to them instead, and they used it with prudence, would the Unions become overcrowded at the first approach of inclement weather? I am particularly amused at what is taking place in a pony-chaise. Papa, on the box, is shaking hands with "all sorts of people," and fine-lady-daughters inside are disgusted accordingly. At last one of them, unable to keep silent any longer, says, loud enough to be heard where I am standing, and that is some distance from the chaise, Papa, I am quite ashamed of you; one would think you had known these people all your life. What would mamma say if she knew it?" To which papa, who is deep in sherry, only replies, "Nonsense, my dear: its race-time;" as if races were an excuse for anything!

66

At about half-past five the last race is run, and then horses, carriages, and people - all seem to

move at once in the direction of Trottingcover. I am rather tired after wandering about all day under the hot sun, so I think there will be no harm in having a pint of ale and half-an-hour's rest before I begin the journey back. Soon I think it would have been wiser to have left the course while it was yet broad daylight; for I have no sooner settled down in a quiet corner than some fifty hoppers of the lowest class roll into the tent, and when a man, who has evidently seen better days, begins to play the "Captive" polka on the violin, they all begin dancing like so many maniacs, reminding me of the people in the fairy-story who were compelled to dance whenever the charmed violin should be played. The waiter, who seemed to have entirely lost the use of his left side, is prevailed upon to join the dancers-anything but a pleasant spectacle, and presently they fall down of a heap, the waiter underneath. I hear the man say afterwards that they tripped him up on purpose, and emptied his pockets before he could get on his feet again. Presently a young man, looking like the conventional stage countryman, who sits near me, and will talk, being particularly anxious to let me know that he is not one of those hoppers," but a regular farm-labourer, born and reared in the district. Presently he says, all of a sudden:

"Do you know Puddy Green?"

Thinking he might have been to London and found his way to Evans's, I said :

"You mean Paddy Green, I suppose?" "No, Puddy Green; I was thinking that he might be your father."

"Whatever makes you think so?" I asked, rather surprised.

"Why, he wears a coat just like yours, and that made me think he was your father."

Rather a strange way of guessing relationship; but I had had enough of the tent, and, as I left, the rustic was muttering to himself—“Two coats alike—they can't belong to different families."

During the short time I had passed in that select society of hop-pickers, the scene in front of the tent had undergone an entire change, and a stranger just coming to the place would have only known by a few refreshment tents and some countrymen talking over the events of the day that he was on a race-course. As it looked like rain, I thought I would ride back to Trottingcover; but everything in the shape of a conveyance had left the place; so as it was nearly dark, and there were several suspicious-looking characters loitering about, I commenced walking down the first hill as quickly as I could. When I reached Arch the rain was falling in large drops, and black clouds were looming in the distance. The public-houses were overcrowded with soldiers (who, strange as it seems, considering their very limited incomes, always muster in large numbers at anything at all approaching to a merry-making, and have plenty of money to spend, and ale to drink); and places of shelter being "few and far between," I was glad to

meet with a waggonette waiting outside the door of the principal inn, the driver of which was continually reminding the people that it was the last conveyance to Trottingcover that evening. I was the first to take my place in the waggonette. Then came a musician and his wife, who made the driver take them for a fare and a half. Then came crowds of soldiers at sixpence a-head, who filled up every inch of space, some being obliged to let their legs hang over the sides, and others holding on to one another on the conductor's step behind. And so we drove along; the musician and his wife singing professionally, apparently for the edification of each other; the soldiers making a long chorus of "When Johnny comes marching home," putting in verses of their own when the original ones were exhausted; and myself wondering how it was that we were not overturned, or run into, or brought to grief in some way or the other. The rain did not come down after all; and when we past the "Cat" people were sitting at tables in front of the inn, drinking, singing and waving their glasses about like an opera chorus. It was 7 p.m. when we reached Trottingcover, and there would be no train until 9.30.; so for some two hours I must_wander about and accept whatever amusement Trottingcover offers. I soon found out that the only amusement to be obtained would be of my own providing; so I made up my mind for a long stroll through the dreamy old town; and I never enjoyed an evening more. The shops are being shut, the lights are disappearing from the windows, and people are no doubt beginning to think of supper and bed. All is very quiet, and it seems as if Trottingcover people kept to the old-fashioned notion that from sunset to sunrise was the time for rest. But, considering it was the night of the races, they might have made their town more lively. In the lower part of it (for it is a large town and has many districts) there is more life, if a few shops half-open and people gossiping at the street doors can be called life. I tumble over a theatre which has been long closed against the regular drama. Bills announce that a well-known lady entertainer will come there in a few weeks time, which announcement has little interest for me. Hearing music from the first floor of a large inn, I go upstairs and find myself in a ball-room, with no company but the musicians. The landlady tells me that being race night, and having a licence for music and dancing, she attempted to get up a ball; but public dancing seems to be a dead failure as far as Trottingcover is concerned.

Then I wander into the genteel quarter of the

town, where I find a London organ-man grinding away at London tunes all by himself, in a dreary, desolate, seemingly-uninhabited square; stately-looking houses frown down upon mehouses that have seen grand goings on in their time, but are now either leased by retired merchants and tradesmen, or let in lodgings. I begin to wonder what sort of people live inside, and what makes them all go to bed so early; for there is not a light gleaming from any of the lower windows, and the glow from the upper storeys is gradually becoming less. Desolation, darkness, and a dreamy sort of dreariness reign everywhere. Not that I am complaining of the state of things. If I were living in the town, instead of just coming away from the noise of the race-course into its deserted streets, I should have thought such a quiet, peaceful night-time delightful." What a blessing to be able to walk out without meeting gangs of the lower class of shopboys, undersized, foulmouthed, blocking up the path, and insulting all who do not belong to their own vile set! How pleasant to walk through a town after dark, without having to pass miserable, poorly-dressed, vicious looking women, who stand in groups at the top of courts and alleys, yelling and jeering at any passer-by whose worldly circumstances may be a shade better than theirs! How nice to have no jolly dogs shouting insane melodies as they reel home at early hours of the morning, waking all but the soundest sleepers! Nothing does more good for people who have much brainwork to get through than a quiet walk after dark, when thoughts can be collected without the thinker being taken for a lunatic. In most towns this is impossible. The roughs (and they are not only men) are monarchs of the streets after nightfall, and well-disposed people who invade their territory find it very unpleasant, often extremely unsafe. Here was the only town I have wandered through after dark without meeting mongrel boys playing at men in the public thoroughfares to the annoyance of everybody. Rest and quietness in your houses, silence and security in your streets, O Trottingcover, Trottingcover! what a home you would be for hundreds of people who are wearing out their minds through having to work amidst all that is favourable to nervous disorders, and have no chance of proper sleep and rest when work is over!

For a wonder the train was not late, and I was home and in bed before eleven. When the days are short and the nights cold, it is pleasant to think of summer days; and one of the pleasantest I passed in '66 was when I went "over the hills to the races."

JOHN CHURCHILL BRENAN.

OUR PARIS

MY DEAR C

In spite of our Grand Exhibition we are not happy. The political horizon is dark and gloomy, and keeps us continually floating between hope and fear. Now War is certainnow Peace is possible; we are no sooner reassured than we begin again to tremble. Last week it was noised abroad that the Emperor, in a moment of exasperation against Monsieur de Bismarck, had sent his ultimatum to Prussia; that the Empress, accompanied by several Ministers of State, had gone and thrown herself at his Majesty's feet, imploring him to recall his despatch; that it was not until after great supplications and prayers that Napoleon was persuaded to stop the ultimatum. Then it was said that the Emperor was about to strike another coup d'état, close the two Houses, levy a million of men, and go and seize the coveted dukedom by force. Others affirmed that Prussia, elated by her recent success, had demanded a French province as her natural limit, and no doubt would come to take it, while most of the papers seemed to add coals on the burning fire, and did all in their power to push the Emperor to declare hostilities. "It is the only thing that will reinstate him in public opinion," said those who see all on the black side, "and he is very low in Parisian estimation since he allowed the conquests of Prussia, and the alliance of Italy with that power." Add to all this the illness of the Prince Imperial, whom some declare to be attacked with an incurable disease. That report may be nothing but party malignity, there has been so much said of that child. The palace account is that he fell while taking his gymnastic exercises, and hurt his leg, which caused a tumour in the thigh. His convalescence has been several times announced, and he was expected to be at the opening of the Exhibition, but was not there "a sure sign," say the dissatisfied, "that he is worse than acknowledged." The possibility of his death causes people to speculate on future events, and the Orleans family has of late been much talked of.

The Opening of the Exhibition was very splendid, and the weather fine by exception. When I say splendid I mean by the great concourse of spectators who surrounded the outside of the building. The entrance being twenty francs that day, the happy few alone penetrated under the green-and-gold velvet velum spread for a long distance over the grand entrance for the reception of the Court. Several thousand workmen, employed in turning the vast space opposite the Champ de Mars called The Trocadero into a park, left their work just as the imperial carriages arrived, and, with their spades and shovels on their shoulders,

formed a row on each side, as a guard of honour for their Majesties, whom they cheered with mighty lungs. There is a very beautiful little pavilion in the park, near the principal door, erected for the Emperor and Empress: nothing can be more elegant and pretty. Of course it was not finished-nor was anything else. It will take at least a month longer to have every. thing in order. The English soldiers with their red coats attracted great attention as the Court passed down the British section. The first week was all five-franc days; but few cared about going amidst workmen, dirt, and dust at that price: since then the franc days have been established, which is cheap enough. Weekly tickets, at six francs, have also been issued; but, in order that you may not lend your ticket, you must send your photograph, and your ticket is stuck on it. It is the same for the seasontickets, for which ladies pay sixty francs, and gentlemen one hundred francs. As the papers have not yet published the number of these tickets sold, I fancy that there has not beer many; nor do I think that the number of visitors has as yet been very prodigious.

The Empress is to inaugurate soon the reserved Park, where there are to be daily concerts, resembling those of the Champs Elysées. This part of the Exhibition is spoken of as the gem of the place. Amongst other curiosities the Turks have made an oriental public square, with a fountain in the middle, a mosque, a habitable kiosk, and a bathing-house. For the delusion to be complete they ought to have peopled it with Turkish men and women: the Frenchmen about it spoil the whole affair. The public pay extra to visit this park. There is also to be a flower-show here every fortnight. It is here, too, that the famous carp, from Fontainbleau, have been transported, and gambol about in the aquarium made on purpose for them. Some of these carp are said to be more than two hundred years old. What is certain is that they are very old, several being blind from age. What a pity that they should have been touched! it being more than probable that many will die from this change in their element. Such remnants of the past ought to be sacred; but is anything sacred here! In the public park, near the principal entrance, the Protestants have erected a church and Sunday-school-room, which were inaugu rated the other day by Lord Shaftesbury and the Baron de Chabaud la Tour, so that there will be no excuse for not going to church even at the Exhibition. The Bible Society of London distributes gratis, here, a copy of the Gospel according to St. Luke, to all the passers by, much to the amusement of our freethinking journalists, who pretend that the salvation of their

souls is no business of their neighbours. One of them seems to be greatly offended, even, at having had a Gospel offered to him, while he was quietly smoking his cigar, and, in revenge, spent no end of wit in trying to turn the Society into ridicule, though it is very probable the society will never know the ink and paper spent about them, and will not therefore be able to profit by the suggestions of their adviser. It is easy enough to get to the Exhibition, but not so easy to get from it; not a cab is to be seen near itthey say, because strangers are not generous to the cabmen. The Parisians give always two or three sous more than the fare. The strangers, I imagine, are not aware of that, so give nothing, and are obliged to trudge home on foot, there not being sufficient omnibuses for all. But enough of the Exhibition, though there is very little else going on now in Paris; half the salons are closed, and many of their owners gone into the country for the Easter holidays.

Two or three new comedies have appeared on the stages, but no decided hit has been made since Les Ideés de Madame Aubray," which continues to attract full houses. The journalists again marry Mdlle. Patti, and regret the coming departure of Mdlle. Nilsson, so charming both in person and voice.

every

The spring races at Vincennes and at the Bois de Boulogne are a pleasant diversion Sunday afternoon to those who love such sport, or who have an eccentric dress to show. Miss Cora Pearl and kindred sport their red hair and fine horses to the satisfaction of their delighted admirers; and small bonnets, if possible, are smaller than ever; so that there is no chance of false hair going out of fashion, let your English critics say what they will of the propagation of head diseases, in which I have no belief, as false hair (in France at least) is boiled and cleaned with the greatest care before ornamenting a lady's head. After all, false hair is not such a new fashion as one would suppose by the cries of the men; seventy or eighty years ago children even wore wigs, or at least young girls of fourteen or fifteen; and there is an anecdote of a lady (Madame de Pastoret) who, at a grand ball given by the ambassador of Austria, in Paris, in 1829, had the misfortune to see a part of her fair locks, ornamented with flowers, fall off her head while waltzing. The ladies present were shocked, and exclaimed with horror, to the great confusion of the poor lady. A young English lady, impatient to hear them, said: "Good gracious, ladies, let the one amongst us who has not a little false hair on her head throw the first stone!" The voices were hushed.

I told you of our last invention-false stomachs. A French paper pretends that you on the other side of the Channel are not less fecund in inventions for the improvement of the female species than we are, and that you offer false ears in return for our stomachs; so that if

a lady has ugly ears she can change them. Query-what does she do with her own? Are they cut off, if too large? or what?

You remember the much-talked of yacht that made such a rapid voyage from America, with only the owner on board? This gentleman, it seems, had been on very friendly terms with the Prince Louis Napoleon, when a refugee in America. Having on board his yacht a cask of a liqueur called Appel-sack, fabricated only in New Jersey; and, remembering that the Prince, in former days, used to he partial to that liqueur, the thought came into his head to send the cask to the Tuileries, with the address"Mr. James Butler to the Emperor Napoleon." A few hours after, Mr. Butler received a note written by the Emperor himself, in which he requested his former friend to come and dine with him without ceremony. Of course the gentleman had no previous engagement to prevent him, so to the Tuileries he went. The Emperor received him in a small dining-room, without the least pomp, and during the repast quite astounded his visitor by his prodigious memory of former days, enquiring after mutual acquaintances and recalling the most minute details of events that had been long forgotten by Mr. Butler, who left the palace enchanted with his Imperial Majesty.

A decree has just abolished the military bands in the cavalry, one regiment alone (Les Guides) excepted. The towns in the country are not pleased: all regret their music; but the measure is a great economy of horses, and economy is necessary. The papers say that the Emperor intends paying the Guides from his private purse.

It was very kind of your operative tailors to send their money over to our operative tailors, and thus encourage the latter in their strike, just at the moment when we wanted to be in our best to receive the strangers who visit our Exhibition-another trick played us by "perfidious Albion," who, from jealousy no doubt, wished to see us make a shabby appearance before all the World and his wife.

For the last week the Seine has almost become a little Thames: we have loaded steamers

running to and from the Exhibition every five minutes, to the great astonishment of the loungers on the bridges, who run from one side glimpse of this new amusement for them. of the bridge to the other, unwilling to lose a

The new opera, "Romeo and Juliet," by Gounod, is to be represented on the 23rd, at the Théâtre-Lyrique. Report says that the music is very pretty, and worthy the author of "Faust." So come, come to our Exhibition : it is our most ardent desire. we will amuse you and vous écorcherons aussi :

Au revoir,

S. A.