Here, let us look at your trim-first-rate, first-rate! You do honour to your dad, my beloved friend the laird.

A well-appointed carriage had been prepared, and at length the happy party started.

No words can describe the scene in its entirety. Suffice, that countless thousands in every possible vehicle or on horseback-to say nothing of pedestrians-wended their way through intense heat-I will not say dust, for the wayside had been admirably watered to the course. Many English turfites were present, and it was not difficult to distinguish their nationality. Great excitement appeared to animate the sporting groups. The English horses had been favourites during the week; but on the morning of the race reports were afloat that the D-r had been "sneezing," which fact when retailed by Linton to the Roaster greatly discomposed him.

In the Grand Stand behold the Emperor, the Empress, the Prince Imperial, the Queen of Holland, and various others of Royal and aristocratic blood. I fancy, however, the running of the horses had greater interest to our cheery party. Not so, however, the general scene. What a picture to behold! There was the Grand Stand-a coloured fluttering mass, made of various toilettes, interspersed with the sober dress of men. No dust-no veils. Every lady and gentleman might have adorned themselves for a wedding-day or a morning con

cert.

The French fashionable world comes to the Grand Prix as to an out-door drawing-room fête. Toilettes are ordered expressly for the occasion; bonnets are born to live on that day; and boots of the neatest Bronze and kid first touch the familiar earth.

It is the last few hours of the Paris season. After the Grand Prix the creative mind of Parisian artistes who dress the world reposes, until once more quickened into activity by the coming demands of the

autumn.

As you look along the course from the Grand Stand you find it traced out by thousands of well-dressed and orderly pedestrians, among them many women and children-all in their Sunday best. You scarcely meet a single dirty or disreputable person, nor hear one word of blasphemy.

They may be wicked, they may be bad, but they behave well in public. A mass of carriages, ten and twelve deep, are stationed round the winning-post, on the box of one of which the Roaster, full of eagerness and excitement, stood. I fancy, however, his young eyes took little account of anyone save the running-horses. Not so, however, those of his companions.

These carriages-let me call them elegant equipages-horsed with magnificent cattle, contained nearly all fashionable Paris, composed half of foreigners-half of French. Many languages are spoken; but it is only at Paris that you thus meet together people from all quarters of the world so wonderfully uniform in their dress, yet having decided evidence of their varied nationality. The Turk, the Russian, the German, Italian and Persian, the English, the Swede, and American. He who lives in Paris, however, soon discovers them, spite of their country..

There is, however, but one refeshment-booth for this vast multitude

-one only wherein you are charged a franc for any small glass of liquid that is scrambled for; nor do people require restoration, especially those who come in carriages.

An hour's drive through the Bois brings the population of the Imperial City to the scene of action-fresh, clean, and dustless, as if they had just come out of the dressing-room.

They arrive generally about 2 o'clock, and are on their way back to their homes by six. How far away is this from our own precious Derby Day, where a celebrated wine merchant invites the Court, the camp, and the aristocracy to a luxurious banquet, bathed in a fountain of champagne, whilst the familiar million revel in lobster salads, bitter bcer, and veal pies from mid-day till sunset; then, returning home, dirty, dusty, and fatigued, to get up with a headache on the following morning? What then? The latter is sport, as well as pastime; the former a mere elegant out-of-door recreation, where horses run, and the best does not always win.

There is one feature of the Grande Prix, over which it might be as well to draw at least a "grand curtain." But what for did Piggy cross the salt-water ditch at the expense of a monkey? As he was wont to say, when grumbling at the expense, "Well, never mind, my monkey has still a leg to stand on."

Did he go to France to be seen? No, but to see, with the full intention of telling his friends at home what he saw. He did not shape the social habits of the French, and was not responsible for their customs, or for the way in which they judged proper to invest their love or money. And I should be glad to learn what all the good people, who declare they oppose racing on the Sabbath, and usually go to the Grand Prix, do with theirs, if they do not observe some sweet peccadilloes-do they shut their eyes save when the horses are running? Decidedly not. I do not wish to be severe; but I verily believe they are the very persons who see and hear most that is going on, and, subsequently turning up their eyes and noses, discuss the short-comings of their neighbours with "a wenomous tongue, as Mrs. Brown would say.

Now, Piggy's tongue is anything but venomous, and yet, when describing his pleasant day at Longchamps, I heard him say that he beheld hundreds of handsome carriages, many of which were horsed in the very best style, occupied by ladies dressed with all the expensive elegance of French taste, and practising all the repose and quiet of polite society, who came to the races without gentlemen, generally in pairs, accompanied by a dog or two of rare breed, while on the seat of the carriage was a nosegay of choice flowers. Their servants were in livery, and not seldom the carriage bore the crest of some noble family. Their dress was of the most expensive character and elegance, and of the latest fashion. In fact, I observed one or two in white silk, covered with Venetian lace, as if they were going to be married that very day. The beauty wore clustering masses of ringlets on the back of her head, but the golden tint appeared to be no longer the fashiona light silvery-straw colour was the right thing. The lips may be intensely red, but the rose blush of the cheek has almost disappeared, whilst the tracing of eyebrows is more pronounced than ever. Great

success must attend these artistic combinations; for some of the ladies get rid of five hundred to a thousand pounds a month.

As it is in French politics so it is in French customs; liberty, and progress is the order of the day, certainly not unjust economy as to chignons.

Thus it happens that the peculiar society I am describing reluctantly, and with proper indignation, resents the future development of civilization and luxury. The demi-monde lady of the highest aristocracy must now appear in a large open carriage, with powdered footmen, accompanied by a lady with silvery hair, who is supposed to be the mother of the little beauty.

A boy dressed in a picturesque costume is also at times introduced, and makes a pleasing feature of the "family circle," the manificent hotel, the dinner from Cherèt's, the box at the opera, the jewels, the carriage, the society of all that is noble and aristocratic.

As regards wealth what more can be bestowed on these women, who appear in such numbers at the Grand Prix ? They absorb the attention of Frenchmen to an extent that makes one believe universal suffrage must be good for other things as well as politics. Englishmen, of course, go to see the races, and never look at the ladies; of course, not never.

All the observation I heard from the cherry lips of my little Roaster was a few words addressed to his mother, Tat was rather familiar with his dad's sposa-" What pretty ladies in that carriage! what a nice dog! I wish I had him; and what a nosegay!"

Yes," said Linton, grinning; "Pretty, are they not? Golden hair and cherry noses. But never mind the ladies. Here comes Gla

neur.'

"Ten to one on The Drummer," added the Roaster.

"Booked," replied Linton, "in pence. You'll have to sell your pony. Your dad's monkey is well nigh exhausted."

save

They're off," said the young laird, with great exitement!" they're off; and here, again, here they come! The Drummer wins." They passed the carriage on which he stood; The Drummer wins! he has won," he cried aloud! and clapping his little hands; but no one his mother heard him, I fancy, and if her heart was not in the race, it was beating in love that her child was so happy; but with an earnest prayer he should never take to racing.

And now the gallant steeds strain every nerve to reach the goal, side by side, head and head they come. The word Drummer, Glaneur, ring through the bright atmosphere, from the multitude. The people in the carriages turn their eyes and opera glasses in the same direction. The Grand Prix has been won by a French horse; not that the Roaster believes it to this day. He subsequently heard some one declare that he had been cannoned against, and though utterly ignorant of the term, possibly believing he had been shot at, the young laird holds to the opinion that The Drummer was the

winner.

As they were returning homewards after a day of pleasurable excitement, Linton, though a sportsman at heart, thus held forth. "My dear Piggy, that people should go to races to see the horses run I

could never make out, when there is so much more amusement to be got out of the spectators and general company; all races are alike.

"The prophets prophesy wrong, the horses run too fast to be seen, save as a flash of lightning, and none but professionals can distinguish which horse's nose is a-head."

"I do not quite go with you," said the laird.

"I confess I like the ci-devant gallop, the start, and the finish, to say nothing of the excitement throughout, though having no personal interest in any particular horse."

"And so do I," said the Roaster, "it is all so jolly."

Now it so happened that the Pigskin carriage has drawn up in close contact with that of a Mr. McSwiney, which also contained his wife and daughter Arabella, with whom they had some sort of acquaintance. Now McSwiney, I am sorry to say, was rather a man who paraded his religious conduct outwardly than acted up to it with a full heart's conviction. He had therefore been persuaded to bring his wife and daughter to the races on the Sabbath, simply that he liked to be there himself; and yet he trembled all the while as to the world's opinion if it should get known that he had been there-the world that he feared being his little home-circle beyond the Border, and therefore felt it necessary so far to excuse his mal-practices.

"What a queer lot you have in Paris, Mr. Pigskin. Alas! that we should. Our carriage was drawn up between two Victorias with improper persons in them. Mrs. S. and Arabella were disgusted. I will never go to the Paris races again.

"The old humbug," exclaimed Linton; "why did he go at all. It is such dreadful hypocrisy that is so painful."

So much for Swiney. There are very many Swineys in Paris as elsewhere.

Ten days after the advent of the Grand Prix, the Pigskins, father and son, might be seen casting a fly for a salmon in their homeland, while Mrs. Piggy reclined beneath a shady tree, watching her loved ones. As they walked home, Piggy declared there was nothing like home; nevertheless, she laughingly asserted that by-and-bye they must take a trip to Italy. "Remember," she said, "there are a few pounds remaining of the monkey."

"Yes," added the Roaster, "and dad can easily win another if he takes my advice."

It is upwards of five-and-twenty years ago, when happening to be in that quarter of the town where "sporting gents" of West End pretensions do mostly congregate, known as the Haymarket, including its suburbs, which acting in the character of smaller drains, supply the main sewer of metropolitan vice with its profligate professors, we called in at one of those now extinct hostelries formerly famed for the presence and patronage of those Corinthians of that "noble art," which has long been distinguished above all others for its Benevolent Association of Pugilists.

We had learnt through that unflinching and never-failing oracle, our national and once beloved Bell's Life, "that upon the eve of a certain mighty battle, between the invincible Tommy Hammerwell, and the unyielding Harry Propem, those ripe and bursting gladitors, would, upon their arrival at "head quarters," show themselves and their muscles to their respective and enthusiastic "backers," at the "crib" in question.

Curious to inspect the joint and awful proportions of fellow creatures and fellow countrymen whose modern pretensions to immortal fame and honour lay in their sanguinary encounters in the British arena of fisty-cuffs, which strong recommendations had not only enlisted the support of noblemen and gentlemen in the glorious cause, but had effectually awakened the sympathies of an applauding people, we walked unhesitatingly through the crowded "bar," and entered that sanctum of swells, the well known parlour of mine host of the "Rising Sun."

The company, which consisted of several lordlings, a few foreigners, bien entendu all counts, three or four captains, and some true blue "fanciers," were hotly and groggily discussing the extraordinary lot of one Scott, the American diver, who had but a few days before hung himself in an attempt to swing from a gallows, which had been erected "for this occasion only, and by particular desire," for the benefit of the intrepid Plunger, on Waterloo Bridge.

The arguments pro and con., the merits and intentions of the foolhardy performer, and his not less stupid assistants, having somewhat cooled down, and subsided to a reasonable concert pitch, my immediate neighbour, addressing a popular patron of every kind of sport, and speaking in a confident tone, said

"My lord, I knows a case in pint as is as exactly like the Diver's as is two p-p's."

"Well, Billy," replied the budding representative of an ancient peerage; "if it is really worth listening to, en attendant the arrival of our man, pray let us have it. I dare say we shall be pleased to hear it, particularly if it is one of your matchless bangers."

During the ceremony of replenishing the glasses, which by the way appeared to be by no means a matter of secondary consideration with all the members of the gathering, we will take the opportunity of