vast throng will be observed, as the supreme moment approaches, to depart from its habitually staid and calm demeanor, and finally to show some signs of enthusiasm, though without growing in the least noisy and turbulent, like that at Epsom on the Derby Day.  Once in a year, however, I as the French say, doesn’t make a custom, and the Parisian crowd, to quote its own expression, “croit que c’est arrive.”  The applause, in case the winner is a French horse, comes from patriotic motives:  if he happens to be English it is given from a feeling of courtesy; and the crowd having done its duty in either case, the famous “return,” that has often furnished a subject for the painter, begins.  And a wondrous sight it is.  Up to six o’clock the innumerable carriages continue to defile upon the several routes that lead to the city, forming a procession of which the head touches the Place de la Concorde, whilst the extremity still reaches to the tribunes of Longchamps.  And when evening comes on, and bets are settled, and heated brains seek to prolong the day’s excitement far into the night, such haunts as the Mabille grow so noisy that the police is generally obliged to interfere.  There was a time when, on these occasions, that jolly nobleman, the duke of Hamilton, then a prominent figure on the French turf, did not disdain to lead his followers to the battle in person, and to practise the noble art of boxing upon all comers, whether policemen or bookmakers.  But these deeds of former days are now but traditions:  His Grace has married, which is said to have taught him wisdom, and the bookmakers have grown into millionaires, with a sense of the gravity becoming their position.—­L.  LEJEUNE.

MRS. PINCKNEY’S GOVERNESS

The short October day had come to an end.  It had been one of those soft, misty, delicious days common enough at this season of the year.  The gathering darkness perplexed the young girl who, without maid or escort of any kind, stood peering through the gloom at the little way-station.  Discouraged, apparently, at the result of her search, she entered the station-house, and inquired, in rather a depressed voice, if they knew whether Mrs. Pinckney had sent a carriage or vehicle of any kind for her:  “she was expected,” she added.

Youth and good looks are naturally effective, and the young Irishman in authority there, Michael Redmond, was by no means insensible to their influence.  He darted out with an air of alacrity, returning, however, almost immediately with the depressing information that Mrs. Pinckney’s carriage was not there.  “She went herself to the city this morning, madam,” he said, with an effort at consolation.  “Perhaps in her absence the servants have forgotten—­” Here he paused.

“It is very unfortunate,” she murmured, evidently not accustomed to such emergencies.  Nature, however, although ill-seconded by her previous life, had given her both courage and decision.  “Is there nothing here which I can hire? is there nobody to drive me to Mrs. Pinckney’s?”