s
uncommonly well in his hussar uniform, and the old prince and his wife
and daughter are resplendent. We met them later that same day in town,
but they had taken off their best clothes, and truth compels us sadly
to admit that we should hardly have known them.

In the course of time, after various false alarms on our part, the
band confidently strikes up "God Save the King!" and there is a
flashing and prancing in the distance that creates a great stir. The
citizen guard, a stately body of burghers, rides out with the king on
this day of all the year, and comes caracoling by in fine style, he in
the midst bowing and smiling. And now, after the _Herrschaften--hohe_
and _hoechste_--come the animals. First, horses haughtily stepping,
and then splendid bulls with wreaths on their horns and garlands round
their--waists shall we say?--are led before the king, standing at the
foot of the steps and handing the prizes to the farmers, who present
themselves, ducking and scraping. It seems a shame to tie up the
creatures' legs so, and put rings through their noses: some have
even a cloth bound over their heads; and if all these precautionary
measures are necessary, it ought to be a relief when the procession of
mild cows begins, They look out amiably from under the floral crowns
that have slipped low on their brows, or turn with half-conscious
pride to the handsome little calves that trot beside them. The sheep,
seeking to attract too early the notice of royalty, dash out in a
flock, and are driven back with jeering and hooting, as they deserve
to be. Then the pigs stagger by: their garlands are excessively
unbecoming. Such of the family of swine as are too young to stagger
are wheeled in handcarts in the rear; and so the ceremonies are
closed, except for a couple of races which take place immediately, and
with no great eclat. The burgher races these are called, while on the
third and last day are the officers' races. The rain prevented our
attending them, and we consoled ourselves, hearing it intimated by
those who had been at Ascot and Longchamps that we had not lost a
great deal.

G.H.P.

A PAIR OF WHEELS AND AN OLD PARASOL.

The threads from which the tissue of history is being woven are ever
in unceasing and rapid motion in the hands of the Fates. But these
deities for the most part love to work unseen, like the bees. It is
only when the spinning is going on with exceptional rapidity and
vigor that the movement