ne harness,
and feathers on their heads. The riders on the saddles are in the
costume of French postilions. On the other wagons come cages of lions,
and in every cage is seated a lady with an olive branch in her hand.
Then follows an elephant, covered with a carpet, and a tower on its
back, which contains several men arrayed as East Indian hunters. The
band is playing, the drums are beating, the lions are roaring, the
whips are cracking; in a word, this cavalcade moves forward with great
noise and uproar. But this is not all: behind the elephant there
follows a machine on wheels, with a locomotive pipe, somewhat
resembling an organ, which, blown by steam, emits the most discordant
yells and whistles intended for the national "Yankee Doodle." The
Americans cry "Hurrah!" the Germans, "Hoch!" the Mexicans, "E viva!"
and the Cahuillas howl for joy.

The crowds follow the procession, the place around the circus becomes
deserted, the parrots cease their chatter, and the monkeys their
gymnastics. But "the greatest attractions" do not take part in the
procession. The "incomparable artist of the whip," the manager, the
"unconquerable Orso," and the "Aerial Angel, Jenny," are all absent.
All this is preserved for the evening so as to attract the crowds.

The manager is somewhere in one of the wooden buildings, or looks into
the ticket seller's van, where he pretends to be angry. Orso and Jenny
are in the ring practicing some of their feats. Under its canvas roof
reigns dust and silence. In the distance, where the seats are
arranged, it is totally dark; the greatest part of the light falls
through the roof on the ring, with its sand and sawdust covering. With
the help of the gray light which filters through the canvas can be
seen a horse standing near the parapet. The big horse feels very
lonely, whisks the flies with his tail, and often sways his head.
Gradually the eye, becoming accustomed to the dim light, discerns
other objects--for instance: the mast upon which Orso carries Jenny,
the hoops pasted with paper for her to jump through. All these lie on
the ground without order, and the half-lighted arena and nearly dark
benches give an impression of a deserted building with battened
windows. The terrace of seats, only here and there broken with a stray
glimmer of light, look like ruins. The horse, standing with drooping
head, does not enliven the picture.

Where are Orso and Jenny? One of the rays of light that stream through