p standing, and to endure the fatigues of the Parisian streets. Were
the country-bred horse to be put at once to full city work, he would die
in a week. He is first sent out for a quarter of a day; then after a
week or two for half a day; then for a whole day; and when accustomed to
that he is considered fit for night-work. The horses of the Compagnie
Generale remain in the stable one day out of every three. If well fed,
well kept and well looked after, the life of a Paris cab-horse may be
prolonged from three to five years, but the latter is the extreme limit.

The Compagnie Generale not only buys its own horses, but constructs its
own carriages. Its coachmen are obliged to pass through a preliminary
examination, not only as to their capabilities for driving, but as to
their knowledge of the streets of Paris. But the passage of the law of
1866 has let loose upon the community a swarm of ignorant coachmen, who,
assuming the reins and whip, in some instances without any knowledge
even of the great thoroughfares of Paris, will lead their unhappy hirer
a pretty dance, particularly if he or she is a stranger on a first visit
to the great city. I know of one instance where a lady, desirous of
visiting the Pare Monceau, was taken to the extreme northern boundary of
the city limits, and was only rescued by the intervention of the police.
Then one must be very particular as to the pronunciation of the name of
the street, as so many streets exist in Paris the names of which closely
resemble each other when spoken, such as the Rue de Teheran and the Rue
de Turin, the Rue du Marl and the Rue d'Aumale, etc. And if your
coachman _can_ make a mistake, you may rest assured he will do it.

The Parisian cab is not, like its London compeer, a prohibited pariah of
a vehicle, excluded from parks or the court-yards of palaces. You can go
to call at the Elysee or to attend a ball there in a cab if you like,
and the Bois de Boulogne or the Pare Monceau is as free to that plebeian
vehicle as to the landau of a prince. And if one attends a ball in
Paris, there is no need to engage a carriage to return home in.
Attracted by the lights, the cabmen station their vehicles in long lines
in the neighborhood of any mansion where such a festivity is taking
place, waiting patiently till three, four and five o'clock in the
morning for a chance of conveying home some of the merrymakers. The only
instance in which I ever heard of their failing to be on hand