es.

I went out to the Bois the other day, when there were races going on;
not that I went to the races, for I know nothing about them, per se,
and care less. All running races are pretty much alike. You see a lean
horse, neck and tail, flash by you, with a jockey in colors on his back;
and that is the whole of it. Unless you have some money on it, in the
pool or otherwise, it is impossible to raise any excitement. The day
I went out, the Champs Elysees, on both sides, its whole length, was
crowded with people, rows and ranks of them sitting in chairs and on
benches. The Avenue de l'Imperatrice, from the Arc de l'Etoile to the
entrance of the Bois, was full of promenaders; and the main avenues of
the Bois, from the chief entrance to the race-course, were lined with
people, who stood or sat, simply to see the passing show. There could
not have been less than ten miles of spectators, in double or triple
rows, who had taken places that afternoon to watch the turnouts of
fashion and rank. These great avenues were at all times, from three till
seven, filled with vehicles; and at certain points, and late in the day,
there was, or would have been anywhere else except in Paris, a jam. I
saw a great many splendid horses, but not so many fine liveries as
one will see on a swell-day in London. There was one that I liked. A
handsome carriage, with one seat, was drawn by four large and elegant
black horses, the two near horses ridden by postilions in blue and
silver,--blue roundabouts, white breeches and topboots, a round-topped
silver cap, and the hair, or wig, powdered, and showing just a little
behind. A footman mounted behind, seated, wore the same colors; and the
whole establishment was exceedingly tonnish.

The race-track (Longchamps, as it is called), broad and beautiful
springy turf, is not different from some others, except that the
inclosed oblong space is not flat, but undulating just enough for
beauty, and so framed in by graceful woods, and looked on by chateaux
and upland forests, that I thought I had never seen a sweeter bit of
greensward. St. Cloud overlooks it, and villas also regard it from other
heights. The day I saw it, the horse-chestnuts were in bloom; and there
was, on the edges, a cloud of pink and white blossoms, that gave a
soft and charming appearance to the entire landscape. The crowd in the
grounds, in front of the stands for judges, royalty, and people who are
privileged or will pay for places, was, I