then pulled up, and taking
the chaplet of immortelles from his brow, thrust it under the driving
cushion of the cab, and proceeded to reinstate himself in his tight
military frock, re-gird himself with his sword, and resume the cocked
hat and feather.

Nothing was too good for Mr. Stubbs at that moment, and, had a pen and
ink been ready, Mr. Jorrocks would have endorsed him a bill for any
amount. Having completed his toilette he gave the Yorkshireman the
vacant seat in the cab, flopped the old horse well about the ears with
the pig-driving whip, and trotted briskly up the line he had recently
passed in triumphal procession, and wormed his way among the crowd in
search of the Countess. There was nothing, however, to be seen of her,
and after driving about, and poking his way on foot into all the crowds
he could find, bolting up to every lady in blue, he looked at his great
double-cased gold repeater, and finding it was near three o'clock and
recollecting the fete of St. Cloud, concluded her ladyship must have
gone on, and Agamemnon being anxious to see it, of course was of the
same opinion; so, again flopping the old horse about the ears, he cut
away down the Champ de Mars, and by the direction of Agamemnon crossed
the Seine by the Pont des Invalides, and gained the route to Versailles.

Here the genius of the people was apparent, for the road swarmed with
voitures of every description, diligences, gondoles, co-cous, cabs,
fiacres, omnibuses, dame-blanches, all rolling and rumbling along,
occasionally interrupted by the lilting and tilting of a light English
cab or tilbury, drawn by a thoroughbred, and driven by a dandy. The
spirit of the old white horse even seemed roused as he got among the
carriages and heard the tramping of hoofs and the jingling of bells
round the necks of other horses, and he applied himself to the shafts
with a vigour his enfeebled-looking frame appeared incapable of
supplying. So they trotted on, and after a mile travelling at a foot's
pace after they got into close line, they reached the porte Maillot,
and resigning the cab to the discretion of Agamemnon, Mr. Jorrocks got
himself brushed over by one of the gentry who ply in that profession at
all public places, and tucking his sword under one arm, he thrust the
other through Mr. Stubbs's, and, John-Bull-like, strutted up the long
broad grass avenue, through the low part of the wood of St. Cloud, as if
all he saw belonged to himself. The scene