APER of
the Foreign Office, with his infant moustache (what the deuce does _he_
want with a moustache, I should like to know?) There's old GRATINGS, who
is such a bore at the Club; there's CHARLEY MARTINGALE of the Plungers,
with HOOKER (known by his friends as the Bravo) in his wonderful tight
trousers. But who isn't here? Two men behind are talking about the
Metropolitan Handicap and GRUMBLER'S chance of the Derby. Really,
really, this is too bad. The ancient poet asks, "What exile from his
fatherland can leave _himself_ behind?" The question now is what man, by
departure from his country, can hope to be free from his countrymen? It
is intolerable. How is it possible to take notes of Parisian manners
when you are seized upon by SWELLINGS SWELLINGS and catechised about the
prospects of the Haymarket Opera? You get rid of him by informing him,
in confidence, that it has been taken by MR. JOHN BRIGHT for a series of
Bal Masques and Ballet entertainments, when up come the BRAVO and
MARTINGALE, who want to know when PYTCHLEY'S stud is to be sold. You
profess a sulky ignorance of the subject, and try to get away, when
MARTINGALE enters upon a sketch of French character, which he holds very
low, chiefly on grounds of a sporting nature. Ever see such dogs?--ever
see such horses?--ever see such riding and driving?--ever see such
grooms and coachmen? You should go to one of their steeple-chases and
look at them tumbling about. The last time, at La Marche, white and red
cap came pounding along fifty miles an hour, and pulled up short at the
brook to inquire for the _bridge_.

[Illustration]

"_Ou est le pont, Messieurs? Mon Dieu, je vais perdre! De grace, ou est
le pont?_" and another man got with his horse on to the top of a bank,
where he stopped for a quarter-of-an-hour without being able to get off
again, until at last the crowd flicked the unfortunate animal with their
pocket-handkerchiefs into a state of madness, when he jumped down, only
it was on the wrong side, and his rider gave up the adventure.
MARTINGALE was also very severe on the cavalry, whom he described as
tailors mounted on bad cart-horses, and unable to stand for a moment
before British heavies.

HOOKER endorsed the criticisms of his friend, and called attention to
the cavaliers who pranced up and down the drive. Certainly it was rather
a ludicrous contrast, both for men and cattle, with our exhibition in
Rotten Row. The horses were mostly weedy, leggy, tu