sleepy. We shall be parted early in the morning, perhaps never to meet again; you to take lessons in dragging after you le boulet, I to walk the streets as a chiffonnier, and once more suffer the "Miseries of a mauvais Sujet. Give me your hand, Bon soir."

He was right in his conclusions, for I never did see him again; he was removed as soon as day-break. All that I could distinguish of him was, that he was a grey-haired old man of nearly seventy, and that he had a deep scar across his face, probably a sabre-cut; also, that he was very lame; no doubt the fruits of his patriotism. Poor devil! thought I, he had much better have been left on the field of battle, and enjoyed the doubtful honour and glory of that immortal line, which tells us,

"Dulce, et decorum est, pro patriâ mori."

Wearied out, I at length fell asleep, although I was in a sitting position, and strange to say, I again dreamt of my wife-my suffering, once truly-loved Agnes. All the sweetness of her winning expression. was showered on me, and the purity of her soul illumined her face, as if descending with a bright light from heaven. She reached out her alabaster hand towards me, in a caressing attitude; the action caused me perhaps unexpectedly to fall backwards, for I did so across the legs of my unknown philosopher of the iron bars, who quickly brought me to my senses, and dispersed the dream with a veritable spiteful kick on the posterior, at the same time exclaiming, "What the devil have you got after; can't you be more careful how you lie down? you have hurt my lame leg, monsieur; and now, perhaps, I shall sleep no more, diable!" I pacified him as well as I could; but was myself too much upset by the events of the day to administer much soothing mixture to others, and the extraordinary repetition of my dream postponed until early morning my second sleep, and then only to be again disturbed by the entry of the turnkeys to take away my companion. I was rather sorry to lose him, and when really alone, I fell into that melancholy and low state of mind which I had not before experienced during the continual pressure of those troubles which are sufficient to have overwhelmed a much more hardened and experienced man of the world than myself. With thorough daylight came café au-lait, or a mixture of black beetles and chalk, and brown, dark brown bread, brought to me by a silent, sulky warder. I asked him one or two questions, concerning my anticipated hearing, and the probability of my prolonged detention, but he answered me not a word, slamming the door at his exit with great force, by way, I presume of showing his dignity, or impudence, or both. According to Jean Sang-froid's advice, I mustered all the patience I could call to my aid to put up with the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," likewise using my observation as to the ways and means practised in this horrible mausoleum. Washing was strictly forbidden, the luxury of pure water to drink was likewise against the rules of the Conciergerie, and, in fact, a more perfect hell upon earth it is impossible to imagine; nevertheless I bore it good temperedly and made no complaint or demand for indulgence, biding my time like a hospital patient who is made aware by the surgeons that he must undergo an operation, even should he die under the knife. At length came the anxiously looked-for undoing of bolts

and bars, a sound dear to the heart of any prisoner, though he be a condemned one; and I found myself marched off between two gendarmes into the presence of the Prefect of Police, a judge whose position is about equal to that of our Lord Mayor at the Mansion House, or the chief magistrate at Bow Street. He was a grey-haired, pale-faced, Voltaire, wizen-looking old gentleman, of the most cool, calculating, and impartial bearing, a rare distributor of justice. He listened attentively, and took notes of every particle of evidence, and then quietly asked me if I was provided with an avocat; or if, before I answered any questions, I should consult one. As a matter of course I answered in the affirmative, and he immediately gave orders being a foreigner and an Englishman, that every facility for my defence should be given me ; but in order that this should be carried out, it was necessary that I should be remanded. In the meantime, "I had better make no answer to the charge," which was that "of forging and uttering, well knowing them to be forged, certain Bank of France notes, to the amount of five thousand pounds," &c., &c. I was quickly removed to the place from whence I was last taken; where I soon discovered, by the difference of treatment, that the authorities were not quite so sure of a conviction as they had anticipated, and that in point of fact their terrible disappoiutment at having just missed putting salt on Wings's tail at Dieppe had reduced to applying the torture to me, with the hope lhat I should split after all—I had truly uothing to tell them.

GAMOS;

WINNER OF THE OAKS, 1870.

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY HARRY HALL.

BY CASTOR.

Gamos, bred by Lord Falmouth in 1867, is by Saunterer, out of Bess Lyon, by Longbow, her dam Daughter of Toscar, by Bay Middleton-Malvina, by Oscar-Spotless, by Walton.

Saunterer, bred by Mr. Jaques in 1854, is by Irish Birdcatcher, out of Ennui, by Bay Middleton. He was sold when a foal for 50 guineas at one of the Easby sales, being booked to John Osborne for Mr. Jackson. During the four seasons he was in training he started fiftyfive times, won twenty-seven, and ran second twelve times. He changed hands again previous to coming out as a four-year-old when Mr. Merry gave at the hammer 2,100 guineas for the black, whose performances on his going to the stud were thus neatly summed up: His pedigree shows a combination of blood celebrated for speed and stoutness, both of which qualities he possessed in a high degree-as proved by his running at two years old; his extraordinary performance in the Cambridgeshire at three years old; his winning as a four-year-old the Goodwood Cup and Emperor's Cup at Chantilly in a canter, beating the best English and French horses; and his running second at five years old when half fit to Fisherman for the Ascot Cup, beating off

North Lincoln and Defender. He retired in possession of the Whip which he had held for two years. It was thus that we ourselves wrote of him immediately on the conclusion of his first season at the stud, when we met with him once again at the Great Middlesborough Horse and Hound Show: "How nicely timed the change does come after so much of the big, beefy Windhounds and De Clares, to that neat handsome sweet bit of a racehorse, Saunterer; the black 'un,' as they call him, the truest made horse of them all, with his well-knit back, his fine shoulders, his wicked little head, and thin bloodlike neck. And then those legs, not big ones, your lordships, for he is not a big one anywhere, but as clean as paint and as hard as iron. Turn back to your Calendars, erudite Mr. Weatherby, and trace all he has done. Go back to memory, Mr. Dawson, or ask your next door neighbour all he could do; and you, Squire Jaques, the melancholy Jaques' for once, as you stand by him in the box, and reflect how readily you' got out' of him." Saunterer stood at Croft in 1860 and 1861, and at the end of his second season in Yorkshire was sold to go to Hanover, whence he was reclaimed by Mr. Blenkiron for the Middle Park Establishment, where he has continued since the spring of 1866. His stock came out in 1863, and he is the sire amongst other winners in this conntry of the following: Coastguard, Crisis, Daudle, Olmar, Sir Roger, Zambezi, Attaché, Gertrude, Master Walter, Perambulator, Westley, and Gamos; the winner of the Oaks being amongst the first lot of three-year-olds out by Saunterer since his return to England.

Bess Lyon, bred by Mr. J. B. Shepherd in 1855, ran in a few races as a two-year-old, but without any success. In 1859 she threw her first foal Blacklock (cut) to Ellington, and then passed into Lord Falmouth's stud, where her account stood thus: In 1860, Edgworth Bess, by Vandermeulin; 1861, Goldylocks, by Teddington; 1862, Brown Willy, by Wild Dayrell; 1863, Rallywood, by Wild Dayrell; 1864, Sunnylocks, by Newminster; 1865, Pearlfeather, by Newminster; 1866, missed to King Tom, and in 1867 Gamos, by Saunterer. Bess Lyon was sold with the Oaks filly at her foot to Mr. Blenkiron for £600, and her produce at Middle Park runs on thus: In 1868, Loadstar, by Saunterer; in 1869, a colt by Marsyas, that was sold the other day for 570 guineas; and 1870, a colt by Saunterer, to which horse the mare has been put again.

Gamos is a light chesnut filly, standing a full sixteen hands, although she looks higher. She has a plain head, not particularly well set on to a lean ungainly neck. Her forehand, however, is otherwise set off by the most magnificent shoulders, long and beautifully laid. She has also good depth of ribs, but is otherwise a tall staring filly, standing very straight on her legs, with curby hocks, and altogether middling and infirm looking joints. Indeed, she was in her appearance as little like running over Epsom and winning the Oaks as anything in the paddock; and we certainly fancied the filly far more as a two-year-old. It is almost needless to say that she does not bear the least resemblance to her sire.

At Mr. Blenkiron's sale in 1868 Gamos was knocked down for 220 gs. to Mr. Graham, by whom her education was of course entrusted to Henry Woolcott, at Beckhampton. In 1868 she made her first appearance as a two-year-old at Bath, where, ridden by Fordham at 8st. 71b., she