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ONCE A WEEK.
[Oct. 3, 1863.

ached, I thought. Then a message was sent that the windows might now be opened, with which order we and other occupants of the many croisées gladly complied; and the scene was really gay and beautiful beyond description. Beside all the glittering uniforms, the blue blouse, common to the working man of France, the white head-dresses of the peasant women, and the gay ribboned caps of the bourgeoises on the Tribune and the levée, and the scarlet clad orchestra with their brazen instruments glittering in the sun, all relieved and set as it were in a frame of green verdure by the trees on each side the arena, and the panorama of woods and meadows beyond the levée, made up a picture that was perfect in itself. And now, upon the ends of four crosses affixed to poles in the ground, much like a child’s windmill in form, coloured rings were suspended by slender threads, and each officer as he rode round the lists—his horse dancing sideways with measured steps to the music—tried to carry off as many of these rings as he could. Several got three; some none; others one only; and each, as he rode round, gracefully laid his rings on the ground before the general’s tent. Afterwards, those who had gained the rings contested again for the prize. A broad-shouldered, fine-looking man, apparently older than the others, who seemed to go most systematically to work, carried off four at the first round. None of the others got so many, and of course he had the decoration. The prizes were not given publicly. After this the crosses were removed, four little hillocks of sand erected, and coloured balls, to represent heads, stuck on them; each officer held a pistol in his right hand, a drawn sword in his left, and as he cantered round the lists to music, fired his pistol, threw it on the ground, where it was picked up by men stationed on purpose, changed his sword from his left hand to his right, and tried to spear as many of the heads as he could. One officer speared four, which he carried round the arena, and deposited on the ground before the general’s tent. The others speared only two or three at most. Therefore he had the prize. Then they all rode out two and two, as they had entered, to music. The heaps were levelled, baskets, topped with reeds, to imitate a hedge, placed across the arena, and a fresh set of officers rode their horses at, and leaped across it. I rather scorned this exhibition, thinking, in my heart, how our hunting men would have laughed at these fences after a five-barred gate, or the leaping poles at which I have known them practice. In fact, I don’t think, when I was younger, I should have thought anything of such a leap myself. They also departed, the mock-fence was cleared away, and a troop of soldiers entering on horseback performed a sham-fight, and various manœuvres, which were somewhat like the figures of a quadrille, all to music. The whole scene was very gay and exciting, could one have forgotten that all this was but the rehearsal of the terrible drama of war. A heavy shower of rain fell just as the fête concluded; and we again rejoiced that we had been so lucky as not to get seats on the uncovered tribune, but to get sent to the grenier, where we saw everything infinitely better than even the general from his tent, and were safely sheltered from the heavy downfall. As we scuttled home as fast as we could to avoid the great crush we had endured on entering, we saw the gay ladies from the tents endeavouring to save their elegant dresses from being spoiled. They were in full toilette. Many of the dresses were clear white muslin, trimmed with black. Some were richly braided in black. So were the buff dresses and the thick white piqué frocks and blouses worn by the children. They all looked very elegant and pretty. To-day there were more races outside the town, and I sat and watched carriage after carriage full of bright uniforms, and gaily dressed ladies, go past. An officer en face stood on his balcony claquant son fouet, and talking to my right-hand neighbour; another below the balcon was mounting his horse. Then came a curious double carriage, like two half-vans raised on springs; into it he of the whip got, with half-a-dozen others; other carriages followed, and away they drove, cracking their long whips as loud as they possibly could. This evening I saw them all return. My left-hand neighbour au second has won a prize, an objet d’art, but he has not exhibited it to me, so I cannot send Once a Week a facsimile of it. So ends the Fête of Saumur and the Carrousel. I am very glad I came in time to see it.

Mary Eyre.




A LITERARY PIRACY.


Our attention has been called from various quarters to the fact that the story entitled “My Affair with the Russian Countess,” in No. 221 of Once a Week, September 19, 1863, is obviously a plagiarism from Chambers’ Journal, No. 418, January 4, 1862. It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to inform our readers that we are unconscious and most unwilling parties to any such appropriations from other periodicals. Indeed, every precaution has been taken by the Editor from the commencement to guard against such malpractices, and in the present instance the article was not accepted until a letter was received from its transmitter, explicitly stating that ‘My Affair with the Russian Countess’ had not previously appeared in print, and had not been offered to any editor or publisher, other than the gentlemen connected with Once a Week.” This letter was signed

“D. CONNELL,
Abbey Wood, Lessness Heath, Kent;”

and the Editor trusts that the publication of this extract from it, with the name and address of the writer, will at least render a repetition of the offence on his part in other quarters impossible.

Ed. Once a Week.

In our next Number will be commenced a new SERIAL TALE, entitled "BEPPO, THE CONSCRIPT," by T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE; and an HISTORIETTE, by HARRIET MARTINEAU, Illustrated by J. E. MILLAIS, will be commenced in an early Number.