from the spring-board over the backs
of a number of horses, packed together head
and tail. The salaries of these people
range from fifty shillings to ten pounds a
week, while two or three of the best known
trapezists, men who do the Leotard feats,
more daringly perhaps, but infinitely less
gracefully than their originator, are paid
as much as twenty pounds a week.
Sometimes a troupe of lions, or a performing
elephant, forms part of the establishment
of a circus, but this is always a temporary
attraction, or what is known technically as
a " special engagement." The lions are
the property of their keeper, who is either
himself their trainer, or by whom the
trainer is permanently engaged, and it is
an understood thing that the elephant,
which is generally a female, and when
properly trained is worth about three
hundred and sixty pounds, should "bring her
own gymnasts." Zebras, too, occasionally
form a portion of the stud, but they are
wild, savage, and intractable. Apropos of
this, I am assured that the various stories
afloat, about circus horses being painted
different colours, is, to use Count Bismark's
phrase, "founded on pure invention,"
though my informant states that the
late Mr. Batty used to relate with great
delight, that in his early days of circus
proprietorship, he had painted two donkeys
with broad black stripes, and exhibited
them as zebras, to the delight of an
admiring populace.

When the season is over, the entire
company, management, horses, grooms, and
performers, go to their destination by special
train, generally on a Sunday morning, thus
enabling them not to lose one single chance
of performance, and they are conveyed by
the railway companies at a discount of
about twenty per cent from the usual
fare.

Under Mr. Jacobus's guidance, these
statistics all being learned, I progress through
the little passage (where commences that
stably smell, which always reminds me of
Astley's in the days of my youth, and
brings back reminiscences of the hoop of
lights which was lowered over the circus,
of Ducrow and Miss Woolford, and
Widdicome the Great), past the pay-box, and
up a little flight of steps, into the reserved
seats, which are now covered with ghostly
drapery of brown holland. The ring is
just in front of me; it has many occupants,
and fresh persons are constantly lounging
in and out of it, through one or other of
the side doors leading to the stables. That
tall stout man, who has just taken off his
loose pea-jacket, and stands before us in
the checked flannel shirt, white flannel
trousers, secured by a broad band round
his waist, and canvas shoes, is Mr. Eves,
part proprietor and general manager of the
circus. Some years ago he was the best
barebacked rider of the day, and was one
of the principal stars at Franconi's; but, as
he expressed it to me, he has "made flesh"
since then, and must get " a good deal off"
before he takes to riding again, as is his
intention. He is going to begin his first
practice now, and this pretty pair of piebalds
is for his use. With wonderful agility
for so big a man, Mr. Eves hops on to the
side of the circle, and thence on to the
backs of the piebalds, on each of which he
has one foot, holding the reins in his hands.
"Go," he says, after a moment's pause to
steady himself, and at the word Professor
Porco, who is standing in the middle of
the ring, gives his long whip a smack, and
the piebalds start off in a canter, Mr. Eves
rocking somewhat unsteadily at first, but
soon settling down to his proper position.
After some half-dozen rounds, he shouts
"Go" again, and a third horse is admitted
into the arena, and runs in between the two
others, Mr. Eves courteously extending his
capacious stride for its reception. Then the
middle horse loosed from the rein is allowed
to run in front, and is joined by a fourth
horse, all four being carefully managed
by Mr. Eves, who when he appears at night
in this rapid act, will probably personate
Polaski, the Courier of St. Petersburg, or
some such important person. At present,
however, he has soon had enough of it,
and sending the horses away, bids them
bring in the pony. The pony is a pretty
black animal, destined to take its place in
the bills as "highly trained," but at present
rough and untutored. Consequently
the pony does not turn to the right or to
the left, at the smack of Mr. Eves's whip,
declines to walk round the circle with its
fore feet on the board and its hind feet in
the sawdust, and absolutely refuses to leave
off running round, and come to Mr. Eves,
when he calls it, thereby subjecting itself
to a great amount of objurgation, but to
no personal violence. Following the pony
comes a ring-horse, in company with a
young lady, a novice in her profession, with
her short skirt contrasting oddly with her
ordinary street jacket. She goes round
the circle, springing to her feet on the
saddle, "cutting," balancing herself on one
leg, and finally taking her first flight over