certain extra wages in spring and autumn, before
and after the season, depend on the condition of
the horses. Tell him you listen to no excuses,
but only judge by results. As a rule, the horses
of gentlemen suffer most from too much hay and
corn, too little regular work, and too frequent
a resort to physic.

Finally, if economy is important to you, you
must learn the art, and attend to your stable
yourself. If, on the other hand, you can afford
to save yourself trouble, be assured that those
who pay punctually and liberally can always be
well served by coach–builders, horse–dealers,
corn–dealers, and saddlers, and that in each class
thoroughly respectable men are to be found by
those who want to find them.

RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUIS PHILIPPE.

I OWED my introduction to and intimacy with
Louis Philippe, Duke of Orleans, to the man
whom, above all others, he loved to honour,
the General Dumouriez. The duke had the
national passion for military glory, and he claimed
his portion of it from having served under this
great commander, and fleshed his maiden sword
at the two glorious revolutionary battles. It
was said that no opportunity was ever lost for
reminding his fellow–countrymen

                   N'ai–je pas été à Valmy?
                   N'ai–je pas été à Jemappes?

But whether he exaggerated or not the value of
his services—and it was not in his nature to diminish
their value—Dumouriez always bore testimony
to his excellent conduct on those occasions.
From the duke, Dumouriez experienced much
kindness, and his later days were made comfortable
by the generosity of his benefactor. Dumouriez
was a pensioner of the British Government.
He was frequently consulted by Pitt, both on
political and military matters. He drew up the
plans for the defence of the British Islands
when menaced by the Bonapartean invasion.
When he died, his correspondence was purchased
by our government from his executors for a large
consideration—it is believed for the purposes of
suppression, as its publication might have led
to revelations very embarrassing both at home
and abroad. The oblivion into which Dumouriez
fell was a singular contrast to the blaze of fame
which surrounded him when he led the victorious
armies of the Republic against the invaders of
France. Four mourners, of whom I was one,
followed his corpse to the grave. The
allowances he received from the British Treasury
enabled him to live in considerable comfort, and
the Duke of Orleans, at his own expense,
provided him with a carriage and horses, and in
divers other ways administered to his enjoyments.
I stood at his death–bed. His was a very
tranquil death. Almost the last words he uttered
were "Je me recueille," "I am harvesting
myself." And strange vicissitudes must have been
crowded into the memories of that harvest.

It was impossible for those who knew Louis
Philippe in the more intimate domestic and social
relations of his varied life not to feel a strong
affection towards him. I have seen him at
Neuilly playing with his children—a bigger
child among the little ones—who clambered up
his legs and back, and sat upon his shoulders,
and were trotted about amidst shouts of delight
and clapping of hands. Neuilly was but the
happy, well–regulated home of an opulent country
gentleman. He was kept at a distance from the
court, was treated as "his most serene
highness," but had the credit of making his house a
place where traitors plotted, where conspirators
congregated, and where schemes were discussed
for the supplanting of the older by the younger
Bourbon race. I was once dining with the
family at Neuilly, and having said something
which had a reference to passing politics, was
silenced by a look from the duke, who, after
dinner, invited me to walk with him in the
woods belonging to the estate. He then said:
"I stopped your speaking. I am surrounded
with spies; there is not a servant at my table
in whom I have confidence. I know that all
the conversations that take place are reported
to the police, and I must be cautious in all I
say or allow to be said in my presence." This
was in 1822, and I knew that I myself was the
object of constant watching, probably on account
of my own intimacy with Louis Philippe. The
place where my papers were kept had been
opened by false keys in my absence, and some
years afterwards I had an opportunity of seeing
reports which had been made to the French
police in Paris of conversations which had taken
place in my house in London. This was at the
time when political persecutions were rifest,
when General Berlon was executed, and much
blood was shed on the scaffold on account of
real or supposed traitorous intentions.

Louis Philippe had not long been proclaimed
king before he gave evidence of his desire
to release himself from the influences of that
democratic party, the parti d'action, to whom
he really was indebted for his throne, and
of whom Lafayette was the recognised
representative. For some time after the glorious
days, the general and his descendants were
received at the palace with effusions of affection,
and royal kisses were frequently impressed
on the cheeks of the ladies of the family, and
the salutations and greetings were repeated as
long as Lafayette continued to be the
commander–in–chief of the National Guard; but
the king became jealous of a power really
greater than that he himself wielded, and
desired to see no rivalry near the throne.

But in those early days the soldiers of the
National Guard were supposed to be welcome
guests at the Palais Royal, and their coarse
uniform and worsted epaulettes formed strange
contrasts with the gay garments and glittering
gold and splendid decorations of generals,
admirals, diplomatists, and high public
functionaries. The same citizen king, who was
often seen to walk unattended through the
streets of Paris, with his umbrella under his
arm, was now and then observed to go out of his