lazily on his feet and is moving that way.
Selters, schiedam, half-finished tumblers with the
spoons in them left as they were; for the
owners will be back presently to rest after
the laughing. I go with the rest, and, as I
enter the field, "a 'krect card" of the races
is put into my hands by one of the noble
gentlemen in the boots. The affability of
these distinguished persons is all through to
me a matter of surprise and admiration.
From the 'krect card I gather that the
following entries have been made. Says the
'krect card:

TIVOLI GARDENS.

GRAND DONKEY RACES.

PRIZE OF HONOUR: A HANDSOME WATCH.

The following will start:

1. Eaudelobka, ridden by the Jockey Sultan-Tivolario.

2. Pepita (Andalusian).

3. Crinolina, out of Pompadour.

4. Lombardio, ridden by Baron Munchausen.

5. Lola Montez, ridden by Brother Jonathan.

6. Griesgrammario.

Thus far the 'krect kyard, treating so
serious a matter with unbecoming levity and
pleasantry. Already are vigorous measures
being taken to clear the course; and a munificent
gentleman in Hessians—whom I have
noted all along acting as a sort of master of
the revels, doing that duty with infinite
comicality, throwing his very soul into the work
armed with a heavy hunting-whip, is doing
his utmost to get his countrymen out of the
way. To say the truth, the course is singularly
unpropitious for such sports; low
apple-trees, furze-bushes, and such hindrances
growing right in the path of the competitors.
There is a bell ringing violently all this
while, which has only the effect of drawing
the crowd towards itself. Everybody pushes
in the direction of the bell. Everybody is
portly; exhibits painful traces of the heat;
and is filled with boundless good-humour.
Everybody pushes with infinite good humour,
and enjoys the joke prodigiously. There is
saddling of asses going on under the bell.
There is prodigious activity on the part of
the munificent gentleman with the hunting-
whip. There is intense excitement to get
a good view. The asses are there—
well kept, Dutch animals—but even now
showing symptoms of their peculiar nature.
The jockeys are there; little fellows, in the
usual particolours, blues, and reds, and
yellows. Intense is the eagerness to catch
a glimpse of the particolours. Intense is the
laughter as one ass lunges out from
behind, and strikes a portly bystander off his
guard. The portly bystander laughs rather
more than any one else. Finally, it
being hopeless to get the course properly
cleared; the start is given, and away
they go.

Away they go? nothing further from their
thoughts. Pepita has stayed in the same
attitude, heedless of all persuasion. Eaudelobka
has coolly sent her rider over her
head, and is looking round upon the crowd.
Crinolina out of Pompadour has planted her
fore-feet firmly, and is at this instant kicking
furiously with her hinder hoofs. While
Griesgrammario, up to that moment first in
the betting, has lain down upon the earth,
heavily, doggedly, and regardless of all
consequences. Two others have got away at a
walk. Under such circumstances it must be
held to be no start.

Shrieks of laughter from portly bystanders
—tears of that delightful demonstration
coursing down the cheeks of all the portliest
bystanders: none being more moved than the
munificent master of the revels, who leans
him on his hunting-whip; and roars you
like any full-bodied satyr. There must be
another start, clearly.

This time they are all got off somehow;
which result is only natural, considering that
each animal has had a crowd of its own
supporters, all busy propelling, pushing,
poking, with the extremity of a sharp stick,
and working the tail with the peculiar spiral
movement applied, in our own humane
country, in persuading fat stock to go on
ship-board. All have got off with a capital
start. The crowd has got off too; and, amid
shrieks of laughter, you may note each
unhappy jockey being shot up and down
precariously, his animal trying to rid herself
of the tormentors, by spasmodic plunging.
Never did donkeydom show more spirit than
on that day. Meanwhile, they are getting
round somehow, and the supporters are
getting round with them—now pushing, now
lifting; with Griesgrammario well to the front.
The noble brute has redeemed himself.
Suddenly he is seen to shoot forward (scattering
his queue of supporters), and passes
swiftly under the low apple-tree. The result
is that the little jockey is swept clean from
off his back, and bites the dust. Away flies
Griesgrammario, making straight for the
winning-post. Shouts of applause, and the
whole field is with him. A tall individual is
seen to vault upon his back; but the next
instant is cast down ignominiously. Another
individual, also with prodigious length of
limb, tempts fortune again, and not in vain.
By clinging to his neck and tail, he holds on
desperately, and is borne in, triumphant,
upon the back of winning Griesgrammario.

Congratulations from all sides. Griesgrammario
is brought round in procession—
patted, praised, and made much of. What
sport is there to come now? that is, after
decent interval for slaking of thirst after so
much exertion.

Tables and seats are now filled again; so
are glasses. "More selters, Jan; more schiedam
here! more pounded sugar!" More
people have, by this time, lounged in, certain
soldiers among the rest,—ill-made fellows in
ill-made blue coats, and the eternal Dutch ?