fisherman's waders.

I remember well seeing Napoleon III. and the Empress Eugenie
driving down the Rue de Rivoli on their return from the races at
Longchamp. I and my brother were standing close to the edge of the
pavement, and they passed within a few feet of us. They were
driving in a char-a-banes--in French parlance, "attele a la
Daumont"--that is, with four horses, of which the wheelers are
driven from the box by a coachman, and the leaders ridden by a
postilion. The Emperor and Empress were attended by an escort of
mounted Cent-Gardes, and over the carriage there was a curious
awning of light blue silk, with a heavy gold fringe, probably to
shield the occupants from the sun at the races. I thought the
Emperor looked very old and tired, but the Empress was still
radiantly beautiful. My young brother, even then a bigoted little
patriot, obstinately refused to take off his cap. "He isn't MY
Emperor," he kept repeating, "and I won't do it." The shrill cries
of "Vive l'Empereur!" seemed to me a very inadequate substitute
for the full-throated cheers with which our own Queen was received
when she drove through London. I used to hear the Emperor alluded
to as "Badinguet" by the hall-porter of our hotel, who was a
Royalist, and consequently detested the Bonapartes.

My father had been on very friendly terms with Napoleon III., then
Prince Louis Napoleon, during the period of his exile in London in
1838, when he lived in King Street, St. James'. Prince Louis
Napoleon acted as my father's "Esquire" at the famous Eglinton
Tournament in August, 1839. The tournament, over which such a vast
amount of trouble and expense had been lavished, was ruined by an
incessant downpour of rain, which lasted four days. My father gave