the points of her toes till she requires support, and they merely retire up and ignore her altogether. There is a dancing Signor in pearl grey, who supports first one Signorina and then the other with the strictest impartiality, and finally dances with both together, to show that he makes no distinctions and has no serious intentions. All this time Louis has been getting more and more restless; now and then he makes some remark, evidently disparaging, to the Queen, who receives it coldly. But at last he can't stand it any longer. "Call this dancing! I'll show 'em how to dance!" his look says. "Where's LOUISE?" And he gets up, pulls himself together, and invites her to come and dance a minuet. Queen disgusted with him, but pretends not to notice. Louis goes through minuet with extreme satisfaction to himself. Enter Page with an immense cushion, on which is "a bracelet of great value" (Argument again). Queen excited—thinks it's for her; but Louis stops the dance, takes the bracelet, and gives it to Louise. "A present from Paris. There, that's for being a good girl—take it, and say no more about it." She does, and they finish the minuet. Louis, on turning round to the daïs, discovers that the Queen has gone away, which he seems to think most unreasonable of her—just when he was dancing his very best! There is more ballet, after which the King discovers that Louise is missing too. Her Page comes on and hands him a letter, which he opens triumphantly. "A rendezvous, eh? Never knew jewellery fail yet! How I am carrying on, to be sure!" says his face. But, as he reads, his eyes begin to roll, and he has another attack of swelling. Then the curtains at the back are withdrawn again, and on the top of the steps, where the stuffed lambs were, he sees Louise de Lavallière in a nun's robe, entering a Convent. Louis can't believe it; he thinks it must be part of the performance, though not on the original programme. As he goes nearer to see, the curtains close, open again—and there is nothing. And the baffled monarch realises the melancholy truth—Louise has gone into a nunnery, without even returning the "bracelet of great value"! Whereupon the Act-drop mercifully falls, and veils his discomfiture. And that's all!

SO NICE OF HER!

Captain Muffet. "MAY I VENTURE TO HOPE THAT YOU WILL GIVE ME A WALTZ OR QUADRILLE?"

Lady Sparker. "OH, I'M SO SORRY, I'M ENGAGED FOR EVERY DANCE! I'M ENGAGED ALSO FOR SUPPER TWICE; BUT I PROMISE YOU FAITHFULLY YOU SHALL HAVE MY THIRD GLASS OF LEMONADE!"

LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.

DEAR MR. PUNCH.—Several people who do not know me as the writer of the "Selections," have told me that they took the tip about "Balmoral" for the Manchester Cup, but backed it to win instead of to be last—thereby winning money!—now—of course the last thing a tipster wishes, is that his prophecy should turn out successful, therefore I am delighted at the result, as also was Sir MINTING BLOUNDELL, who won a good stake, and is the only person who knows the secret of my incognito. He congratulated me most heartily on my success, which he said was the more wonderful as he knew the owner did not much fancy the horse!—but, as I told him—if owners of race-horses knew as much as some of the public—(to say nothing of the prophets)—they would never lose the money they do, and would probably give up racing! The selection was entirely my own "fancy." I need scarcely say, I never ask an owner anything, and if he volunteers the information that he thinks his horse "has a good chance," I find as a rule, it's just as well to "let the horse run loose," as they put it; though that is an expression I never quite understood, as I've never yet seen a horse "run loose" in a race, except on one or two occasions when the jockey has been thrown at the start—which now I come to think of it, may be the origin of the expression!

So Ascot is once more a departed glory! We all shivered on Tuesday, got roasted on Wednesday, were comfortable on Thursday, and resigned on Friday—and on the whole the toilette show was successful; though I fancy some of the best gowns were held over for Goodwood—one of mine was at all events—but my goodness!—if only our great grandmothers could have seen some of our modern petticoats!—more elaborate than any dress they ever saw!—but then, as Lord HARPER REDCLYFFE said, our great grandmothers never got off and on coaches with an admiring crowd looking on, as we have to do now-a-days; and you have to be pretty smart not to get hung up on the wheels—though as Lady HARRIETT ENTOUCAS said, "my dear Lady GAY—what is the use of wearing all this loveliness unless one—" but perhaps it will annoy her if I tell what she did say!

The Royal Hunt Cup was a beautiful race, although the winner was not supposed to be the best of "JEWITT's lot;" but I am told he is one of those who "will not do his best at home," being beaten in the trial—and after all, how very human that is—for how many men one knows who are perfect bears in their home circle!

Of the horses I advised my readers to "Keep an eye on," only one, Buccaneer, put in an appearance, and won the Gold Cup; so that my warning as to the difficulty of doing this, was fully borne out by the result. My Gold Cup selection did not run, and had I known that Ermak would have been his sole opponent, I should have made him my tip; but I do not pretend to be Ermakulate! (That's awful—please forgive me, dear Mr. Punch!) From the way St. Angelo won the Palace Stakes, I can't help thinking he would have won the Derby but for the French horse Rueil, who tried to eat him during the race—(how shameful to let the poor thing get so hungry)—and this of course interfered with his chance—as you really cannot attend to two things at a time with a satisfactory result, unless they be sleeping and snoring!

I presume that this sort of thing is meant when one reads in the sporting papers that such-and-such a horse was "nibbled at!"—but I really think that those who saw St. Angelo on Thursday, saw the winner of the Leger! There is no race of any special importance next week, either at Windsor or Sandown, but I will give my weekly tip for the probable last in the Windsor June Handicap, and meanwhile I may as well say that I shall grace with my presence the Newmarket July Meeting, and, emulating the example of other tipsters who send "Paddock Wires," I shall be happy to supply anyone with my two-horse-a-day "Songs from the Birdcage," at five guineas a-week—(a reduction to owners)—at which price my selections must be cheap.

Yours devotedly,
LADY GAY.

Windsor June Handicap.

Why is the Dissolution of Parliament like the human tongue?—Because it is in everybody's mouth.

"CUTS!" OR, WE NEVER SPEAK AS WE PASS BY.