proved, practically speaking, a failure: he has won no prizes, and no manager will engage him. This is his last chance, as his age will prevent him, by the rules of the Conservatoire, from taking part in any future competition. The tragedy concours ended, a recess of an hour is proclaimed, and there is a rush to the refreshment-tables and a great consumption of sandwiches and cakes, of coffee and water (known as "mazagran") and of _vin ordinaire_. Under that vestibule pass and repass the literary luminaries of modern France. Here is Henri de Bornier, the author of _La Fille de Roland_, a quiet, earnest-looking gentleman, with clear luminous eyes and the smallest hands imaginable. Here comes Francisque Sarcey, the greatest dramatic critic of France and one of the most noted of her Republican journalists, broad-shouldered, black-eyed and stalwart-looking. Yonder stand a group of Academicians--Legouve, Doucet, Dumas--in earnest conversation with Edouard Thierry, the librarian of the Arsenal. The handsome, delicate, aristocratic-looking gentleman who joins the group is M. Perrin, the director of the Comedie Francaise, the most accomplished and intelligent theatrical manager in France. There is an elderly, reserved-looking gentleman beside him who looks like a solemn _savant_ out on a holiday. It takes more than one glance for us to recognize in him the most accomplished light comedian of our day, that embodiment of grace, vivacity, sparkling wit and unfading youth, who is known to the boards of the Comedie Francaise by the name of Delaunay. There are other minor luminaries, too numerous to mention.