have from time to time been sent to London for instruction in this difficult branch of police business, but have hardly benefited by their teaching. Parisian cabmen are forbidden to rove in search of fares, or hang about in front of cafes and at street corners, the penalty being imprisonment without the option of a fine. Indeed, a special quarter in one of the Paris prisons is known as the "cabmen's," and is often full of them. Yet the drivers are honest enough, and many curious stories are told of the self-denial shown by these hard-worked, poorly paid servants of the public. A rich Russian who had won ten thousand francs one night at his club left the whole sum behind him in a cab in which he had driven home. He was so certain that he had lost it irreparably that he returned to St. Petersburg without even inquiring whether or not it had been given up. Some time later he was again in Paris, and a friend strongly urged him at least to satisfy himself whether or not the missing money had been taken to the lost property office. He went and asked, although the limit of time allowed to claim the lost property was almost expired. "Ten thousand francs lost? Yes, there it is," and after the proper identification the money was restored to him. "What a fool that cabman must have been!" was the Russian's only remark. Again, a certain jeweller in the Palais Royal left a diamond _parure_ worth 80,000 francs (£3,200) in a cab, and the police, when he reported the loss, gave him scant hope of recovery. He did not know the number of the cabman--he had picked him up in the street, not taken him from the rank; and, worse than all, he had quarrelled with the driver, the reason why he had abruptly left the cab. The case seemed quite hopeless, yet the cabman brought back the diamonds of his own accord. The quaintest part of the story is to come. When told at the Prefecture to ask the jeweller for the substantial reward to which he was clearly entitled, he replied with intense indignation: "No, not I; he was too rude. I hope I may never see him or speak to him again." All cabmen are not so honest, however; and now and again the fraudulent cabman gets caught. It was so in the case of a tortoiseshell fan, which was deposited under a wrong description and eventually, after the legal interval, handed over to the cabman who had found it. Soon afterwards a lady turned up to claim it, and as she described it exactly he was ordered to restore it to the lady, whose name was communicated to him. "But she has no right to it," protested the cabman. "She is a thief. I know the real owner. I have known her from the first. It is Mdlle. ----," and he named a popular actress, thus confessing his own misconduct. The actress was then summoned, and did in fact identify the fan as the one she had lost. But it was proved satisfactorily that the other lady also had lost a fan that was curiously similar.