"That's what I want to know," said the judge, with a frown and a squint of the most ominous description.

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'Faix, then," returned Conolly, "it's myself that can't tell you. Sure I never seen sich a thing in all my life."

"Do you see these cats and hatchets ?" demanded the judge with a terrible glance.

“Ye—ye—yes, my lord," stammered the culprit, as they were flourished before his eyes.

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"Then I ask you, by virtue of the oath you have taken," shouted the judge, or woe be to your sinful body, how you came by that cuckoo-clock."

"Then it's from a pedlar I bought it one day, sir," replied Conolly. Where was that?" demanded the judge.

"Forenint the dure of the masther's tint," replied Conolly.

"That's false!" cried the judge, with a frown. "Pedlars are not allowed to enter the camp.'

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"Sure, 'twas outside the camp I bought it, your honour," said Conolly.

"You just now told me," cried the judge, "that it was at the door of your master's tent. Did you take the tent outside with you, then ?" Ov coorse I did," replied Conolly, getting bewildered in his crossexamination.

"What did you do with the tent after that?" demanded the judge. "I left it where it was," said the culprit; "what would you have me do with it?"

"And what did you do with the clock?" demanded the provost marshal.

"I tuk it home with me," said Conolly.

Then the tent was in one place," observed the judge," and the clock in another?

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"Jest so, sir," replied the culprit.

And where were they both when you got home?" asked the judge. "They were both together," replied Conolly.

"Was that inside or outside, or on both sides of the camp ? " demanded the judge, with a thundering voice.

Then the divil a one ov me can tell," said Conolly.

"Your honour

has so bothered me intirely, that I don't know whether I'm standin' on my head or my heels, this blessed minute."

"Oh, it's a clear case," said the provost marshal. ""Tis flat forgery and felo-de-se by the 99th article of war, which declares that he who steals a clock, especially a cuckoo clock, is to receive five hundred lashes."

Oh, murther!" cried Conolly, lifting up his clasped hands. “I wish I was up to my neck in the bog of Allen."

"The same article," continued the judge, "further declares that he who would steal a clock, wouldn't hesitate to steal a cock."

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Is it me, your honour ?" cried the too conscious Conolly. "Divil resaive the cock did I ever steal in all born days, your my

honour." What is that peeping out from the breast of your great coat ? ” demanded the judge.

Every eye was directed to the spot indicated by the sharp-witted Joe Blow, where the head of a fine young cock was just visible, peering out between two of the wide-set buttons of Conolly's great coat. But, as if this was not enough, the moment chanticleer saw the light of the candle, he set up a lusty crow that made the hall of justice ring again.

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There's evidence against you, you thief!" exclaimed the judge, shaking his tow wig and cocked hat. You and the cock shall go to pot together, so down on your marrow-bones, and say your PadherenAvy

"Oh, the Lord have mercy on my sinful sowl!" cried poor Conolly, in his tribulation. "Oh, colonel dear, won't you pray for me, and you peeping in there at the window. Sure av I did laugh at the song, every one else did the same; an if you tumbled into the ditch, 'twasn't all along ov me, but the fault of your own bandy legs."

Silence in the court," cried the judge, "while I pass the sentence." "On the neck ov your mother's sowl," cried the culprit, "give me a long day, your honour?

'Do you see that beam over your head?" sternly demanded the judge.

Conolly cast a rueful glance up at the roof-trees.

"In five minutes more," said the judge, "you'll dangle at that beam, where you may dance upon nothing, and show your steps to the mob, before you go out of this dirty world."

Totally overcome by this direful sentence, poor Conolly fell groaning upon the floor; but at this critical juncture the farce was suddenly cut short by a dozen shots outside the picket-house, while a sentry shouted, in a voice of thunder, "Sortie! sortie! Picket, turn out !" "What on earth is a salt-eel?" cried Conolly.

But, before he could have an answer, judges, executioners, and spectators, were tumbling over each other in headlong haste to get into the trenches, where, in three minutes more, we were wrapped in a blaze of musketry that drove Conolly and his cuckoo-clock totally out of our heads.

It was, in fact, a sortie of some consequence, the object being to destroy one of our breaching batteries, and spike the guns, but it totally failed; for though, in consequence of the darkness, there was more noise than mischief in the affair, the enemy were repulsed as day began to dawn, and driven back, leaving about twenty killed and wounded behind them on the field.

When all was quiet, I returned to the picket-house, where I found poor Conolly in a paroxysm of fever, from the double fright he had undergone. I sent a fatigue party with him immediately to the hospital, whither he went, raving of the salt-eel and the provost marshal; and it was not till his head was shaved and blistered, and the doctor had put him through a course of black draughts and crotontiglum, that he was at length restored to his senses. The joke was a severe one, but it served as a salutary lesson, for Mr. Conolly never after got into the clutches of the provost marshal.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE DUTCH VROW.

ONE of the standing jokes of that very "slow" period of which I am now treating, was, that Lord Chatham could never after hear the subject of his expedition broached, without a flushing in the face; and the following epigram, written on the occasion, gives too true a picture of the ridiculous state of affairs, to claim even the merit of poetical invention

"Lord Chatham, with his sabre drawn,
Stood waiting for Sir Richard Strachan;
Sir Richard, longing to be at 'em,

Stood waiting for the Earl of Chatham."

But though slow, and by no means sure, seemed the maxim of our commanders, nothing could surpass the zeal, energy, and enterprising spirit of the troops composing this noble expedition. The same animus inspired both men and officers; and in spite of the disheartening circumstances under which they laboured, the universal feeling was, like that of the gallant Scotchman, how they could best kill twa at a blow!

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So many years had elapsed since the troops of England had seen anything like active service, and the expedition comprised so many raw soldiers, who had never seen a shot fired in anger, that much could not fairly be expected from their efforts in this their first campaign. And yet the facility with which they comprehended and performed its various and unwonted duties, was truly wonderful: trenches being dug, fascines and gabions manufactured, and batteries erected, with the utmost excellence and rapidity, by men who, ten days before, had never seen or heard of either one or the other.

By these means the siege works soon made a rapid progress; the line of circumvallation was completed, several formidable batteries erected, and our battering train nearly got into position. Our incessant activity kept us all in excellent health and spirits; and the vicinity of Middleburg, though we were not allowed to partake of its amusements, afforded a constant supply of little luxuries, to enable us to relish and eke out our rations. Being the only one in the regiment who spoke French with any fluency, I was generally requested by my brother officers to be their purveyor when camp supplies began to fail; a piece of service which, of course, I always rendered with pleasure.

The last time I paid a visit of this kind to Middleburg, before the surrender of Flushing, was on a fine afternoon about the middle of August. Followed by my two fatigue-men, with hampers on their backs, I passed the Stadthaus, and strolled down the Vessingue Strasse, and alongside one of the canals that intersect the city, look

ing out for a new dealer, the last one not having supplied us with good articles. I had not long to search before I came to a shop of a very tempting appearance indeed; being beautifully painted and varnished inside and out, and displaying in its crystal windows almost every commodity of which I was in want.

There was, however, one object of paramount attraction that fixed my attention more than all the others; this was a very pretty little Dutchwoman, with eyes like black beads, a smart French cap on her glossy round head, and a coquettish air that did not seem at all racy of the swamps and quagmires of her native soil. I hope the indulgent reader will pardon this fresh instance of infidelity, as he will doubtless call it; but there is something so fascinating, so mesmeric, as it were, in the smile of a pretty woman, that no man who is once placed within its maddening focus can thenceforward be looked upon as an accountable being.

In this predicament I felt myself, as I entered the shop where my little Dutchwoman was serving behind the counter, assisted by a shopboy. To my great delight, she spoke French fluently, and it sounded from her lips like music to my ears; for I never cared much about German, either High or Low, with its soapy pronunciation, and its alphabet of spiders and grasshoppers.

I addressed myself immediately to my task, while she evinced equal assiduity in assisting me; and between us, my hampers were speedily filled, and my purse emptied; whole volleys of smiles, and volumes of honied words and expressions being in the meantime interchanged between us.

When the bill was made out and duly paid and receipted, Madame (for she told me she was married, though I persisted in calling her Mademoiselle), asked me if I would like some refreshment, and invited me into a small parlour behind the shop, which was the most singularly neat and clean little compartment of domestic comfort I had ever seen. The floor was scrubbed as white as snow, being uncarpeted through the heat of the weather; the stove and fire-irons shone like silver, the mahogany tables, chairs, and chiffonniers were polished to a painful degree of lucidity; while an equally transparent cabinet, made of some curiously-variegated foreign wood, was literally crammed with little plates, dishes, tea-pots, cups, saucers, and cream jugs, with a thousand other little articles more curious than useful, of the most rare and delicate china, and the most singular varieties of shape and pattern.

My fair hostess seemed to enjoy my surprise at what I saw; and, having rung for refreshments, she sat down beside me on the sofa, without any affectation of prudery or bashfulness; but also without the slightest appearance of unbecoming freedom or indiscretion. We were, in fact, like a brother and sister who had accidentally met after a long separation.

the

Sweetmeats, confectionery, and coffee were speedily served; latter without sugar, in excessively small, transparent China cups, encased in silver filigree. Though it was the purest Mocha, Í begged for a little sugar, which she immediately produced, with a

smile at what to her at least was an innovation; for the Dutch drink coffee incessantly, without any saccharine admixture; the ladies sitting with their feet on little charcoal stoves, and the gentlemen with the eternal meerschaum in their capacious mouths.

When the coffee-cups were removed, they were succeeded by one of those delicious liqueur cases for which the Low Countries are famous. It was a square box of sandal-wood, inlaid with ivory, highly polished, and diffusing around a delightful aroma. It was liued with crimson velvet, and held four small decanters, curiously carved and gilt; one containing créme de noyeau, another parfait amour, and a third huile de Vénus: what was in the fourth I cannot now recollect; for the ineffable smile my fair hostess bestowed upon me, as we touched glasses, drove everything else out of my head but her own perfect beauty.

And it really was beauty of the highest order: a Grecian contour, a clear bright forehead, a sparkling complexion, pouting lips, and finely modelled chin, with a matchless bust and a full round form that would have exceedingly puzzled any of our P.R.B.s to twist into their diabolical lines of beauty. All in fact was perfect, except one particular feature; what that was, I'll tell you presently; but never, my dear reader, as long as you live, look into the mouth of a Dutchwoman.

I myself was a novice at the time, and took everything for granted that only offered a fair outside. It is true that my hostess had hitherto kept her lips as it were glued together, allowing her words to slide out through the smallest possible aperture: this I thought was rather too niminy-piminy; but it was an imperceptible flaw in the koh-i-noor, and vanished amidst the blaze of her loveliness.

I felt I cannot tell how; it must be that I was then and there, for the first time in my life, struck with all-consuming, all-absorbing love. I pressed her delicate fingers, which gently returned the pressure; I drew that dear little hand to my lips, while her face and neck were suffused with blushes. Like Rory O'More, I "looked in her eyes that were beaming with light." Nay, in imitation of that rollicking gentleman-pardon, dear reader, if I shock the unspeakable purity of your delicate mind; but I feel myself, so to speak, at an imaginary confessional; whether I shall ever be brought to one in reality, depends on the success of Cardinal Wiseman-but, as I said, in imitation of that rollicking countryman of mine, I was on the point of

Fortunately, there was a little glass window in the partition, through which we could see what was going on in the shop; and just as I was on the point of desperately snatching a kiss, an elderly gentleman entering the front door, my lovely hostess started up, exclaiming "Bon Dieu! c'est mon mari!"

Ah! that fatal exclamation! In all my previous trials and disappointments, my real, internal, heartfelt happiness had never been tampered with before; but in uttering these few insignificant words, my sweet hostess had inadvertently opened her mouth, and displayed between those ruby lips of hers, two frightful rows of stunted, black,