"Oh! ce ne'st pas un larron, mes amis-c'est moi-c'est Bimbelot," cried the Frenchman. "Dont you know me ?”

66

Why it sounds like Bamby's voice," cried Fishwick. "Yes, yes, it is Bimbelot," replied the prisoner.

"Why, what the devil are you doing there?" demanded the cook.

"I got locked up by accident," replied Bimbelot. de door, I beseesh of you."

"Open

At this reply there was a general roar of laughter from the group outside, which was not diminished when the door being opened by Fishwick, the valet sneaked forth.. Without waiting to thank his deliverers, or to afford them any explanation of the cause of his captivity, Bimbelot took to his heels and hurried out of the house. Their surmises, which were not very far wide of the truth, were fully confirmed on the following day by Proddy.

It has been said that the serjeant wrote home frequently, but after the battle of Malplaquet, which he described with great particularity, nothing was heard from him, and as this despatch was evidently traced by the hand of a comrade, it was feared, though he made no mention of it, that he had been wounded. "Well, I hold to my resolution," said Mrs. Tipping. "If he has lost a limb I wont have him."

"I don't care what he has lost," said Mrs. Plumpton, "he will be all the same to me."

"I hope he'll come back safe and sound," said Proddy," and soon too. I'm sure he has been away long enough."

The campaign of 1709 was over, and the Duke of Marlborough returned, but with him came no serjeant. Great was the consternation of the two ladies. Mrs. Tipping had a fit of hysterics, and Mrs. Plumpton fainted clean away, but both were restored, not only to themselves, but to the highest possible state of glee, by a piece of intelligence brought them by Fishwick, who had ascertained from the very best authority,—namely, the duke himself, -that the serjeant was on his way home, and might be hourly expected. Shortly after this, Proddy made his appearance, wearing a mysterious expression of countenance, which was very tantalizing. He had received a letter from the serjeant, and the ladies entreated him to let them see it, but he shook his head, and said "You'll know it all in time."

"Know what?" demanded Mrs. Tipping. happened?"

"What has

Something very dreadful," replied Proddy, evasively; "so prepare yourselves."

"Oh, good gracious, you alarm one!" exclaimed Mrs. Tipping. "He hasn't got a leg shot off ?"

"Worse than that," replied Proddy.

"Worse than that!" repeated Mrs. Tipping. "Impossible! It can't be worse? Speak-speak! or I shall go distracted."

Why he has lost his right leg and his right arm, and I don't know whether his right eye aint a-missin' too,” replied the coach

man.

"Then he's no longer the man for me," replied Mrs. Tipping. "I'm glad to have such an opportunity of proving my affection for him," said Mrs. Plumpton, brushing away a tear. "I shall like him just as well as ever-perhaps better."

66

Well, upon my word, Plumpton, you're easily satisfied, I must say," observed Mrs. Tipping, scornfully. "I wish you joy of your bargain."

"Ah! but Mrs. Plumpton don't know all," remarked Proddy; "the worst's behind."

"What! is there anything more dreadful in store?" asked the housekeeper. "What is it?-what is it?"

"I was enjoined by the serjeant not to tell-but I can't help it," replied Proddy. "He's MARRIED!" "Married!" screamed both ladies.

"Yes-married," replied Proddy; " and to a Dutch woman, and he's bringin' her home with him."

"Well, I hope he won't let me see her, or I'll tear her eyes out-that I will!" cried Mrs. Tipping. "Bless us! what's the matter with Plumpton? Why, if the poor fool isn't going to faint." And her womanly feelings getting the better of her rivalry, she flew to the housekeeper, who fell back in the chair, and tried to revive her by sprinkling water over her face.

"This is real love, or I know nothing about it," said Proddy, regarding Mrs. Plumpton with much concern. "I wish I hadn't alarmed her so."

And without awaiting her recovery, he quitted the house.

On that same evening, Bimbelot called upon the ladies, and was enchanted by the news which he learnt from Mrs. Tipping.

"Ma foi!" he exclaimed, "here's a pretty conclusion to de sergent's gallant career. So he has lost a leg, and an arm, and an eye, and is married to a Dutch crow-ha, ha! You say he is hourly expected. I sall call to-morrow evening, and see if he is returned."

So the next evening he came, accompanied by Sauvageon, and found the two ladies and Fishwick in the kitchen; but as yet nothing had been heard of the serjeant, nor had even Proddy made his appearance. Mrs. Plumpton seemed very disconsolate, sighed dismally, and often applied her apron to her eyes; and though Mrs. Tipping endeavoured to look indifferent and scornful, it was evident she was not the reverse of comfortable.

"I hope you'll revenge yourself on de perfidious sergent, ma chère," said Bimbelot to the latter; "let him see that if he has got a Dutch wife you can match him wid a French husbandha, ha!"

"It would serve him right, indeed,” replied the lady. "I'll see."

Sauvageon addressed a speech, somewhat to the same purport to Mrs. Plumpton, but the only response he received was a melancholy shake of the head.

Just at this juncture, an odd sound, like the stumping of a wooden leg, was heard in the passage, approaching each instant towards the door.

"Sacre Dieu! vat's dat ?" cried Bimbelot.

"It's the serjeant," cried Mrs. Plumpton, starting up. sure it's him.”

"I'm

As she spoke, the door opened, and there stood Scales, but how miserably changed from his former self! His right arm was supported by a sling, and what appeared the stump of a hand was wrapped in a bandage. A wooden leg lent him support on one side, and a long crutch on the other. His visage was wan and woe-begone, and his appearance so touched Mrs. Plumpton, that she would certainly have rushed up to him and thrown her arms about his neck, if she had not caught sight of a female figure close behind him.

After pausing for a moment in the doorway, and taking off his hat to his friends, Scales hobbled forward. He was followed by his partner, and a thrill of astonishment pervaded Mrs. Plumpton as she beheld more fully the object of his choice.

Never was such a creature seen, nor one so totally repugnant to the received notions of feminine attraction. Mrs. Scales was little more than half her husband's size; but what she wanted in height she made up in width and rotundity, and if she were a Dutch Venus, the Hollanders must admire the same breadth of beauty as the Hottentots. Her expansive attractions were displayed in a flaming petticoat of scarlet cloth, over which she wore a short gown of yellow brocade worked with gold, and over this a richly-laced muslin apron. Her stupendous stomacher was worked in the same gaudy style as her gown; immense lace ruffles covered her elbows; and black mittens her wrists. Her neck was so short that her chin was buried in her exuberant bust. Waist she had none. In fact, her figure altogether resembled an enormous keg of Dutch butter, or a gigantic runnel of Schiedam. A hoop with her was unnecessary; nor would she have needed in the slightest degree that modern accessory of female attire, the bustle. The rest of her array consisted of massive gold earrings, a laced cap and pinners, surmounted by a beaver hat with a low crown and broad leaves; black shoes of Spanish leather, with red heels, and buckles. In her hand she carried a large fan, which she spread before her face, it may be presumed to hide her blushes. As she advanced with her heels together, and her toes turned out, at a slow and mincing pace, the two Frenchmen burst into roars of laughter, and having made her a bow of mock ceremony, which she returned by a little duck of her body, intended for a courtesy, they retired to let her pass, and indulge their merriment unrestrained.