of the lieutenant, who seemed to take upon himself the command of the party, had brought a pillow from a bed in an adjoining room. The pillow was very expeditiously uncased, and a sufficient rent made in the ticking. The astonished Français stood aghast, as his bewildered mind caught a faint notion of the purpose of these preparations. He changed his tones of supplication to those of anger. "Vous êtes des sauvages!" he exclaimed. "You are monstres, diables! You do not merit to have some gentiman to teach la belle danse in dis country."
"He'll cackle like a blue jay," said the corporal, "by the time we get the feathers on him."
"They are hen's feathers," said the lieutenant, "but they'll do. Now ensign Sacket get on to the table, and corporal you hand him the skillet of tar. You Mr. Le Vosher, or whatever your name is, stand alongside of the table."
Monsieur believed his destiny to be fixed—"Oh, mon Dieu!" he exclaimed; "le diable! qu'est que c'est que ça? Vat you do—vat is dat?"
"Tar, tar, nothing but tar—stand up to the table," was the reply.
"Sacristie! put dat sur ma tête—on my head et sur mes habits—my clothes; mes beaux habits de noces—my fine clothes for de marriage! Oh, messieurs, de grace, pardonnez moi; vous gaterez—you will spoil all my clothes."
