the gentlemen who remembered the whole verses between them:
"On empty head a flaunting feather,
A long queue tied with tape and leather;
Padded breast and waist so little,
Make the soldier to a tittle;
By cards and dance, and dissipation,
He's sure to win a Marshal's station."
"Do you deny, you rascal," cried the Field-Marshal to the terrified watchman; "do you deny that you sang these infamous lines as I was coming out of my house?"
"They may sing it who like, it was not me," said the watchman.
"Why did you run away, then, when you saw me?"
"I did not run away."
"What!" said the two officers who had accompanied the Marshal—"not run away? Were you not out of breath when at last we laid hold of you there by the market?"
"Yes, but it was with fright at being so ferociously attacked. I am trembling yet in every limb."
"Lock the obstinate dog up till the morning," said the Marshal; "he will come to his senses by that time!" With these words the wrathful dignitary went away. These incidents had set the whole police force of the city on the qui vive. In the next ten minutes two more watchmen
