cious Majesty's commission, are entirely at your service, and
crave instructions from you."

* Lest I seem to under-rate the erudition of Devonshire
magistrates, I venture to offer copy of a letter from a
Justice of the Peace to his bookseller, circa 1810 A.D., now
in my possession:--

'Sur. 'plez to zen me the aks relatting to A-GUSTUS-PAKS,'
--Ed. of L. D.

'Then a waving of hats began, and a bowing, and making of legs to wan
anather, sich as nayver wor zeed afore; but none of 'em arl, for air and
brading, cud coom anaigh the gentleman with the long grave face.

'"Your warships have posted the men right well," saith he with anather
bow all round; "surely that big rogue will have no chance left among so
many valiant musketeers. Ha! what see I there, my friend? Rust in the
pan of your gun! That gun would never go off, sure as I am the King's
Commissioner. And I see another just as bad; and lo, there the
third! Pardon me, gentlemen, I have been so used to His Majesty's
Ordnance-yards. But I fear that bold rogue would ride through all of
you, and laugh at your worship's beards, by George."

'"But what shall us do?" Squire Maunder axed; "I vear there be no oil
here."

'"Discharge your pieces, gentlemen, and let the men do the same; or at
least let us try to discharge them, and load again with fresh powder. It
is the fog of the morning hath spoiled the priming. That rogue is not
in sight yet: but God knows we must not be asleep with him, or what will
His Majesty say to me, if we let him slip once more?"

'"Excellent, wondrous well said, good sir," Squire Maunder answered him;
"I never should have thought of that now. Bill Blacksmith, tell all the
men to be ready to shoot up into the air, directly I give the word. Now,
are you ready there, Bill?"

'"All ready, your worship," saith Bill, saluting like a soldier.

'"Then, one, two, dree, and shutt!" cries Squire Maunder, standing up in
the irons of his stirrups.

'Thereupon they all blazed out, and the noise of it went all round the
hills; with a girt thick cloud arising, and all the air smelling of
powder. Before the cloud was gone so much as ten yards on the wind,
the gentleman on the cue-bald horse shuts up his face like a pair of
nut-cracks, as wide as it was long before, and out he pulls two girt
pistols longside of zaddle, and clap'th one to Squire Maunder's head,
and tother to Sir Richard Blewitt's.

'"Hand forth your money an