y deceive
himself. The only honest party in the whole history is the one most
hated, as generally is the case in this world--I mean Snarleyyow. There
is no deceit about him, and therefore, _par excellence_, he is fairly
entitled to be the hero of, and to give his name to, the work. The next
most honest party in the book is Wilhelmina; all the other women, except
little Lilly, are cheats and impostors--and Lilly is too young; our
readers may, therefore, be pleased to consider Snarleyyow and
Wilhelmina as the hero and the heroine of the tale, and then it will
leave one curious feature in it, the principals will not only not be
united, but the tale will wind up without their ever seeing each other.
_Allons en avant_.

But of all the treachery practised by all the parties, it certainly
appears to us that the treachery of the widow was the most odious and
diabolical. She was like a bloated spider, slowly entwining those
threads for her victim which were to entrap him to his destruction, for
she had vowed that she never would again be led to the hymeneal altar
until Mr Vanslyperken was hanged. Perhaps, the widow Vandersloosh was in
a hurry to be married, at least, by her activity, it would so
appear--but let us not anticipate.

The little sofa was fortunately like its build, strong as a cob, or it
never could have borne the weight of two such lovers as the widow
Vandersloosh and the Corporal Van Spitter; there they sat, she radiant
with love and beer, he with ditto; their sides met, for the sofa exactly
took them both in, without an inch to spare; their hands met, their eyes
met, and whenever one raised the glass, the other was on the alert, and
their glasses met and jingled--a more practical specimen of hob and nob
was never witnessed. There was but one thing wanting to complete their
happiness, which, unlike other people's, did not hang upon a thread, but
something much stronger, it hung upon a cord; the cord which was to hang
Mr Vanslyperken.

And now the widow, like the three fates rolled into one, is weaving the
woof, and, in good Dutch, is pouring into the attentive ear of the
corporal her hopes and fears, her surmises, her wishes, her
anticipations, and her desires--and he imbibes them all greedily,
washing them down with the beer of the widow's own brewing.

"He has not been to the house opposite these two last arrivals," said
the widow, "that is certain; for Babette and I have been on the watch.
There was hangin