night; or that he is out of suit of his trade. This man work and chances to have no money, although there are always vast sums owing to him of which he has been unjustly defrauded; and he generally produces a document showing the exact amount that is due. A third class consists quite simply of belated revellers, who neither desire nor attempt to make any concealment of the fact. They are the most garrulous, the most humorous, and the most intractable, for they are constitutionally incapable of answering any question. When asked what his name is, one will reply that he was at school with the great man's sister; when required to give his address, he counters by inviting the longsuffering potentate to "come along to the mess and have a drink"; when the cause of his being out after ten is demanded, he will pour coals of fire on the head of his inquisitor by offering him a firstrate tip for the Cesarevitch that will prove absolutely infallible. exercised the Wearied with hard work, as well as cheered with porter, he had conceived the notion of lying down for & few moments to rest in one of the deserted streets, when he was pounced upon by a ruthless patrol and conveyed to the Police House. There stood suddenly in the doorway an apparition of titanio size, bearing from head to foot the august marks of his office, for he was as black with inches deep of soot as the night out of which he came. There he pirouetted round and round, offering with gestioulations, though not in words, to fight all comers; but no one was willing to touch him, so he waltzed in the midst of an awestruck circle, who edged away to escape contamination, and shrank into walls and doorways, where at a safe distance they gave themselves up to uncontrollable laughter. Of course all do not contribute to the hilarity of When at last he could be jaded officials, for there are ushered into the inner room, some whose reason has been the usual questions were put so entirely dethroned as to to him; but so filled was he render no word their with honourable pride in his speech coherent. But it would profession that, though he was scarcely be fair to pass the willing to dance or fight, and class by without remembering did actually sing, nothing one who may well be allowed more could be extracted from inclusion in their ranks, al- him by way of an answer than though, according to his own the magic words, "I am a statement, he was apprehended sweep." "Evidently," was the by the Government's minions great man's rejoinder. when returning from the pur In the darkness and silence where the sentries pace to and fro, the most trivial incidents are welcomed as a slight relief to the seldom varying monotony. "Halt! that cat!" shouts one of the sentries of a picquet as a feline form glides lightly in front of him down into the enveloping darkness; and wild howls in the distance on every side prove that myriads of her companions are at large, their penetrating voices taking at times a full possession of the silence. The wearied soldiery, poor fellows! seem to derive an infinite pleasure from these savage miaulings and love to mimic them, making night hideous to their hearts' content with a thousand blood-curdling cat-calls. But it sometimes happens that the quiet of the night is broken by sounds of a different kind, and that other more impressive occurrences serve to distract the sentry from the loneliness of his watch and to bestir him to a greater activity. A shot, or more rarely several shots, heard in the dead silence, promptly gives birth to a mighty family of rumours. Most probably a forlorn loiterer has run away in panic from a sentry, and the sentry has fired over his head when the challenge proved ineffective to stop him. Or perhaps a car will suddenly come sweeping up to the lonely picquet and carry them away on some errand that has a deep purpose in it. The great man in the Police House has just received a message from some loyal householder that his house is being raided; so he collects his scattered posts and carries them off with him to the support of the threatened domicile. It often happens that the loyalist has had time to remove or hide any documents that might be dangerous to him, that the raiders plunder his house without finding what they seek, and that the protecting force arrives only a few minutes too late, to find that the birds have flown. But on other occasions they are more fortunate and seize the raiders red-handed: lucky men if they should, for the city is filled with their spies, and little that passes is unknown. Or the diversion may be caused by an incident of the opposite kind, and the loyalists may turn the tables on the insurgents by raiding and searching a house whose owner is known to be in sympathy with them. They return as a rule with a heterogeneous collection of literature, in which the strange blend of tragedy and comedy is again perceptible: manifestoes containing violent denunciations of the Government, as well as impassioned protestations of the justice of the cause, hopelessly mixed up with humorous doggerel designed to enliven proceedings at wedding-parties and christenings. And outside the Police House, where the evidence is being sorted and examined, the hootings and rumblings of cars, the glare of lights, and the potent smell of petrol symbolise the Empire, by the side of which these frantic ebullitions seem as insignificant as the buzzing of a swarm of bees. At last the time comes when the weary "minions" can go off to their well-earned sleep. Civil tumults as well as foreign wars have invariably been been productive of popular rhymes; and any one who cared to walk the streets at this witching hour might find his trouble repaid by hearing, if the troops were not too tired, as is You walk about till half-past two, Hip Hip! Hurrah for Picca- After this a single voice can be heard "England doesn't care a jot sometimes the case, one of Then again the chorusthose lively ditties which the recent political troubles have oreated: "But in beautiful Piccadilly There is no curfew time; "But in beautiful Piccadilly are precious stones and pearls, In peaceable Piccadilly are lords and dukes and earls, And beautiful girls in limousines, II. ROOKS' CASTLE. It is not too far a cry from the scene where the curfew is nightly enacted to Rooks' Castle, lying embosomed in trees on the outskirts of the oity. It takes its name from the mighty flocks of those birds which circle continually above it, and no one looking down from the surrounding hills would ever suspect that its most notable inmates were prisoners, or that its presiding deity was a warden. It was not so very long ago that a Prince of the Church, a friend and ally of the green party, on whose cause he deigned to look with benevolence, suddenly started forward as their champion, and drew on himself the attention of the world. For three weeks he was thought and spoken the of everywhere. On his nameday, the day when he was expected to grace grace the city with his presence, nearly the whole population wore green sign in his honour. There were leading articles in the newspapers about him; his photograph was in nearly every shop window; and then suddenly his fame was eclipsed and he himself almost entirely forgotten. The phenomenon would have been amazing if its cause had not been evident. For a greater than he had appeared, and drew the attention of all upon him as he lay in the fastness of Rooks' Castle. Within twelve hours. of his being conveyed there, he too was famous. The city outside, and the whole island, of which it is one of the chief where the sentries pace to and fro, the most trivial incidents are welcomed as a slight relief to the seldom varying monotony. "Halt! that cat!" shouts one of the sentries of a picquet as a feline form glides lightly in front of him down into the enveloping darkness; and wild howls in the distance on every side prove that myriads of her companions are at large, their penetrating voices taking at times a full possession of the silence. The wearied soldiery, poor fellows! seem to derive an infinite pleasure from these savage miaulings and love to mimic them, making night hideous to their hearts' content with a thousand blood-curdling cat-calls. But it sometimes happens that the quiet of the night is broken by sounds of a different kind, and that other more impressive occurrences serve to distract the sentry from the loneliness of his watch and to bestir him to a greater activity. A shot, or more rarely several shots, heard in the dead silence, promptly gives birth to a mighty family of rumours. Most probably a forlorn loiterer has run away in panic from a sentry, and the sentry has fired over his head when the challenge proved ineffective to stop him. perhaps a car will suddenly come sweeping up to the lonely picquet and carry them away on some errand that has a deep purpose in it. The great man in the Police House has just received a message from some loyal householder that his house is being raided; so he collects Or his scattered posts and carries them off with him to the support of the threatened domicile. It often happens that the loyalist has had time to remove or hide any documents that might be dangerous to him, that the raiders plunder his house without finding what they seek, and that the protecting force arrives only a few minutes too late, to find that the birds have flown. But on other occasions they are more fortunate and seize the raiders red-handed: lucky men if they should, for the city is filled with their spies, and little that passes is unknown. Or the diversion may be caused by an incident of the opposite kind, and the loyalists may turn the tables on the insurgents by raiding and searching a house whose owner is known to be in sympathy with them. They return as a rule with a heterogeneous collection of literature, in which the strange blend of tragedy and comedy is again perceptible: manifestoes containing violent denunciations of the Government, as well as impassioned protestations of the justice of the cause, hopelessly mixed up with humorous doggerel designed to enliven proceedings at wedding-parties and ohristenings. And outside the Police House, where the evidence is being sorted and examined, the hootings and rumblings of cars, the glare of lights, and the potent smell of petrol symbolise the Empire, by the side of which these frantic ebullitions seem as insignificant as the buzzing of a swarm of bees. At last the time comes when the weary "minions" can go off to their well-earned sleep. Civil tumults as well as foreign wars have invariably been productive of popular rhymes; and any one who cared to walk the streets at this witching hour might find his trouble repaid by hearing, if the troops were not too tired, as is sometimes the case, one of those lively ditties which the recent political troubles have oreated: "But in beautiful Piccadilly There is no curfew time; You walk about till half-past two, Hip Hip! Hurrah for Picca- After this a single voice can be heard "England doesn't care a jot When an Irish policeman's shot; Their days are free from strife. In peaceable Piccadilly are lords and And beautiful girls in limousines, II. ROOKS' CASTLE. It is not too far a cry from the scene where the curfew is nightly enacted to Rooks' Castle, lying embosomed in trees on the outskirts of the oity. It takes its name from the mighty flocks of those birds which oirole continually above it, and no one looking down from the surrounding hills would ever suspect that its most notable inmates were prisoners, or that its presiding deity was a warden. It was not so very long ago that a Prince of the Church, a friend and ally of the green party, on whose cause he deigned to look with benevolence, suddenly started forward as their champion, and drew on himself the attention of the world. For three weeks he was thought and spoken of everywhere. On his nameday, the day when he was expected to grace the city with his presence, nearly the whole population wore wore the green sign in his honour. There were leading articles in the newspapers about him; his photograph was in nearly every shop window; and then suddenly his fame was eclipsed and he himself almost entirely forgotten. The phenomenon would have been amazing if its cause had not been evident. For a greater than he had appeared, and drew the attention of all upon him as he lay in the fastness of Rooks' Castle. Within twelve hours of his being conveyed there, he too was famous. The city outside, and the whole island, of which it is one of the chief |
