“I rather think I should know that style,” remarked Willis.
“It is a pity Ernest is not with us,” observed Fritz; “but the placard will keep for a day or two.”
“They say laughing is good for digestion,” remarked Mrs. Wolston; “and if so, it must be confessed that Master Jack is a useful member of the colony in a sanitary point of view.”
The party had scarcely advanced a hundred paces farther, when Fritz called out,
“Holloa! there is another broadside in sight.”
This one was headed by a smart conflict between two ferocious looking hussars, and was couched in the following terms:—
“PROCLAMATION.
“All the inhabitants of this colony capable of bearing arms, who are panting after glory, are invited to the Fig Tree, at Falcon’s Nest, there to enrol themselves in the registry of Fritz Becker, who is about to undertake the conquest of the world. Nobody is compelled to volunteer, but those who hold back will be reckoned contumacious, and will be taken into custody, and kept on raw coffee till such time as they evince a serious desire to enlist. There will be no objection to recruits returning home at the end of the war, if they come out of it alive. Neither will there be any objections to the survivors bringing back a marshal’s baton, if they can get one. The Commander-in-chief will charge himself with the fruits of the victory. Surgical operations will be performed at his cost, and cork legs will be served out with the rations. In the event of a profitable campaign, a monument will be erected to the memory of the defunct, by way of a reward for their heroism on the field of battle.”
“Well, Fritz,” said Becker, with a merry twinkle in his eye, “you were sorry that Ernest was not present to hear the last placard read; fortunately, you are on the spot yourself this time.”
Fritz tried to look amused, but the attempt was a decided failure.
When the party had gone a little farther, another announcement met their gaze; all were curious to know whose turn was come now; as they approached, the following interesting question, in large letters, stared them in the face:—
“HAVE YOU HAD YOUR PORTRAIT TAKEN YET?