“Why,” interrupted Middlemore, despite of a dozen ohs and ahs—­“why, I say, is Villiers like a man of domestic habits?  Do you give it up?  Because he is fond of dwelling on his own premises.”

“Middlemore, when will you renounce that vile habit of punning?” said De Courcy with an earnestness of adjuration that excited a general laugh at his end of the table—­ “Come, Villiers, never mind his nonsense, for your premises, although a little long, are not without deep interest—­but what has all this to do with our good friend above?”

“You shall hear.  After a succession of balls last winter, to which the ladies on either shore were invariably invited, the concluding one was given by the officers in garrison at Detroit.  This was at the very close of the season, and it chanced that, on the preceding night, the river had broken up, so that the roar and fracas of crashing ice, might have been likened, during forty eight hours afterwards, to some terrible disorganization of nature.  Nothing daunted, however, by the circumstance, many of the Canadian ladies made the usual preparations, and amongst others the Miss D’Egvilles.”

Here Villiers paused a moment, and with a significant “hem,” sought to arouse the attention of the Grenadier; but Cranstoun, insensible to the appeal, and perhaps unwilling to listen to a story that occasioned so much mirth whenever it was repeated continued with his back immovably turned towards the speaker.

“All very well,” pursued Villiers:—­“but we know the adage—­’none so deaf as those who will not hear’—­I have said,” again turning to De Courcy, while those who were near, listened not without interest to the story, familiar even as it was to them all, “that the Miss D’Egvilles were of the party—­At that time our friend was doing the amiable to the lively Julia, although we never could persuade him to confess his penchant; and, on this occasion, he had attached himself to their immediate sleigh.  Provided, like the Canadians, with poles terminated by an iron hook at one end and a spike at the other, we made our way after their fashion, but in quicker time than they possibly could, harnessed as they were in the sledges.  With the aid of these poles, we cleared, with facility, chasms of from ten to twelve feet, and, alighting on our moccasined feet, seldom incurred much risk of losing our hold—­Our ball dresses were taken in charge by the ladies, so that our chief care was the safe passage of our own persons.  We all arrived without accident, and passed a delightful evening, the American officers exerting themselves to give the coup d’eclat to the last ball of the season.”

“Yes,” interrupted the incorrigible Middlemore, as he cracked a hickory nut, “and the balls reserved for us this season will also carry with them the coup de grass.”