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Crac! from the sergent-de- ville's broad palm on the white shoulder! Now look! Vogue la galere! Out comes the big red V--mark of the hot iron;--he had blistered it out pretty nearly,--hadn't he ?--the old rascal VOLEUR, branded in the galleys at Marseilles! [Don't! What if he has got something like this ?--nobody supposes I INVENTED such a story.] My man John, who used to drive two of those six equine females which I told you I had owned,--for, look you, my friends, simple though I stand here, I am one that has been driven in his "kerridge,"-- not using that term, as liberal shepherds do, for any battered old shabby-genteel go-cart which has more than one wheel, but meaning thereby a four-wheeled vehicle WITH A POLE,--my man John, I say, was a retired soldier.