On the front of the house they had hung a captured Belgian bugler's uniform and a French dragoon's overcoat, which latter garment was probably a trophy brought back from the lower lines of fighting; it made you think of an old-clothes-man's shop.

The corporal came forth to look at our passes before permitting us to go on.

He was a dumpy, good-natured-looking Hanoverian with patchy saffron whiskers sprouting out on him.
"Ach! yes," he said in answer to my conductor's question.

"Things are quiet enough here now; but on Monday"-- that would be three days before-- "we shot sixteen men here--rioters and civilians who fired on our troops, and one grave-robber--a dirty hound! They are yonder." He swung his arm; and following its swing we saw a mound of fresh-turned clay, perhaps twenty feet in length, which made a yellow streak against the green of a small inclosed pasture about a hundred yards away.

We saw many such mounds that day; and this one where the ignoble sixteen lay was the shortest of the lot.