faint morning breeze.

It attracted my attention, and I pointed it out to my patron. Presently
it was hauled down, and a series of signals was made at the yard--arm of a
spar, that had been slung across it. Who can they be telegraphing to?
thought I, while I could notice my host assume a most anxious and startled
look, while he peered down into the hollow. But he could see nothing, as
the fog bank still filled the whole of the space between the city and the
acclivity where we stood.

"What is that?" said I; for I heard, or thought I heard, a low rumbling
rushing noise in the ravine. Mr-----heard it as well as I apparently,
for he put his finger to his lips--as much as to say, "Hold your tongue,
my good boy nous verrons."

It increased--the clattering of horses hoofs, and the clang of scabbards
were heard, and, in a twinkling, the hussar caps of a squadron of light
dragoons emerged from out the fog bank, as, charging up the road, they
passed the small gate of green basket--work at a hand gallop. I ought to
have mentioned before, that my friend's house was situated about half way
up the ascent, so that the rising ground behind it in the opposite
direction from the city shut out all view towards the country. After the
dragoons passed, there was an interval of two minutes, when a troop of
flying artillery, with three six--pound field--pieces, rattled after the
leading squadron, the horses all in a lather, at full speed, with the guns
bounding and jumping behind them as if they had been playthings, followed
by their caissons. Presently we could see the leading squadron file to
the right--clear the low hedge--and then disappear over the crest of the
hill. Twenty or thirty pioneers, who had been carried forward behind as
many of the cavalry, were now seen busily employed in filling up the