he water. The bargemen rested upon
their oars, and gazed with broad faces of curiosity upon the busy scene
that appeared upon the public walk.

The archers and archeresses were now drawn up on the flags under the
semicircular piazza just before Mrs. Yearsley's library. A little band
of children, who had been mustered by Lady Diana Sweepstakes' _spirited
exertions_, closed the procession. They were now all in readiness. The
drummer only waited for her ladyship's signal, and the archers' corps
only waited for her ladyship's word of command to march.

'Where are your bow and arrows, my little man?' said her ladyship to
Hal, as she reviewed her Lilliputian regiment. 'You can't march, man,
without your arms.'

Hal had despatched a messenger for his forgotten bow, but the messenger
returned not. He looked from side to side in great distress.

'Oh, there's my bow coming, I declare!' cried he. 'Look, I see the bow
and the ribands. Look now, between the trees, Charles Sweepstakes, on
the Hotwell Walk--it is coming!'

'But you've kept us all waiting a confounded time!' said his impatient
friend.

'It is that good-natured poor fellow from Bristol, I protest, that has
brought it me. I'm sure I don't deserve it from him,' said Hal to
himself, when he saw the lad with the black patch on his eye running,
quite out of breath, towards him with his bow and arrows.

'Fall back, my good friend--fall back,' said the military lady, as soon
as he had delivered the bow to Hal; 'I mean, stand out of the way, for
your great patch cuts no figure amongst us. Don't follow so close, now,
as if you belonged to us, pray.'

The poor boy had no ambition to partake the triumph; he _fell back_ as
soon as he understand the meaning of the lady's words. The drum beat,
the fife played, the archers marched, the spectators admired. Hal
stepped proudly, and felt as if the eyes of the whole universe were upon
his epaulettes, or upon the facings of his uniform; whilst all the time
he was considered only as part of a show.

The walk appeared much shorter than usual, and he was extremely sorry
that Lady Diana, when they were half-way up the hill leading to Prince's
Place, mounted her horse because the road was dirty, and all the
gentlemen and ladies who accompanied her followed her example.

'We can leave the children to walk, you know,' said she to the gentleman
who helped her to mount her horse. 'I must call to some of them, though,
and leave orders wh