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morasses, guarded by fever and fathomless quicksands; and these poor men, the kouankouen, stand well with the peasants, paying liberally for provisions, salt, gunpowder, and news. The magistrates would never venture a force among the quagmires without proper guidance. By threats and promises, by the exhibition of a little money and plenty of stick, they induce some of the fishers to pilot the column through the labyrinth of mud and waters; and an imposing aspect does that column present. First march a company of veterans, with long-barrelled gingals, matches lighted, and ammunition in plenty. The guides are with these matchlockmen, with their hands tied behind their backs, and a cord round each man's neck, as a delicate precautionary measure. Then comes the chief military mandarin, mounted, and armed like a Scythian. At his back come swords men and spearmen, all with shields and hel mets, hideous with dragons and tigers of fancy colors, very fearful to behold. The subaltern officers follow, gallantly heading the archers and rocketmen, the former of whom advance with their short bows bent, and a barbed arrow fitted 'to the string. The civil mandarin rides next, sword in hand, followed by his own policemen, in pheasantfeathers and crimson serge; by a troop of impressed coolies, furnished with rop*es, chains, fetters, and spare bamboos enough to secure a considerable amount of felons; and a band of music brings up the rear. But the gongs and flutes will not be wanted until the celebration of the victory; so the heroes advance without the beat of drum or noisy clamor, twirling their moustachios and vaporing beneath their breath of the deeds they ane about to perform. But when once fairly among the marshes, a change comes over these pigtail ed Bobadils. They see spears through the rank grass and sedges; they huddle together like scared sheep at the

waving of the cane-break; when the wild fowl rise with clanging wing and harsh note, the sound suggests the war-cry of the kouankouen. The old adage is reversed, and it is the officer who takes every bush for a thief, and is pretty much of Lady Macduff's opin ion as to the chance that the knaves may hang up the honest men. Sometimes the outlaws are surprised, and fall an easy prey; often they get safe off; now and then they repulse the attack. But if they fight and are beaten, strange scenes occur. Hours are said to be occupied in the contest between two or three hundred soldiers, and a score of highwaymen behind a bamboo stockade. The civil mandarin, with chattering teeth and dignity broken down, cowers beneath his horse, and squeaks at every shot like a wounded rabbit. The musicians throw away gong and cymbal, and run for their lives. The military mandarins rate and menace their men, urge them, drive them, abuse them, but never dream of leading them. It is not easy to get the poor privates to at tack; they hang back, and duck at the shots of the enemy, and rattle their swords and shields, but decline to charge, while the match lockmen lie down to take pot-shots at the brigands, and the rockets are let off pretty much at random. At length comes a crisis; the powder of the robbers is exhausted, or the hard words of the mandarins are a worse annoyance than hostile bullets, and a rush is made and a victory won. Not a bloodless victory; the kouan-kouen struggle hard, and sell their liberty dearly; but at last they are killed or taken. We can fancy the triumph, the songs of victory, the barbaric dissonance of all these bellowing gongs, strident horns, sibilant flutes, blatant trumpets, ringing out the notes of victory! We can fancy the civil mandarin, once more on his horse, hectoring nobly over the fettered foe, shaking his scimitar in their