Knives and forks are scarce--his own will do very well.

A breach is made--the pastry parapet is thrown at the foot of the half-demolished citadel; spoons are not at hand, the knife plunges into the abyss, the fork follows--'tis a chicken pie--pillage ensues; all the white meat is captured, the dish is raised on high, from the horizontal it is turned to the "slantindicular," and the citadel is deluged in the shower.

"Catch who can," is not confined to school-boys, I see.

I was curious to witness the end of this attack, and, as he had enough to occupy his ivories for half an hour--if they did not give in before--I turned quietly to my own affairs, and began eating my dinner; but, curiosity is impatient.

In a few minutes, I turned back to gaze on the fortress.