’Then you say this ‘ere is yourn?’ said the policeman, relaxing his hold on the bridegroom, and confronting the Captain.

‘Yes, it’s mine.’

‘And how did you come by the spoons?’

‘Spoons, you jackanapes!’ said the Captain.  ‘Pistols!—­dueling-pistols!’

‘Do you call these pistols?’ said the policeman, holding up one of the silver spoons marked ‘T.B.’

The Captain, astounded, gasped, ’It’s the wrong valise again, after all!’

‘Stop!  Not so fast!’ said the police functionary, now invested with great dignity by the importance of the affair he found himself engaged in.  ’If so be as how you’ve got this ’ere lady’s valise, she’s all right, and can go.  But, in that case, this is yourn, and it comes on you to account for them ’are stole spoons.  Have to take you in charge, all four of ye.’

‘Why, you impudent scoundrel!’ roared the Captain; ’I’ll see you in ——.  I wish I had my pistols here; I’d teach you how to insult gentlemen!’—­shaking his fist.

The dispute waxed fast and furious.  The outsiders began to take part in it, and there is no telling how it would have ended, had not an explosion, followed by a heavy fall and a scream of pain, been heard in an adjoining room.

The crowd rushed to the scene of the new attraction.

The door was fast.  It was soon burst open, and the mystery explained.  The thief, who had carried off the Captain’s valise by mistake for his own, had taken it up to his room, and opened it to gloat over the booty he supposed it to contain, thrusting his hand in after the spoons.  In so doing he had touched one of the hair triggers, and the pistol had gone off, the bullet making a round hole through the side of the valise, and a corresponding round hole in the calf of his leg.

The wounded rascal was taken in charge, first by the policeman, and then by the doctor; and the duelists and the wedded pair struck up a friendship on the score of their mutual mishaps, which culminated in a supper, where the fun was abundant, and where it would he hard to say which was in the best spirits,—­the Captain for recovering his pistols, the bride for getting her night-cap, the bridegroom for escaping the station-house, or the duelists for escaping each other.  All resolved to ‘mark that day with a white stone,’ and henceforth to mark their names on their black traveling-bags, in white letters.

MORAL.—­Go thou and do likewise.

* * * * *

By odd coincidence, this is not the only ‘tale of a traveler’ and of a small carpet-bag in this our present number.  The reader will find another, but of a tragic cast, in the ‘Tints and Tones of Paris’ among our foregoing pages.

* * * * *

There are errors and errors, as the French say.  The following is not without a foundation in fact:—­

THACKERAY’S young lady, who abused a gentleman for associating with low, radical literary friends, must have had about as elevated an opinion of literature as an Irishman I lately heard of had of the medical profession, as represented by its non-commissioned officers.