The watch, did we say? Where are now these dreamy wanderers of the night, carolling forth, like the muezzin in Eastern cities, their hourly calls, "All's well!" "Fine night!" "Bad weather!" as the case might be--equally ready with their rattles to sound the dread alarm of fire, or with their long _bâtons_ to capture belated midnight brawlers, that is, when they saw they had a good chance of escaping capture themselves. Their most formidable foes were not the thieves, but the gay Lotharios and high-fed swells of the time, returning from late dinners, and who made it a duty, nay, a crowning glory, to thrash the Watch! Where now are those practical jokers who made collections of door-knockers (the house-bell was not then known), exchanged sign- boards from shop-doors, played unconscionable tricks on the simple- minded peasants on market-days--surreptitiously crept in at suburban balls, in the guise of the evil one, and, by the alarm they at times created, unwittingly helped _Monsieur le Curé_ to frown down upon these mundane junkettings. One of these escapades is still remembered here. [79] Four of these gentlemanly practical jokers, one night, habited in black like the Prince of Darkness, drove silently through the suburbs in a _cariole_ drawn by two coal-black steeds, and meeting with a well-known citizen, overcome by drink, asleep in the snow, they silently but vigorously seized hold of him with an iron grip; a _cahot_ and physical pain having restored him to consciousness, he devoutly _crossed_ himself, and, presto! was hurled into another snow-drift. Next day all Quebec had heard in amazement how, when and where Beelzebub and his infernal crew had been seen careering in state after nightfall. Oh! the jolly days and gay nights of olden times!