Instead of returning towards his shop, as I supposed he would have done, he turned up St. Peter's street, and led the way towards Notre Dame. I did not then perceive his object--perhaps I was too much flurried to think of it. We paced along in a very friendly manner, until we reached the corner of St. Sacrament street, running midway between and parallel with St. Paul's and Notre Dame. Here the snow was firm, and the spot inviting to my purpose, for St. Sacrament offered me a number of places of retreat, where I might have defied the scent of my antagonist. At this corner therefore I made a halt, and while Timothy was endeavoring to force me forward, I struck him a right handed blow in the face, which made him bound from his feet and brought him down like a shot. But true to his object he still held to my coat with his right hand, and while I was endeavoring to disengage his grasp, he rose again to his feet, and matters assumed their former aspect. Grown desperate by my disappointment, I fell upon Timothy without mercy, hitting right and left whenever I could bring him within the range of my blows--for he avoided many of them by leaping aside. At length a chance blow took effect on his throat and I was momentarily freed from his hold, but I was so weakened by my exertions that I stumbled, and again measured my length on the snow. Before I could recover myself, Timothy had as firm a grasp upon me as ever. Up to this time, not a syllable had passed the lips of either: but at this juncture, Timothy opened his mouth, and to some purpose, bellowing "Watch!" at the top of his voice. Instantly the rattles were heard at no great distance; and Timothy repeating the call, we were soon surrounded by half a dozen watchmen, with staves, rattles and lanterns. I saw plainly that the game was up with me, and yielding with a good grace, I followed them in silence. I was much surprised to find that we had turned the left corner of Notre Dame Street, and were entering the decayed gate of a building which was once an appendage of the Recolet Church, and part of the establishment of the decayed brotherhood of Loyola. This building had recently been occupied as a watchhouse; a fact of which I was ignorant, or master Timothy Crop would not have led me so easily into the lion's den. We entered the building, and found ourselves in a rude barrack-like room, around which were the "guardians of the night," as they are poetically termed, sitting, standing, and lying--eating, drinking, and smoking. They were nearly all Canadians; and in their blue and grey _capots_ with the addition of slouched hats, they might have been taken for a gang of banditti in their cavern.