Well; once, in the year 1793 (it was just when the French had chopped poor Louis’s head off), Dobble and I, gay young chaps as ever wore sword by side, had cast our eyes upon two young ladies, by the name of Brisket, daughters of a butcher in the town where we were quartered. The dear girls fell in love with us, of course. And many a pleasant walk in the country; many a treat to a tea-garden; many a smart ribbon and brooch used Dobble and I (for his father allowed him £600, and our purses were in common) present to these young ladies. One day, fancy our pleasure at receiving a note couched thus:—
"Deer Capting Stubbs and Dobble—Miss Briskets presents their compliments, and as it is probble that our papa will be till 12 at the corprayshun dinner, we request the pleasure of their company to tea."
Didn't we go! Punctually at six we were in the little back parlour; we quaffed more Bohea, and made more love, than half-a-dozen ordinary men could. At nine, a little punch-bowl succeeded to the little tea-pot; and bless the girls! a nice fresh steak was friz-
