Next day the same scenes were renewed, the same wanton prodigality in spending the money which had been so dearly earned. On this day Dennis was determined that his sweetheart should not be forgotten; but it may be as well to exonerate him from falling in love too hastily, by stating that Peggy and he had been acquainted when children, and were distantly related to each other. She had removed to this place along with her mistress, during the time Dennis was abroad. They had accidentally met—their joy on meeting was as great as it was unexpected, and a kind of courtship had been kept up between them from that time. A gown-piece and a handsome shawl were now bought for her, and Dennis having delivered it, we were going farther into the town, when we met John ——, a particular friend of ours, though not in the same company, whom we had not seen since the commencement of the riot. ‘Where on earth have you been, John?’ said I; ‘we have been hunting every place for you, and you were not to be found. What’s the matter with you, man? you look very demure; why don’t you join in the general joy? come along into the town.’ ‘I hope you will excuse me,’ replied he, ‘I cannot go now.’ We insisted on knowing his reason; he tried to evade giving any, but at length he said, ‘he had no money.’ ‘O, what consequence is that?’ said Dennis, ‘we have some. But what has become of your back pay, have you lost it?’ ‘No.’ ‘And what the deuce have you done with it?’ John blushed and hesitated a moment, ‘I have sent it to my mother.’ ‘What—all? without keeping anything to drink?’ ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I durst not trust myself to send it if I once began, and in my sober senses I thought it a pity to spend a shilling uselessly of that which would do her so much good.’ ‘Long life to you, Jack!’ said Dennis, shaking him by the hand, ‘you’re a noble boy; but come along with us, you are not going home to mope in the barracks, and nobody there but yourself; you shall share with us while we have anything.’ ‘No,’ replied John, firmly, ‘that I cannot do; I thought on all these things before I sent the money; I know I shall be lonely enough while these times last, but I will never drink at any other person’s expense, in such circumstances. No, no, the first letter I get from my poor mother, after she receives the money, will repay me for all I have done, a thousand times.’ We parted from him with reluctance, but we knew it was of no use to press him farther. Dennis and I adjourned to a public-house, where, having got a room to ourselves, he called for a sheet of paper and pen and ink. ‘What do you want with the paper?’ said I.