_Ensign Buckskin._ Not at all. Just hear me: Jackson and Jones, and Bob Jennings, the young clergyman--you know Bob--great favourite of the Cathedral big-wigs:--well, they and I were going quietly home about three o’clock this morning, a little merry, and just strolled into the church-yard to give little Fanny Giggleton a good-night serenade: her bed-room window, you know, looks into the church-yard. So we began singing “_Rest thee babe_” in full chorus, and finished by roaring “_Jolly companions every one_,” when the watchman came over to us and told us to go home. Jennings the clergyman was nearest to him, and bade him to go to the d----l. Charley seized his Reverence, and his Reverence seized him. I went up to the old guardian, and warned him off: he took no notice; so I caught him by the back of his collar with my left hand, and by the posterior portion of his _unspeakables_ with my right: Jennings held one arm, Jackson another, Jones before us--so on we “_run_” him out of the church-yard and up the watch-house stairs:--The watch-house, you know, is the ancient theatre, and is over the butchers’ shambles. Into it we bundled him--charged him before the night Constable with highly disorderly conduct, in disturbing gentlemen who were enjoying a song, and also with gross insolence. The Dogberry, of course, sided with the watchman. “What’s your name, Sir?” said he to me. “My name,” said I, “is Old Trumpetson, from the Cape.” He then began to write it down, “T. r. u. m. p. son, that’s it,--Trumpetson,--now I have it. Well, Mr. Trumpetson, you are one of the officers of the garrison; I know where to find you in the morning; and you Mr. Jenkins also.” My cane now happened to drop, and I took the candle off the table to look for it. The Constable stooped down also beside me--his red nose looked so tempting that I could not resist the joke--I bobbed the candle into his face; the light went out, and he roared lustily. All was now confusion: I seized a lantern and rattle--Jackson, Jones, and Jenkins ran down stairs--I after them, first locking the door outside upon the pair within; which I did in an instant. There we left them, and I suppose they neither got light nor liberty, until some of their brethren came to open the door. I know I shall meet with no mercy from old Muddlehead, the magistrate: he hates the military--and me more than all the rest. _Ensign Luby._ Did you really burn the fellow’s nose? _Ensign Buckskin._ Burn?--ay, that you may depend upon. _Lieut. Short._ I saw him to-day in the barrack looking for the Commandant--his nose was in a small calico bag. [_a laugh._] _Ensign Buckskin._ Well, they may all go to the d----l in a bunch. I’ll pay the fellow for his nose. _Ensign Luby._ Ay, Jack, my boy, and if you want money--see here! it is at your service. [_pulls out a handful of notes._