“Once I was nearly sold. Oh, my gracious! didn’t my heart leap into my mouth! Things were come to such a pass that something very ingenious must be thought of. ‘I have it,’ said I to the captain. ‘I’ll hire a coffin, and when they come I’ll say you’re just dead.’ ‘No, Tom!’ he said, ‘no; that won’t do.’ Then said I, ‘I give in, and there’s nothing for it but the debtor’s gaol.’ Well, that cowed him. ‘Do as you like, Tom,’ said he; and very soon I had hired a good oak-coffin and gilt breastplate from the undertaker just by. ‘Now,’ said I, ‘when these fellows come thundering to-day, as I hear they will—they swear they’ll break locks—you just lie down in a sheet, and leave the rest to me.’ “Well, no sooner said than done. I had hardly time to lock the door, and compose my captain’s goodly limbs decently in the coffin, and put the lid loosely on, when, bang! came the constables at the door. Quick, quick did I open. ‘Oh, is it you?’ said I, sobbing bitterly, and with brooks of water running from my eyes, for I had a famous strong onion hidden in my handkerchief. ‘Oh! come in,’ said I, ‘come in, and see what you’ve done. You’ve broken his heart at last. There he lies! Oh, enjoy the sight—do, do! Enjoy the misery you have made. Oh! what hearts are bleeding down the country there for this handsome, good-hearted young gentleman that you’ve killed!’ “I off with the coffin-lid—ghastly looked my captain’s face, with whiting that I had daubed it with. ‘There!’ said I, ‘you’ve killed him. Your worrying had brought him so low, he catched the typhus, and——’ Here my tears stopped my voice. ‘Fie! typhus!’ exclaimed the fellows in horror, and out they brushed. But it was nearly all ruination. My captain, impatient of his coffin, lifted his head before they were well out of the door, and said, laughing, ‘Are those scamps gone?’ Quick one of the constables turned, ‘Didn’t I hear something? Didn’t I see something stir?’ ‘Yes, yes,’ said I, ‘you saw the wind from the door blow the shroud up, and with it, no doubt, the air of the fever. Ha! away!—it is as much as your life is worth.’ The man bolted, and for that time all was right. But it was a very near touch, with the captain’s impatience.” (Loud Hear, hears! and much laughter.) “Lucky for us, the regiment marched next day, and my captain had gone off in the night. But at our next quarters it was not much better. The captain was clean swept out of money, trinkets, and of almost all his clothes. He had a gold watch which his mother had given him. It cost forty guineas, and that he had kept through all. One day he said to me on the parade ground, ‘Tom, I have left my watch on the chimney-piece in my room. Fetch it, or I shall not know when to dismiss the men.’ I knew very well what it meant. He could have dismissed the men well enough, for the town-hall clock was right opposite to him, as he fronted the ranks. I knew that he meant at last to take it to my uncle.”