an ample remuneration in abuse
at dinner. Then came the dinner itself, that dread ordeal, where nothing
was praised and everything censured. This was followed by the punch-making,
where the tastes of six different and differing individuals were to be
exclusively consulted in the self-same beverage; and lastly, the supper at
night, when Sparkie, as he was familiarly called, towards evening grown
quite exhausted, became the subject of unmitigated wrath and most
unmeasured reprobation.

"I say, Sparks, it's getting late. The spatch-cock, old boy. Don't be
slumbering."

"By-the-bye, Sparkie, what a mess you made of that pea-soup to-day! By
Jove, I never felt so ill in my life!"

"Na, na; it was na the soup. It was something he pit in the punch, that's
burning me ever since I tuk it. Ou, man, but ye're an awfu' creture wi'
vittals!"

"He'll improve, Doctor; he'll improve. Don't discourage him; the boy's
young. Be alive now, there. Where's the toast?--confound you, where's the
toast?"

"There, Sparks, you like a drumstick, I know. Mustn't muzzle the ox, eh?
Scripture for you, old boy. Eat away; hang the expense. Hand him over the
jug. Empty--eh, Charley? Come, Sparkie, bear a hand; the liquor's out."

"But won't you let me eat?"

"Eat! Heavens, what a fellow for eating! By George, such an appetite is
clean against the articles of war! Come, man, it's drink we're thinking of.
There's the rum, sugar, limes; see to the hot water. Well, Skipper, how are
we getting on?"

"Lying our course; eight knots off the log. Pass the rum. Why, Mister
Sparks!"

"Eh, Sparks, what's this?"

"Sparks, my man, confound it!"

And then, _omnes_ chorussing "Sparks!" in every key of the gamut, the
luckless fellow would be obliged to jump up from his meagre fare and set to
work at a fresh brewage of punch for the others. The bowl and the glasses
filled, by some little management on Power's part our friend the cornet
would be _drawn out_, as the phrase is, into some confession of his
early years, which seemed to have been exclusively spent in
love-making,--devotion to the fair being as integral a portion of his
character as tippling was of the worthy major's.

Like most men who pass their lives in over-studious efforts to
please,--however ungallant the confession be,--the amiable Sparks had
had little success. His love, if not, as it generally happened, totally
unrequited, was invariably the source of some awkward catastrophe, there
bei