I am a poor wig-maker; and a bad trade it is; and I petitioned his worship, and have done for this many a year, to be taken into the city guard; and yesterday I passed--' 'Passed what ?' 'Passed my examination, your honour:--his worship put me through the manual exercise: and I was 'triculated into the corps.

It would be a sad thing, your honour, to lose my life the very next day after I was 'triculated.' 'Well,' said Mr.Jeremiah, who with much ado forbore laughing immoderately, 'for this once I shall spare your life: but then remember--not a word, no sound or syllable.' 'Not one, your honour, I vow to heaven.' 'And down upon the spot deliver me your coat, side arms, and hat.' But the martial wig-maker protested that, being already ill of a cold, he should, without all doubt, perish if he were to keep guard in his shirt-sleeves.
'Well, in that case, this dreadnought will be a capital article: allow me to prescribe it--it's an excellent sudorific.' Necessity has no law: and so, to save his life, the city hero, after some little struggle, submitted to this unusual exchange.
'Very good!' said Mr.Schnackenberger, as the warrior in the dreadnought, after mounting his round hat, again shouldered his musket:--'Now, good-night;' and so saying, he hastened off to the residence of the Mayor..