I blushed and stuttered, and murmured out a few incoherent words to explain--but it would not do--I could not recover my equanimity during the course of the dinner and while endeavoring to help an English Duke, my neighbor, to poulet a l'Austerlitz, fairly sent seven mushrooms and three large greasy croutes over his whiskers and shirt-frill.
Another laugh at my expense.

"Ah! M.le Major," said the Q---- of the B-lg--ns, archly, "vous n'aurez jamais votre brevet de Colonel." Her M----y's joke will be better understood when I state that his Grace is the brother of a Minister.
I am not at liberty to violate the sanctity of private life, by mentioning the names of the parties concerned in this little anecdote.

I only wish to have it understood that I am a gentleman, and live at least in DECENT society.

Verbum sat.
But to be serious.

I am obliged always to write the name of Goliah in full, to distinguish me from my brother, Gregory Gahagan, who was also a Major (in the King's service), and whom I killed in a duel, as the public most likely knows.