these I slew one hundred and thirty-five! Dog, coward, ruffian,
tyrant, unbeliever! Gahagan hates thee, spurns thee, spits on
thee!"

Holkar, as I made these uncomplimentary remarks, gave a scream of
rage, and, drawing his scimitar, rushed on to despatch me at once
(it was the very thing I wished for), when the third person sprang
forward and, seizing his arm, cried -

"Papa! oh, save him!" It was Puttee Rooge! "Remember," continued
she, "his misfortunes--remember, oh, remember my--love!"--and here
she blushed, and putting one finger into her mouth, and hanging
down her head, looked the very picture of modest affection.

Holkar sulkily sheathed his scimitar, and muttered, "'Tis better as
it is; had I killed him now, I had spared him the torture. None of
this shameless fooling, Puttee Rooge," continued the tyrant,
dragging her away. "Captain Gahagan dies three hours from hence."
Puttee Rooge gave one scream and fainted--her father and the Vizier
carried her off between them; nor was I loth to part with her, for,
with all her love, she was as ugly as the deuce.

They were gone--my fate was decided. I had but three hours more of
life: so I flung myself again on the sofa, and fell profoundly
asleep. As it may happen to any of my readers to be in the same
situation, and to be hanged themselves, let me earnestly entreat
them to adopt this plan of going to sleep, which I for my part have
repeatedly found to be successful. It saves unnecessary annoyance,
it passes away a great deal of unpleasant time, and it prepares one
to meet like a man the coming catastrophe.