B.--"No, believe me, I am right; twelve feet, and three inches to a
barleycorn."
C.--"Never mind: a little, this way or that, is of no consequence.
The most extraordinary thing was, that the gallant colonel only
sprained his right arm."
B.--"By no means extraordinary. You remember the great gun of Agra, in
which a regiment of cavalry used to drill."
C--"I do. The one that fired the stone ball to the wall of Futtipoore
Sikrah--twenty miles."
B.--"The same. Well, when that gun was fired, a thing that never
occurred but once, the head of the rash man who fired it was
afterwards found in the Old Woman's Tank, eleven miles from the spot,
without so much as a blemish, except a slight singing of the right
whisker."
C.--"Ah! I can never forget the time; I had just landed in Calcutta
when we heard the report. Some of the wadding went as far as
Cawnpore."
Here the trumpet, sounding for morning drill, put a stop to the
colloquy.--_Englishman's Magazine._
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