CHAPTER XII.

IN WHICH I JUST LET THE READER KNOW MY OPINION OF THAT HALF-WITTED IDIOT OF AN EMMA OF MINE.--MAIDS OF ALL WORK CERTAINLY ARE NO GREAT GENIUSES AT THE BEST OF TIMES, BUT I DECLARE I DO THINK THAT GIRL HAD NO MORE BRAINS IN HER HEAD THAN WOULD HAVE FILLED AN EGG-CUP, FOR I’VE TRIED A GOOD MANY SERVANTS IN MY DAY, BUT REALLY AND TRULY SHE WAS THE VERIEST BOOBY THAT EVER WENT OUT TO SERVICE, THOUGH PERHAPS I OUGHT TO ADD, IN JUSTICE TO THE GIRL, THAT, FOR A WONDER, I HAD LITTLE OR NO FAULT TO FIND WITH HER IN OTHER RESPECTS.

“I’ve talked and I’ve prattled with some fifty maids, And _changed_ them as oft, do you see; But of all the bright beauties, I ever knew, Miss Emma’s the maid for me.”

POPULAR SONG, _with a few slight alterations by myself, and which I was forced to make, for positively all the Maids spoken of in Ballads seem to have been such pinks-of-perfections, and to have come from Llangollen, and Athens, and Judah, and a pack of other such outlandish places, that it is very difficult to find any that will suit me._

I shouldn’t wonder but there are some bilious, discontented people, who will perhaps say that I have been devoting more time and space to Mr. Dick Farden than I ought to have done. But it’s the old fable over again; there was no pleasing everybody, whichever way the man treated the donkey, so of course it’s not to be expected that everybody will be pleased with the account of the way in which Mr. Dick Farden treated me. However, I was determined to do the man justice while I was about him; and now that I’ve come back to Miss Emma, I intend to do the same to her. Perhaps this may meet their eyes some day, and then I dare say it will be a nice blow to them. For, of course, _they_ never thought _they_ were in the wrong, not they, and will be rather surprised to find out what _I_ thought about it.

But before beginning my account of that wretched half-witted girl, I should like the reader to understand that it is far from my nature to blame any menial for want of those intellects which are not in our power to command. Of course, poor servants can’t be expected to have had the inestimable blessings of a finished education, like ourselves, and, therefore, a deficiency of understanding in them should be rather pitied than blamed. Though with respect to my Emma, her abominable stupidity was _so_ hard to bear with, that at times, upon my word, it was as much as ever I could do to keep myself from flying out at her, and giving it her soundly. Often and often have I been forced to have a hard battle with myself, to prevent myself from shaking her well, and trying to knock something like sense into the stupid’s brain. It’s all very well for a pack of self-conceited men to say “that a good woman has no head.” I’m sure for the matter of that, my Emma had none at all, and she was bad enough, heaven knows! But what in my opinion, deprived the pitiable object of all sympathy was, that she wasn’t wholly uneducated, and had been taught to read and write, but la! the benefits of reading and writing were entirely thrown away upon _her_; and I verily believe that even if her education had extended to the blessings of the use of the globes, she would have been as little like a rational creature, after all. It’s all very well to talk about manuring the soil, but what are you to do, I should like to know, when there’s no soil to manure? As Edward very truly said, as for furnishing _her_ upper story, you might have put in the table of weights and measures and a complete bookcase beside, and even then her head would have been as empty as ever, for it would all have gone in at one ear and come out at the other; and, as he very wittily added, the girl’s knowledge-box was lined with less reading than a hair trunk.

The stupid things the girl would say and do, and the dreadful scrapes she would get me into, all through her horrible simplicity, were enough to make the blood of a gold fish boil. Positively, one was always obliged to be speaking by the card, as Hamlet says in the play, though what speaking by the card means I really can’t say, for I never knew anybody but the sapient pig Toby, who was accustomed to do so. If you wanted anything done, you had to tell it to her in a hundred different ways, or else she would be sure to make some dreadful blunder or other; for, as for the flowers of speech, bless you! she paid no more regard to flowers than a cat does! If a double knock came to the door early in the day, and I had my hair in papers, or was down in the kitchen, seeing about dear Edward’s dinner, or was in the bed-room, making up the dirty linen for the wash, or in the drawing-room, dusting the china, (and consequently not dressed to receive company) and I told her, “I wouldn’t see them, and that I was out,” down stairs she’d frisk, and say to whomever it might be, “Missus says she wont see you, and she’s out.” Now I put it to every respectable married woman (who of course has, over and over again, been obliged to tell hundreds of white fibs like this in her time,) whether it wasn’t enough to ruffle a quaker, to have your best friends--carriage-folks, may be--insulted and turned away from your door in such a dreadful way?

Again, I recollect just as the evenings were getting chilly, I thought Edward would relish a round or two of nice hot toast--not cut too thick, and well buttered--indeed, I thought I could take a mouthful of it myself--and accordingly, having told Miss Emma to make some, she must needs, when she brought it up, go setting it down on the slop basin. So I said to her, “Bless me, Emma, what is that footman down stairs for, I should like to know?”

“There’s no footman down stairs, I can assure you, mum,” answered the stupid thing, staring her eyes half out of her head with wonder.

“I tell you there is,” I exclaimed, “under the dresser. At least, all I can say is, there _was_ this morning--though you know as well as I do, that it’s no business to be lying there, all among the pots and pans--especially when I had a hook put up over the fire-place on purpose to have the footman hung upon. Why don’t you go and bring the thing up directly?” I continued, as she stood lost in astonishment. “Perhaps you will tell me next that it’s walked out of the house!”

“There’s been no footman in the house, mum, ever since I’ve been here,” she answered, sobbing, and wiping her eyes with her apron. “The only one I’ve seen, I’m sure, is Mr. Simmons’ John, and he was sowing potatoes in the garden next door.”

“Bless the child!” I cried out, “was there ever such a stupid!” and actually I had to take her down stairs and teach her that a footman was a thing made of brass, with legs that would go inside any fender, and used in the best of families to stand a hot toast before the fire of a winter’s evening--and _that_ I supposed was the reason why they gave the thing such a name.

I declare it really wasn’t prudent to trust that Emma to do a thing, and even that little lamb of a Kitty of mine was scarcely safe with a stupid, like her, in the house. For I recollect once, I had been thinking the simpleton had a great deal of spare time on her hands, and might just as well do a little needlework, as sit twiddling her finger and thumb of an evening, so I told her that my little poppet of a Kitty was growing so fast that all her things were getting too short for her, and she really wanted a tuck out in her best frock, and would certainly look all the better for it, so I would thank her to attend to it that night, and let it be done before she went to bed. In the evening, I was in the parlour, boiling down some quince pips to make a nice fixature for my hair, and all the while I could hear that sweet little cherub of mine down stairs crying; so I said to myself what the dickens can that idiot be doing with the child in the kitchen at this time of night, when it ought to have been undressed and in bed a good hour ago? Off I trotted to see what precious bit of stupidity my lady was at now. When I reached the kitchen I thought I should have fainted, for there sat that Emma, with my little angel on her knee, dressed out in its best frock, and with its dear little innocent face daubed all over with treacle, just as if it had been tarred. “What on earth have you been doing with the child, Emma?” I exclaimed.

“I thought as you said it was to have a tuck out in its best frock, ma’am,” she replied, “it could have nothing nicer than plenty of bread and treacle.” And then to my horror I learnt from her, that when I told her I fancied the child would look all the better for having a _tuck out_ in its best frock, bless and save us, if the stupid oaf didn’t imagine that I wished it to have a _grand feast_ in its Sunday clothes! “Oh, you stupid, stupid thing!” I said, “and what business have you to go giving the darling all that mess, when the doctor has ordered me to let it have nothing but slops?”

“Nothing but slops, mum!” she exclaimed, with her mouth wide open with astonishment.

“Yes, you stupid, nothing but slops,” I answered; “don’t you even know what slops are now?”

“In course I do, mum,--augh!--oh, la!” she replied; and from the way in which she turned up her nose, and the wry face she made, I could easily see that she fancied that the dear babe was to be fed with the grouts of the tea-cups, or whatever else might be in the slop-basin, when the breakfast things came down.

Positively, nothing was to be done with the woman, I was convinced. She was naturally so thick-headed, that there was no making the least impression upon her; and really I do think one might just as well have tried to drill wisdom into a barber’s block as to have made her understand even the most every-day things imaginable. If a body, without thinking of it, used a word or a phrase with two meanings to it, and one was the right and the other the wrong, of course the bright genius would go and puzzle her brains till she found out the wrong one. And the worst of it was, she never would come and ask, or one wouldn’t have minded, so that I do think, as long as she was in the house, not one day went over our heads without some dreadful blunder or other being committed by the ninny. Now, for instance, Mr. Edward had been saying, in his nasty mean way, as he never had a pudding or a pie for dinner, he supposed ribbon had got so dear the housekeeping couldn’t afford pastry; so I thought I would put a stop to his shabby satire, and let him have a nice “dog in a blanket,” as a treat for dinner one day--especially as he’s very partial to it; and, certainly, if it’s made with a nice thin crust, and plenty of good strawberry--or even I don’t mind if it’s raspberry--jam, I do think it is as nice a dish as can well be put upon table--only the worst of it is, one’s apt to eat too much of it; and, I don’t know whether my fair readers find it so with them or not, but to me it’s rather indigestible, or, I must say, I should let dear Edward have it oftener.

Accordingly, as, of course, I fancied _that_ silly Emma of mine, blockhead as she is, couldn’t well go making any mistake with so simple a dish as a “roley-poley pudding,” and I didn’t feel much in the humour to go messing with flour in that hot kitchen, I had the girl up, and to guard against mistakes, I asked her whether she knew what a dog in a blanket was? Of course the wiseacre did; anybody, she fancied, would know what a dog in a blanket was.

“Well, then,” said I, “do you think you could manage one for me?”

“Oh! yes, certainly, mum,” answered Miss Clever; “I used to have to do one every night at my last missus’s.”

“Very well, then,” I replied, though I really can’t tell how I could ever have been so stupid as to have fancied that any woman--however partial she might be to roley-poleys--could have managed to eat one of the heavy things every night of her life before going to bed--“here’s some strawberry jam for you, and, for heaven’s sake, don’t spare it, but take care and spread it at least an inch thick upon your crust, or else it’s not worth eating!”

“Oh, thank you, mum!” she returned, as she took it, and trotted out of the room with what I thought at the time a highly satisfied air, (as well, indeed, she might.) In about half-an-hour, my lady marched into the parlour as coolly as possible, and saying she had done the dog in a blanket as I had desired, asked if she should bring it up stairs to me.

“No,” I replied, quite innocently, “I don’t want to see it; you can put it on the fire now, and let it boil slowly for about an hour to an hour and a quarter, for I wouldn’t thank you for it unless it’s well done.”

Open went her mouth again, and out came her eyes, while she stammered: “Boil it! why you don’t mean to say you’re going to eat it, mum?”

“Eat it! of course I am--for dinner,” I replied. “Why, what on earth have you been doing with it? You have rolled it up, I suppose.”

“Oh! yes, mum,” she answered, “as nice and snug as ever you seed anything in all your life.”

“And you haven’t spared the jam--have you, simpleton?” I added.

“Oh! no, mum,” she returned; “I emptied the whole pot.”

“You’re sure you spread it on your crust an inch thick, now, as I told you?” I inquired; for I began to have my misgivings from the girl’s manner, that something or other was wrong.

“Certainly, mum,” she replied, “on the crust and on the crumb too; and, with many thanks to you, mum, I eat as many as four slices.”

“_You_ eat _my_ jam!” I screamed; “oh dear! you shameful wicked----! but what on earth has become of my beautiful dog in a blanket?”

“He’s all safe, mum,” she answered, alarmed at my manner; “he’s down stairs--I put him in the baby’s cradle.”

“In my sweet angel’s cradle!” I shrieked, and, saying no more, I rushed down stairs, when, sure enough, there I found that hairy brute of a Carlo of ours rolled up in one of the Witneys belonging to my baby’s bassinet, and, kicking away as if it were half stifled. “Oh, you good-for-nothing bit of goods!” I exclaimed--“how dare you, Emma, ever tell me such an abominable falsehood, as that you used to do a dog in a blanket every night at your last mistress’s!--oh! you wicked story, you!”

“I’m nothing of the kind, mum, and it’s the plain truth!” she answered, sobbing, “and you can go and ask Miss Mackay yourself, if I hadn’t to do her Italian greyhound up in flannel every evening before I went to bed.”

I declare even I--vexed as I was--could hardly give it the girl as _she_ deserved, and _I_ felt inclined to do. But, really, her utter want of even common comprehension did seem to me so pitiable, that I couldn’t bring myself to do more than tell her that I should have that pot of jam out of her next quarter, as sure as she was born--though as, luckily for her, she hadn’t wasted any flour, I should look over her shameful, idiotic conduct once more--giving her this warning, that if she didn’t contrive to cram some more brains into her head for the future, she must look out for another situation.

I’m certain my fair readers will allow that some little credit was due to me for the command I had over my temper throughout this trying occasion--especially when I tell them that do what I would, I never could keep the fleas out of that Carlo’s beautiful coat, so that no wonder my little cherub of a Kitty was so restless the night after that dog had been rolled up in one of her blankets. When I went to dress her in the morning, I declare if the beautiful white skin of the angel wasn’t covered all over with large red spots, for all the world like the sixpenny wooden horse I had bought her for a toy. Nor did the annoyance stop here, for, being accustomed to take the little thing into our bed of a morning, to play with her--goodness gracious me! if Edward and myself were not quite as much tormented with the nasty lively irritating things, as even little Kitty had been, so that really and truly we couldn’t for the life of us get what I call a nice comfortable night’s rest for weeks afterwards.

Even if I had felt inclined to bear with the miserable girl’s wretched stupidity, still her abominable love of gossiping was quite enough to make any respectable, quiet, well-disposed lady, like myself, take her by the ears and bundle her into the streets. Though, of course, her chattering gossip wasn’t to be wondered at, for we all know that empty barrels make the greatest noise, and her head was so empty, that I declare she would make noise enough for fifty women, and talk fourteen to the dozen any day; for, without exaggeration, her tongue was so long that it was impossible for her to keep it between her teeth. If the butcher-boy came with the joint, there she would stand gossiping at the area-gate, wasting her own time and the boy’s too. When the baker brought the bread, it was just the same; or even if it was that little chit from the green-grocer, it made no difference to her. Though what the dickens an empty-headed thing, like she was, could have to say to them all, I never could make out. While as for the servants in the neighbourhood, I declare she was bosom friends with the whole street. If I didn’t keep my eye upon her every moment of the day, off she’d be, out in the garden, chattering away over the wall, either with the housemaid at the Tomlins’s, on the right, or with the cook at the Allen’s, on the left, or with that impudent monkey of a footman at the Simmons’s, at the back. And as for a morning, when she was pretending to be cleaning down that door-step, I do think, if I had to ring once, I had to ring a dozen times for Edward’s hot water to shave with. Of course, she couldn’t hear the bell--how could she?--when she was gossiping away with the next doors, putting a lot of tales about the neighbourhood, all against me, as I felt convinced she was? For positively the maids on both sides of us knew just as much about my affairs as I did myself; and I’m sure, that even if she had lived at the Tomlins’s or the Allen’s, she couldn’t have known more of their secrets; for often and often she has stood for better than half an hour telling me a pack of things about them, that, of course, they wouldn’t have liked anybody to know. I used to think it was very strange, and couldn’t for the life of me make out how it was things that I fancied nobody in the world but Edward and myself were acquainted with, could come round to me in the way they did. Until one fine morning, a little bird whispered in my ear, that it was that beauty of an Emma of mine, who, instead of sweeping round the area-railings, was pulling my character to pieces, and vilifying me to the first of the neighbours’ maids that she could lay hold of, saying Mrs. Sk--n--st--n did this, Mrs. Sk--n--st--n did that, or Mrs. Sk--n--st--n did the other,--(of course, there’s no necessity for me to go repeating what the good-for-nothing minx actually _did_ say of me,)--so that, at last it really came to this--if even Edward and I had a word or two together about any little trifling matter, off the _good_ news went--“There’s been another row at the Sk--n--st--ns’,” right up to the York and Albany; and “There’s been another row at the Sk--n--st--ns’,” right down to Cumberland Market.

I only wanted to catch the beauty in the fact; for I don’t like listening to what other people say, and so determined to wait quietly until I could overhear her telling her fine stories myself. As I expected, it wasn’t long before I pounced upon her very nicely, and then it was, oh dear me, who would have thought it! For the very morning after that affair of the “dog in a blanket,” I thought my lady was a long time hearth-stoning the step, and I just put my head very quietly out of the window, and there sure enough she was, with those two idle sluts of maids, from both the next doors, all three of them in their night-caps, with their hair like door-mats, and their gowns all open behind, and their brooms in their hands, sweeping away, as a make-believe, just for a minute, and then laying their heads together, and standing gossiping for at least five--then off again for a bit more sweeping--and then back again for a bit more scandal. This was just what I wanted, so rubbing my hands with glee, I popped on my flannel dressing-gown, and stole down

stairs, as silently as a black-beetle. When I came to the passage, I slipped behind the door, and heard them going on so nicely, no one can tell!

“Did you hever hear of sitch wulgarity, Miss Ginger? honly to think of her calling on a common jam pudden, a dog in a blanket!” said that minx of an Emma of mine.

“Well, I never heerd tell on the likes of sitch low talk--did you hever, Miss Twigg?” exclaimed that slut of a maid at the Tomlins’s.

“Not I, my dear; but then to be sure _I’ve_ only lived in the fust of families,” answered that slip-shod, draggle-tail of a Miss Twigg at the Allens’. “But, after all, it’s no more than I should have looked for from sitch a stuck-up thing as she is, for missus says as how her friends his honly coal-eavers.”

As the reader can well conceive, I felt the tips of my fingers itching to be among the impudent, story-telling jades, but, thank goodness! I restrained my feelings--merely saying to myself, “Coal-heavers, indeed! well, if three barges and one wagon make a coal-heaver, I should like to know what makes a merchant, and _that’s_ what _my_ friends are, as that Mrs. Allen very well knows.”

“What do you think?” continued Miss Emma--“why Mrs. Sk--n--st--n hactually had the himperance to tell me that she’d stop the pot of jam she guv me, as plain as she could speak, hout of my wages. But I aint a goin to let her--no, not if I summonses the stingy old cat for it.”

“You a’nt--a’nt you?” I cried, bursting out from my hiding-place, for upon my word, my blood was up so, that I seized hold of her by the shoulders, and gave her such a shaking as she wont forget in a hurry, while her two friends scampered off with their brooms immediately they caught sight of me. “So you’ll summons _me_, will you?” I continued, when I couldn’t shake her any longer--“you’ll summons _me_, will you? and so you may, this day month, if you please--and you may summons me, if you like, for not giving you a character, into the bargain, for you wont get one from _me_,--you ungrateful, wicked, stupid, double-faced idiot, you!”

The courteous reader will, no doubt, be surprised that I didn’t pack the hussey out of the house then and there, and will, I dare say, be blaming me for allowing such a creature to remain one moment longer in my establishment. But I know I have always been too considerate to servants, and of course that is the reason why they treat me as they do. Besides, dear Edward was unfortunately from home, (having been called away to the Guildford Assizes by professional business,) and he does side with the servants so, that I thought it might prevent his making a noise, if I gave her the usual month’s warning, instead of bundling her and her trumpery box into the streets, as she deserved.

But, of course, it was only the old story over again, the more indulgent I was to her, the more I suffered for it. For I declare it was not more than two days after this that her abominable stupidity again got me into such a dreadful scrape, that I can only say that it was extremely lucky for her that I didn’t find it out till I got in the country, or there’s no telling what I might have done to her.

Mr. Sk--n--st--n had written me a letter to say that he feared that business would detain him in Guildford for at least a fortnight longer, as his cause stood last but three in the list, and the special jury cases had not yet been disposed of. So as I couldn’t, for the life of me, see the fun of being boxed up in town all alone, while my dear husband was enjoying himself in the country, and paying goodness knows what in hotel bills, when I was sure that one-half of the money would keep us very comfortably in lodgings in a country town like that Guildford, so I say I made up my mind, as the fine weather seemed likely to last, to pack up my box, and run down to him on the morrow, especially as I knew it would be such an agreeable surprise to him, and he was entitled by law to a guinea a-day for his expenses, and which I was convinced would be more than sufficient for the two of us.

Accordingly, immediately after breakfast, the next morning, I told that Miss Emma to bring down my hair-trunk, out of the back attic, and I set to work packing it, so that I might be in time to catch the three o’clock train. As it was only for a week or so, I thought one morning and one afternoon dress would be quite sufficient. Still, as there was a chance of my having to see company, (for every one knows how gay a country town is during the assizes, and this year there was to be a grand trial for a dreadfully shocking murder, which I was sure would fill Guildford with all the best people for miles round,) I thought it better, as I felt convinced that, under the circumstances, I should meet with several of the first ladies in the neighbourhood, to put up my beautiful new Barège, which I had just had home from the dressmaker’s, and only worn the Sunday before at church, where it was generally admired.

Really, when I came to turn it over in my mind, it was such heavenly weather that, upon my word, it seemed to me like a sin to go shutting oneself up in those close first and second class carriages, with a set of old molly-coddles, that will have all the windows up, when for half or even a quarter of the money that one is obliged to pay for being stifled alive, one can have all the advantage of travelling in an open carriage, and breathing that beautiful, pure, and balmy country air, which, to a person living in such a smoky place as London, is positively beyond all price. Not that I should wish any one to suppose that it was the paltry difference between the fares that influenced my opinion, for I declare I would sooner any day pay the price of the first class carriages to be allowed to ride in the third. Besides, it wasn’t as if I was likely to meet with any one that I was acquainted with--though for the matter of that, it was little or nothing to me if I did. So (I make no secret about it, for I don’t care who knows it) I made up my mind to go in the third class--especially as I should have to pay that minx of a Miss Emma her board wages for the fortnight, so that what with cab hire, and those shameful impositions of turnpikes, I was fearful lest the money that Edward had left with me for the housekeeping might run short, and I should be driven up in a corner for want of funds. Consequently, I put on an old dress that I didn’t care about spoiling, for I wasn’t going to be stupid enough to run the chance of having an expensive gown entirely ruined by those filthy smuts from the engine, or to go decking oneself out so as to attract notice where you rather wished to avoid it.

When I had finished packing, I sat down, for the first time that day, just to try and coax myself to eat a mouthful of the beautiful little leg of mutton that I had had for dinner the day before, and which had looked such a picture in the butcher’s shop, that I took quite a fancy to it, as I was sure that it would eat as nice and tender as lamb, and so it did. While I was thus occupied, I gave that simpleton of a Miss Emma a card, on which I had written, in a large round hand, “Mrs. Sk--n--st--n, passenger, Guildford,” so that there might be no mistake about my luggage, and told her (as I do like to have my meals in quiet) to fasten it on my box with a tack or two, and then to run round and fetch me a cab as quick as she could; for, on looking at the clock, I found I had no time to spare, and I wanted to cut up the remainder of the mutton into a sandwich or two, as I didn’t see the good of leaving it for that good-for-nothing servant of mine, when I was going to put her upon board wages; and, as I said to myself, who knows but I might be thankful for something to eat on the journey, and even if I shouldn’t be, why it would save me the expense of having any cold meat with my tea.

When the cab came round, and I went to see my trunk safe on the box with the driver, lo and behold! if that blockhead of an Emma hadn’t been sewing the card on to the handle with some cotton, instead of nailing it on to the lid, as I desired her. But of course she would have it that it was all my fault, saying, that when I told her to fasten it on with a tack or two, she naturally fancied that I meant with a needle and thread--instead of a hammer and nails, as any one, with half a grain of sense in their heads, would have understood me. But there was no time to have it altered then, so I jumped into the cab, disgusted with the whole world, and determined to prevent accidents, by not allowing the trunk to go out of my sight for a moment.

What with quarrelling with that Emma, and searching for coppers to give those dreadful cheats at the turnpikes, and the cabman going the longest way round to make me fancy the distance was greater than it was, positively, when I got to the railway, the bell was ringing. While I was quarrelling with that shameful impostor of a cabman about the fare, I turned round, and saw a porter running off with my trunk on his green velveteen shoulder. I screamed after him, telling him to put it down that instant, but it was all to no use. So taking the cabman’s number, and paying what he asked, off I rushed into the office, and whilst I was getting my ticket, told the gentleman that one of their porters had, in a most shameful manner, carried off my trunk, and I should certainly hold the company responsible for any damage or loss that might happen to it. But of course he would have it that I needn’t alarm myself, and would find it all right, saying that if there was a card on it marked “Guildford,” it would be put with the Guildford luggage, and taken out at the proper station. But there was no time for looking into the matter, for when I got on the platform, the second bell rang, and I was no sooner in my place, than off went the train.

I don’t know whether it has ever struck the reader, but it seems to me that it never rains but when you’re going out upon pleasure. No matter if it has been fine for a month previously, only just put on your things for a trip into the country, or down the river, or for a fête at Vauxhall, or even go out in a new bonnet and leave your umbrella at home, and of course down it _must_ pour in torrents, just because you don’t want it; and positively as if the clerk of the weather had got a spite against you. When my peas were coming up, of course there wasn’t a drop of rain for six weeks, and now that I had set my heart upon a beautiful excursion, a few miles out of town, it must begin to spit the very moment the train left Nine Elms, and come down in perfect cataracts by the time we got to Wandsworth. Talk about subscriptions for the damage done to market-gardeners and florists, by a heavy shower, I’m sure I never see it begin to rain but what my bosom bleeds to think of the dreadful destruction that must then be going on among the artificial flowers in the ladies’ bonnets; and, goodness gracious! if mine didn’t hang down and look as pappy as if they had been boiled. To be sure, there was a young man next to me who was also going to Guildford, and who, being a perfect gentleman, was kind enough to offer me a part of his umbrella, for he couldn’t help seeing that my parasol was of no more use to me than an extinguisher, and I declare even then--for what is one umbrella between two, especially when it’s only a small German as his was--even then I say, the rain kept dripping down my neck and all over my shoulders, until my black silk Polka was so wet that it looked as shiny as a policeman’s oil-skin cape, and I was so drenched to the skin, that upon my word I was quite glad to get out of the bothering train, and take shelter even in the little poking lonely railway hotel, where at least I said to myself, I shall be able to change my soaking things, and get dry and comfortable before going on to Guildford.

When I got into the station, I told a porter to look after my luggage, adding that it was merely one box, with “Mrs. Sk--n--st--n, passenger, Guildford,” written on a card, attached to the handle; and presently back he came, saying that the only box in the office was a hair trunk, without any name at all on it.

“Is it a brown hair trunk?” I asked, quite alarmed.

“Yes, mum,” he answered, “a brown hair trunk, with brass nails.”

On going and looking at it, I said, “Yes, that’s mine, and the card has got torn off, just as I expected.”

Directly I got to the hotel, I requested the landlady to let me have a room with a good fire in it, and a cup of hot tea as soon as ever she could, as I was wet through, and afraid of catching my death, unless I had something warm, and put on some nice dry things immediately. Once in my room, with my bonnet off, I couldn’t help saying to myself, “Drat those third-class carriages! I declare if I’m not as wet as a bathing woman!” And so I was, for my hair hung down the sides of my face positively like skeins of silk. As for my poor, beautiful Leghorn bonnet, it had no more shape in it than a basket-woman’s in Covent Garden Market, and whenever I went across the room I declare the wet came dripping from me for all the world as if I was a walking umbrella.

However, I soon had my box up stairs, and set to work about getting my things out. But when I put the key in the lock, do what I would I couldn’t make it turn. Of course, I thought some of the crumbs of the mutton sandwiches I had in my pocket must have got into it, so I kept blowing down it, and knocking it on my hand, but all to no good, till at last, I got into such a passion with it, that I put the end of my parasol into the handle of the key, and at last forced it round.

Oh dear, oh dear! I thought I should have fainted when I lifted up the lid. Goodness gracious me! if I hadn’t got some brute of a man’s box, instead of my own. I flew to the bell and nearly pulled it down. When the landlady came up, I shrieked out, “They’ve given me the wrong box; you must send down to the station directly and see if mine is there, for I know I shall be laid up for months with a cold, if I don’t have it.”

“Mercy me, mum, you don’t say so!” replied _that_ landlady; “and I shouldn’t wonder if yours has gone on to Southampton, now; however, the porter will be here when the next train comes in, and then I can ask him all about it, for really there isn’t a single soul in the house that I can spare at present.”

“Why, my good woman,” I exclaimed, “I’m drenched to the skin, and what am I to do in the meantime?”

“You shall have your tea directly, mum, and the next train wont be above an hour at the most. Would you like a nice hot chop with it, mum?”

“Chop! No!” I screamed, “I don’t want any chops; I want my box.”

“Very well, mum, you shall have it as soon as possible--with a nice mixed pickle, mum;” and then, hearing one of the bells ring, out she flew, leaving me to steam away before the fire, just as if I was a potato.

There I sat, “dratting” the stupidity of that Emma, until positively I felt the shivers coming on, and was convinced that if I didn’t do something, I should be having a doctor’s bill as long as my arm to pay, and be, perhaps, a martyr to the rheumatism for the rest of my days. All of a sudden, just as I was driven to desperation, it struck me that perhaps the plaguy box belonged to a married couple, and there might be a gown or a wrapper in it that one could put on; and as I dare say whoever had got my trunk wouldn’t be very particular with it, I didn’t see why I should go sparing theirs. Accordingly I began unpacking it. The first thing I took out was a great big ugly pilot coat, smelling away of tobacco smoke enough to knock one down,--then, three or four coloured shirts, some with blue stripes like a bed-tick, and others with large red spots, as if they had been made out of a clown’s dress,--then there was a box of shaving soap--and a bottle of whisker-dye--and a fishing-rod--and a couple of pairs of trowsers, with patterns big enough for druggets--and a bothering German flute--a bright blue surtout--a magic razor-strop--a pot of Yarmouth bloaters--a volume of Blair’s Sermons--and some socks, oh, la! as full of large round holes as the front of a peep-show. I really didn’t know what to do. It was impossible for me to sit trembling away there like a jelly, so I made up my mind just to slip on the pilot coat, and a pair of the socks, which at least were dry, while I hung my gown over the chair, before the fire, and then wait patiently until I could gain some tidings of my lost box. When I took a peep at myself in the glass, upon my word, if, with that beastly pilot coat on, I didn’t look more like an old apple-woman in the streets than a respectable married female. However, I did feel more comfortable, and it was not the time to think about looks.

Whilst I was seated in front of the fire, with the collar of the coat turned up so as to keep my neck warm, and longing for a nice cup of warm tea, who should come in but the maid with the tray, but no sooner did she catch sight of me, than she took me for a brute of a man, and saying, “I beg your pardon, sir, I thought it was the lady in the next room,” she whisked out of the place, although I called out--“Here! here! that tea is for me!” as loud as ever I could.

A lady in the next room, then! thought I to myself--I’ll go and ask her to lend me a few things till I can get my own, for I’m sure she can never have the heart to refuse me. So directly I heard the maid go down stairs, I went and knocked at her door, and when she said “Come in,” I positively felt so ashamed of the figure I knew I was, that I declare I hadn’t the courage to look her in the face; so, with my eyes cast down on the ground, I said, “I have to apologize--for intruding upon you--but--I thought that perhaps--you might have a gown or so--that you did not want--and which would be kind enough to let me--have for a short time--for”----and I was going on to explain the distressing situation I was in, when the creature cut me short by hallooing out in a horribly gruff voice, “A gown or two that I don’t want! hang me if I haven’t got a whole box full in the next room that are of no use to me, and that anybody’s welcome to.”

I was about to express my thanks for what appeared to me to be the height of generosity, especially from one that I had never seen before in all my life, when, on turning my eyes towards the stranger, I couldn’t help thinking that whoever it was, she had either got on my beautiful Barège gown, or else one of the very same pattern, and I was just about to march round and see whether it had got a cross body, as mine had, before I accused any one of wearing my things--when, lo and behold! the person called out, “Where the deuce did you get that pea-coat from?”

“Where,” I cried, “did _you_ get that gown from, I should like to know, sir,” for I no sooner saw the creature’s face, than, from the whiskers, I at once knew that it was the young man who had come down with me in the train, and who was sitting there with his coat off, and my beautiful best gown tied by the sleeves in a knot round his neck; and directly he took my plaid shawl off his head, I saw he had split the dress somehow or other all down the back.

“Never mind the gown,” he answered, “what business had you to go meddling with my trunk?”

“_I_ meddle with _your_ trunk!” I exclaimed, “what right had _you_ to go running away with _mine_ in the shameful way you have?”

However, I was too glad to get back my things, to stand asking questions of a person, who, if it hadn’t been for his civility in sharing his umbrella with me, I certainly should have given into custody on the spot. Though when I looked over my box, I declare if the brute hadn’t so tossed about and tumbled all my clean things, and so torn and ruined my beautiful Barège, that as soon as I had sufficiently recovered myself, and put on some dry things, I packed up my box again and made the best of my way back to town; for I saw that it was useless to think of spending a fortnight in Guildford, with nothing but a morning-wrapper to put on--especially as by so doing there could be no chance of Edward’s knowing a word about the occurrence, which I felt convinced he would be certain to say was entirely my fault.

Directly I set foot in my own house again, I had Miss Emma into the parlour, and showing her the state that my gown was in, all through her abominable stupidity, I told her that she really was so dangerous a blockhead to have near one, that although I wouldn’t thrust her into the wide world without a place to put her head in that night, still she would be pleased to quit my service first thing in the morning--which I took very good care she did.

And thus ended my acquaintance with Miss Emma, and I very naturally made a vow that the next woman I had in my service should have some little learning in her head, at least. Though positively, it was only jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire, for when the other creature came in she was, if possible, harder to put up with than the good-for-nothing hussey that I had just turned out of the house. Bless us and save us! if her head wasn’t crammed brim full of trumpery penny novels and rubbishing romantic melo-dramas. Was there ever such a woman--a great big, fat thing, with a currant-jelly complexion, and always marching about the house with a broom in her hand, either fancying herself “ADA THE BETRAYED,” or “AMY,” in “LOVE AND MADNESS”--or else sitting for hours, after the parlour dinner was over, all among the dirty plates and dishes, with her feet on the fender, crying her eyes out, over “THE MURDER AT THE OLD SMITHY,” or “THE HEADS OF THE HEADLESS,” just, for all the world, as you see her in the picture,--which I will tell the gentle reader all about in the next chapter--and a pretty chapter of accidents it will be--for, of all the plagues of servants I ever had anything to do with, that woman certainly was the greatest, and she got me into _one_ scrape, that I’m sure I shall never forget to my dying hour--but more of this hereafter.