As soon as I had recovered my scattered senses, I rang the bell for Mary; and when she came up, I declare I could scarcely go near her, she smelt of drink so horridly, though wherever she could have got it at that hour I couldn’t, if any one had given me a hundred guineas, make out at the time. (But I wasn’t long in finding out where my lady went to for it, as the reader will presently see.) And I do verily believe that such a toad never entered a respectable woman’s service before.

With my usual command over myself, I requested her to take my bridal robe down, and shake all the smuts off of it in the garden, and to be sure and take care what she was about with it; as white satin was not to be picked up in the streets every day. When the minx brought it up again, I declare I never saw such a grubby thing as it was; and it looked for all the world like as if it was made out of what the gentlemen call Oxford mixture; for she had been trying to rub the blacks off with a damp duster! And yet, it wasn’t advisable to throw it in her teeth, though I could have given it her well, I could. There was a very handsome and expensive dress completely spoilt, and made as pretty ducks-and-drakes of as anything I ever saw. It was of no use to any one, and only fit to be given away.

I was obliged to put on a high-bodied, quiet-looking, dark, snuff-coloured silk dress, which mamma had bought me before my marriage, as it was a good-wearing, serviceable colour, and one that would not show the dirt. But my troubles were doomed not to cease here; for when I was tout-arrangé, and really thought that I didn’t look so bad, after all, I found that nothing with any spirit in it was safe in the house from that abominable toper of a Mary of mine; and that she had positively been drinking all my Eau-de-Cologne, and filling the bottle up with turpentine; so that when I went to pour some of the perfume down my bosom, I actually saturated my things with the filthy stuff, and smelt just like as if I had been newly French-polished.

But, alas! her thievish propensities didn’t stop here; for if she knew where any drink was kept, she would never rest easy until she had got it—no matter how. As for locks and keys, bless you! they were of no more use than policemen. Actually the hussy couldn’t even keep her fingers off mamma’s excellent cherry brandy; but must go picking and stealing even that; and (as I found out afterwards, to my cost,) filling up the bottles with cold tea and new young cherries instead, (the nasty toad!) And the reader will soon see how it turned out.

I thought I should have gone mad on my At-home day. I really expected it would have been the death of poor, dear Edward. And I’m sure, for myself, I made up my mind that, come what would, I’d never go through another such a time, not even if I was to be made a princess. I declare the door-step had never been touched—nor the hall or the stairs swept—not even so much as a mat shaken—nor a thing dusted—so that you might have written your name on the backs of the chairs and tables in the drawing-room—and it was past twelve in the day before I could get that slut Mary even to clear away the breakfast things out of the parlour—and I had the greatest difficulty in the world to make her go and clean herself, for she was just the same as when she got up in the morning, not fit to be seen. I had to light the fire in the drawing-room, and dust the place, dressed as I was, myself, or else it would never have been done.

I don’t suppose I could have finished a quarter of an hour before the first double-knock came to the door, and that slut Mary not down stairs to answer it. So I rushed up to her room and bundled her down as quick as I could; though she had been at her old tricks again, I could see, and wasn’t really in a fit state to be trusted to go to the door; but what could I do? They had knocked again, and I had only just time to sit myself down, and take up one of the books off the drawing-room table, when the street-door was opened. And then, to my great horror, I heard Mary talking, at the top of her voice, to the visitors in the passage; and demanding to shake hands with them, and calling them a set of stuck-up things, because they wouldn’t. So I ran down as fast as my legs would carry me, and looking at her as if I could have eaten her, told her to go down stairs directly, and remember who she was, and what she was, and where she came from.

I found it was poor Mrs. B—yl—s and her lovely girls that Mary had been insulting in this dreadful manner, and who were quite flurried at her strange goings-on. Luckily, Edward was up-stairs dressing, or there’s no knowing what he wouldn’t have done. And I declare, there was not a single person that came into the house that day that she didn’t insult, in some way or other; and twice I had to go down to her; for she would go, singing and dancing about, like a downright maniac; and it was only by promising her some warm spirits and water in the evening, that I could in any way get her to keep her tongue to herself.

I was so upset, that instead of my friends congratulating me on my improved appearance, they did nothing but tell me that they could perceive Mary was worrying me dreadfully, and that they had never seen me look so bad before. And they kindly advised me to get the jade out of the house as soon as possible, saying, that if she were a servant of theirs, they should expect to be burned alive in their beds, for that drunken people were always so careless with their candles. While dear mamma (who is naturally a long-headed woman,) said, that every morning she confidently expected to find the place destroyed by fire, and that her dear children had perished in the flames. All which took such a hold on my mind, that I couldn’t get a wink of sleep for a week afterwards, and was always fancying I could hear the boards crackling, and kept getting up and going over the house, shivering, in my night-dress, to satisfy myself that all was safe.

We were, at one time, as many as fourteen in the drawing-room, and all of them highly desirable acquaintances, being people very well to do in the world; when mamma, who is so proud of her cherry-brandy, would persuade our friends to take some—if it was only a glassful. So (bother take it!) I had to get my keys, and trot downstairs for her stupid cherry-brandy—which I’m sure I couldn’t see the want of, for there was plenty of excellent red and white wine on the table; and that was good enough for any one any day, I should think. Besides, I had set my mind upon keeping the cherry-brandy quietly to myself, as there were only two bottles of it, and Edward had just laid in several dozen of port and sherry. However, I returned with one of the bottles and an agreeable smile on my countenance to the drawing-room, little thinking that I was about to present some of my best friends with a glass of that horrible wash that that tipsy, thieving Mary had filled up the bottle with. Then giving it to mamma, I told her pleasantly that she should fill the glasses, and have all the credit of it to herself. So, the good, dear old lady did as I said, and handing them round, observed to Mrs. L—ckl—y, (who is the wife of Edward’s best client, and of highly genteel connexions,) that she should like her to try that; for she flattered herself that she would find it very fine, and not to be got everywhere, as she had made it herself, after her own peculiar way; and that she felt convinced that any pastrycook would gladly give her twenty guineas for the receipt any morning; and that she always made a point of using none but the very best cognac that could be got for money, together with the finest Morella cherries that were to be picked up in Covent-garden Market. When they had all got their glasses, dear, unconscious mamma sat down with a self-contented smile, waiting for the approbation and eulogiums which she confidently expected they would overwhelm her with. As soon as Mrs. L—ckl—y had taken one cherry and a spoonful of the wash, all the rest followed her example. Dear mamma observing that Mrs. L—ckl—y made a wry face after it, (as well the poor thing might,) said, “I’m afraid the brandy is too strong for you, Mrs. L—ckl—y; but you needn’t be afraid of it, my dear—a bottle of such as that would not hurt you, I can assure you.” Now, really, I shall begin to think you don’t like it, if you don’t finish it. On which Mrs. L—ckl—y (who is an extremely well-bred woman) answered, “You’re very good—it is very nice, I’m sure.” And then the poor thing put another spoonful of the filthy stuff to her lips. Whereupon poor, dear mamma, (who was determined not to be balked of the compliments she innocently thought she was entitled to) tried to prevail on some of the other poor things (who really, considering all, had borne it like martyrs) to go on with theirs. But Mrs. B—yl—s politely excused herself by saying she thought it was not quite so rich as some of mother’s that she had had the pleasure of tasting before, and that sweet woman, Mrs. C—rt—r, said that she was afraid the brandy had gone off a little, (and so it had, with a vengeance.) On which Edward (lawyer like), fancying something was wrong, and thinking it a good opportunity for teasing his poor, dear, innocent mother-in-law, took a glass himself, and had no sooner tasted it, than, instead of swallowing it, like a gentleman, he spit the whole into the fire-place, declaring he had never in all his life tasted such beastly trash. Whereupon, dear mamma, who believed that he only said as much to annoy her, took a glassful likewise; and scarcely had she put her lips to it, than she gave a scream, and the poor, dear soul spluttered it all out of her mouth again, exclaiming—“Oh that shameful minx of a Mary! I know it’s her!—the drunken hussy! If she hasn’t been and drunk all the brandy, and filled the bottle up again with what I’d swear was nasty filthy cold tea and unripe cherries.” No sooner had she made the discovery, than all the poor dear ladies who had partaken of the filthy mixture uttered a piercing scream, while that unfeeling wretch, Edward, rushed out of the room, and I could actually hear the brute bursting with laughter on the landing-place.

All the dears agreed with poor mamma—who was boiling over, (if I might be allowed the expression,) that it was very shameful conduct on the part of the maid, and hoped that mamma would not let it take any effect upon her on their account, as really they didn’t mind about it. And then taking a glass of sherry wine a-piece, just to take the taste out of their dear mouths, they all hurried away, and in less than ten minutes we were left alone in the drawing-room.

Then we both agreed to make that cat, Mary, finish before our very eyes the whole of the other bottleful, (which we made up our minds she had of course served in the same manner,) and directly after she had eaten it all up, to give her warning, as it would be the best way of punishing her for her wicked goings-on. So down stairs we went, and having got the bottle out of the store-room closet, we made the wretch devour the whole of it on the spot—though from the ready way in which the minx resigned herself to her fate, and from the effect it had upon her shortly afterwards, (for it only made her more tipsy than before,) to our horror we found out that she had never touched that bottle at all—and, indeed, she told us as much when she had drunk up every drop, and had the impudence to say she should like to be punished again. So we immediately gave her warning, and told her not to think of sending to us for a character, indeed. But in the evening, the cherry brandy we had forced her to take, made her so dreadfully bad, that we had to carry her upstairs and put her to bed again. All of which was a mere nothing to us, compared with the good humour it put Edward into; who kept telling us, with a nasty vulgar giggle, that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves for driving the poor girl into another fit; and he said he hoped that dear mamma would take care that the next servant she engaged for him wasn’t subject to epilepsy, (an aggravating monster!)

Next day I stepped round to mother’s, to consult about the best means of getting a new servant as soon as possible; for I was determined on finding some excuse for packing Mary out of the house directly I was suited. Mamma, however,

after what Edward had said, declined, with great, and, I must say, becoming dignity, interfering in the business further than sending any maids she might hear of round for me to look at—as she wasn’t going to put herself in the way again, indeed, of being reproached, as she had been, by her own dear child’s ungrateful husband. But though mamma was kind enough to send me several servants from the tradesmen in the neighbourhood, yet I never saw one for days; for that baggage, Mary, kept setting them against the place, and saying everything that was bad of us directly they came to the house.

One morning, however, as Edward was going out, he met one on the door-step, and sent her into the parlour to me. She was a tall, strong, big-boned, clean-looking, tidy, and respectable ugly woman, and looked as if she wasn’t afraid of work: so with my usual quick-sightedness l saw at a glance that she was just the person to suit me. When I asked her what her name was, she answered, with a curtsey, and a peculiar twang that was far from agreeable: “Norah Connor, sure.” To which I replied: “I am afraid you’re Irish, and I’ve an objection to persons from that country”—(mother had told me never to take an Irish woman in the house on any account.) But the woman answered in a tone so meek, that one would have fancied butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth: “Irish, did ye say? Och! sure now, and isn’t it Cornwall I am?” And so, with my customary sagacity, I at once saw that I was mistaking the Cornwall brogue for the Irish one; for having been bred up in London, I could not of course be expected to be particularly acquainted with the dialects of other countries,—if, indeed, I except that of “Le Belle France.” After asking her the usual questions as to “tea and sugar,” and wages, and cooking, and character, and, in particular, sobriety—in all of which she seemed to be quite comme il faut (as they say in Boulogne)—I arranged with her that I would go after her character directly her late mistress could see me.

Next morning, when we came down, the parlour fire was not even laid, and all the supper-things were on the table just as we had left them over-night. For Mary had got up when I rang the up-stairs bell, at six o’clock, to a moment, and though she had come down and got the street-door key out of our room, she must have gone up-stairs immediately afterwards, and tumbled into bed again, for it was clear that she had never shown her face in the kitchen that day.

Edward flew into a tremendous passion, and rushed up to her room, where he thundered at the door so that I thought he would have broken it off its hinges, telling the lazy thing to get up and leave his house that very instant. As soon as she came down, Edward, being determined to see the creature clear off the premises, before he left for business, went and got her trunk and band-box himself, and paying her her wages up to the very day, bundled her into the street, things and all, where the brazen-faced hussy stopped ringing at the bell, and declaring that she would summon us if she did not receive a month’s warning; until she collected quite a crowd all round the house, and kept telling them in a loud voice, so that all the neighbours could hear, that I had behaved to her worse than a slave-driver would—and that she had been half-starved—and forced to live on sprats, (as I’m a living woman, she’d only had them once!) and that I took a delight in making her tipsy, (which the courteous reader knows to be a wicked falsehood,) and that we either couldn’t or wouldn’t pay her her wages. Nor did she cease her abuse, until Edward got the policemen to make her move on; which she did, vowing that she would have it all out before the magistrate, and make us suffer for it.

So that there was I in a pretty state, indeed, left without a servant, and obliged to have a charwoman in until that wild Irish cat—whom I, in my blessed innocence, fancied to be a Cornwall woman—was ready to come into the house, (I wish to goodness gracious, from the bottom of my heart, that I had never seen the face of the fury,) and I hardly know, I’m sure, how I shall be able to wait a whole month before telling the reader all about the shameful way in which she went on towards me—and how I really thought the vixen would have had my life before she had done with me.

CHAPTER V.

OF THE PRETTY STATE I WAS IN INDEED AFTER MARY LEFT ME.

I’m sure if Edward had only looked at poor Mary’s love of tippling with a proper spirit, he would have seen that it was not so much for a body to stomach after all, and that perhaps the love of drink, bad as it is, is but a trifling vice as compared with the love of tobacco—to which my husband, I regret to say, is a disgusting martyr. And such being the case, Edward ought to have remembered that those who ride about in glass coaches should not throw stones; for of all habits I must confess that smoking, in my eyes, is the most dreadful, and that if I was called upon to choose whether I would sooner be addicted to liquor or tobacco, I really think I should be inclined to take to drinking in preference.

Not that I was insensible to the wickedness of our Mary’s ways, but still I do think that my husband might have looked with more Christian charity upon the poor thing’s infirmity, until my other servant was ready to come into the house, and then he might have bundled the creature into the street, as she deserved indeed. For in her absence I was so terribly put to it, that really I should have blushed if anybody could have seen me making the shifts I did.

My Irish servant of a Norah (drat her!) couldn’t come in for a week or so, and the consequence was, that I was left all alone without anybody to assist me,—which pulled me down so low that it took several weeks to set me fairly on my legs again. For considering that I had Edward’s dinner every day on my mind, and the whole house thrown upon my hands, it was more than I could bear.

All that precious day long I had to answer every tiresome knock at the door myself, and really just because we had no maid, persons seemed to take a delight in calling. But thanks to goodness, they were all tradespeople, whom (of course) I did not so much care about, though I only opened the door to them just wide enough to take the things in, for fear of the neighbours, who I knew would be but too glad to laugh at me in my distress. Indeed, the only person that I showed myself to that day was the butcher’s boy, when he called for orders; and who being a mere lad, I didn’t mind about seeing me; and I got him, for a glass of table-beer and a penny, to take a letter to dear mother, asking her to look round immediately, and call and see her darling angel (that is myself) in her affliction, which I knew she would be happy to do.

But as it was a wet day, poor dear mother was so long before she dropped in upon me, that I made certain she wouldn’t come that morning, so I set to work to prepare Edward’s dinner. As he is fond of made dishes, I thought I could not do better than give him a sweet little toad in the hole, especially as it was very easy to make, and I could get the baker to take it with him to the bakehouse when he left our daily bread in the afternoon. While I was making the batter to cover the toad with, a tremendous double-knock came to the door, which nearly made me drop the egg I had in my hand at the time. As of course I could not, in the state that I was, go up to the door myself and say I was not at home, I thought it best to let them knock away until they were tired; and it was not until I had heard them do so, I should say, seven or eight times at least, that I went to the kitchen window, and pulled aside the blind I had let down, when who should it be but poor dear mother, whom I had kept waiting all that time in the pouring rain, and who, when she got down in the kitchen, I found to be literally dripping. Having taken off her pattens, and put her umbrella to dry in the back kitchen, I threw up the cinders, and made such a nice comfortable clear fire for her, and got the dear old soul to drink off a glass of scalding-hot spirits and water, which, I assured her, would not hurt her, as it would keep the cold out nicely, and which she consented to take in the light of medicine, as she said she was certain she wanted it; adding, that she felt as if every bone in her body was broken to bits, and she was sure that on her road she had picked up the shivers somewhere.

I told mamma all that had taken place, and how hastily Edward had behaved, without showing the least regard to my feelings, and had set upon poor Mary for all the world like a Turk. But dear mother told me, with her usual kindness, that she wasn’t in the least surprised at my husband’s forgetting himself, as it was just what she had expected from him all along; for, from the insight she had had into Edward’s character of late, she was afraid that I should have a good deal more to bear with from him, and that my time was likely to be a hard one. Still, as the good soul very truly observed, it was no business of hers, and she was the last person to think of setting me against my husband; though, from what I had told her, she could not help saying, that Edward certainly did appear to her to be just like the rest of the men, and no better than he should be; adding, that the best way would be for me to have an understanding with him the very first opportunity, and tell him, that if he couldn’t conduct himself more like a rational creature for the future, that he had better manage the house himself. She begged me, in saying this, however, to remember that she had no wish to figure in quarrels between man and wife; observing, with great truth, that as I had made my bed, so I must lie upon it; and that if my bed were strewed with thorns, however uncomfortable it might be, still it could be no fault of hers, though she pitied me from the bottom of her heart; for, as she said, it must be a sad change for a poor dear that was so thinskinned as myself; adding, with great kindness, that if she could possibly have known half as much of Edward before my marriage as she did now, that she certainly should have thought twice before she had given her consent for the house of the Sk—n—st—ns to be grafted upon the family tree of the B—ff—ns.

Dear mother, however, promised not to desert me in my trouble, and undertook to procure me a charwoman, who would come in until that Irish fury of a Cornwall hussey was ready to be with me. Mrs. Burgess[A] was the name of the charwoman, and mother said that I should find her of great use and comfort to me, as she was a married woman, though she had been deserted by her husband—poor thing!—who had run away to America like a brute, leaving her with a fine family of ten young children on her hands;—that she was a good, hard-working, industrious, stout-made woman; and that the poor babes had nothing but the sweat of their mother’s brow to subsist upon; and that it was only by doing a little charing out and a little washing at home, that the poor creature was enabled to keep her head above water. And mother said, that tired and wet as she was, still she would make it a point that very afternoon to go round to the Mews, where Mrs. Burgess lived, and leave word at her loft, even if she couldn’t see her, for her to come round to me the first thing the next morning; adding, that all the poor thing would want would be eighteenpence a day, two pots of beer, and a glass of spirits before leaving at night.

When Edward came home from business, he wouldn’t make the least allowance for the state I was in, but seemed determined to find fault with everything, and appeared to expect that the house should be in the same apple-pie order as if I’d a regiment of maids of all work at my heels. What made him much worse, too, was, that the baker had forgotten to send round the dinner when it was done, so that he had to wait some trifling twenty minutes until I could get some one to run for it; and when it came home, I declare my nice little toad in the hole was as black as a coal, and quite burnt to a cinder. My husband’s behaviour during dinner nearly broke my heart; and he cut me up so dreadfully, that I really couldn’t say whether my head was on my shoulders or not. Indeed, all that evening he was one too many for me, for I declare he went on just like one beside himself. He made his dinner off bread and cheese, and kept grumbling all the time, saying that he would have been better treated if he had dined at a common “Slap bang” in the City, (those were his very words—though what on earth a “slap bang” can be I haven’t the remotest idea). So I left him to his filthy cigar and bills of costs as soon as I could, and went down stairs and sat by myself all alone by the kitchen fire, as I wished to put an end to his spiteful goings on, and I knew he wouldn’t follow me down stairs, and get pulling me over the coals there.

I took good care that he should feel the want of a servant as much as I did, and that he should know that the poor creatures were useful members of society, if they were only properly treated; for I made a point of keeping him without a mouthful of tea till near bed-time. Though I only punished myself in the end, for the cup that “cheers but not inebriates,” as the poet says, wouldn’t allow him to get a wink of sleep, and he was so restless and cross all the night through, that he only kept getting in and out of bed, and walking up and down the room, and opening the windows, and raving at me like a wild Hottentot let loose from Bedlam, declaring that I was quite an altered woman of late, and that he couldn’t tell what on earth had come to me that day. When I told him that nothing had come to me but dear mamma, he flew out most dreadfully, and said that mother was a snake in the grass, who came poisoning my mind and picking holes in his coat directly he was out of the house; and that, as he knew that one bad sheep would destroy a whole flock, he would take precious good care that my mother should never ruin me, for he would forbid her the house the very next day; adding, that if I encouraged her in coming there, that he would sell the furniture off and run away from us both, and allow me a pound a week for the rest of my life,—which I recollect at the time struck me as being very ungenerous on his part, and not what I should naturally have expected from him; for I thought that, under the circumstances, he really might have made a greater allowance, when he knew that I could get nobody to help me.

In the morning, Mrs. Burgess came as soon as it was light, and it having been, I should say, four o’clock before I closed my eyes, I felt she was knocking me up by waking me so early. However, I slipt on my wrapper, and went down stairs and let her in. I told her to do the parlour immediately, and take care and black-lead the stove before lighting the fire, and after that to wash-up the dinner and tea things I had left overnight, and then just to clean down the door-step a little (for goodness’ sake!) for it was quite grubby to look at—and to sweep the hall and shake the mats a bit, for the passage was as full of dirt as it could hold, and I was really quite ashamed to see it—and I also told her to take in a ha’p’orth of milk when the milkman called—and to have the breakfast ready by eight o’clock precisely, as Mr. Sk—n—st—n was a very punctual man. Then I went up stairs just to finish my night’s rest; and no sooner had I jumped into bed than I fell off again so fast, that I lay there till it was as near ten o’clock as it could be.

Mr. Sk—n—st—n was in a tremendous passion at what he chose to call my want of respect in allowing him to lie in bed so long, and when he came down to breakfast he was as surly as a bear with a scald head, (as the phrase runs.) He must needs go flying in a passion because the baker had left the wrong bread—for Mrs. Burgess, unfortunately, had taken in a cottage for breakfast—and he would have that it was my fault, and not the woman’s, saying, that I ought to have told her that he never eat anything of a morning but “bricks.” As he was going to office, I asked him whether he would dine at home that day, and what he would have; but he was very sulky, and said that he wouldn’t trouble me again, for that, as he was going into the City, he would take a chop at Joe’s; and when I inquired of him who Joe was, he told me it was the name of a chop-house keeper near the Royal Exchange; on which I remarked that he ought to be ashamed of himself to speak in that familiar way of such people. This made him laugh, so that I thought it was a good opportunity to make friends with him, and told him that if he would promise to come home, that I would get him a beautiful leg of mutton; but he said he thought he should like a nice shoulder, well browned, with onion sauce, for the legs we had had in our house lately had not been fit to be seen. But, knowing that he was partial to one with veal stuffing, I told him that if he would only come home to dinner that day, like a good man, I would give him such a treat—I would promise him to put on the table as fine a leg as he had ever beheld, for I intended to stuff it for him, and would take care that it should be beautifully dressed, and quite a picture to look at—all of which seemed to please him very much, and he left quite in good humour.

On going down into the kitchen to prepare the dinner, Mrs. Burgess really seemed to me to be a very superior sort of body; and I thought that she was one of the best disposed and most honest of women, until I found her to be quite the contrary; for at first I really felt interested in the poor thing, on account of her being the mother of such a large family, and all by herself without a husband. I was quite pleased to hear the good woman go on as she did all that day, continually telling me that servants were such a bad lot, and that nothing was good enough for them, and how little gentlemen thought of what we poor women had to undergo for their sakes. And she likewise told me the whole history of how shamefully Mr. Burgess, who drove a cab, had behaved towards her—never treating her as he ought to have done—though she had always been a good wife to him, (the wretch,) and had seldom or never flown in his face, (the brute,)—that her life had been one continued struggle with him from morning to night, she might say, and that after the hard battles they had had together, his going to New Orleans under the disguise of coming back in a few weeks, she must say was a return that she never expected. Upon which I remarked, that for Mr. Burgess, to run away to America in the way he had done, certainly did appear to me to be going a little too far. And then she was so kind as to hope that Mr. Sk—n—st—n would never treat me in the same way, although, as she very truly said, she was afraid that the men were all alike, and that they really were not fit to be trusted out of your sight for two days together.

I couldn’t have left Mrs. Burgess more than five minutes, and was just going to put myself to rights a bit, when I heard a most tremendous scream in the kitchen, and on going down, found the poor woman was nearly fainting, (the deceitful baggage!) for she told me that she had just seen a great rat as big as a Shetland pony scamper across the scullery. This, of course, put me all of a twitter, and made my blood run quite cold down my back, for I didn’t know that there was a rat in the place; and, as Mrs. Burgess observed, with great truth, but bad grammar, “we hadn’t never so much as a cat in the house, and that if I didn’t keep my eyes about me, I should find myself swarming with vermin before I knew where I was.” Then she was kind enough to tell me that she had got a beautiful Tom at home, which I was perfectly welcome to if I liked; for that though she loved the animal as much as if it were her own flesh and blood, still dear mother had been such a true friend to her, that she really couldn’t think of keeping the cat from me; especially, as she said, Tom was such a capital mouser, that he’d soon clear the place, and besides he was so tame, and had been so well brought up, that he was more like a Christian than a dumb animal; for I should find that he would take anything from me, (and so I did, with a vengeance; though I really believe now that the cat had no finger in it after all; but that that smoothfaced old Mrs. Burgess had only brought the animal into our establishment for the worst of purposes—and what’s more, that the tale she told me about the rat was all a cock-and-a-bull story, and made up just to get her Tom into the house, so that she might use the cat as a cloak for her own shameful practices.)

After Mrs. Burgess had taken in the milk that afternoon, the poor woman—who appeared very fond of me—would run round and fetch her fine Tom; and when she brought him, I do think he was the prettiest pet I ever saw. He was so black, that really his coat was for all the world like your hat; and the dear had got three such beautiful white stockings on his feet, and as fine a frill round his neck as I ever beheld in all my life. Nor can I omit to mention Tom’s sweet pretty whiskers, which stood out on each side of his face just like two shaving brushes; so that, indeed, taking the animal altogether, I really don’t think I ever saw so fine a cat. I declare he was quite a duck.

Edward was very good humoured, for once in a way, when he came home to dinner that evening; and it was quite a treat to see him at table, for I never knew him eat so much since we’d been married. I must have helped him three times if I helped him once. As for myself, I do think that it was the sweetest and tenderest leg I ever put my lips to, so that even I was tempted to make so hearty a meal, that I felt quite heavy after dinner, and could scarcely keep my eyes open till tea-time.

When I went down stairs to see about the tea things, (Mrs. Burgess always left immediately after she had cleared away the dinner,) it was very strange I couldn’t find the milk anywhere, though I saw Mrs. Burgess take it in herself; and when I went to get out the butter, if that wasn’t gone as well—a whole half-pound, as I’m a living woman, of the best fresh, at sixteenpence, that I had sent Mrs. Burgess for that very evening! This put me in a nice state, for I had no more fresh in the house, and could give Edward nothing else but salt with his tea, which I knew he couldn’t bear the taste of; though, even when I went to look after that, I could very easily see that some thief had been fingering it into the bargain. I made up my mind, of course, that it was that wretch of a Tom, and I tried to catch him, so that I might rub his nose on the dresser, but the thief was too quick for me, and I could have given it him well, I could.

I thought it best, for the sake of the poor cat, not to say a word to Edward about it; so I made him a round of nice hot toast, and put on it as little salt butter as I possibly could, in the hopes that he wouldn’t discover it. But my husband no sooner put the toast to his mouth, than he declared it was like cart grease; and when I told him about the loss of the milk and fresh butter, he threw it all in my teeth, and I caught it just as I had expected. After which we got to high words again, (drat it,) and I said that I had nothing to do with the bothering milk and butter, and I didn’t see why he should go laying it all on my back in the way he did. What occurred afterwards I will not state; for it is all forgotten, though I cannot say forgiven; for I remember—but never mind, I wont say anything more about it at present.

But my distresses about that brute of a Tom were not to rest here, for what between him and my husband, they led me a very pretty dance I declare, and to as nice a tune as I ever heard in all my life.

In the morning, when I went down stairs to see about dinner, Mrs. Burgess told me that she couldn’t think what on earth could have come to the remainder of our mutton, for it wasn’t to be found anywhere, and she really believed that rogue of a Tom of hers must have walked off with our leg in the night; adding, that she regretted to say that he had been a dreadful thief ever since he was a kitten. But I told her that it couldn’t be the cat, because he had left no bone behind him. Still, as she very wisely observed, most likely he had buried it in the garden, or somewhere about the house; and so indeed it turned out, for Mrs. Burgess brought me the bone the very next day, picked as clean as if a Christian had done it, and which she said she had found in the coal-cellar early that morning.

This loss of the mutton annoyed me very much, for Edward had set his mind upon having the remains of it with pickles for dinner that day. So I was obliged to send Mrs. Burgess out to get a pair of nice soles, and a pound and a quarter of tender beef-steaks, so that I might stew them, (meaning, of course, the steaks, and not the soles.)

In the middle of the day one of Mrs. Burgess’s little boys came to see her, and I was surprised to find what a nice, clean, sharp, intelligent lad he was for his station in life; for his mother said that, young as he was, he could turn his hand to anything. And he couldn’t have left the house above half-an hour, when up Mrs. Burgess came, apparently quite out of breath, and told me that while she was throwing up the cinders on the kitchen fire, that plaguy Tom had jumped on the dresser and galloped off with a whole sole and a large piece of the beef-steak—and that though she ran after him as quick as she could, that he had scampered up the kitchen stairs, and she only got to the garden in time to see him leap right over the wall with the things in his mouth. After a few moments’ deliberation I went to the bedroom closet, and getting Mr. Sk—n—st—n’s little gold headed cane, determined to pay master Tom out well for his sly tricks, (I can’t bear deceit, whether in cats or human beings;) and hiding the stick behind my back, I went out into the garden, and called Puss! Puss! Puss! in my sweetest voice, as if I had got something nice to give him; when lo! and behold, my gentleman, who had found his way back, came marching up from the kitchen as coolly, I declare, as if he had been doing nothing at all, (as indeed I verily believe now the poor thing had not.) When he came within arm’s length of me I gave him one or two such good smacks as he wouldn’t forget in a hurry—though it hurt me a good deal more than it did him, to lay my hands upon the poor dumb animal.

When Edward found it all out, of course he flew into a passion, as usual, and went on in such a way that I was obliged to tell him, even though he was my husband, that he was no man; and he vowed that the animal shouldn’t pass another night under his roof, and that Mother Burgess (as he would call her) should take the brute and drown it that very night. Then he had her up and told her as much; and the poor woman, with tears in her eyes, consented to do so; for, as she very truly said, it was so dreadful to have a thief in the house, that if Tom wasn’t made away with, she was afraid we might get to suspect her—and that after what we had lost, much as it might go against her, she would do as Mr. Sk—n—st—n desired, and see the creature safe at the bottom of the R—g—nt’s C—n—l before she went to bed that night.

When I went down to let the woman in the next morning, I was never so surprised in all my life as to find her fondling the cat, whom she said she had found on the door-step with the very brick-bat tied to his neck which she told me she had put on before throwing him into the water overnight—though how on earth he could ever have managed to have got out of the canal alive and crawled back to our house with that great thing round his neck, is more than I’ve ever been able to comprehend. Mrs. Burgess agreed with me that it was perfectly wonderful; adding, that after all she had put upon him, the poor creature’s life certainly must have been spared by some superior power for some hidden purpose; so she begged of me in a most touching manner to try poor Tom for a few days more, as perhaps it would be a lesson to him and he would go on better for the future. I really hadn’t the heart to refuse, though I determined to keep it a secret from Edward, for I knew that he wouldn’t rest easy in his bed until he had killed the poor animal. So I kept Mrs. Burgess’s Tom unknown to my husband until it was impossible to keep him any longer, for really the things that creature would do, and the articles he would steal, no one would credit. It seemed to be more like the work of a Christian than a dumb animal. If we had a fowl for dinner, and I missed it in the morning, the cat was sure to have taken it;—if the tarts disappeared, the cat had eaten them;—if the flour ran short, the cat had upset it;—if I missed a silver spoon, the cat must have hidden it;—if any of the crockery or glass was broken, the cat had knocked them down;—if the cask of table ale was empty long before its time, why the cat had pulled out the spigot. In fact, nothing was missed that the cat didn’t take, and nothing was broken that the cat didn’t break.

And so things went on until just before my Irish servant came in, when all of a sudden I missed a whole pound packet of Orange Pekoe Tea, which Edward had brought home from the City on purpose for me. This Mrs. Burgess assured me Tom must have taken for the mere sake of taking; for she herself had seen him scampering about the house like a mad thing with a bit of paper in his mouth, and which she had no doubt now was what the tea had been done up in—adding, that it really was quite a mercy that it hadn’t been a five-pound note, as, of course, it would have been all the same to a creature so dishonest as he was.

When I told Edward all about it, he called me a fool for my pains, and said he could see that the cat was too good a friend to my old charwoman for her to wish to get rid of him. As for Tom’s stealing the tea, it was all a pack of fiddlesticks, and he verily believed that he had never been into the canal at all, and that some fine day I should find old Mother Burgess at the bottom of it. However, he said he would soon put a stop to that game, for he would lock the cat up in the back attic that night, and take it with him to office in his blue bag in the morning; and when he got it down there we should soon find out who was the thief. I told him it was a very good plan, if he would only keep it a secret from Mrs. Burgess, and take care not to go letting the cat out of the bag before he started.