on the intelligent mind of Mr. Boots.

"Boots," said I in a mournful tone, "you must call me at four o'clock."

"Do'ee want to get up, zur?" inquired he, with a broad Somersetshire
twang.

"_Want_ indeed! no; but I must."

"Well, zur, I'll _carl_ 'ee; but will 'ee get up when I _do_
carl?"

"Why, to be sure I will."

"That be all very well to zay over-night, zur; but it bean't at all the
zame thing when _marnen_ do come. I knoa that of old, zur. Gemmen
doan't like it, zur, when the time do come--that I tell 'ee."

"_Like_ it! who imagines they should?"

"Well, zur, if you be as sure to get up as I be to carl 'ee, you'll not
knoa what two minutes arter vore means in your bed. Sure as ever clock
strikes, I'll have 'ee out, dang'd if I doan't! Good night, zur;" and
_exit_ Boots.

"And now I'll pack my portmanteau."

It was a bitter cold night, and my bed-room fire had gone out.
Except the rush-candle, in a pierced tin box, I had nothing to cheer
the gloom of a very large apartment--the walls of which (now dotted