"make nothing of a breakfast if she warn't coaxed with a Yarmouth bloater,
a rasher of ham, or a little bit of steak done with the gravy in."

Her luncheon was obliged to be a mutton-chop, or a grilled bone, and a
pint of porter, bread and cheese having the effect of rendering her "as
cross as two sticks, and as sour as werjuice." Her dinner, and its
satellites, tea and supper, were all required to be hot, strong, and
comfortable. A peculiar hallucination under which she laboured is worthy
of remark. When eating, it was always her declared conviction that she
_never drank anything_, and when detected coquetting with a pint pot or a
tumbler, she was equally assured that she never _did eat anything after
her breakfast_.

Mrs. Pilcher's duties never permitted her to take anything resembling
continuous rest; she had therefore another prescription for an hour's doze
after dinner. Mrs. Pilcher was also troubled with a stiffness of the
knee-joints, which never allowed her to wait upon herself.

When this amiable creature had deposited herself in Collumpsion's old
easy-chair, and, with her bundle on her knees, gasped out her first
inquiry--

"I hopes all's as well as can be expected?"

The heart of _Pater_ Collumpsion trembled in his bosom, for he felt that
to this incongruous mass was to be confided the first blossom of his
wedded love; and that for one month the dynasty of 24, Pleasant-terrace
was transferred from his hands to that of Mrs. Waddledot, his wife's
mother, and Mrs. Pilcher, the monthly nurse. There was a short struggle
for supremacy between the two latter personages; but an angry appeal