poor woman may be trampled to death, and never say a word--you, too,
like a fool--I wonder who'd do it for you--to insist upon the girl
going out for pickled walnuts. And in such a night too! With snow
upon the ground. Yes; you're a man of fine feelings, you are, Mr.
Caudle; but the world doesn't know you as I know you--fine feelings,
indeed! to send the poor girl out, when I told you and told your
friend, too--a pretty brute he is, I'm sure--that the poor girl had
got a cold and I dare say chilblains on her toes. But I know what
will be the end of that; she'll be laid up, and we shall have a nice
doctor's bill. And you'll pay it, I can tell you--for _I_ won't.

"YOU WISH YOU WERE OUT OF THE WORLD?

"Oh! yes, that's all very easy. I'm sure _I_ might wish it. Don't
swear in that dreadful way! Aren't you afraid that the bed will open
and swallow you? And don't swing about in that way. THAT will do no
good. THAT won't bring back the leg of pork, and the brandy you've
poured down both of your throats. Oh, I know it, I'm sure of it. I
only recollected it when I'd got into bed--and if it hadn't been so
cold, you'd have seen me downstairs again, I can tell you--I
recollected it, and a pretty two hours I've passed--that I left the
key in the cupboard,--and I know it--I could see by the manner of you
when you came into the room--I know you've got at the other bottle.
However, there's one comfort: you told me to send for the best
brandy--the very best--for your other friend, who called last
Wednesday. Ha! ha! It was British--the cheapest British--and nice
and ill I hope the pair of you will be to-morrow.

"There's only the bare bone of the leg of pork! but you'll get
nothing else for dinner, I can tell you. It's a dreadful thing that