finest impulse of our common nature, catches her up in her arms!
Second little boy gets out. Oh, the sweet boy! Oh, the tender
little family! The baby is handed out. Angelic baby! The baby
has topped everything. All the rapture is expended on the baby!
Then the two nurses tumble out; and the enthusiasm swelling into
madness, the whole family are swept up-stairs as on a cloud; while
the idlers press about the carriage, and look into it, and walk
round it, and touch it. For it is something to touch a carriage
that has held so many people. It is a legacy to leave one's
children.

The rooms are on the first floor, except the nursery for the night,
which is a great rambling chamber, with four or five beds in it:
through a dark passage, up two steps, down four, past a pump,
across a balcony, and next door to the stable. The other sleeping
apartments are large and lofty; each with two small bedsteads,
tastefully hung, like the windows, with red and white drapery. The
sitting-room is famous. Dinner is already laid in it for three;
and the napkins are folded in cocked-hat fashion. The floors are
of red tile. There are no carpets, and not much furniture to speak
of; but there is abundance of looking-glass, and there are large
vases under glass shades, filled with artificial flowers; and there
are plenty of clocks. The whole party are in motion. The brave
Courier, in particular, is everywhere: looking after the beds,
having wine poured down his throat by his dear brother the
landlord, and picking up green cucumbers--always cucumbers; Heaven
knows where he gets them--with which he walks about, one in each
hand, like truncheons.

Dinner is announced. There is very thin soup; there are very large