Who knows, thought I, that in some of the strange countries which I am doomed to visit, but that I may fall in with, and shoot one of these terrific monsters?
with what haste shall I select those precious parts, and with what joy should I, on my return, pour them as an offering of filial affection into my mother's lap!--and then, as I thought of my mother, the tears again gushed into my eyes.
The coachman threw his whip to the ostler, and the reins upon the horses' backs; he then dismounted, and calling to me, "Now, young gentleman, I'se a-waiting," he put a ladder up for me to get down by; then turning to a porter, he said to him, "Bill, you must take this here young gem'man and that ere parcel to this here direction .-- Please to remember the coachman, sir." I replied that I certainly would, if he wished it, and walked off with the porter; the coachman observing, as I went away, "Well, he is a fool--that's sartain." I arrived quite safe at St Clement's-lane, when the porter received a shilling for his trouble from the maid who let me in, and I was shown up into a parlour, where I found myself in company with Mrs Handycock.
Mrs Handycock was a little meagre woman, who did not speak very good English, and who appeared to me to employ the major part of her time in bawling out from the top of the stairs to the servants below.

I never saw her either read a book or occupy herself with needlework, during the whole time I was in the house.

She had a large grey parrot, and I really cannot tell which screamed the worse of the two--but she was very civil and kind to me, and asked me ten times a day when I had last heard of my grandfather, Lord Privilege.

I observed that she always did so if any company happened to call in during my stay at her house.

Before I had been there ten minutes, she told me that she "hadored sailors--they were the defendiours and preserviours of their kings and countries," and that "Mr Handycock would be home by four o'clock, and then we should go to dinner." Then she jumped off her chair to bawl to the cook from the head of the stairs--"Jemima, Jemima!--ve'll ha'e the viting biled instead of fried." "Can't, marm," replied Jemima, "they be all begged and crumbed, with their tails in their mouths." "Vell, then, never mind, Jemima," replied the lady.--"Don't put your finger into the parrot's cage, my love--he's apt to be cross with strangers.