Rung my bell twice; got irritable; rung it a third time, the cord broke. Mrs. Minikin entered; scolded her unmercifully, and she flounced and pouted like a petted school girl; recollected there were a hundred pounds due to her; changed my tone; hinted at gowns that I should leave off; mentioned that my lace veil would look as good as new, and that she should have it. “A fine young man,” quoth I, “who visits you,—a tradesman’s son, I presume.” ‘No my Lady, he’s a dyer.’ “Oh! very good, Minikin, I suppose that he dies for you.” ‘Law, my Lady, you’re always so good humoured’ (any thing but that) “I’m very unwell, Minikin!” added I; “cross, and quite out of sorts!” ‘Bless your Ladyship’s heart,’ cried Minikin, ‘bless your Ladyship’s heart, you can be so funny when you please.’ Called for rose-water, elder-flower-water, and lavender-water, with which I went through the ablution of face, eyes, arms, and hands; called for aromatic vinegar, eau de Cologne, strong coffee, ether, noyau; all failed; laid down again.