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Rh behind—no, share and share alike, says I—your wife has as good a right to go as yourself. I often tells him a bit of my mind in the old song—you know what it says for we women—that when Adam was created, "Well," replied Emily, "I wish you much pleasure in Italy." "Ah, miss, it was my son there that put it in our noddles to go to Italy first. Do you see that his head's shaved?—its all along of his taste for the fine arts. We've got his bust at home, and his hair was cut off to have his head and its bumps taken: they covered it all over with paste just like a pudding. Lord! his white face does look so queer in the front drawing-room—it's put on a marble pillar, just in the middle window—but, dear, I thought the people outside would like to see the great traveller." But all conversation was put an end to by the Calais pier, and all was now the bustle