pportunity of their
assemblage at the dinner-table, to announce the expected arrival of Mrs.
Bloss. The gentlemen received the communication with stoical
indifference, and Mrs. Tibbs devoted all her energies to prepare for the
reception of the valetudinarian. The second-floor front was scrubbed,
and washed, and flannelled, till the wet went through to the drawing-room
ceiling. Clean white counterpanes, and curtains, and napkins,
water-bottles as clear as crystal, blue jugs, and mahogany furniture,
added to the splendour, and increased the comfort, of the apartment. The
warming-pan was in constant requisition, and a fire lighted in the room
every day. The chattels of Mrs. Bloss were forwarded by instalments.
First, there came a large hamper of Guinness's stout, and an umbrella;
then, a train of trunks; then, a pair of clogs and a bandbox; then, an
easy chair with an air-cushion; then, a variety of suspicious-looking
packages; and--'though last not least'--Mrs. Bloss and Agnes: the latter
in a cherry-coloured merino dress, open-work stockings, and shoes with
sandals: like a disguised Columbine.

The installation of the Duke of Wellington, as Chancellor of the
University of Oxford, was nothing, in point of bustle and turmoil, to the
installation of Mrs. Bloss in her new quarters. True, there was no
bright doctor of civil law to deliver a classical address on the
occasion; but there were several other old women present, who spoke quite
as much to the purpose, and understood themselves equally well. The
chop-eater was so fatigued with the process of removal that she declined
leaving her room until the following morning; so a mutton-chop, pickle, a
pill, a pint bottle of stout, and other medicines, were carried up-stairs
for her consumption.

'Why, what _do_ you think, ma'am?' inquired the inquisitive Agnes of her
mistress, after they had been in the house some three hours; 'what _do_
you think, ma'am? the lady of the house is married.'

'Married!' said Mrs. Bloss, taking the pill and a draught of
Guinness--'married! Unpossible!'

'She is indeed, ma'am,' returned the Columbine; 'and her husband, ma'am,
lives--he--he--he--lives in the kitchen, ma'am.'

'In the kitchen!'

'Yes, ma'am: and he--he--he--the housemaid says, he never goes into the
parlour except on Sundays; and that Ms. Tibbs makes him clean the
gentlemen's boots; and that he cleans the windows, too, sometimes; and
that one morning early, when he was