re mighty soft upon one another,
would one day be joined together in Hyming, and, conjointly with my son
Tug, carry on the business of hairdressers when their father was either
dead or a gentleman: for a gentleman me and Mrs. C. determined I should
be.

Jemima was, you see, a lady herself, and of very high connections:
though her own family had met with crosses, and was rather low. Mr.
Tuggeridge, her father, kept the famous tripe-shop near the "Pigtail and
Sparrow," in the Whitechapel Road; from which place I married her; being
myself very fond of the article, and especially when she served it to
me--the dear thing!

Jemima's father was not successful in business: and I married her, I am
proud to confess it, without a shilling. I had my hands, my house, and
my Bohemian balsam to support her!--and we had hopes from her uncle,
a mighty rich East India merchant, who, having left this country sixty
years ago as a cabin-boy, had arrived to be the head of a great house in
India, and was worth millions, we were told.

Three years after Jemimarann's birth (and two after the death of my
lamented father-in-law), Tuggeridge (head of the great house of Budgurow
and Co.) retired from the management of it; handed over his shares to
his son, Mr. John Tuggeridge, and came to live in England, at Portland
Place, and Tuggeridgeville, Surrey, and enjoy himself. Soon after, my
wife took her daughter in her hand and went, as in duty bound, to
visit her uncle: but whether it was that he was proud and surly, or she
somewhat sharp in her way, (the dear girl fears nobody, let me have you
to know,) a desperate quarrel took place between them; and from that
day to the day of his death, he never set eyes on her. All that he would
condescend to do, was to take a few dozen of lavender-water from us in
the course of the year, and to send his servants to be cut and shaved by
us. All the neighbors laughed at this poor ending of our expectations,
for Jemmy had bragged not a little; however, we did not care, for the
connection was always a good one, and we served Mr. Hock, the valet;
Mr. Bar, the coachman; and Mrs. Breadbasket, the housekeeper, willingly
enough. I used to powder the footman, too, on great days, but never in
my life saw old Tuggeridge, except once: when he said "Oh, the barber!"
tossed up his nose, and passed on.

One day--one famous day last January--all our Market was thrown into
a high state of excitement by the appearance of no le