Kelipso!
how you have got hold of me! It was Fate, Fate, Fate. When Mrs. Milliken
fell ill of scarlet fever at Naples, Milliken was away at Petersborough,
Rooshia, looking after his property. Her foring woman fled. Me and the
governess remained and nursed her and the children. We nursed the little
ones out of the fever. We buried their mother. We brought the children
home over Halp and Happenine. I nursed 'em all three. I tended 'em all
three, the orphans, and the lovely gu-gu-governess. At Rome, where she
took ill, I waited on her; as we went to Florence, had we been attacked
by twenty thousand brigands, this little arm had courage for them all!
And if I loved thee, Julia, was I wrong? and if I basked in thy beauty
day and night, Julia, am I not a man? and if, before this Peri, this
enchantress, this gazelle, I forgot poor little Mary Barlow, how could I
help it? I say, how the doose could I help it?

Enter Lady KICKLEBURY, BULKELEY following with parcels and a spaniel.

LADY K.--Are the children and the governess come home?

JOHN.--Yes, my lady [in a perfectly altered tone].

LADY K.--Bulkeley, take those parcels to my sitting-room.

JOHN.--Get up, old stoopid. Push along, old daddylonglegs [aside to
BULKELEY].

LADY K.--Does any one dine here to-day, Howell?

JOHN.--Captain Touchit, my lady.

LADY K.--He's always dining here.

JOHN.--My master's oldest friend.

LADY K.--Don't tell me. He comes from his club. He smells of smoke; he
is a low, vulgar person. Send Pinhorn up to me when you go down stairs.
[Exit Lady K.]

JOHN.--I know. Send Pinhorn to me, means, Send my bonny brown hair, and
send my beautiful complexion, and send my figure--and, O Lord! O Lord!
what an old tigress that is! What an old Hector! How she do twist
Milliken round her thumb! He's born to be bullied by women: and I
remember him henpecked--let's see, ever since--ever since the time of
that little gloveress at Woodstock, whose picter poor Mrs. M. made such
a noise about when she found it in the lumber-room. Heh! HER picture
will be going into the lumber-room some day. M. must marry to get rid
of his mother-in-law and mother over him: no man can stand it, not M.
himself, who's a Job of a man. Isn't he, look at him! [As he has been
speaking, the bell has rung, the Page has run to the garden-door, and
MILLIKEN enters through the garden, laden with a hamper, band-box, and
cricket-bat.]

MILLIKEN.--Why was the carriage not sent for me, H