m rubbing his two hands over one another, as if
he was washing of 'em, and shaking his head and shoulders wery much; and
I was a wondering wot Mr. Wilson meant, wen he says, 'There's Dougladge,
Mrs. Gamp!' he says. 'There's him as wrote the life of Mrs. Caudle!'

"Mrs. Harris, wen I see that little willain bodily before me, it give me
such a turn that I was all in a tremble. If I hadn't lost my umbereller
in the cab, I must have done him a injury with it! Oh the bragian little
traitor! right among the ladies, Mrs. Harris; looking his wickedest and
deceitfullest of eyes while he was a talking to 'em; laughing at his own
jokes as loud as you please; holding his hat in one hand to cool
his-sef, and tossing back his iron-grey mop of a head of hair with the
other, as if it was so much shavings--there, Mrs. Harris, I see him,
getting encouragement from the pretty delooded creeturs, which never
know'd that sweet saint, Mrs. C, as I did, and being treated with as
much confidence as if he'd never wiolated none of the domestic ties, and
never showed up nothing! Oh the aggrawation of that Dougladge! Mrs.
Harris, if I hadn't apologiged to Mr. Wilson, and put a little bottle to
my lips which was in my pocket for the journey, and which it is very
rare indeed I have about me, I could not have abared the sight of
him--there, Mrs. Harris! I could not!--I must have tore him, or have
give way and fainted.

"While the bell was a ringing, and the luggage of the hammertoors in
great confugion--all a litter'ry indeed--was handled up, Mr. Wilson
demeens his-sef politer than ever. 'That,' he says, 'Mrs. Gamp,' a
pinting to a officer-looking gentleman, that a lady with a little basket
was a taking care on, 'is another of our party. He's a author
too--continivally going up the walley of the Muses, Mrs. Gamp. There,'
he says, alluding to a fine looking, portly gentleman, with a face like
a amiable full moon, and a short mild gent, with a pleasant smile, 'is
two more of our artists, Mrs G, well beknowed at the Royal Academy, as
sure as stones is stones, and eggs is eggs. This resolute gent,' he
says, 'a coming along here as is aperrently going to take the railways
by storm--him with the tight legs, and his weskit very much buttoned,
and his mouth very much shut, and his coat a flying open, and his heels
a giving it to the platform, is a cricket and beeograffer, and our
principal tragegian.' 'But who,' says I, when the bell had left off, and
the tr