"Law, mamma," said I, "is that you?" and I sat down on the hall bench with her, and let her kiss me as much as ever she liked. Hearing the whining and crying, down comes another lady from upstairs,—it was my sister Eliza; and down come the lodgers. And the maid gets water, and what not, and I was the regular hero of the group. I could not stay long then, having my letters to deliver. But, in the evening, after mail-time, I went back to my mamma and sister: and, over a bottle of prime old Port, and a precious good leg of boiled mutton and turnips, made myself pretty comfortable, I can tell you.
Beware of false prophets, who predict of the times, which, but for thy simplicity, would be for them "out of joint"—of the seasons, of which they know not, save that they yield them a profitable harvest,—and of the winds, for which they care not, so that they blow them good; but turn from them awhile, and regard the Hieroglyphicum in Obscuro I here set before thee, and the interpretation thereof; and, if it come not as I predict, thou may'st guess the reason why. Unlucky planets rule the State Kitchen; and the great kettle being filled by Aquarius, with Sol in opposition, an unfriendly boil is produced, which maketh the place so hot that the Cooks find it hard to stay within, though loth to go out. Moreover, being of one mind as to the making of _a mess_, but differing as to the manner thereof, they have fallen to fighting, to settle the question, and are all going to pot together. By a touch of my wand, behold them transmogrified into a _Lamb's head_, served with a plentiful dressing of strong _Durham_ mustard, a _little Jack_ clinging to the side, as though he wished himself out of this pretty kettle of fish, and a fowl, though, by his looks, no chicken, attempting his escape in the form of a winged _Cupid_. He does not like his company, and has made his bow—behold it in his hand. Another fish, more like a _Sir John_ than a sturgeon, seems as though his berth was far from pleasant. The Mistress, alarmed by the noise, comes to the window to see what is the matter; an ancient Master Cook, from _Arthur's_, stands, ladle in hand, his fingers itching to skim the scum off as it rises. An old Kitchen Maid, who, though pensioned off, will still have a finger in every pie, hath been stirring the fire with a worn-out _broom_-handle, (perchance she hath slyly put in a pinch of gunpowder) and is now playing the part of blow-bellows. She seemeth, by the satisfactionated curl of her nose, to be happy to see them all in hot water.