"Run directly to Dr Fagan," said the Major, "and request him to come here. Your wife has poisoned herself with rum." "'Tisn't rum," said Bags, somewhat thickly--"'tis fits." "Fits!" said my grandfather. "Fits," doggedly replied Mr Bags, who seemed by no means disturbed at the alleged indisposition of his wife--"she often gets them." "Don't alarm yourself, Major," said Owen, "I'll answer for it she hasn't drunk _all_ the rum. The scoundrel is half-drunk himself, and smells like a spirit-vault. You'd better take your wife away," he said to Bags. "She can leave if she ain't wanted," said Private Bags, with dignity: "we never comes where we ain't wanted." And he advanced to remove the lady. Mrs Bags at first resisted this measure, proceeding to deliver a eulogium on her own excellent qualities, moral and culinary. She had, she said, the best of characters, in proof of which she made reference to several persons in various parts of the United Kingdom, and, as she spoke, she smiled more affably than ever. "_La picarilla no tiene verguenza_," (the wretch is perfectly shameless,) cried Carlota, who, having hastily removed the ham from the fire, was now looking after the rest of the dinner. The fowls, cut up in small pieces, were boiling along with the sheep's head, and, probably to save time, the estimable Mrs Bags had put the rice and raisins destined for a pudding into the pot along with them--certainly, as Owen remarked, a bold innovation in cookery. Still continuing to afford them glimpses of her personal history, Mrs Bags was at length persuaded to retire along with her helpmate. "What astonishing impudence," said the Major, shutting the door upon her, "to pretend to be a cook, and yet know no better than to roast a ham!" Carlota, meanwhile, was busy in remedying the disaster as far as she could; cutting the ham into slices and frying it, making a fricassee of the fowls, and fishing the raisins out of the pot, exclaiming bitterly all the while, in English and Spanish, against the _tunanta_ (equivalent to female scoundrel or scamp) who had spoilt the only nice dinner her _pobrecito_, her _niño_, her _querido_, (meaning my grandfather,) had been likely to enjoy for a long time, stopping occasionally in her occupations to give him a consolatory kiss. However, my grandfather did not keep up the character of a martyr at all well: he took the matter really very patiently; and when the excellent Carlota had set the dinner on the table, and he tasted the fine flavour of the maltreated ham, he speedily regained his accustomed good-humour. "It is very strange," he said presently, while searching with a fork in the dish before him, "that a pair of fowls should have only three wings, two legs, and one breast between them."